Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Celebrating a good report




Jordan stole my thunder and posted this picture and a
sketchy report before I could so if this is old news,
I apologize.
Jordan and I celebrated today with a mid-afternoon glass of wine and a charcuterie and cheese board at CafĂ© Press. We had what she called "an experience." Lovely to sit outside—we couldn’t see the river but knew it was there, and the restaurant is surrounded by a park-like setting. The trailhead is right there, and people came by walking dogs, riding bikes, and walking or running. Made me think again what a neat city we live in.

We were celebrating a good appointment with my hip surgeon. I was cleared to gradually put more weight on my left foot, aiming toward full weight in 3-4 weeks, which means I’d then be walking normally and using the walker for balance only. I asked how I’d know if I was putting too much weight on it, and the one-word answer was “Pain.” So far, I’ve been almost pain-free. I hope to quickly graduate from wheelchair to walker full time.

I am fine to stay alone, per the doctor. Although he doesn’t really care about physical therapy he will continue it for a bit and wrote orders for the therapist. Other movement restrictions were taken away (I can cross my ankles, which I’d been doing unconsciously, but not my thighs—that’s okay), and I have a much better idea of how to put on pants myself, etc. The surgeon and his PA. are more laid-back about things than the therapist. I no longer have to sleep with that wedge between my knees, but I have to continue to stretch groin and butt muscles.

I cannot drive or do stairs, but those things will come By the time I go back to the dr. it will be just shy of a year since all this began—though I know I’d felt it for some time, as in years with twinges in that hip. I could not sleep on my left side for long because the hip would begin to ache. I still can’t sleep on my left side, but I can sleep on the right. I’ve been faithfully sleeping on my back—which causes a vanity problem. It’s wearing away the hair on the back of my head!

It’s been a long year, but now I feel so incredibly much better and livelier than I have in longer than a year—much longer. My balance is better—I notice that when I stand at the sink to do dishes. I’m sure I have more life and vitality than I did three or four months ago. No, I won’t say it’s been worth the pre-op pain and the drastic change in lifestyle, but I am incredibly grateful to be where I am today.

And to be looking ahead—today we discussed making family plans for Christmas. I figure it’s a good thing that I’m not buried in the moment but am planning ahead.








Monday, February 27, 2017

Dogs I have known and loved II—the dog that broke my heart



I always thought Sophie needed a playmate (this was before the Burtons and their Cavaliers moved into the house) so I was ever on the lookout for the dog I couldn’t resist. I saw him one morning—I suspect on Facebook when the shelter that held him posted his picture. I called my neighbor, Jay, and asked if he wanted to drive to Decatur that morning (30-40 miles away). “Not particularly,” was his answer. But when I told him the story and sent him the picture, he was hooked. I called the shelter to make sure they’d hold the dog for me. And off we went.

At the shelter, someone mentioned that the dog had gotten a bit testy with a groomer, but no more was said and in my euphoria, I passed it off. He was sort of collie-like, sort of Aussie, I wasn’t sure. He had no back-story; he’d been found on the side of the road. But he was gorgeous, and he loved both of us right away. Jay walked him around to see how he behaved and pronounced it good. We took him.

In the truck on the way home we named him Luke Alter. Jay thought it had a perfect ring, and I thought it sounded like a character out of one of the many westerns I’d written. We laughed and joked, always with Luke pressing his nose between us to get attention.

I took him to the vet, who pronounced him mostly Bearnese Mountain Dog—small for the breed but the coloring was right on. He was healthy—and well behaved. For the first few days his only flaw was a tendency to escape the back yard—if I parked in the back of the driveway and headed toward the front door, I’d find him trotting along next to me. He’d dug out and just wanted to be with me. Sometimes he dug out when there was no one there—then he’d appear at the front door, obviously wanting to be let in. Luke knew he had a home, and he had no desire to go anywhere else.

Trouble began when he got a toy stuck under an ottoman, and Jacob tried to free it for him. Luke apparently thought Jacob was taking his toy and snapped. We chalked it up to a misunderstanding. But then Luke violently attacked a dinner guest who went to him with arms outspread. Next it was the teenager across the street who dog-sat for me. And he snapped at Jacob again. My dog-sitter’s mother said the most cogent thing: “You can keep him but you’ll have to change your lifestyle.” It meant no more company; the people I loved would not feel free to come to the house.

