For years, I've been making my family green noodles. It started out as a dish my ex-sister-in-law served my brother one night when she had nothing in her cabinet--she melted butter, added lemon juice, and tossed in pasta. Over the years I've fiddled and added--I use spinach fettucini, add scallions, sliced mushrooms (they really soak up the lemon), artichoke hearts, and good parmesan. Recently I started adding a cube of pesto from my freezer. But tonight I varied the formula, because Megan had given me some truffle oil for Christmas, and I wanted to use it. So I sauteed a chopped leek (I had an extra one because I need two for tomorrow night), some cut up asparagus I had in the fridge, mushrooms, and used mostly olive oil instead of butter. When that was all sauteed I put in the cooked noodles, tossed it, and drizzle it with truffle oil. So good! Though I think I had been so warned about truffle oil that I was a little tentative--next time I'll use more. Oh, I also used the good Italian olive oil Megan brought me, instead of my grocery-store variety, and I omitted the Parmesan. I'll have to figure Weight Watchers points, but it was awfully good.
A contrast to the meal Jacob and I had last night. I announced a picnic, complete with finger food and disposable plates. I rolled deli turkey slices around low-fat cream cheese and cut them into small pieces (he liked his with ketchup), those sweet little cherub tomatoes, which he loves, and blueberries. He looked at his pickle (I had hearts of palm) and said "I don't like that." And then he asked, "Why are we eating with our fingers?" So much for adding a sense of adventure to supper. But he ate enough to earn two dark chocolate chip/almond/Sandie cookies for dessert--and darn, I ate two also. This morning, barely out of bed, he wanted his "waffle waffle." I started joking about an "awful waffle" but he didn't get it and still calls them "waffle waffles." He ate one at eight and requested two more at ten--and ate every bite!
Tonight I went to see my friend Charles, who is now in hospice care at a local retirement center. I have not gone alone to see him, because he's in the same place where my mom was and where she died. So I dragged friends along for support. But when he told me about hospice on the phone and then said, "Come see me," I knew I had to do it. We had a good visit, and I know people go in and out of hospice, sometimes for a long time, but it's hard for me to think of the world without Charles.
I was a regular churchgoer for years, never missed a Sunday. Then a combination of things made me start staying home, and once you miss a Sunday, it's easy to miss them all. So yesterday I started my move back to church by volunterring to call first-time visitors and offer any information I can about the church. Then Jeannie called--she has been asked to take over the small bookstore and wants companions. I know it's a terrible burden, having watched my mom run a hospital gift shop, but I think I'll probably do it. My way of getting back into the church.
It's been damp and almost but not quite rainy in North Texas--the kind of weather that makes you feel cold, even when you're not. So I'm glad to be home and settled for the night with a book.