Excitement in the ‘hood

I thought the primary elections were going to be the big excitement of the day. I’m over the moon that so many have already voted in the Democratic primary in Texas. I think the Blue Tidal Wave is indeed coming, and I couldn’t be happier. I emailed all my kids to be sure they voted and got back the wonderful picture of daughter Megan above.

But it’s eight o’clock at night, so no returns yet, and big excitement in the neighborhood has distracted me. About five-thirty someone posted on the neighborhood email to ask why the police helicopter was circling overhead. I hadn’t noticed it, but when I listened of course I heard it—funny how we grow so accustomed to such noise that it doesn’t register. Then Jordan called from a work meeting to say she was sending Jacob out to the cottage, and I should lock all the doors. There was a “bad guy” loose in the neighborhood.

A neighbor had come to share a before-dinner drink, and between our cell phones we got what we thought was the developing message, though there are so many versions one can never be sure of the truth. Police had served a warrant on a guy who bolted, on foot, and they were looking for him, had no idea if he was armed or not. Armed policemen swarmed the schoolyard across the street and blocked the street at the railroad—the tracks and an adjacent creek have lots of bushes and cover, and the search focused there.

Jacob’s mom gave him permission to go back in the house if he locked the doors. When his dad came out to the cottage later, I asked if Jacob was doing his homework, and he said no, he was watching TV and clutching a butcher knife. He didn’t want to go to the dining room, where his project was spread out on the table, because “they” could see him. In a short while, he came out here to type more of his project on the computer. I think he’d gotten the parental word.

Last I heard, they haven’t gotten the guy yet. I am locked in, except patio doors are open to allow Sophie to enter when she will. I still hear the helicopter but maybe a bit more distantly.

Not exactly a nice development but it was a break in a routine day. The other pleasant break was that Fred, my teacher, mentor, and good friend, came for lunch. We had a good visit, talked of books and politics and food. I fixed a chicken casserole that I thought sounded so good, but it was only fair.

A layer of diced, cooked chicken; a layer of canned mushroom soup; a layer of grated cheddar; and a topping of crushed Ritz crackers. Problem was the crackers offered to burn before the rest of the dish was heated. I also thought it a bit bland and added white wine, salt and pepper when I reheated it tonight. I think another time I might season the soup layer with a bit of Worcestershire or something. It needed a spark.

Cooking that dish begins a long week of cooking for me, but I’m looking forward to it.

March is marching away quickly. I want to slow the clock down. Can’t believe we’ll already be back to daylight savings this weekend, though I welcome it. I think at my age you don’t want to time to fly, because at your back, to butcher a good piece of poetry, you always hear time’s winged chariot hurrying near.