Jordan and Christian finally said they were going to curtail Jacob’s visits to the house. They couldn’t take a chance.

All along it was clear that Luke adored me—and I returned it in kind. He’d sit next to my desk, and we’d have long petting sessions and conversations. But I was tormented. I had to do something. I consulted my vet; trainers and breeders. The universal opinion was that if he was a biter, he wasn’t going to change. And if I surrendered him, I needed to be truthful: I couldn’t foist a biter off on innocent people.

Reluctantly Jay and I took him to the humane society. I swear they euthanized him before we were even out of the parking lot. It was one of the most traumatic moments in my life.

I blogged about the pain this had caused me, expecting a flood of sympathy. Instead, I got the most responses I’d ever gotten to a blog—close to 500—almost all condemning me for my cruelty, saying I hadn’t tried. Several people rushed to the humane society to adopt him, only to find he was already gone. When I was feeling most vulnerable, I was vilified. It hurt…and Luke remains a raw place in my heart to this day. I truly loved that dog, but I couldn’t give up family and friends for the sake of a dog I’d had less than a month and one that experts advised me to put down. Luke broke my heart.



Sunday, February 26, 2017

A loverly day


Eden and her mom
You can tell where she gets her good looks
(I say that even though her dad is my son)



Special happy birthday to Eden, my beautiful 14-year-old granddaughter. She’s smart, sweet, talented, and beautiful--all the things you could hope for.

I divided the day between my two favorite activities—cooking and reading. Cooking in the cottage is getting a little better. Jordan brought me a rotisserie chicken breast (not the whole bird, bless her!). This morning I boned and sliced it, got an amazing amount of meat. Chicken sandwich for lunch. Then I put the carcass on to simmer—my fancy-dancy hot plate turns itself off after a while, so there was an hour or two when it didn’t cook, but I got broth to use for a casserole tonight. May put the broth back on the burner tomorrow.

Tonight I made creamed chicken on toast with the broth and some white wine. Pretty good if I do say so. Diced a couple of scallions and a stalk of celery to go in it, added tiny frozen peas. May make chicken salad tomorrow—I think a friend is coming by about lunchtime.

Got alone fine, though Jordan wandered out and served as first assist—reaching things for me and the like. I do tend to spill—probably the worst tonight was I took the lid off the broth which was cooling and dripped the liquid off onto my until-then clean pants. But it was condensation, not broth—still a pair of pants destined for the washer.

But I found out I can fairly easily stand at the counter to stir ingredients in the frying pan or at the sink to wash dishes. I keep the walker with a seat firmly behind me, so that the back of my knees always knows where it is. And I hang on to the sink if needed. Pretty proud of myself.’

Last night I thought I’d just dip my toe into Deborah Crombie’s latest mystery, Garden of Lamentations. Because Crombie’s work tends to be dense and require concentration, I intended to move on to something lighter—it was evening, and I was tired. But there is no dipping your toe into her work—I was immediately hooked and spent most of today reading.

I know it doesn’t seem like I work hard, so a vacation day may not be in order-but that’s how I viewed today. And while reading a completely unrelated work a couple of ideas for my work-in-progress popped into my head. I’m ready to write tomorrow and then continue proofing the last mystery I have to post online. Yep vacation but not a wasted day…and one that was good for my soul.


Saturday, February 25, 2017

Dogs I have Known and Loved – Rescue Dogs




            I’ve thought about writing blogs about the dogs in my life for a long time. Tonight seems like a good time, and rescue dogs, a good topic. I cheer every time someone rescues a dog; I’ve long been active on the lost-and-found circuit on Facebook, though it seems to me I see fewer postings lately. I could hardly bear it when I used to see pleas for help for dogs due to be euthanized within 12 hours and the like. But I admit it: I’m a failure at rescue dogs.

As a very young child, I was afraid of dogs. When I was an infant, my parents had a Scottie that was jealous of me, so jealous she snapped at my face and ran away. It wasn’t the first time she’d run, but this time my folks just let her go. That seems unthinkable to me now, but it was a different time and place, and they were different people. They liked dogs, but they weren’t that concerned with their welfare in the way I am.

