THE BECKET RANT

STAFF ON CALL:

Back to ye olde schedule except Terri there every night now, overnight, on a couch off the livingroom because she worries she won't hear them if she's upstairs. 8 PM - 10 AM. $50 per night. How long can this last. Don't know. Will have to hope something sells soon. Possibly the Civil War musket that was over the fireplace that Peg thought had been stolen until I reminded her that Fontaine's Auction house took it before she went off to the hospital with her approval. She also wanted to know where all the Royal Copenhagen Blue Christmas Plates had gone (in a box, as she suggested, up in the eBay room, having been photographed by Dominick). Which begs the question, if we put Daddy in the garage, how long would it take Peg to notice he was missing? 

The idea, originally, was that Terri would only stay the first week they came back from the nursing home, to help get them acclimated to being home again. But now it seems will be longer. The word is that Peg is adjusting, slowly, yes, but getting back into the swing of things, the routines. Daddy though, not doing well. Slept almost round the clock for the first few days and needs help getting out of his chair, actually asks for assistance (unheard of) and sometimes, Terri says, needs help even sitting up in bed. Jesus. I'm torn between being pissed off and feeling sorry for him. Putting him in the nursing home with Peg for two weeks I thought was such a brilliant idea, but I guess wasn't. It appears to have really set him back. Lost strength. Muscle control. I suppose it's not exactly surprising if you're going to be chained to your bed or a wheelchair for all that time and not allowed to move without ringing for someone but am furious with Laurel Lake for not telling me this was how he was going to be treated. Mostly with myself, though, for being blinkered enough to think it would be like checking him into the Hilton. I was just so anxious to get away. I should have hung on another few weeks. I was desperate to make Liz Roberton's birthday tea, a cruise up the Thames starting at Cliveden with Bollinger. Nice but weather sucked, my knee highs wouldn't stay up and kept rolling round my ankles like old lady's stockings and I came home with both heels dripping blood from rubbing against the cute new leopard-print sneakers I'd found at Marshalls. Should have stayed in Becket with my dad. 
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DOG NEWS:

Heidi, Terri's little 11 year old spaniel is in residence at Becket now and Peg and Odd love her, according to Terri. Also, according to Terri, Peg has said any number of times that perhaps Spurn Me Not Angel Honeybear should stay down at the collie breeder's in Pine Plains where she's "clearly happier". Aha. This is good news, of course, to me at least, since the dog was a serious miscalculation to begin with, but not sure where it leaves us financially, since Peg shelled out $2000 for it. Do I ask for some of it back? How much? How much for feeding a dog that won't come near you and craps on your carpet, poached chicken breast for two years?
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GUESTS:

Peg has a Creek or maybe it's Cree Indian fan named Gary from Oklahoma and his wife and daughter staying at the house for a week. Or some Indian beginning with C. I know it's not Comanche because that's what she keeps calling Bonnie, which annoys Bonnie, who keeps reminding her she's Cherokee.

Gary has had this trip east planned for months, his two main objectives being to see Peg, and Niagara Falls. I'm thinking his geography of New England is a little off, because he's got the Falls planned as a day trip from Becket, as he did Bangor, Maine two days ago, both of which by my estimation take at least nine or ten hours to get to let alone a round trip or stopping to see or eat anything. He was planning on staying at some motel in Lee until Peg persuaded him to stay at the house, assuring him it was no trouble (Gary and I have exchanged approximately fifteen thousand emails in the last week about wifi passwords, how the Anderson windows in my room open, where the summer duvet is, which shower to use and so on) and, having known about the visit before I left Becket to come back to England, I'd put three big family-size dinners for them all in the freezer, which I reminded Bonnie about the night before Gary & Co's arrival.

"Er," she says, "you'd better discuss it with your mom. I think she's got dinner all planned for them."

"But I made the chicken pies! And the pot roast! So she wouldn't have to fuss! Christ. What's she doing!"

"The onion soup? With the orange marmalade and the mayonnaise?"

Well, turns out Bonnie had forgotten to say onion soup mix and also that chicken thighs figure in there somewhere. But still. Why does this piss me off so much. Why can't Peg feed her guests any throat-closing mixture she wants to? Why do I think this nasty recipe reflects on me? But I do. How sad is this. How sad and intolerant and not to mention what a waste of time, me in England fretting about people I don't know three thousand miles away eating chicken with fucking onion soup mix and, let's face it, probably liking it better than they'd like my chicken and leek pie especially after Gary having said in an email that he's never even tasted or seen a leek before, not being big apparently in Oklahoma, at least in Cree or Creek households.

Right. Off now to my own kitchen to prep a dinner do for 8 tonight. Olives. Cannelini bean and sundried tomato dip, endive spears. Asparagus dipped in olive oil, wrapped in parma ham, sprinkled with fresh parmesan and fresh thyme, baked for 12 minutes. Followed by smoked haddock lasagne. Salad. Fresh bread from the Anchor. Followed by fresh peach cake with vanilla creme fraiche, sprinkled with chopped almonds. And of course onion soup mix.