Judy's Stew

Working through it

2012-01-28T18:59:00.000-08:00

I'm still trying to process the death of my ex, Joel. That's him above, I think after a marathon. Although in a wheelchair for a decade or more, he was once a dedicated runner. I've gotten an outpouring of love and understanding today from friends old and new. They all seem to understand that it's not nearly as simple as saying, "Oh, well, I haven't been married to him for thirty years, so it doesn't matter to me." It does matter, probably made more of an impact on me than on our children. I've heard so much today about good Joel/bad Joel that my head is spinning. For years, I've wondered how to explain to people why I married him, but a friend summed it up so well today when she wrote, "In the old days he had a charisma that was charming and an enthusiasm for life that was infectious." There you have it--that's why I married him, and that's the man I grieve for. I remember too a few years ago when a friend from early on and I stood on my front porch talking about Joel. With us was her son, named Joel, then about thirty. Finally he exploded, "Wait a minute! If he's such a bad guy, why am I named after him?" His mother looked at him and said simply, "Because we all loved him back then." Funny and complicated stuff.
It looks like the service will be this weekend in Santa Rosa on their farm--Joel told me it is the former Jack London homestead. Not sure about that, but it makes a good story. My four children will go together, along I think, with Joel's brother, the Uncle Mark to whom they are all close. They will not take spouses or children. But there goes our rodeo/stock show weekend, which I had been looking forward to. A petty thought at this point.
Meantime life goes on. I was slow getting going this morning--slept late and overwhelmed by emails--but finally did the cleaners, post office, Williams Sonoma (fruitless trip), Origins (expensive trip) and Central Market. Came home and finished laundry, cryovaced the meat I bought (my doctor told me to eat more read meat while a friend told me her doctor said not to eat red meat--go figure!), and fixed some curry/chutney/chicken salad for my supper. It ws okay but probably not a recipe I'll keep or repeat.
I am reading galleys on my second Kelly O'Connell mystery, No Neighborhood for Old Women, but because of distractions I'm moving slowly. The editor would like to have them back early in the week but that's looking less and less likely. I'm plugging away though.
Can't say enough about my wonderful children--the solidarity they've shown through this, the support for me (they seem less emotional than I am), their willingness to pay their respects to a father who was distant from them. Regardless of all else, I have a wonderful family and am so blessed.
And say what I might about Joel--he brought a lot of pain and grief into my life but earlier he brought great joy and love and laughter. That's what I choose to remember.

Numb and puzzling grief

2012-01-27T19:14:00.000-08:00

This is hard to write, because I'm not sure how I feel. Joel, my ex-husband, died unexpectedly today. He'd been in a wheelchair for years and was not in good health, but there had been no decline lately. My chldren would have told me. For years I've known that I'd outlive him and wondered how I'd feel when he died. We've been divorced thirty years, and the last two years we were together he was pretty cruel to me in emotional terms. But I find all that vanished from my mind. I have cried, not wrenching huge sobs but tears that keep creeping down my cheeks. I am grieving for all that he missed in life--our children, our grandchildren, and the wonderful family life we have--and for a man that I once loved a lot and had a wonderful time with. Now grown, my chldren have not been close to their father, though they have great childhood memories of him. He was a terrific father to young children and brought a lot of fun into their lives. So the ones I've talked to are like me--sad but puzzled about how to feel. They will go to whatever kind of service is held in California, but they have agreed to go as a foursome, without families.
Joel and I have not been close for many years, not one of those divorces where you keep in touch. When Jordan married, the minister asked delicately how mom and dad get along, and Jordan said, "They're cordial." That's about it. We saw each other at weddings. When our oldest married in 2000, the whole wedding party was on a catamarand cruise off Grand Cayman, and somehow Joel and I sat by ourselves and talked for an hour, talking about the past and people we knew. I said I was often tempted to email him with news of those people, especially deaths, and he said he wished I would. But it never happened. The last time I saw him or had any contact was 2004 when our youngest married and he raised a nice toast to me for the way I'd raised our children (it made me feel a bit like the nanny). Yes, it was cordial, but there was nothing to bind us together anymore. He had chosen a lifestyle that was foreign to me, and my career has blossomed in directions it never took while we were married. For him, there was a second wife and another child, a girl of whom I've always been fond; for me, one man that mattered and some that didn't, and now a wonderful personal and professional life. I can't and won't play the grieving widow. And yet I'm puzzled.
I have this strong feeling that there should be a Fort Worth obituary--even today people ask me how Joel is, and I always say that my kids haven't told me there was any change. And there are people I feel should know. I have notified some personal friends, but the rest is up to Joel's wife and, perhaps my children. I have to remember my place (or non-place) in this.
And yet I grieve and shed tears.

Memoir class

2012-01-26T19:51:00.000-08:00

My memoir class met tonight for the first meeting of the spring session. We had four returning members and four new ones, a most interesting mix. Each returnee introduced herself and told a bit about why she keeps coming back, what she's learned, how she's been encouraged by the group. Some of the things surprised me, in a good way, and it was rewarding to hear that they feel they've grown and become more comfortable with their writing. One member writes so well there's no critiquing her except to say what we like about it. Tonight she had us in hysterics with a tale about a newlywed housewife and her mundane existence--must win three hands of solitaire before she begins housecleaning, etc. Two others said that through the class they can see a pattern to their writing now, the outline of the project--both are writing for their families and not publication, but the fourth returnee is writing for publication now and has placed a short story. The new members talked about their insecurity about writing, and I remembered that most of the class began that way and now they're happy to dispense advice and encouragement to others. What a great experience this has been. I'm enjoying it a lot.
Today started out damp and dreary but by the time I emerged from the eye doctor's office, eyes fully dilated, it was bright and sunny. Instead of going to the retirees luncheon, I opted to close my dilated eyes for a long nap! I have had it with doctor appointments--an echocardiogram Monday, skin tumor removal Wednesday, eye doctor today. Each appoointment turned out fine, but it's a wearing way to spend the week. Tomorrow I have to get up really early to take a friend for a colonoscopy,but that's a different thing. I'll treat it like a vacation and read a lot.
Sunny afternoon lightens anyone's disposition. Jacob and I "made up"--he showered me with love, and I gave him the option of doing homework here or at home. He chose home because I'm "sometimes so bossy about it." I think we're still figuring this thing out, but we will. This afternoon he had sparkling cider and declared we were having a party. I sked if he wanted to go into the office and watch TV there and he said no, he wanted to stay at the table and talk. So we talked. Such fun.
Life is good. May it be so for all of you.

Kindergarten homework

2012-01-25T18:34:00.000-08:00

Jacob and I have had a rough two days, mostly clashing over homework. He uses any excuse to put it off and I end up feeling like a bully for ordering him to do it after his snack. Today I decided I would try extra hard to make it a more pleasant day than yesterday, so even before we left the school I said I thought a cold rainy day called for hot cocoa. He agreed and ended up dumping semi-sweet minimorsels into it. Then he had a Twinkie (long story why I bought them and won't again) and went off to visit the dogs, who were in their beds because of the rain. I distinctly told him not to let the puppy out of her crate. Next thing I knew Sophie came bounding into my office. His explanation? He wanted to try his sunglasses on her. That did NOT get us off to a good start.
But we turned to the homework. Jacob's approach is to guess. One problem had five chickens. If you take two away how many are left? He looked at me brightly and suggested "Five?" Now this is not a slow child--he figures things out way beyond his years when he wants to. He just plain doesn't want to do his homework. We struggled through that math work, counting on fingers and counting animals on the page. Once he gets the hang of it, he whips through it in no time and generally is pretty proud of himself. That didn't happen today--I almost felt he was playing with me, and my string grew shorter and shorter.
Next we moved on to the new batch of reading words he'd brought home. The guessing was much worse. He'd look at "this" and I'd sound out "th" and "iss" and he'd say happily, "Green!" Then he wanted to love the dog; next he was distracted by the pictures on my computer screen. I got read of all distractions. We finally muddled through, and as he finally got each word I made him study it. Told his mom they should go over the words with him again tonight. Bet he doesn't remember them.
We parted friends. I got three kisses, a huge hug, and an agreement that tomorrow will be better. But Mom was quite strict about listening to Juju's dog instructions or losing his dog privileges.
I hate the way this whole business makes me feel, like it's ruining all the fun we usually have together. And I hate it when he says, "You're so mean. All you care about is homework." I tell him "No, all I care about is you."
I honestly don't think my kids had homework in kindergarten, and I'm too old for this!
Rant over.

Lessons in Humility on a rainy day

2012-01-24T15:47:00.000-08:00

Yesterday as I went down the drive to cross the street and pick up Jacob at school, there was a car parked diretly across my driveway. My one peeve about living across from a school, and it's a big one, is that parents are rude. So as I skirted the car and headed across the street, I was in high dudgeon. My friend Booker, the crossing guard, must have guessed my mood because he came over to me and just as I was saying, "Now that's rude in the extreme," he said, "She's handicapped. I told her you don't go anywhere this time of day." Not the first time he's made me see things in a different perspective.
And another lesson: last week when friends were here, Jordan came by and we were talking about an acquaintance whose behavior we didn't exactly like. Jordan said, "She's ... wait I have to think how to say this." Five-year-old Jacob piped up, "Yeah, because there's a child in the room." It made me realize we were being petty to talk about anybody in terms we couldn't say in front of him. Was it Mother Teresa who said if you judge others you don't have time to love them?
Seems to me I get a lot of similar lessons in humility but I'm a slow learner. I look at others who are dealing with illness or unhappiness or aging parents or other family problems, and I'm grateful for my healthy, happy family, my satisfying life as a writer, my house, animals and garden. But I still need to learn to translate that deliberate thanksfulness to automatic response to other people. Hard to do. Don't get me started on some politicians--I may draw the line there:-)
Lunch today with Melinda at our favorite Italian place, Patrizio's. We each had a half grilled chicken salad--their salads are huge and half is just right. As we always do we laughed and hooted and had fun. It was a sunny, pleasant day. By three, when I got Jacob it was gray, and we felt the first few drops. Tonight it's outright raining, and I'm going to forego my weekly Tuesday night meatloaf fix. Maybe I'll sneak down to the Grill Thursday night and get take-out before my class. This is a good night to stay home, warm and dry.