Anyway, someone made the mistake of later telling me about this incident, and I was immediately afraid of dogs. I outgrew it, due in large part to a wild collie mix my brother brought home (a rescue dog, I’m sure). Timmy (she) was wild, crazy, gentle and loveable, and I loved that dog. Timmy disappeared from our lives—I have no idea what happened to her. She may well have died and I was sheltered from the fact. But more about her another night, because I have wonderful memories.

When I was about eight or so, my parents bought me a rescued English cocker named Rusty for his red coat. They knew I longed for a blonde cocker spaniel, but somehow they didn’t see the dissonance between Rusty and a delicate pale blonde American cocker. Rusty was stocky, not particularly attractive, and not particularly loving. In his previous life he had apparently been abused by someone in uniform, because when brother John came home from military school, in uniform, the dog attacked him ferociously. A well-placed kick from John saved the uniform and the brother.

Rusty developed a lump on his shoulder, a big lump. If I touched it, he growled, so I didn’t try that but once or twice. I don’t know if the folks took him to the vet or not, but he probably went downhill. One morning Mom found him at the basement door—he had died trying to get outside. I was sorry, sad, but I had never really had a relationship with Rusty. The idea of bonding, forming relationships with a dog, was yet to come in my life.
I compensated for the blonde cocker I never got by writing my first series of short stores, probably at the age of ten or twelve. The central figure was a Victorian spinster lady named Miss Shufflebaum. She had a blonde cocker spaniel named Taffy who got her into all kinds of trouble, like pulling her down on the ice. My mom kept those stories, on lined paper in childish writing, for a long time and I eventually got them; when I was in my thirties or so an artist friend did some illustrations that perfect caught my vision of Miss Shufflebaum. Alas, too many moves later, I've lost both stories and drawings, but they remain clear in my mind. Taffy is one of the dogs I've loved.

Next: Luke, the rescue dog that broke my heart.

Friday, February 24, 2017

So many books, so little time




I continue writing on the novella, though progress is slow—I try to know each time I quit what the next scene will be and then I write scene by scene. Confession: I did not do any original writing so far today, though I might get to it tonight. For me it’s slow going as I get into a work; eventually it picks up a momentum of its own. I’m waiting for that moment.

But meantime there’s so much to read: I want to reread Susan Wittig Albert’s The General’s Women, which I enjoyed in galley form. It blends the stories of General Dwight D. (Ike) Eisenhower, his wife Mamie, and his wartime driver and lover, Kay Summersby. Historical fiction at its best.

Then the new Deborah Crombie novel, Garden of Lamentations, is waiting on my Kindle. This is the latest--#17, I believe—in her interconnected Scotland Yard Series featuring Duncan Kincaid and Gemma James. I’ve found this series consistently complex and riveting, alternating between horrible crimes and the domestic life of Duncan and Gemma as they find their way as parents of a blended family. Crombie, a North Texas native, “does” England, the clothing, the accent, perfectly. So that will take me a while.

And there’s a Charlotte McLeod mystery, The Withdrawing Room, that I downloaded on impulse after a well-known mystery writer wrote, “If this is your first time with Sarah Kelling, oh how I envy you.” Kelling is a widow who runs a boardinghouse and gets herself involved in mysteries. My reaction is evidence that blurbs do work, at least some of the time.

But first I must finish Copy Cat Murder, fourth in the Hat Shop Mysteries. I’m enjoying it but keep putting recreational reading low on my to-do list, with the results that it takes me too long to finish a book. Some dedicated reading ahead tonight. Sounds good to me.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

My new web page



A dog and his boy
Change is good for the soul, and I thought after a year plus, it was time to change and maybe update my Facebook header. I contacted my webmaster, the fabulous Lisa Auslander (I love her email address that begins with tabbycat), told her what I was thinking, and turned her loose. Lisa has recently updated my web page, and she designed the Facebook head so that the two coordinate.

An explanation if probably in order: I have long wanted people to know that writing is not the sole focus of my life, in fact probably not the primary focus. I have always said I am first and foremost a mother—that’s my most important role in life and, someday, how I hope the world remembers me. My kids are in their forties now but that doesn’t change a thing.

