Celia Hayes – The Accidental Texan

This, unlike the previous good eats, has a provenance, in that it is taken from Nava Atlas’ Vegetariana which I had ordered from a book catalog when stationed in Greece. I shopped in the weekly neighborhood street market, where the vegetables, fruits, eggs and cheese and all were inexpensive and often straight from the farm or orchard. We ate vegetarian, often for weeks at a time. This was one of our very favorite soups. Sometimes I have made up a gift basket for a friend or hostess of all the premeasured or prepped necessary ingredients and included this recipe with it.

Winter Lentil & Brown Rice Soup

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Jamie, the Grandson Unit is now two months old, as of this week. He is named for – in order, my great-uncle James (the young hero), my brother Alexander (the artist) and my father Page (the brainy scientist.) He will have any number of male exemplars among our circle of friends and neighbors other than his namesakes to model himself upon. Of them, one has promised to take him hunting, another to learn to fish, still another to work out in proper USMC form, a fourth to use power tools and learn construction and a fifth to be his formal godfather in the Catholic church.

Of course, at this point in development, sleeping throughout the night, or for more than five or six hours at a stretch is a mere, shimmering elusive dream, although he has, inconsistently, made it through up to six hours. He must be close to weighing nine pounds by our estimation, up from his birth weight of six pounds and a bit. He has definitely put on a growth spurt, as I measured his height with a tape measure the other morning – 22 inches, up from 17 at birth. He has a fringe of auburn-brown baby-fine hair, and rather long eyelashes. The dimple in his chin is still there, although with the weight gain, the chin is almost lost between the plump chipmunk cheeks. His eyes are still blue, and we hope they will remain so, although that won’t be absolutely positively certain for another year or so. He already has long, auburn eyelashes.

As for sleeping – he is the noisiest sleeping baby that I have ever encountered; vocalizing, murmuring, whimpering … and apparently, he can sleep with his eyes a quarter open. I predict that once he begins to talk, he will not shut up for a moment. There are already some small hints of individual character developing. He insists on being held until he is solidly asleep. He does not like being alone in a quiet room, without either the Daughter Unit or myself within sight or hearing. His belches and farts would be the envy of much larger and older males. He is already accustomed to being laid along my lap, or against my shoulder being burped while I do work one-handed on the computer. In the fullness of time, I will dress him in something 19^th century boy-appropriate and he will help me flog books at literary events. Won’t he look gorgeous in a black velveteen Little Lord Fauntleroy suit with a white lace collar? The Daughter Unit nixes that – something more in the line of a knickerbocker trousers and waistcoat with a ‘Peaky Blinders’ newsboy cap is her preference.

There are people who say ‘enjoy them while they are little.’ Having been a parent, and now a grandparent – I can say that I enjoy children at every possible age that they are.

(Yes, I’m starting another Lone Star Sons adventure. This is the first of the new series of adventures, set in the time of the Republic of Texas. Hopefully to be done in time for Christmas sales…)

The Matter of Jedidiah

“Well, Jim,” said Captain Hays one summer evening, as they sat outside the front door of the small adobe house off of San Antonio’s central plaza, enjoying the cooler temperatures which fell as soon as the sun was well-down and the light breeze which discouraged mosquitos. “I have a curious assignment for you and Mr. Shaw as the pair of my stiletto men currently at liberty – and this one might even call upon your skills as a man of law.”

“As long as it doesn’t depend on my sharp-shooting ability,” Jim Reade replied, and his commander laughed, wry laughter. “Where need we travel to this time, and for what duty are we being charged?”

Across the plaza, the light from lanterns hung swaying in the trees above the tables where the chili-selling vendors hawked their wares. A thread of music from a trio playing guitar, fiddle and concertina, hung in the air like the smoke from the chili-vendor’s cook fires. The old town of Bexar came alive after sundown, when the heat of the day abated.

“A plantation a little west of Richmond,” Jack Hays leaned back in the leather and stave Mexican chair, and drew on his pipe, sending a small spiral of tobacco smoke upwards. “Pecan Grove; established in the earlies by one of Austin’s first three hundred settlers. A Scot named Josiah Malcolm, emigrated in his youth from Perth, settled in the Carolina, then took up land in Austin’s grant. He died about ten years ago, leaving the entire estate to his wife, Mrs. Ada Malcolm. General Sam always had a soft spot for Mrs. Malcolm, since they were neighbors. The thing is now Mrs. Malcolm died … and in the will, she willed everything, lock, stock and barrel to a certain beneficiary. General Sam has asked me privately, if I could send someone to safeguard the life of that beneficiary.”