Kids, cooking, and writing--the stuff of Judy's Stew

2012-01-23T19:21:00.000-08:00

The mail brought a delightful surprise today--Lisa had a 2012 calendar made on Snapfsih--all adorable pictures of their adorable children, Morgan and Kegan. When I wrote to thank her she pointed out that she had annotated it for all the birthdays in the family, anniversaries, and major holidays. I'm always looking for ways to keep track of birthdays, so this will be perfect. And besides I can look at those bright faces.
The same mail brought another bonus--the new issues of Southern Living and Bon Appetit. Two in one day! Work went out the window while I browsed--reading recipes in magazines is absolutely high on my list of favorite things.
Southern Living has, for instance, a whole spread on pimiento cheese. I have only learned to like it in the last few years, but now I love it. I have made good pimiento cheese at home but I also have a favorite "store-bought" brand--Palmetto cheese (not the kind with jalapenos added, thank you). It has cream cheese and just enough red pepper bite. Jordan has turned up her nose a pimiento cheese for years, I suppose because she wasn't raised on it (nor was I as a northerner). But she eats a lot of this if I put it out for an appetizer. That brand was mentioned in the article, along with several others. And there are directions for several varieties--and a pimiento cheese/bacon sandwich. Be still my heart. And how about chutney chicken salad? Yummm.
Bon Appetit this month is devoted to southern cooking--even directions for caring for that cast-iron skillet you can't live without. The last time I followed directions for re-seasoning my skillet, I thought I'd ruined it. But scrubbing stubborn bits with Kosher salt makes sense to me. And skillet-fried chicken sounds heavenly. I've never been successful at frying chicken but this may make me try again.
And writing? Tonight I talked to the mystery class in the community classes program at TCU. My friend Shari Barnes coordinates it and I'm sure it's her leadership that makes it such a lively, funny group. The session was filled with laughter--and some penetrating questions that I had to think about. General concensus: they liked Kelly a lot, so there to to book reviewer who thought she was a cold snob.
What a nice day! Now back to work, but I'm not through with those magazines. That was just the first go-throiugh.

Lovely day, crazy weather, and chocolate

2012-01-21T18:59:00.000-08:00

Yesterday it was shirt-sleeve weather--in the seventies; today it was in the low fifties with a cold wind in spite of sunny skies; tomorrow it will be in the seventies. Welcome to North Texas. Still it was a lovely, lazy day--grocery store, household chores--including changing linen on the guest bed. I hate to make beds so I do it by stages--put pillow cases on, several hours later, put sheets on. Still have to put the comforter, pillows, and decorative blanket in place.
No news to anyone but dieting sometimes makes you very hungry. I fixed myself a lovely lunch of one deviled egg, hearts of palm, and brown rice and flax crackers with hummus--healthy, no? But I went back and had a banana, and then, because I was writing a guest blog about chocolate, I had some chocolate--third piece I've had since New Years. Tonight I had two small new potatoes, a bit of spinach and a half hamburger--still hungry. Had blueberries. And I'm still hungry! Discovery: when you cook hamburgers in salt, as I do (my mom taught me that) blue cheese makes them too salty.
But I had fun this afternoon researching a blog on chocolate and writers--actually didn't come up with as much as I expected, but chocolate, for all its possible negative effects--obesity, migraine, etc.--is a "feel good" substance. Debate rages: does it make us feel good because of it's so rich, sensual, creamy, gratifying, dense, and silky smooth--or because it has flavonoids and caffeine and actually gives us a chemical boost? Now to apply that to writing--in 500 words.

Yoga--and me

2012-01-20T17:23:00.000-08:00

Ten or more years ago a friend and I took a yoga class at TCU. Maybe 10-15 people in a big, bare room with one mirrored wall. I think it was the mirrors that did me in--even ten years ago I saw that when I leaned over, some things--like my face--didn't stay in place but sagged. Demoralizing. And I didn't particularly like anything about the class, could never stand the relaxation at the end. So I quit, and when all about me were raving about yoga, I resisted. It wasn't for me. I walked for exercise.
Several things happened to change that: both my daughter-in-law Melanie and my good friend Elizabeth began to study yoga and today they are both certified instructors. And I realized that I was no longer sure-footed and didn't have the self-confidence for my daily walk that I once had. It took a while but one day I announced to Elizabeth that I was ready for lessons. She, bless her, didn't gloat, just set up a businesslike arrangement for lessons at my home. I had to convince her I didn't want candles or mood music with the lesson, but gradually I mastered some poses and semi-learned the relaxation/meditaton at the end--the first time I tried that, Elizabeth said indignantly, "You're reading the titles in the bookcase, aren't you?" Relaxation has never been easy for me, but I got to where I did a half-hour workout and began alternating--yoga one day, indoor recumbent bike the next.
I was pretty faithful until I got Sophie last July, then a twelve-week old energetic Bordoodle (half Border Collie, half poodle) pup. Taking care of her wore me out and gave me plenty of exercise. I quit doing anything else. And once you quit, it's hard to return. I did some yoga sporadically but my muscles soon lost the pattern and my conscience kept nagging at me.
Like many people I made some 2012 resolutions, a return to yoga among them. I find I approach it far differently now--for one thing, since retiring two years ago, I am a much more relaxed person and the relaxation part is easier for me--it always turns into prayer (eyes closed, no reading titles) but I do a survey of my muscles, relaxing them body part by body part, and I try to clear my mind of anxiety, negative thoughts and the like. I am also much more focused on my breathing, so that I approach yoga poses with more concentration than I did before I see all this as part of real growth--physical improvement yes, but emotional or spiritual growth.
And my two role models? They're both so busy teaching--and Melanie has an unrelated day job--that they complain they don't have time for their workouts!
My resolutions also included watching my weight go down, not up. I have a friend who says he lost 17 lbs. by portion control and omitting bread. That's what I'm trying, and I've lost two lbs. I figure slow and steady does it.

A publishing summit--sort of

2012-01-19T18:06:00.000-08:00

No Judy's Stew last night because I could not get Gayla Christiansen and Fran Vick to stop chatting; if I left the room, they'd chat about me, so I was stuck. Gayla is director of marketing for Texas A&M Press; Fran is the retired director of the University of North Texas Press, and I am, of course, retired as director of TCU Press. We call ourselves the Front Porch Wine Drinking, World Problem Solving Three Ladies of Publishing. Our sleepovers are hard to schedule and therefore don't happen as often as we'd like, but the ladies do like to come here and let me cook for them. Each has her own bed--Jacob gave permission to Gayla to sleep in his bed, but she'd been sleeping in it long before he ever did. Kathie Lang Allen (retired senior editor from SMU Press) and Carol Roark (retired curator of the Texas Collection at the Dallas Public Library) joined us for dinner and talk ranged from personal to professional and back again, with lots of laughter. I have beene threatened with bodily harm if I share the sources of the laughter but as Gayla said this morning, the comfort level was high. It is good to have old, comfortable friends--and I mean that in the best way. And there are some ex-husbands and husbands whose ears should be burning this morning.
Gayla and I share dog history--I "interviewed" her first dog, Eppi, for her and she loved that dog beyond measure. Eppi died this fall, and Gayla has Jake, sort of a border collie mix. I have been actively watching for a second dog for her--Jake is lonely without Eppi. But both ladies needed to meet Sophie. Late in the evening Gayla sat on the floor and I brought Sophie in, having warned Gayla that once you're on the floor you're a toy and all rules are off. Sophie jumped and licked but soon lay quietly (all adjectives are relative) in Gayla's lap with an occasional venture to let Fran pet her. So nice to know she can do that. I wish I'd gotten pictures--I tried but neither the dog nor the woman were still long enough.
I often surprise the ladies with a gourmet meal, usualy something I've never cooked before. Last night, it was a beet/orange/avocado salad with vinaigrette and a pot of chili. We've decided it must be the "Chili that is not chili." It contained along with all the tomatoes and hamburger orange juice, cinnamon, and cocoa powder in it in addition to coriander and chili powder--no onions. Garlic yes but not discernible. But yes, beans (black). (I can hear chiliheads exclaiming in horror.) I thought there was too much tomato puree and added a can of beer to thin it. And I'd doubled the recipe. You can imagine the result: I have half a pot of chili left over. Sent two ladle-fulls (ladlesfull?) home with each of them, plan to give some to my neighbor, and will serve some to Jordan and Christian and myself tonight.
Dessert? What else after the week's headlines? I served a basket of Twinkies. Not as good as I remember from childhood. I'll see how Jacob likes them this afternoon.
At 11:30 I finally announced I was going to bed (ever the good hostess) and they followed with suitable warnings about alarm systems, coffee pot, front door locks and the newspaper. They probably took half an hour to settle down; at 4:30 Fran's light was on and she was reading in bed. When I got up at 7:00 they were drinking coffee, fully dressed, in the family room. We greeted Jacob on his way to school, which they thought was great fun, and went down the street to the Neighborhood Grill for breakfast about nine. Stayed there an hour, more talking and laughing.
I saw them off with mixed feelings--so much fun, such good friends--but so much to do on my desk. Such breaks are a wonderful change in routine, and I'm lucky to have them happen so often in my life. It isn't always Gayla and Fran, but there's always something around the next corner to look forward to.

A boy and a dog and thoughts on book clubs

2012-01-17T21:11:00.000-08:00

I'm particularly proud of this picture because seven months ago Jacob was scared of Scooby--who is the sweetest dog in the world. But Sophie came into our lives, jumping and nipping with puppy teeth, and Jacob somehow decided Scooby was safer. Now he lies down on the floor with either of them. Sophie climbs all over him, licking, and he just giggles. I was afraid of dogs when I was very young--my parents mistakenly told me a Scottie snapped at me when I was an infant. But then my brother brought home a sweet but wild collie mix named Timmy (female). I loved that dog and have loved so many dogs since--and grieved over more than I care to count. I can't imagine living without a dog. My other grandchildren are comfortable with dogs, ranging from strong affection to mild interest, and I wanted Jacob to be a dog person.
My Sophie experiment was selfish, granted--I wanted one of the "doodle" breeds, but I also wanted Jacob to have a puppy, at least part time, and I wanted a companion for Scooby. Sophie (my private name for her is Wild One) has done her job admirably--Jacob is at ease with all the dogs in the family and Scooby is much livelier.
Tonight I was a guest author at a neighborhood book club. Berkeley, I've discovered, has at least two book clubs plus a number of residents belong to a third one. I"ve spoken to the other two about Skeleton in a Dead Space, but I suspect tonight's was the longest-running group, together since 1982--thirty years. Remarkable. One woman had kept a record of every book they've read--but now she can't find it! I knew everyone but one member, and the evening was lots of fun. Most women who care enough to join a book club are bright, interested, and conversational, though talk often wanders from the book under discussion. Tonight I gave them some insights into writing though not what they expected--I am not a disciplined writer who locks herself in the office for at least four hours every day. Even in retirement, there's too much going on. I write when I can, and I admit circumstances make a huge difference: when I have no interest from a publisher, I'm likely to procrastinate; when I have deadlines, I'm much more dedicated. Right now I'm editing, with a fairly distant deadline, so it doesn't seem urgent; when I start a new manuscript I work more consistently at my writing.
I'm also realizing the term cozy mystery is not in general use, nor are plotter and pantser, so it's always fun to explain those terms. And the idea of self-publishing, an agent hunt, searching for a publisher--all the things part of my daily life--are foreign to these devoted readers. I kind of described stages of my career, from the '80s and '90s when I had an agent to the long dry period and then today, when I am happily settled with a publisher who is interested in building my career and in future books in the Kelly O'Connell series. I'm lucky to have found this publishing home--after writing for thirty-five years. Hope I can write untl I'm ninety or more!
They cut the water off on my street for water repair at three today. I got two warnings that it would be off until midnight, so I stocked up on water, used almost none of it. And lo and behold, it was on when I got home at 9:30. Guess I'll water plants tomorrow with all that stored-up water.
A busy but good day. Tomorrow, house guests.