The grandchildren are growing older, with diverse lives of their own. Regrettably, the days of cuddly babies who think Juju is wonderful are past. But I still follow their activities—from soccer to martial arts and beyond—avidly. Wish I had more time for each of them, and wish I saw all of them more often.

And Sophie snuck in next to them—I blog about her often enough, but I don’t think I’ve talked about how important dogs have been in my life. There’s been a dog since I was five or six, sometimes three or four, and I’ve thought of writing a book around the theme of dogs I have known and loved. Because I’ve loved every one of them. Asking for a favorite is like asking which is my favorite child, but I think the last book I published is always my favorite and the dog of the moment is likewise my favorite. Sophie, my Bordoodle (poodle/border collie cross) has been with me for five years. I got her when she was eight weeks old and spent a year training her, not that she’s well trained even today. She knows the basics but sometimes her exuberance gets the best of her. She’s great company, and I miss her when she’s gone even for an hour—she often goes in the main house to play with her “cousins” and I end up calling and saying, “Please bring my dog back to me.”

Writing is of course one of my passions, and I miss it when I’m not actively writing. It’s been a long hiatus while I suffered through a destroyed hip, surgery, and recovery, and I haven’t written anything but blogs in months. I’m delighted to have written 2000 words in the last week. I have grand plans—but not enough time. I’m grateful for the body of work I published and for the kind reception most but not all of it has gotten. Writing is fun—to me, it’s akin to math, only I work out problems in words and when I get it just right I feel the joy that a successful mathematician does. Move over, Dr. Einstain.

And cooking—yes, you know the blog often is filled with food recipes, and the like. In another life I might be a chef—by the time I decided that in this life my feet and back were too old to take those long hours of standing. But I still love to cook…and don’t get to do much of it. My limited kitchen facilities in the cottage plus my temporary confinement to a wheelchair make it difficult. But I hope to get back to cooking, and I still collect recipes like a madwoman.

And the cottage—ah, the cottage. It’s my refuge, my safe haven, the place where I can work in peace and feel that I’m master (mistress?) of my world. I’ve lived here six months now and cannot imagine a different life, though I was happy in the main house for 25 years. Building this cottage was one of the best decisions I’ve made in my life…and I’ve made a few good ones plus a lot of not-so-good ones. The cottage was an outstanding one.

All in all, my new illustration for my Facebook page illustrates my good life, the happy life I am so fortunate to live. The sketches in the heading have another purpose: several years ago a friend, who is an ardent liberal activist, told me that she posts political things on Facebook but she also posts pictures of her grandsons, her dogs and cats, and her spacious and lovely gardens so that people will now that there’s another dimension to her than political activism, so that they’ll realize she’s really a nice person. I wanted my new heading to show that while writing is important, there’s more to me.
We're used to tulips as closed flowers, but look how striking
they are when fullyopened.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Another upbeat day


Another really good day. Due to an unforeseen accident, I was alone all day—which allowed me to prove I can do all kinds of things, including pulling up my pants without bending over, fixing lunch, get myself in and out of bed. This heady independence may go to my head.

A new caregiver arrived at 7 a.m., but at 9:15 she got a call that her mom had been in an accident. The poor thing was hysterical. I urged her to go, told her I’d be fine, but she said she had to call the office. I didn’t want that because I didn’t want to take a chance on who they might send at the last minute for a partial shift, so I repeated my assurances. Finally she said she’d go, but she had to calm down first. And she went into the bedroom, had hysterics, talked on the phone, and then said she was going. I pray for that family tonight.

I called Jordan at work, and she called to check a couple of times, but I was fine. The physical therapist came at eleven and stayed about 45 minutes. And therein lies another triumph: when I got myself into bed, she grinned and said, “Nice.” One exercise is always difficult—I have to lift the bad leg straight off the bed, maybe knee high, 20 times. I’ve been getting it a few inches up and Jordan’s been helping it the rest of the way. Today I had done about five leg lifts when I noticed Ellen’s hands were at her side. Without knowing it, I’d been lifting the leg myself.

Lunch, nap, and off to dinner with pal Betty. We went to Winslow’s and sat outside because the evening was so pleasant—scallops, risotto and spinach. So good.