“And there is someone contesting the will?” Jim Reade asked. “Were there no natural heirs to the property, who would inherit if there were no will?” This certainly sounded intriguing. He was aware, in a manner of speaking, of Pecan Grove plantation, and of Ada Malcom as a redoubtable woman of strong character.

Captain Jack Hays shook his head. “There was a son, but he was the supercargo on a China clipper ship lost at sea, as I understand, about ten years ago. Great tragedy, as all their hopes were invested in him. The person contesting the will and threatening the life of the beneficiary is a nephew, the son of Josiah Malcom’s younger brother. A feckless, useless sort of man – I’ve met him a couple of times. A gambler and unlucky at it, which you’d think would be an inducement to give up games of chance, but Hake Malcolm is nearly as stupid as he is unlucky. Always coming round to touch up his uncle for a loan. Old Malcolm used to indulge him for the sake of the family, but Mrs. Ada put a stop to it, as soon as she gained absolute control of the purse-strings and did Hake Malcolm resent that. Told everyone who would lend him their ears for five minutes, about what a miser she was, to flesh and blood…”

“Technically, she was not flesh and blood, but to her husband” Jim pointed out, and Jack agreed with a nod.

“Anyway – General Sam was fond of her, and he’s never been accused of being ungallant to any woman, save perhaps his first wife. He’s tied up with the Legislature in session for a few months, and he had a letter from the Malcolm family lawyer regarding the estate and the beneficiary…”

“And he’s worried about the Malcolm beneficiary?” Jim hinted, and Jack Hays nodded again.

“Well, he is the president, after all,” Jack drew on his pipe. “The one who trusts us to deal with interesting and delicate matters. And the beneficiary of a substantial estate being in danger from a resentful man who gives every indication of contesting the will … that’s as delicate a matter as they come. There’s just one thing…” Jack waited for Jim to rise to the bait. Jim didn’t; Jack was always holding back a key bit of information as a tease. Finally, Jim said,

“So, is there something we should know about this beneficiary which we are to protect, for the honor of General Sam and the nation of Texas?”

“Why, yes there is,” Jack replied. “The beneficiary whose life may be in danger is a tame macaw named Jeremiah.”

For a number of years, I copied out interesting recipes by hand in a series of small books with lined pages and casebound covers. Many of them came from cooking magazines, such as Gourmet, but many came from the pages of various newspapers, to include the Stars and Stripes – from which I dimly recall reading one for a heavy, dark Caribbean Christmas fruitcake. It is in my mind that the woman who had originated it had a nice local business making and selling these fruitcakes – perhaps she had a cookbook published, and the S&S had merely published an extract from it. Anyway, I copied the recipe from a clipping, into the oldest of my hand-written books, which dates from my first hitch in the Air Force.

Caribbean Dark Fruitcake

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So I’m more or less resigned to getting spam calls. Because I have a small business, and the cellphone is my contact with potential customers, I have to answer when the phone rings, especially if the number on caller ID is with a south Texas area code. Usually crisply saying the name of the Teeny Publishing Bidness and adding “May I help you?” inspires the usual human caller to break the connection. When the inevitable pre-recorded message regarding my extended auto warranty, I say a couple of cuss words and break the connection. However, the robocalls which mention a legal action against me for a criminal offense, or a threat to suspend my social security number and advise me to dial “1” to speak to an investigating agent, or whatever … those I have had some fun with.

The call always goes to a boiler room – I can tell from the ambient sound, since I used to work at a call center. The person answering always has an accent – Indian, mostly. They announce themselves to be Agent something or other, with Social Security or some law enforcement agency – and I tell them straight out that no they aren’t: they’re scammers trying to scam money from senior citizens, and they are scummy human beings, and I don’t see how they can live with themselves, doing this for a living. I have a very nice, accusatory rant, but mostly I don’t get more than a couple of sentences into it, before they break the connection. Yesterday I did get a woman who at least had the sand to yell back, and insist that she would call again and again, and again … I cussed her out a bit more, threatened to file a complaint with the Texas Attorney General’s office and promised to block the number her scummy, scamming enterprise was spoofing. At least that was a good few minutes that she wasn’t working over someone much more gullible than me.

Frankly, it’s kind of fun making these people’s work lives a bit of a misery. And it certainly relieves my feelings a bit. Honestly, I do wish that law enforcement would work a bit harder on pursuing these cases, although most of it seems to be based overseas. This guy, with his glitter-bomb packages and endless ingenuity – as well as knowledgeable friends in the internet security industry – is doing good work.