High times in Frisco

2012-01-15T18:29:00.000-08:00

Last night all of the Alters plus many friends gathered at the Londoner in Frisco to suprirse Jamie with a celebration of his fortieth birthday. Jame is rarely blindsided--but he was this time. As he topped the steps to the second-floor private room where we waited, his eyes widened and he pulled back in surprise, effectively taking a part of the stair railing with him. My blog of Wednesday about how I wished we could celebrate was a red herring--devised by Colin and Melanie--to throw Jamie off the track. I dont think he even got that part but he was surprised. Not only his family, but his cousin, some high school friends, neighbors, employees and people I have no idea about.
We dined on chicken and beef satay and shepherd's pie--his absolute favorite.

Jamie is a triathlete, and Mel got the absolutely perfect cake for him. Top layer red velvet, middle layer white cake, and bottom chocolate, all covered with rich butter cream frosting. (Blew my diet, especially the chocolate piece I had at breakfast!) We had a hard time keeping little fingers from reaching out to swipe at the frosting, but finally Jamie blew out all 40 candles in one breath--no small trick because they were scattered on the various layers of the cake.
At eight or so in the evening, the older girls--Maddie, 12, and Eden, 8--along with Maddie's best friend went home with all the smaller children. I was invited to go but wasn't ready to leave the party. By the time we finally went home, after ten-thirty, I was really ready.

The birthday boy with his brother Colin on the left (who told funny stories about Jamie) and his brother-in-law Christian on the right.
Of course, the Alters had to rehash the evening, and all the young children were still up and going. I finally snuck off to bed at 12:30 but didn't sleep well--too far past my bedtime and too much wine and food.
Hats off to Mel who put the whole party together--we got there early to be "on duty," but she had clearly been there with candles, flowers, tablecloths, a cake server--she thought of everything. And after a late night, she was up early this morning and off to the grocery to put together breakfast for seventeen. A true gift of love to my son--from a multi-talented young woman whom I love a lot.
This morning after breakfast everyone wanted to do something "fun." Do you have any idea how long it takes to organize seventeen people? We finally left the house about 11:45 and of course had to go eat again. Then we went to Main Event--the kind of place my children and grandchildren love and I deplore (Mel is on my side, as she always is when everyone wants to go skiing). Video games, bowling alleys, pool tables, loud, loud, loud. I found the bar, which was relatively quiet, and had a glass of wine, read emals and Facebook. Jamie was astounded that I didn't want to play games. We were probably there not much over an hour but it seemed forever. We headed home but when we were almost back to Fort Worth, Megan and her family were still back in Frisco--and they had to drive to Austin. Colin left when we did for the long drive to Houston.
It's always an amazing delight to me to be with all my family. I am so blessed. But it's also always so good to be back home, sort myself out, unpack and get into my comfortable world. And this time I have the joy of knowing they'll all be back in three weeks for the Southwestern Live Stock Show and Rodeo.
I think my dogs were glad to see me.

The Further Adventures of Sophie

2012-01-14T10:04:00.000-08:00

This morning I was sitting at my desk when I heard purposeful strides on the front porch and a determined knocking at the door. I opened it to find neighbor Jay with his dog and Sophie prancing around them having the time of her life. Jay had to bring Pearl inside to get Sophie in. I slammed the door, grabbbed Sophie by her coat and then got her collar, and thanked them as they slipped out the door. Sophie seemed delighted with herself and her grand adventure. She's lucky Pearl is more friendly on a leash than she is through a locked gate or a screen door. Turns out someone had forgotten the special latch on the dog yard, both dogs got into the driveway, and Sophie merrily slipped under the electric gate. I fixed it and returned them to their yard. If I'd found her gone, I would have panicked--and called Jay!
Sophie is so smart--and sometimes so easily duped. She is definitely an independent wild one. When I call her to come, she looks at me. We have a stare-down, and she looks like she's considering. But if I either start toward her or turn away, she bounds over to me. She has endless energy for jumping at Scooby andd running circles in the yard, and yet when I leave her alone in the office, she generally lies still and watches for me to return (okay, there have been a few destructive incidents, like the time she chewed a bunch of old family pictures or the time she got on my desk, all four feet, and scratched great lines in a picture of Morgan so that the poor child now looks like she's sprouting whiskers!). When she's in her crate, Sophie never makes a sound, though I can hear her move around in the early morning. Never whines or barks. And if I love on her, she'll sit at my feet all day. She is truly one bundle of love and mischief all wrapped up together.
Today is day 7 of watching my diet more carefully. I have not rejoined Weightwatchers, but I am trying to apply the general principles of one protein and lots of fruit and veggies. For lunch I had tuna salad made mostly with vinaigrette and a touch of mayo (lowfat) and mustard. Pretty good. Along with cherry tomatoes and a deviled egg--that may have stretched the point. But in the last week, I've had chocolate once--anchovies got to me last night and I had to balance the taste--and I've done yoga six days in a row. Color me smug. No, I haven't weighed to see how this is working out.

On Becoming a Recluse

2012-01-13T18:32:00.000-08:00

I'm afraid I'm becoming a recluse. I"ve essentially stayed home the last three days with no human company except Jacob after school and his mom's breezy quick visits to pick him up. Did eat dinner with Aunt Betty last night--Jacob was a bit offended he wasn't going. We went to The Tavern on Hulen, and if you live in Fort Worth and haven't been there, I heartily recommend it. I've loved everything I've had. Last night, it was a Maytag blue cheese burger (shades of my mom, who loved Maytag) cooked just the way I like it--charred on the outside, really pink on the inside. Brought half of it home for lunch today and it was even better.
Back to the recluse business: I forced myself to go to the grocery this morning, a necessity, but sent last-minute regrets to join two friends for lunch. I was just too comfortable being home. I've spent the days checking final edits on No Neighborhood for Old Women and filling out an art sheet about the cover--I do wish I had an idea, let alone an inspiration about how the cover should look. I love the cover of Skeleton in a Dead Space and hope this one will be as wonderful.
I've also been reading Lucy Burdette's first novel in her Key West culinary series, Appetite for Murder. I really want to write a culinary mystery--have one in the works but need to work more food into it. Meantime, I enjoyed this one thoroughly--mention of conch fritters brought back the days when we visited Colin and Lisa in the Caribbean.
What I didn't do: taxes. I keep eyeing all the records I've collected over the past year with distaste.
It was particularly easy to stay home because two days this week the weather was cold and rainy. Today, it was cold but sunny and gorgeous. One friend posted on Facebook that she had the top down on her car. I wasn't quite that brave.
Being a recluse has its downside: yesterday I read a post on the neighborhood email warning of a new scam whereby a Hispanic man comes to the door to tell you he's doing work for your neighbor and would like to meet you in the backyard to discuss how it will impact your property. While you're in the back yard, his accomplice rifles the house. They target elderly women home alone in the day--hello! that's me! I immediately threw the deadbolt, put on my monitor and felt under seige, all of which Jordan thought was excessive. "You're not going to open the door anyway. Are you?" Betty told me they had hit fairly close to her house, in a neighborhood where I lived many years ago. Today the scam is all over the TV news, so I guess maybe their game may be winding down because lots of people are alert to it. I'm still on the lookout. I think I thought with the monitor I could be the local heroine, press it to call 911, and bring the law before they had a chance to escape!
Today was a good day to hibernate for another reason: no school. I didn't have to plan my afternoon and nap around picking up Jacob at three. Monday is a holiday too, so I have a four day weekend--sort of.
Tonight I have the cleanest drivers license and credit card in town--put them throiugh the washer in my jeans pocket. I'm constantly losing them because I don't like to carry a purse to the grocery--caution again, inherited from my mom, so I put them in my jeans and then forget when I get home. Once this resulted in my standing in line at the airport without my drivers license--my TCU i.d. card got me on the plane but I swear I thought they were going to keep me in El Paso! Some lessons seem hard to learn. Hmmm. I wonder if washing de-magnetized the credit card?
I will get out in the world this weekend, and next week looms busy with a day trip to Granbury, overnight house guests and a dinner party. But I sure have enjoyed these three days, good naps, reading, what retirement should be.

Happy Birthday, Jamie.

2012-01-11T17:01:00.000-08:00

James Andrew Alter turned forty today. I'm having a hard time with this. He's my second son, third child. Three now have hit the forty mark. I know all parents feel this way, but it seems only yesterday he was dragging a cat by the tail and saying, "This is muh pet." That cat remained "Muh Pet" the rest of her life and when she once scratched him, I asked, "What did you do to Muh Pet?" Reply: "I hammered her." HIs birthday has set me to thinking about incidents and sayings from all my child-rearing years, with all four children. Happy as I am with my life now, I sometimes long for those days.Yes, they were hectic and I was exhausted most of the time, but we were all five happy people.
When I said by email to Jamie today that I carry a lot of happy memories, he replied that he had a lot of his own. We'll share someday, but I know all my children have those memories. They love to play the game of "Remember the time . . .?"
In the picture above of my family, taklen at my 70th birthday, Jamie is on the far right with his hand on his daughter's shoulder. Colin is in the back on my left and Megan on my right; Jordan is kneeling in front.
We normally make a big deal of decade-changing birthdays but we were all together at Christmas and will be again in early February when everyone arrives for the rodeo and stock show. I'd love to have a gathering of the clan to celebrate Jamie this weekend, but we'll do it at stock show time. I remember one year cooking his favorite meal--prime rib--but there are so many of us now there's no way I could afford prime rib for sixteen. I bet we end up with barbecue or chicken-fried steak or, heaven forbid, tacos from Ernesto's when we do celebrate.
I remember better when my brother turned forty than I do when I did. He and his much younger wife were visiting, and I wrote "40" in shaving cream on every mirror in the house. He lost patience. I won't say how many years ago that was, for fear he'd lose patience again. But I think when I turned forty, it wasn't a happy time in my life. For Jamie, it's a happy, good time with a wonderful family, a good business, an active exercise life, and--always--a bit of trickery and fun. He can still prank call me successfully.
So tonight, I'll raise a glass of wine in toast to Jamie, and he'll raise his Diet Coke back at me from Frisco. And then I'll make a second toast to my three other wonderful children, one of whom thank goodness is still in her thirties--okay, late thirties, but we won't quibble. Oops, I'm getting sentimental here. 'Nuf said.