I am disturbed—okay, that’s too mild a word—highly upset at the rate that the administration is taking away protections. So far, in addition to immigrant sweeps and immigration freezes, they have taken away the protection of clean water and the protection of wildlife, introduced a bill to end the all-important Environmental Protection Agency, and introduced a bill to cut nutritional funding for food for poor children in schools, whittle away at public school funding, and open the door for federal funding of charter schools—a move which my state, Texas, heartily supports.

When I said this at supper, Betty, who had initially expressed dismay, said she didn’t know all that. She, her husband, and some friends concluded the other night that all they could do is pray. And at that, I let her have it, both barrels (it’s okay—we’re still friends). But I lectured about the importance of making your voice heard, the negative example of Germany in the 1930s, the news that can be found, selectively on Facebook, the importance of writing your Congressman. She nodded, but I’m not at all sure she’ll do it. I’m afraid the country is too full of people like that—they are distressed, but they do nothing about it.

Come on, people, be activists. Make your voice heard. There are a thousand opportunities around you.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

The Good, the Bad, but no Ugly



The Good: I went to see my family doctor this morning. He said I was making better progress than he expected and than many patients with less complicated surgeries. He raved (well, as much as doctors rave) about how good I look. When I stood on the scale—yes, I stood without holding on—his nurse said, “I haven’t seen you do that in months and months.” All in all I enjoyed a great reception. And found in spite of my ravenous appetite I’ve lost another two lbs.—although we don’t know how accurate the first weighing was. I told Jordan I wanted to stop for doughnuts on the way home.

The Bad: When we came home, as is custom, Jordan went to let Sophie out so she wouldn’t try to escape as we maneuvered the wheelchair in. She came back saying, “Wait until you see your house. She’s trashed it.” Sophie has never been like those dogs you see on Facebook who strew garbage from one end of the house, tear up furniture, etc., so I couldn’t imagine.

She had tracked mud all over the house—wood floors, carpet, her sleeping chair. And I was expecting friends for lunch. Jordan did a hurry-up vacuum job and then used a damp towel to get up the worst of the mud. The carpet is beyond hope, and I put Renuzit on the grocery list. Anyone have any better suggestions?

Soph was a pain all along this morning. I left her out for an hour to get some fresh air before we shooed her inside. She spent the entire hour chasing squirrels and barking, that high excited yip of a smallish dog. It wasn’t her fault, mind you—the squirrels were taunting her. What’s a girl to do? I just didn’t realize how muddy it was—my view is all of grass.

More good: I wrote 800 words of fiction today—my first foray into a new project, a novella. It isn’t perfect, but it’s a start, and I can begin to feel the juices flowing. And, yes, Elaine, Keisha and Kelly are there. Fun. More tomorrow.

All in all, the day balances out on the good side, really good. How about your day?

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Insights in church…and politics at high tea




Tulips, the gift of a friend, bring
spring into the cottage
Started the day by going to church. It’s been months—at least last May—but since I am feeling so well and pain-free, I was more than ready to go back. Have been getting out to eat with friends, and if I can do that, I can go to church. Today was special—a reception for Cyndy Twedell, who's been a minister at the church for 30 years. The brief ceremony was the kind that inevitably brings tears to my eyes, good tears. Cyndy epitomizes as a minister and as an individual Christian love and caring—reaching out to underserved communities, active in our shelter for the homeless, going on mission trips, leading the prayer shawl group, more than I recount but always extending God’s love to others.

During the church service, I had one of those thoughts that surprise you and then seem so obvious: I read on Facebook and elsewhere wry comments that the sitting president has indeed made America great again, he has united the country but not in the way he intended. These remarks stem from the fact that undeniably many more people are politically active and involved than usual. But it dawned on me that this presidency and this Congress have also awakened the faith of many of us. Today in church I had a strong sense of my faith, its importance in my life and its role in guiding how I treat others. My goal is compassion and love for all—all peoples and animal life as well. I am appalled by stories of immigration sweeps that arrest anyone Latino, regardless of their immigration or law-abiding status. I am horrified by stories of people trying to enter or even return to this country who are turned away. For some reason, one story sticks in my craw: legislation to rescind the ban on hunting wolf pups, shooting bears in their dens, and using steel-jawed toe clip traps on bears. The traps cause unbelievable agony, and I cannot believe humans would resort to that when there are humane ways to re-locate bears if necessary. In short, I am appalled by the governmental lack of compassion and caring, by the selfish greed of voting immunity from prosecution for themselves while prosecuting others wildly.