Life without a computer

2012-01-10T17:43:00.000-08:00

My computer went crazy about four o'clock last Friday. The cursor took on a life of it's own, darting all over the screen and ignoring my mouse efforts, both remote and on the laptop. If I did manage to coax it into position, clicking on the close sign did absolutely nothing. I called a friend's computer guru who recommended a shop that seemed halfway to Weatherford to me. Took it in Saturday--and there, oh sob! was a weekend without a computer. I literally live at my computer when I'm home and not doing household chores; I read with the email on; if I eat alone I do so in front of the computer. I start my day with emails and Facebook. OK, I'm a junkie, but this was pretty tortuous.
I made do with the iPhone and the Nook, emailing and reading Facebook on both, and spending a lot of time reading mysteries. Finished Julie Hyzy's wonderful Affairs of Steak, the newest in the White House chef series, and started Lucy Burdette's debut novel, Appetite for Murder, about an aspiring food critic--and a murder--in Key West. Hoped the computer would be back Monday but no such luck.
Monday night, the Nook and the iPhone both ran out of battery at the same time; the Nook takes 15 or 20 minutes before it can power up again, and it had the book I'm reading on it. Five minutes later the TV in my office went out. I was stranded in an electronic wilderness!
Today, I got a great review by Terry Ambrose at http://www.examiner.com/crime-fiction-in-national/skeleton-a-dead-space-would-be-realtor-s-nightmare and I could't print it, etc., a friend emailed to be sure I was not sick (nice that people notice when I'm missing) and another, by phone, said, "No wonder you were so quiet all weekend." I got an email that I have a guest blog due in two days. And I had by today compiled a little list of things to clear up once I got the computer back on.
Hurray! this afternoon Jacob and I drove in one of those cold drizzles all the way out Camp Bowie past Cherry Lane. With my back-roads routes, it was a bit of a journey and a cold one because it's one of those days when the car fogs up and you have to defrost with the a/c. Besides, Jacob complains about the heater, says it smells bad.
There's always, for me, a bit of trepidation when I first re-hook my computer, but all is in order, except of course my GoogleSearch history is gone, there's no list of recently viewed files. Oops, I have to see if all my stored email addresses are gone--so far I've just been replying.
But I'm back in the electronic world and happy about it. Tomorrow, I'm staying home and talking nice to my computer all day.

The gift of a day

2012-01-05T18:48:00.000-08:00

This morning I worked myself up to go for a long overdue eye examination. I always hate going to the opthalmologist--don't get me wrong. He's a good guy, a friend of many years. But reading those charts makes me feel like I'm failing a test, and when he tilts me back and uses those prisms to look deep into my eye I hold my breath lest he say, "Omigosh!" or something equally scary. (Actually a previous eye doctor did say, "I don't like what I'm seeing" which I thought was really poor handling of a patient, especially a nervous one, and I never went back to him.). Anyway, today I had gathered my courage and was changing clothes when the doctor's office called to say he was ill and cancelling appointments for the day. So I got a three-week reprieve for which I am only partly grateful--I'd just as soon get it over with. Actually I'd rather go to the dentist.
But there I was with the gift of a day. I worked at my desk all morning and finished final edits on No Neighborhood for Old Women which will be out in April. In the last read-through I found several small inconsistencies and things that needed explaining or clarifying. I'm sure there are more small points and lots of typos--someone pointed out the typos in Skeleton in a Dead Space to me and I replied honestly that there has never been a book published without a typo. But we all keep trying.
I piddled the rest of the day--groomed Sophie with Jacob's not-very-helpful help (she play bites), watered plants inside and out, did a good yoga workout, forced a stubborn Jacob to do his homework ("No, you're not sick--don't try that"; next minute he was grinning and trying to play a joke on me.). His attention span is still pretty short, and he wants to be outside playing. But it was a lovely day, an unexpected gift.
Betty and I had supper at The Tavern, a great restaurant that I always want to call The Ranch for some reason. We split their huge BLT salad--good, but there are other things on the menu I like better. Like their deviled eggs and their black beans.
Tonight, though I have a list of things to be done, I'm going to start Julie Hyzy's new book, Affairs of Steak, in her series about a White House chef.
Isn't it nice every once in a while to be handed a free day?

Who's Knocking on my door?

2012-01-03T18:28:00.000-08:00

Way back when I was in Girl Scouts--I think that was the connection--we used to get on the church stage and do a skit that began, "'Twas a year ago today/that my Nellie went away/She was sixteen, the village queen/The prettiest girl you ever seen." Each person took a role--Nellie, the father, the wicked lover, etc.--and we recited this in a singsong manner, accompanied by deep knee bends. It's an indelible memory of my childhood, but I never can remember the rest of the words. The story is of course going to be obvious melodrama--Nellie is lured away by a mustachioed villainous actor; a year later, she returns home bringing her infant. She has been abandoned. Everyone I asked about this looked at me blankly, indeed I think they thought I was a bit addled.
But last night I found a whole web site devoted to it. The poem or skit or whatever it is bears the title "Who's knocking on my door?" and there are countless variations in the wording. But it's more universally known than I thought. Most people remember it from the '40s and '50s. For me, it was like finding an old friend.
Now if someone could track down the Easter hymn we used to sing in children's choir: "One early Easter morning/I wakened with the birds/And all around lay silence/Too deep for earthly words." MY friend Barbara, who went to church and sang in the choir with me, remembers it but she doesn't know any more words than I do. My friend Betty, now retired after forty years as a church organist, never heard of it--and I thought she knew every possible piece of church music! Google doesn't help. Anyone know that song?

End of the holiday

2012-01-02T17:28:00.000-08:00

I spent Christmas Day with my family--eight adults and seven grandchildren. Last night I spent New Year's dinner with my Fort Worth family: Jordan, Christian and Jacob. Sue, who calls me her Fort Worth mom, came by for appetizers and a glass of wine. When Jay and Susan, my neighbors, arrived, they brought wine stoppers--the kind I had asked Jordan to look for. When I said that, Jay said, "We're better kids than she is!" And it dawned on me that this was my Fort Worth family--missing Elizabeth and Weldon, but I'm sure they'll be here soon. We had hoppin john that had quite a kick to it--and I didn't add the jalapeno or the bell pepper. Must have been the Cajun seasoning. The Burtons left soon after dinner, but Jay and Susan lingered, playing with Sophie. We agreed she's a great dog--or will be when she's eighteen months. Today, Susan brought a new Kobo brush over and showed me how to use it--Sophie looked lovely, but was soon rolling in the leaves again. Tonight I looked out and she was lying in the yard like a limp rag doll. I called and she didn't move. So, in stocking feet, I rushed out, got almost to her, and she jumped up and began to run like the Energizer Bunny.
The new year is off to a good start. When I retired I thought I would get to write all day every day, but I soon found life gets in the way. This week, it's a haircut, two lunch dates, a date with a dog trainer, and an eye doctor appt. that I dread--I always feel like I'm failing a test when I can't read some lines on the screen. But today was the gift of an extra holiday. My calendar was absolutely empty, and Jacob did not have school--in fact, he's with his folks, and I haven't even heard from them all day. So I did spend much of the day at my computer and got lots done. Almost through formatting the second Kelly O'Connell novel. But I also had a lovely, lazy nap and did my yoga, took Christmas off the dining table, and mopped the kitchen floor. Now I'm back at my desk.
Tomorrow, the world begins again after a lovely holiday. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I"ll be on the porch at 7:55 to hug Jacob and out the driveway at 8:30.

New Year's stuff

2011-12-31T17:51:00.000-08:00

Ignore the goofy look on his face--Jacob was posing. But we had a party tonight--cheddar fondue and kid wine (okay, mine was NOT sparkling cider). He came up with a toast that startled me, "Go, Jesus!" I thought, "Why not?" and toasted with him. He kept saying it was the best fondue ever--not sure how wide his comparison base is. I have promised that if he's very good he may stay up tonight to watch the Times Square Ball drop at eleven our time.
If how you spend December 31 is an omen about the coming year, I'm one happy person. I did some cooking--hoppin' john for tomorrow--but spent most of the day at my computer working on a manuscript. Mostly, it was formatting work which is monotonously addictive, sort of like Facebook--you keep thinking just one more line, one more entry. But I have a lot of work on my desk, and I like that. And tonight Jacob is with me. Makes for a pretty fine day.
Ordinarily I'm not one to make New Year's resolutions, because who keeps them? But I have three this year that seem important to me, and I intend to keep them:
1. To exercise regularly, either yoga or my exercise bike. I stopped both in July when Sophie came to our house. At first I was outside so much with her because she was too little to let out alone. But now she spends hours outside and loves it. Meantime I got out of the habit of exercising--and I gained weight. My conscience bothers me more than my body, but for the past two or three weeks I've gotten back to yoga sporadically. In August, too, Jacob started coming after school every day--and I can't do yoga when he's around. See? I have all kinds of excuses. This year, I'm planning yoga into each day's schedule as much as possible.
2. I will get control of Sophie who minds so well at some things and ignores others plus is totally a mess when excited. I need to stop telling myself she's just a puppy. She's almost eight months old and needs to live in the world. Last night when she insisted on jumping on me, I put her in her crate; half an hour later I let her back into the office, and she slept at my feet like an angel. After Sue walked her and announced, "She's used to getting her own way," I called the dog trainer I used with Scooby. He'll come next Friday.
3. This one is harder but lately I've been acutely aware of how blessed and lucky I am--with family, friends, meaningful work, a comfortable home, an income that keeps me fed and warm and allows a few luxuries if not many. But there are so many who are much less fortunate, especially in these economic times. So I resolve to do some kind of outreach, probably through my church. Working at a museum or making visitors calls for the church, which I already do, or some of the other things that interest me aren't the same--they reach those who already have. If I'm honest, I have to admit that I'm probably not suited to work with the homeless--my church has a program called Room at the Inn, whereby homeless people are fed and housed for one night a week. I don't think that's my niche. It may take a while to find it. It may be that being politically active during this election fits part of that resolve. I have been actively trying to find my political voice on Facebook.
My friend Subie ended their Christmas letter with a wish that each of us find meaningful and satisfying work--that, to me, is so important. So I wish that for each of you, along with health, happiness, and love. No, I don't wish you wealth--but I wish you security and comfort.
2012--bring it on!

Two days as a grandmother--and trying to be an author

2011-12-30T19:40:00.000-08:00

After a Christmas holiday full of grandchildren, I've had a two-day Jacob experience. His parents went out of town--which really burned him, because he thought they should have taken him with them. We didn't tell him they'd gone to the Alamo Bowl to see Baylor play--and win--because he's an avid Baylor fan. But he was here from six Wed. night until seven tonight. I was never a mom who played with her kids much--they were four of them and they kept themselves busy together. So entertaining one grandchild is a challenge--yesterday we ran errands all morning, which didn't please him except when we picked out special desserts for New Year's Eve at Central Market. Never mind that he was so sad tonight he ate his and I promised to share mine tomorrow--I don't need all those calories anyway. Last night we went to a German restaurant with his Aunt Betty--and he talked incessantly and acted up, but ate chicken strips and fries. The food at Greenwoods, by the by, was delicious. Betty and I shared schnitzel, fried potataoes and salad.
Today Jacob and I had a battle over the Baylor shirt he'd been wearing for three days--it's filthy, but he refused to take it off. So I took this ragamuffin urchin to Origins and Staples and then back home where he decided it didn't matter if he played with the dogs in a dirty shirt. His folks expected to be back about four but didn't arrive until seven--awful traffic on I-35. So we fiddled away the afternoon--I worked and napped, Jacob played and watched TV--and napped. We were both soooo glad to see the parents arrive:-)
My good friend Subie came by this afternoon--haven't seen her in a couple of years (Jacob finally put on a clean shirt for the occasion). We had a glass of wine and a good visit, albeit around a talkative five-year-old. Her visit was a bright spot in a sort of uncertain day.
In my work periods today, I'm checking edits on the second Kelly O'Connell mystery--accepting or declining insertions and deletions on the Track Changes program is always problematic--and frustrating--to me, but I'm learning some things as I go along. My editor is in Wales, and sometimes I wonder if that doesn't lead to a difference in idioms, etc. And I have always followed the Chicago Manual of Style--which she doesn't. She thinks I include too much description about houses and foods, but my feeling is the Kelly books are cozies and people want to have this sense of being immersed in Kelly's world. (Any opinions are welcome!) So I'm battling with these differences and trying to be accommodating. I have miles to go on this manuscript and then on the next one, though I'm lunching with Fred on Tuesday and will get his comments on that one. 2012 promises to be busy.

Home again, home again

2011-12-27T17:36:00.000-08:00

No matter where you go--be it to an exotic foreign land or a relative's house thirty miles away--and no matter what a wonderful time you have, it's always good to be home. I'm back from a wonderful Christmas in Austin, still savoring memories, but gradually settling into being home--unpacking, sorting mail, loving the dogs (Sophie seems ecstatic to see me, Scooby more contained about it), throwing out a dead flower arrangement. Tomorrow I have several loads of laundry to do, a thousand leaves to sweep out of the house (Sophie is a magnet for dirt and leaves), and lots of other "reclaiming" chores. But late this afternoon, I had a nap in my own bed, which was delightful.
Jordan, Jacob and I managed to make a fve-hour trip out of the three-hour drive from Austin--we stopped at the outlet mall in Round Rock, then at the Elite Cafe in Waco only the parking lot was so crowded we moved on, with the Czech Stop in mind for quick sandwiches. But as we exited another place in Waco to do a bit of shopping Jordan wanted, we passed a Collin Street Bakery restaurant, and I voted for going back there for lunch--it was not outstanding but good.
So now I'm home savoring memories--Ford and Jacob taunting me this morning with mischief in their eyes, then running screaming when I said I'd get them; Sawyer's intense concentration on building a rocket; Maddie's wonderful voice and guitar music; Eden's taattoos that she plastered on each child; Morgan sliding down the pole from the circular staircase I don't know how many times and Kegan finally following her lead. Kegan at four avoids me and some of his aunts--I think he's shy, because he'll grin but back away. They are all wonderful, and I am so blessed.
On to 2012 which will be a good year. God bless one and all.

Family, family, family

2011-12-26T15:28:00.000-08:00

My two sons have a running "thing" about who is my favorite. Colin will call me with "Hi, Ma, it's me, your favorite son" and Jamie will post on Facebook, "Mom, I know you love me a lot but we have to remember you have another son and we don't want to hurt his feelings." So I got two shirts that said, "Mom likes me best" and made them open them simultaneously. They thought I had scored, so thanks to friend Sally for finding these.
Have you ever slept on an air mattress? One with a leak? We air it up before I got to bed but it gets quite soft during the night--then it's hard to move in the bed because it seems to envelop me, and it's hard to get up. I can't get the support to stand up. I finally decided it's best to roll off, get on all fours, and stand up from there. But the corker came this afternoon when I took up a nap. I had pushed the mattress close to the bookcase and put the phone on a shelf so I could check the time. Rolled over to do that and the whole mattress came with me, standing on its side. I was trapped by the covers. After two tries I extricated myself but I had visions of having to call the children, which would have a) made them laugh, and b) convinced them I need a keeper.
The funny thing about all this is that my grown kids are on a protective kick about me. Yesterday, as I took rolls out of the lower oven, my hand brushed the rack and got a tiny burn, momentary discomfort. Meantime Megan demanded that I let go of the pan--she was sure I was falling and about to put my hand on the oven door. In truth, I only needed someone to push the rolls back onto the rimless cookies sheet. But it was "Mom, after this, let us get things out of the lower oven!" My reaction was a vehement "No! I'm capable." I've had a cold, the kind that makes you snort and snuff in the morning and leaves a lingering cough. So I've dealt with threats to take me to an ER clinic in spite of my protests that feel fine and it's just a cold.
I'm protesting that if they keep this up, they'll make me old before my time. Their argument--mostly Colin--is that I'm of an age where a fall can have serious consequences (didn't tell them I tripped on bed clothes yesterday and took a hard fall) and pneumonia can be serious, etc. Compromise: I will call my doctor's office tomorrow.
A Christmas Eve photo that I find beond sweet: They're staring at the reindeeer food they put out, waiting for reindeer to appear. Unfortunately it rained and as someone said the reindeer food turned to oatmeal. Still, the hopefulness of children is so much a part of Christmas and its joy. I've read posts that say "Okay, we're done with Christmas. Let's move on." I'm not ready to let go of the spirit. The first child left today, a whole family will be leaving in a few minutes, but we've had three glorious days together.

Christmas and grandchildren

2011-12-24T18:59:00.000-08:00

I started to write that Christmas is all about grandchildren--but of course, it's not. It's about the gift of Jesus and God's love for his people. Jordan and I agreed tonight that the thing we miss in our big family gatherings is the late night trip to church--but no one wants to keep the children up that late. And I'm afrad the magical "reason for the season" gets lost in tracking Santa Claus and begging to open just one present.
But an underlying theme to this sacred holiday is the joy of children and family traditions. All seven of my grandchildren have at most a two-minute reacquaintance period and then they're off and running. The noise level in the house is worse than ten jet planes and there are of course occasional tears, accusations, and fits. But on the whole it's happy. Their Uncle Colin made a gingerbread house for each child and each decorated his or her own today--and each won a prize in a different category. Then there were running gun battles throughout the house not only encouraged but led by two men in the forties. The children hardly stop to be loved or hugged.
This is an Alter Christmas--every other year my children go to their in-laws but on "our" years we celebrate the way I grew up and the way my children did. That means no, you don't open presents until Christmas morning--Sawyer announced we were take a vote tonight but I nullified the vote.
We've had chicken parmesan (my turn to cook), chili (Brandon's turn but Megan made it) and tonight I made my mom's everlasting rolls and turned them into sticky buns that are waiting to rise enough to be baked. I set the rest of the dough on the porch--it will be in the 30s--and will make dinner rolls tomorrow. I haven't done that in years--it's a lot of work--but my children were ecstatic that I'm doing this. And you know what? It felt good to work the dough. Jordan offered to stir and I said no, I have to do it by how it feels. Megan said she had no idea how I knew what I was doing, not measuring. I protested I measured--milk, surgar, oil, baking powder, baking soda. But then I do add flour by the feel of the dough. I so hope I can pass that on to my girls.
The nice thing about my family is that everyone cooks, so it isn't a burden on any one. I've gotten to read and work a bit at the computer and sleep late in the morning. Tomorrow we'll have a huge breakfast and then presents and then launch into fixing turkey dressing, green bean casserole (a must!), mashed potatoes and gravy, and mac and cheese. The apple pie is made, guests are bringing appetizers, and it will be a jolly day. I hope I can get them all to go beyond the funny blessings at the table to give serious thanks for the day and all it represents and for our good fortune in being together.
May God bring each of you similar blessings this season and in the coming year. And to all, a good night.

Christmas is coming, fill the cookie jar

2011-12-21T19:40:00.000-08:00

Jacob wanted to make cookies last night but I explained we were going to dinner and evening wasn't a good time. Then this morning he wanted to bake them right away so he could have cookies for breakfast. Instead I greeted him with "Put on your jacket--we're going to the hardware" at 8:15 this morning. We rushed to get floodlight bulbs before Lewis came to replace all the burned out ones--and we rushed without breakfast or coffee for me. Once he adjusted to the idea--a slight bribe was involved--Jacob was a good trooper. Then we made coal cookies--Jacob was enthusiastic about measuring and mixing and putting spoonfuls into mini muffin tins--what a great way to make cookies. But with the tin about 3/4 full he decided that was enoiugh--there was an entire second tin worth of dough left. I ended up finishing the cookies. We're working hard on not double dipping--don't lick a spoon and put it back in the dough, don't dunk the beater back in the mixture because you like licking it, etc. I'm sure baking killed whataever germs were there, but it's the principle of the matter. He's gone off to McDonald's with his mom--a real treat.
Sophie does it again--I was using one of my cane-seat chairs to keep her off the duck upholstered chair in my office--she chewed a huge hole in the cane and gnawed away part of the seat. I had a dog die from a splinter in his lung once; Sophie has chewed on everything wooden she can find and survives quite nicely. This morning Lewis said, "She hadn't calmed down at all. We need puppy Prozac." I will have to get serious about this after the holiday. My plan to have a well-trained, companionable dog overlooked Sophie's high spirits. Not sure how long I can go on with the excuse that she's just a puppy! But I've had friends offer to take her for a run, which is probably just what she needs.
Lovely evening tonight at the home of my friend and former neighbor Sue. Her parents live in Ottawa, Ontario, and we get to talking about eastern Ontario where once upon a time I had lots of relatives. Also being of the same age and political opinions, we talk about a lot of things. I am always truly glad to see them. And truly glad to catch up with Sue and her two children Alex and Hunter, who are growing way too fast for me to keep up. I took them each a lump of coal (cookie) even though they both claimed they'd been nice for the year-and on the whole, I bet they had.
Came home, ate tuna, and tried to figure the loose ends I had to tie up. Why is there always something we forget? Tomorrow, the Christmas rush begins. Can't wait!