Change to a light note: we had high tea tonight.
Jordan fixed it for a few friends some of whom contributed. I even made chicken salad at nine this morning, before church. She served a beautiful spread. This is my kind of food but I was afraid others would find it slim pickings for supper. I thought Christian for instance would be prowling for snacks by eight o’clock, but not so. We were all over-filled with good food.


A nice surprise, political at that: my neighbor, directly behind me, is president of our neighborhood association and has just announced for the school board. Jason Brown is the kind of guy who really cares about our neighborhood, our kids and schools, and our city. Jacob played with his son until after dark, so Jason walked him around the block to home. We invited him in, asked about his campaign—his campaign consultant told him to practice his spiel on friends and neighbors, so quite quickly, at our request, he was explaining his position on several issues. Fascinating. To my relief, he said Betsy DeVos will have little effect on us at this level.

If he’s on your ballot, please vote for Jason Brown for the Fort Worth ISD School Board.

Interesting day, and I’m tired. Sleep tight, y’all.

Friday, February 17, 2017

Food—or gluttony? And a political p.s.



I am starving all the time lately. Don’t know if my body is anxious to regain the 20 lbs. I lost on my hip journey or what, but I am hungry. Last night I cooked—something that has not been easy for me from the rolling wheelchair (which is not supposed to move while you’re seated, but I cheat a bit) and standard height counters.

Elizabeth, who used to live in the garage apartment, was coming to visit or so I thought. She loved salmon cakes, and I’ve been wanting them for a while, so I decided to do that—except no salmon. Okay, tuna cakes (don’t judge). I need to re-sharpen my cooking skills—the cakes fell apart in the skillet. Granted I did have the tools I need—like a thin metal spatula to turn them. In fact, I don’t have half my kitchen things I really need—butterfly wine opener, rolling pin (Jordan bought one today). I think when the kids cleaned the kitchen they threw out a lot, and their understanding of cooking equipment doesn’t mesh with mine. Mostly when I ask about this or that, I get a shrug.

Back to the tuna cakes—with lots of lemon, one was good. And I have two small ones left for lunch tomorrow. They make terrific sandwiches with mayo. To accompany them last night I cobbled a salad of shredded lettuce and cut canned asparagus--put dairy-free blue cheese dressing on it. Mary Dulle brought the dressing from California, and it’s the best I’ve tasted—saved that humdrum salad.

Today I had lunch with Subie and Carol at Swiss Pastry Shop and ordered a hamburger—they serve Waygu beef and will cook the burger medium rare/rare which is how I love it. Pickles, tomato, lettuce—wonderful but huge. Normally I’d have Black Forest Cake—swoon!—but I’m avoiding dairy again these days. To compensate I brought home a chocolate/raspberry pound cake. Ate the other half of the hamburger tonight for supper. I will serve the pound cake to Elizabeth when she comes in the morning—we had our wires crossed about when we’d visit while she’s in town.

My political thought for the day: I posted elsewhere that my faith underlies all my life, especially these days my politics. I hold firmly to Jesus’ words, “And of these the greatest is love.” Accordingly, I am outraged by many things that strikes me as immoral, and this morning, in an idle moment, I listed some in no special order. Bear in mind though that these things have all started the less than a month that Trumpf has been in office:

Gag order on the EPA and its looming dissolution, plus confirmation today of man who sued the agency several times to lead it—putting a thief in charge of your valuables

Denial of climate change

Threats to our national park system

Denial of transgender rights

Travel ban on foreigners from certain countries

Wholesale deportations and sweeps, blockades, etc. in major cities

Failure to investigate Trmpf’s ties to Russia, Russian influence on our elections or Trumpf’s tax returns

Today Congress apparently voted to okay the shooting of hibernating bear families.

I must add that the Republican Congress bears responsibility for instigating some of these or for failure to stop them.

What a world!