Pre-Christmas trivia

2011-12-20T19:41:00.000-08:00

It's five days before Christmas and, according to my usual habit, I have everything done, so I'm kind of fiddling the days away on trivia--a grocery store trip that wasn't needed except that I decided to bake coal cookies for all my grandchildren. I figure not a one of them has been an angel every minute of the year so they get a lump of coal in their stockings--the directions say to shape the still-warm cookies in your hands until they resemble a lump of coal. They sound delicious, with dutch-process cocoa (none other), espresso powder, and chocolate bits.
I still have odds and ends to do--the kinds of things that you figure if you don't write them down, you'll forget. For instance, where is that wonderful fancy Christmas stocking someone made me years ago?
Tonight Jacob and I went with Betty to the Star Cafe, the Stockyards restaurant she and her husband own. Jacob has been clamoring to go to the Star and see Aunt Betty and Uncle Don. Uncle Don never did show up while we were there, but we had a good time. Highlight of the evening: Aunt Betty got Jacob a real Wrangler cowboy shirt. That became even more important because when we got out of the car, three riders on horseback moved up Exchange Avenue. Jacob ate a grilled cheese, and Aunt Betty kept refilling his sundae with more chocolate sauce and whipped cream. I told her if he's awake at midnight, I'm calling her. I also told her she was evil, and Jacob asked, "What's evil?" Betty sat back in her chair and said, "I really want to hear how you're going to answer that." Thanks for the support!
My project for tonight is to find just the right books to download for Christmas reading, which means reading first chapters to make sure I haven't read them before and am interested.
Something that puzzles me: I thought North Korean leader Kim Jong II was listed as one of the world's worst dictators. But I saw TV pictures tonight of thousands of North Koreans weeping in the streets. Was he evil and they loved him anyway? Was he a benevolent dictator--I can't believe that. Another thing that puzzles me: Texas law contains a provision saying a person who collects a pension must step down from their position, be it elected or appointed. So why do people dismiss what Rick Perry's doing with a wave of the arm and "Everyone does that!" I don't think so.
The world is full of puzzlements, and I know there were one or two more I was going to post about--but I forgot to write them down. Maybe they'll occur to me tomorrow.
Meantime, my granddaughter Maddie can tell you to the day, hour and minute how long until Christmas. If you haven't done your shopping, it may scare you.

V is for Vengeance

2011-12-19T19:04:00.000-08:00

I just finished what must be Sue Grafton's 22nd outing in her alphabet series of mysteries featuring P.I. Kinsey Milhone. This one took me a little longer to read--partly because I had a lot of other things, like Christmas, going on but also because it was slow to draw me in. But once I got into it--and once Kinsey appeared on the scene, I was hooked as usual. This is a suspense novel in the classic sense--the reader knows the good guys and the bad guys--and what they're up to. It's just a question of when their paths will converge--and Grafton is a master at building complications and suspense. Just when you think there's no relation between this character and that, a small fact makes you realign your thinking. It's finger-nail-biting, read-into-the-night stuff.
Kinsey Milhone doesn't seem to change--if she ages, it's not obvious; she still eats at Rosie's and hangs out with Henry, her spry elderly neighbor who's a great cook. But in this volume Grafton creates some characters of real depth, like Pinky, the petty thief who can't seem to reform and can't seem to win at anything he tries. He's a loser but the reader soon feels Kinsey's concern and, yes, affection, for him. Perhaps the most interesting is the mastermind criminal Dante--don't call him a gangster because he resents that. But he's efficient, almost ruthless, and runs a huge smoothly operating resale business--as in reselling shoplifted and stolen goods. He's also charming, ethical in his own way, and an entirely sympathetic villain if there is such a thing. Dante is the kind of bad guy you find yourself rooting for.
The novel opens, as most suspense novels do, with a series of apparently unrelated scenes. Grafton soon links them, so that you sense what's going on. What bothered me was that I couldn't relate the first scene to the rest of the action until late in the novel--perhaps a more astute reader would pick up on it, but when I finally read what linked it to the plot, I'd almost forgotten that opening scene. Puzzled me a bit.
But Grafton remains a master of her craft. I think she and Kinsey will make it safely through the alphabet, and I look forward to the last letters--Z is for ?????

Is blogging passe?

2011-12-17T17:24:00.000-08:00

The Liptstick Chronicles, a collective blog by several mystery writers, is closing down as of January 1. Blogging, they say, has seen its day. "The party's over." The authors behind this blog feel that other social media--Facebook,Twitter, Goodreads--have taken the place of blogging. (I am active on Facebook, barely alive on Twitter and confounded by Goodreads--can't figure out how to post). The Chronicles didn't aim to teach wannabe writers to write or writers to sell. These bloggers wanted to show the world that writers are human, with a sense of humor and everyday adventures just like the rest of us. Hats off to
NANCY MARTIN
ELAINE VIETS
SARAH STROHMEYER
HARLEY JANE KOZAK
KATHY RESCHINI SWEENEY
MARGARET MARON
JOSHILYN JACKSON
HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN
BRUNONIA BARRY
NANCY PICKARD
CORNELIA READ
BARBARA O’NEAL
HEATHER GRAHAM
AMY HATVANY
They did an admirable job, and many of us will miss them. But their "party's over" message emphasized a rumor I've been hearing. Blogging doesn't sell books, it's old-fashioned (boy, that happened quickly). Of course, now I'm wondering if I'm a luddite since I've been blogging for five years and have some 32,000+ hits--not all that many for such a long time but still respectable.
Bloggers probably have to examine the reason they blog. If it's to sell books, forget it. No one likes a hard sell. Sure I announce my books and report good things from time to time, but I don't blog to sell--except in a roundabout way. Nor do I blog to teach--what I could teach would barely fill one post. Sometimes I do reflect on writing and various aspects of it, sometimes I report on books I've enjoyed. I almost never mention books I didn't like.
But a lot of the time I report the high points of my life and the trivia. Are you really interested that my two major accomplishments of the morning were to put Draino in the bathroom sink and re-season my cast iron skillet--I think in the process I may have ruined the latter, and now I've got to do something about the slow drain the tub. Hardly high points in anyone's day.
So why blog? First of all, it's a challenge that's fun--what can I talk about tonight? I blog almost every night, except those days when my mind truly is a blank or the rare occasion when I'm so busy all day and evening I don't have the energy or time. I blog about what's happening in my life--if you're a regular reader, you must feel like you know grandson Jacob and my dining pal Betty and my neighbors. I blog about random things I read in the paper or on Facebook. The temptation to blog about politics is almost not to be withstood by this dedicated liberal but my conservative son-in-law says I'm always political. I think the point behind this kind of blogging is to make and keep friends. I had an email this morning from an old and dear friend who said she was so glad I had a blog so she could keep up with me but then she realized she doesn't have a blog and should write. Wonderful reaction.
My oldest daughter says Skeleton in a Dead Space is a highly autobiographical novel, so that's a minor reason for my blogs. If you like me as a person, perhaps you'll like my autobiographical novel--wait! most of those things never happened to me; I was a single parent, but I've never found a skeleton nor been in a physical fight. Future novels will be less autobiographical as Kelly's life takes turns mine didn't but maybe you figure if you like me, you'll continue to like Kelly. She does, after all, reflect the kind of person I am.
I'm not too busy too blog--in fact, I'm at a hiatus in my writing right now, which is a whole other story. And I'm not ready to quit blogging. I hope you're not reading to stop reading, even if only occasionally.
Cheers and Happy Holidays! I'll be a at Potluck with Judy tomorrow with some kind of holiday recipe. Haven't decided what. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that blogging is a spur-of-the-moment thing for me and not something I labor over. Perhaps you already guessed that.

Friday trivia

2011-12-16T18:18:00.000-08:00

This hasn't been a really busy week. When other people's pre-holiday schedules get frantic, my life seems to slow down. I've got Christmas done, as much as I am going to do, and I'm at a hiatus in my writing. Still have to reread the work-in-progress and make sure it hangs together, but I've incorporated Fred's suggestions and feel good about it. At this point, I have three books under contract, but there's no urgency--one is in the hands of an editor and the next two are written and only need polishing. So I'm sort of on a holiday vacation.
Went to a lovely Christmas party in the early evening--nibbled on such goodies as a brie cheesecake and endive stuffed with beets, carrots, fennel and a bit of salmon roe. Came home to nibble on more mundane fare--cottage cheese, chicken salad, and cucumber. Sleepy--but it's too early to go to sleep. Dogs are fed and outside playing.
I did a moment of reflection today on how comfortable and lucky I am, and I said a prayer for all those less fortunate--along with a resolve to do more community service. I had a pricey dinner last night with a good friend at an upscale restaurant; I shopped in an upscale grocery today and bought luxury items--fancy chocolate bars, Kobe beef, hearts of palm--and then I went to Origins, my favorite cosmetic store--no drugstore cosmetics for me! I bought "staples" but we won't talk about the price tag. I worry about money a lot as a retired person--but today I had a real epiphany about how many ways I could cut down my expenses if I felt desperate. I know there are so many people in the world--in this country--who are desperate, that I feel selfish. And resolved to do more.
Some things that struck me today:
I found a recipe for taking sliced roast beef, simmering it in French onion soup with Worcestershire, and melting provolone on it--then turning the whole thing into a sandwich. But when I went to the market, the deli person said he only had well done beef and, forgetting that it would turn well done in the soup, I said no, I wanted rare. So he sold me Kobe beef--so lovely and pink--for the price of the regular. Of course, there's no way I'm going to cook that in soup. I want a sandwich with mayo, tomato, provolone, and good sourdough bread. This is for Sundaty lunch, and I guarantee Jordan will microwave her meat--maybe we can talk her into sauteing it.
In the current issue of Southern Living, I found directions for refreshing your iron skillet so that it doesn't stick. I admit I've used mine so much for--who knows how many years?--that foods stick. The instructions say to scrub it well in hot soapy water. I thought soap was a no-no, but I'm willing to try. Then dry thoroughly and coat with melted shortening or vegetable oil. Of course I do that every time I put it away. But here's the second new step: Put the skillet upside down on a rack in the middle of the oven (place foil on a lower rack to catch drips) and bake it one hour at 375. It's on my agenda for tomorrow.
Guy Fieri of Diners, Drive-Inns and Dives--or whatever it's called--has been in the Metroplex. Of course, all the food lovers have suggestions of places he should have visited--too late! But he did go to one of my favorites--Tolbert's Texas Chili Parlor, managed by Kathleen Tolbert Ryan, daughter of the legendary chili king and entrepreneur Frank Tolbert. Their chili is wonderful and Tolbert invented what one food critic calls the first junk food--donkey tails. That would be sausage-beef franks and cheese wrapped in a tortilla and deep-fried. Dunked in chili, it's wonderful and so filling. I never know whether to order the chili or the donkey tails though to order both makes me feel gluttonous.
Enough trivia for Friday. The sun came out today,and it surely changes one's outlook on the world. It's been a good day.

Off days and gloomy weather

2011-12-15T18:52:00.000-08:00

Do you ever have an "off" day? You're not sick, but you just don't feel right. I like to think of myself as the perpetual Pollyanna--always bright, always looking on the good side, seeing the glass half full. But yesterday my system was out of whack--maybe it was the scratchy throat and stuffy nose that Jacob gave me, maybe it was my stomach which was in turmoil all day, maybe it was that I drank coffee and didn't eat anything for an hour or more in the morning. Maybe you can never figure out what causes an off day. But, oh my. am I a new person today, though it's been an uneventful day.
Highlight was supper at Sapristi's with good friend Sue Boggs--we split the tapas and I had a Caesar salad while she had roasted mushrooms--and wine. We talked so long the waitress came and added a splash of wine to our glasses, saying, "It looks like such a good conversation I think you need just a bit more." Courtesy of the house. Wonderful to have neighborhood places like that.
Rainy and cold all afternoon and tonight--the kind of day that makes you shrink into yourself. I got out in spite of it but am glad to be home. Sorting through recipes, loking for a good sandwich I haven't fixed before. Nice way to spend the evening.
Stay warm and dry, everyone.

Writerly matters

2011-12-13T17:05:00.000-08:00

A cookie for writers! Patti from Baked Ideas made this amazing edible gingerbread typewriter for benefit of City Harvest, and it is displayed at NYC's Parker Meridien Hotel. From Shelf Awareness this morning.
And did you know that today is St. Lucia's day--the patron saint of writers? Celebrate by writing an extra 500 words, with Saint Lucia guiding your fingers over the keyboard.
I've been pondering series in the mystery genre. I'm reading number twenty-something in a highly successful series, but I find it's not as compelling as the earlier books were. I don't know if that's me or if the heroine had run her course about five books back. I do know of several series that are up in the twenties now. Some that I still follow ardently--Deborah's Crombie's Duncan Kincaid/Gemma James series and Julia Spencer-Fleming's Rev. Claire Ferguson and Russ Van Alstyne series--have ten or less, but there are several others I quit reading. I now have three books written in my Kelly O'Connell mystery series--number two is due out in April and number three in August--and I'm pondering the future. Both my beta reader (I've finally learned to use that term instead of mentor) and publisher both say I'm not through with Kelly and I do have ideas for number four which means I'll have to do number five, because I have that Oriental thing against even numbers.
But I also have a first in another series, and I'd like to see if it would fly. My publisher suggests interspersing the first of the Blue Plate series with the Kelly O'Connell books, and I'm liking that idea. How about you? Do you like to read series? Write them? When is enoiugh enough?
My beta reader sent his notes on the third Kelly mystery today. He pointed out I had a man and a dog both named Gus--I was aware of it but Gus the dog was in previous books, and Gus seemed to fit the new character. But Fred said he had quite a turn when Kelly hugged Gus after a particularly traumatic scene--I meant the dog, of course. So Gus the man is now Otto. I remember once writing three books in a y/a series; in the first two, the young boy's name was Davey; in the third book, for some inexplicable reason, I called him Josh. The editor wrote to ask, "Who's Josh?"

One author's success story

2011-12-12T18:49:00.000-08:00

Today's mail brought me an advance reading copy of Roll On, a novel by Fred Afflerbach. Fred is a former independent truck drive who left the road--something not all drivers can do with grace--and graduated from college at fifty and went on to become an award-winning journalist. His novel reflects his belief that American literature has overloked an important twentieth century figure, the long-haul truck driver who is, Afflerbach says, the descendent of sailors, explorers, mountain men and cowboys. Fred's novel gives you a chance to ride shotgun with one of these fiercely independent road warriors--and this author know of what he writes when he describes one trucker's battle against a changing world. Technology, business and family areall pushing truckers off the road.
Just before I retired from TCU Press, I was working with Fred on his novel. With a reader's appraisal in hand, I had suggested rewrites which he successfully made. My successor decided not to move forward with the project, so Fred and I corresponded, and I tried to encourage him, counseling persistence in trying other publishers. Fred and his wife came by the house and had a glass of wine when they were in Fort Worth. Academy Chicago Publishers accepted the manuscript and are touting it as a unique portrait of an American individual. It will be available in ebook and trade paper later this month.
If Ubi Sunt (the trucker of the novel--the name is a long story, well explained in the book) is an American individual, Fred Afflerbach is the eitome of many of today's authors. Believing in himself and receiving encouragment, from his wife, from me and others, he persevered and his dream of being a published author is coming true. I hope he has other books in his mind or head or whatever.
Look for Roll On in your local bookstore or online and give it a try. It's very authenticity will make you glad you read it.

My almost-always annual no-tree tree trimming party

2011-12-10T20:17:00.000-08:00

Tonight was my tree trimming party, a party I've been giving in one form or another since 1965. I do it because I always thought trimming the tree should be festive and fun, and it wasn't when I was a kid. Nowdays I don't have a tree--never home at Christmas, etc., though I sometimes think I'll get a small table tree and a couple of years I've had really small trees that fit on the coffee table. I've been giving this party since 1965--sometimes a Sunday night, one year desserts only, sometimes at 8:00, tonight at 5:30 so people who had other plans could move on. I like the way that worked and may do it again.
Every fall, about October, I debate whethr or not to have the party, and a howl goes up from some of my friends because that's the only time they see each other. I always end up having fun at my own party, getting lots of hugs. Many of these people are ones I don't see often, others are part of my daily life. These days, there's a big contingent of family--some direct relations, some by marriage--and there are lots of kids. My brother brings his side of the family which has grown larger than mine, since most of my kids are not close enough to come for an evening. Jordan is a whiz at planning the kids part of the party--pigs in a blanket, pretzels, chips, ranch dip, carrots, and Christmas trees to color. I don't know if any kids ever did color them tonight, but they all seemed to have a good time. The kids were all my grandnieces and grandnephews, one grandson, and two distantly related by marriaige.
For the adults I served my traditional cheeseball, the one my mom made, liver pate, a caviar spread, cheese with curry that you top with chutney, a cheese ring topped with strawberry jam, veggies and a Caesar dip, persimmon bread, a reuben dip (always disappears).

After the food was put up and the dishes done--I hired a "party angel," a lovely woman who did a great job--I got to thinking about the business of giving a party. It's an expense for my limited budget, no doubt about it, and it's a lot of work, because there's the house to decorate, even with no tree, and I make all the dips and spreads myself and serve wine and soft drinks--no mixed drinks, no beer. Tonight folks drank a case of white wine and almost a case of red. But to me, in some strange convoluted thinking, giving this party is part of staying young and not growing old, not saying "I can't do the party this year. I'm too old and don't have the energy." That day may come, but I hope not soon.

As I say every year, in the afterglow of the paty, I'm doing this next year and I begin planning. There just so many people I wish I could invite and don't have room for because of all those regulars. Hmmmm--next year, caviar dip, liver pate, cheeseball, and some surprises. And Jordan wants those meatballs that are really sausage, cheese, and Bisquick. Okay, not gourmet but good.

My own joy of cooking

2011-12-09T19:10:00.000-08:00

Nice, lazy evening tonight browsing through the new issue of Food & Wine, a magazine that's often a bit esoteric for me. But tonight, because I didn't feel my usual sense of rushing, I lingered over travel articles and other pieces. Found in one a description of a tart made of fresh (just from the earth) lettuce, herbs and oil topped with anchovies and baked--sounds heavenly. The writer wasn't sure how she'd feel about cooked lettuce but praised it. Here are the recipes I cut out to cook: trout schnitzel with lemon-chile butter; crispy potato galette with smoked fish and dill creme; open-face sardine sandwiches with tangy aioli; pork-and-cheese arepas with tangy cabbage slaw. I may have to find adventurous eaters to share these meals with me--I can't see Jordan and Christian waxing enthusiastic about open-faced sardine sandwiches. Jeannie? Jay? Rodger?
I didn't know what an arepa is, so I went to my trusted Food Lover's Companion--only to be disappointed. Found the following on Wikipedia: An arepa is a dish made of ground corn dough or cooked flour, popular in Colombia, Venezuela and other Spanish-speaking countries. It is similar in shape to the Salvadoran pupusa. Arepas can also be found in Panama, Puerto Rico and the Canary Islands. My daughter says she doesn't need the Food Lovers Companion because she has a computer, and I told her she was wrong. Maybe I'm wrong..
I've been cooking today. I"m having a group in for cocktails (read wine) and snacks tomorrow, and on the menu, among other things, is a liver pate that a friend told me about. She swears even non-liver eaters will go back time and again for this. So I think I'll keep count of how many non-liver eaters will overcome their prejudice and try Sally's recipe which has madeira, allspice, thyme, and too much butter. It needs to sit overnight, but I tasted it--rich but oh so delicious.
I'm also making the caviar dish that Jamie loves--caviar on a base of cream cheese seasoned with onion, mayonnaise, and lemon. Jordan is upset that I didn't make the sausage balls that you make with Bisquick. You can't please all of the people all of the time.
I'm watching an episode of Guy Fieri's "Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives"--much of that food is way too far into the category of "fat food" for me, but it sure looks good. Right now, it's fried chicken. Fieri doesn't feature the food I cook, but I do like that show. There's been a flurry on Facebook because Fieri's show has been filming in the area--but not in Fort Worth, in spite of the fact that we all have suggestions for him.
I love writing, reading, especially mysteries, but cooking holds a special place in my soul. When I get to heaven, I'm asking for an apron.
Sophie just drew blood again--she paws at my arm for attention, and we're fighting the"Off!" battle. I say "Off" in my sternest tone and turn my back on her--she refuses to accept that command, and a few minutes later a sneak attack I'm not expecting bloodies my arm.. As a consequence lots of my T-shirts are blood-stained--on the left sleeve. She's also alienated at least one person who was prepared to adore her--8-year-old Edie, a real softie for animals, was so excited about seeing her again (she was with me the day I got her) but lost interest because Sophie jumps so much. Jacob roughhouses and wrestles with her and never seems bothered by her wildness--six months ago he was afraid of dogs. Now, he comes in after school and wants to play with the dogs right away. He sits on the roof of the porch to the doghouse and sometimes hoists Sophie up there with him.
Right now, Sophie has gotten the message, belatedly, and is sleeping at my feet. Puppy, puppy, puppy.

The puppy chronicles continue

2011-12-08T19:22:00.000-08:00

Jacob in the doghouse.

Sophie in a quiet moment--don't be misled!

This week I applied the word "fractious" to Sophie. I think the cold weather makes her frisky, but she's ended up spending way too much time inside to work off her energy and probably too much of it in her crate, especially yeserday when the plumber was installing a new hot water heater. But it began the night before--I came home late from a book club meeting, tried to take her out, and she balked, didn't want to go. So I thought she didn't need to go and left her in the study, while I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. She peed and pooped. Next morning, I put her out for a good bit, she came in and peed and pooped. She was out of control when one of the men went out to wrap the outdoor faucet in the back yard and he, usually a gentle soul, lost patience with her. In the afternoon I knew I was going out for supper, so I fed both dogs early--Scooby outside and Sophie in the study, our usual pattern. Instead of eating her supper, she ate a basket I had put on the floor. I thought with company coming this weekend it would be neat to collect all her toys in the basket. Yes, she'd scatter them but I could just throw them back in half a second. I scolded, put her out and cleaned up the mess. When I came home I put her out and she tore all the rags off the faucet that Jim had carefully wrapped in the morning. I put her in the study and cleaned up the rags. Fed her (she hadn't eaten earlier) and thought I had her settled when I looked down and she was chewing a book--one that I'd written, no less. Scolded, re-shelved the book, and she got a picture of one set of my grandchildren down. She's spirited, delightful, and sweet--but I sure will be glad when she grows up. She's seven months now. Today she seems much better and now is playing contentedly with her toys--I know by saying that I'll jinx it.
Christmas dinners with two different sets of friends the last two nights--I'm feeling like an overfed social butterfly. Last night Kathie, Carol and I went to Winslow's, where Carol and I had roasted chicken with sage gravy, scalloped potatoes with gruyere, and a mix of spinach, asparagus and cherry tomatoes. Absolutely wonderful Tonight Betty, Jeannie and I went to Lightcatcher Winery and Bistro in Lakeside, about 30 minutes from here.It's a working winery and we dined surrounded by oak barrels with other winery equipment all around. They have an excellent chef--we began with lobster ravioli with a rich, creamy wine sauce; each of us ordered Celtic Lamb Shepherd's Pie, which was wonderful, and we shared a chocolate tart with red wine/raspberry sorbet and red wine ganache. All delicious. Lightcatcher serves only their own wines, and we ordered a bottle of chardonnay but uniformly agreed it was too sweet. Still, we soldiered on and drank it--well, most of it. The gift shop is intrigiuing, with many items related to wine, some not, and of course the ubiquitous T-shirt.
I spent two mornings doing grocery shopping and guess where I'm going tomorrow--the grocery. Forgot the extra cup of sharp cheese I need and parsley to put around a cheese ring. It's that time of year!

Vacation is here

2011-12-05T20:06:00.000-08:00

I'm on vacation--well, sort of. I finished editing, rewriting the third manuscript in the Kelly O'Connell series tonight. I'd procrastinated about this, thinking I couldn't bear to read it one more time. But when I finally made myself do it, I enjoyed the process, enjoyed plugging the holes where something didn't work, fleshing out a scene that I'd cut too short, correcting the inevitable typos--I'm sure there are more. That's always beta reader Fred's criticism to me: stop rushing through the story. Fred is reading it--I gave it to him last week--and I will of course wait for his comments and go through it one more time. I think those times of procrastination or staying away from it are good--they give new perspective. When I went back to this one it seemed better to me; in fact, I was quite pleased with it. Oops, pride goeth before a fall. Tentative title is Wild Things in Kelly's Neighborhood. I would surely appreciate comments on that title. But having done what I've done in the last few days, I feel like I'm on Christmas vacation. I plan to read a lot of mysteries. And maybe cook a lot.
Today started out cold and rainy. The rain stopped, but the cold has intensified, and we're due a hard freeze tonight. My cactus plants are inside, and everything outside will either die to be discarded and replaced next year or survive--some of my herbs survive bitter weather and strong heat. Amazing plants. It was a split pea soup kind of day, but when Jeannie and I got to Carshon's we decided to share a reuben sandwich. It was also a hot cocoa day, and I fixed that for Jacob after school--he was delighted. We did his homework and he fell asleep in front of the TV. Dry weather tomorrow, but very cold.

Old friends

2011-12-04T17:02:00.000-08:00

Make new friends, but keep the old;
Those are silver, these are gold.
I know, I've recently done a post using that quote but a call from Santa Fe today made my day and emphasized again the value of old friends. My longtime friend (I started to say old, but she might take that personally) Nancy Olson called to say she was loving Skeleton in a Dead Space. Of course she would--she recognizes many of the players. In fact, she says it's like I was personally taking her by the hand and leading her along. Nancy and I have been friends for forty-six years, a long time in anyone's book. We don't talk often these days and she's not real good about emailing, but I discovered today she's on Facebook, so maybe we'll be in touch more. But today, we laughed about old and good times, talked about cooking and books. For me, it was great to hear her voice and her distinctive, happy laugh. It really did give me a happy glow the rest of the day.
Facebook has already connected me to another old friend--Sally Jackson, who was my neighbor in Park Hill, took her life in a new direction about the same time I did, and moved away from the neighborhood. Now on Facebook we trade recipes, news of our kids, and bits of political wisdom. I'm so enjoying having her back in my life.
So make new friends but keep the old--they are, indeed, gold.

Thoughts on dogs and rain, supper, and the search for birthparents

2011-12-03T17:53:00.000-08:00

I think anyone reading this knows how much I love my old dog, Scooby, and my puppy, Sophie, but this has not been a good day to own dogs. Rain all day, sometimes heavy, and the backyard is a sea of mud. The path from the back door to the kitchen is lined with old rugs, and I am finally getting Sophie to the point where I can dry her feet and legs without a ferocious battle. But I think she decided this morning to be fractious today: the first thing she did, as I stood right there with the door open for her to go out, was to go to her favorite spot in the playroom and pee. I caught her mid-act and practically threw her oiutside. Then all day, if she's out, she wants to be in; if she's in, she paws at me desperately until I put her out. And of course every re-entry from the outside means all that toweling. I really need to wash their towels and rugs, but when's the chance? I have to leave them down.
Scooby has never let me touch his hind legs, though he'll suffer me drying his front paws. I usually get a treat and make him dance back and forth on those rugs until he doesn't leave footprints. Hmm, maybe if I turn that big rug over I can start fresh. This afternoon I put him in his bed while I napped, and since then every time I inquire politely if he'd like to go out and eat his dinner, he gives me a baleful look. I know when eventualy I put him out he'll dump the dinner all over and it will turn into a soggy mess.

I ate leftovers for lunch and told myself I could have salmon cakes, deviled egg, and pea salad for supper--some of my favorite foods. The eggs didn't come out of the shell easily and were hard to stuff; the salmon cakes never got brown--okay, Mom, I ignored your dictum about soda crackers and used panko, not the same; and I gave up on pea salad and had the broccoli that was in the fridge. None of it tasted quite like I imagined it would. I guess I'll have to eat chocolate.
I'm reading, for review on the Story Circle Network, The Night Sky about about the daughter of two Dachau prisoners, . Her parents were sent to forced labor on a German farm. Though they worked hard and had slight acommodations, they fared much better than most Dachau prisoners. Raised by her mother and stepfather in the U.S., Maria Sutton spent almost forty years searching for her father, in spite of red flag warning that he was not the dashing, courageous, brave and generous Polish military officer she imagined. I suppose such a fantasy is hard to let go of, but as the adoptive parent of four, I wonder about that desperate search for a birth parent. My four seem, as far as I know, to be content with me as their parent, and they are--watch me boast--happy, productive people who are wonderful parents and seem quite well adjusted, always have, to the fact of adoption. I'm not sure how I'd feel if they suddenly, now most in their forties, had to search. I think I would be afraid it was symptomatic of some deeper crisis in their lives. But maybe I'm judging without walking a mile in the other person's moccasins.

A riveting memoir--and the Bookish Frogs

2011-12-02T20:24:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you about Gerald Duff. He's the author of fifteen books, with five coming out this year--poetry, novels, short stories. But I want to talk about his memoir, published (of course) by TCU Press. Home Truths is a memoir about growing up in Deep East Texas. Gerald spoke tonight to the Bookish Frogs, the friends group of the press, and it was one of the most enjoyable evenings I've had in a while.
Home Truths, when I first read it, was titled Home Lies, because much of it is about the lies he had to tell--and tell himself--to cope with growing up in a land of narrow-minded, fierce opinions where tradition rules over intellect or common sense. It's both a humorous book and a bittersweet one. Tonight his talk had listeners laughing out loud, but there was much serious truth to it. He talked about the therapy of writing a memoir--how it makes you examine your life and get to know yourself, although he admitted there are some things in his life he still won't talk about, won't deal with. He quoted Socrates: "The unexamined life is a life not worth living." And he talked about guilt, that emotion that few of us escape.
But he also told funny stories--he believed his mother lied when she said she played basketball with Babe Didrikson Zaharias, until years later he saw a picture of the high school team that included both young women; the time he finally relented and confessed his faith in the Southern Baptist Church--well, I mean his faith in Jesus Christ but the confession was a ritual of the church--and he didn't feel any different afterward; the wedding of a cousin where the groom had a cigarette behind his ear, ready to light at any minutes. He was honest and forthright about the things that made him uncomfortable, but he could joke about the time he didn't recognize his second wife. He wove in advice he gave to students as he told anecdotes and read from the book, and he said that when he writes fiction, he gets one or two sentences down and sees what develops. He writes not plots but characters and sees where they will take him. It's a maxim I've heard all my writing life: listen to your characters. Now retired as a university administrator, Gerald used to write from 5:30 to 9:00 a.m. when he was working, and he believes that it's perspiration not inspiration that gets books written. It's also discipline--he aims for two pages a day but now, with more time, he sometimes writes six or seven if the words are flowing. So, this was part memoir, part lesson in writing, and a lot of humor--a delightful evening. And the book will provide you with the same wonderful mix. I heartily recommend it.
A postscript about Bookish Frogs: for those of you who live in Fort Worth, it's a group that meets about every two months for a potluck supper--the food is delicious!--and to hear an author. Once a year there's a dinner, where every member gets a free copy of the press' "big" book from the year before. Interested? Write me at j.alter@tcu.edu. We'll be sending our information shortly after the new year.

Thoughts on Facebook, exercise and dogs

2011-12-01T20:14:00.000-08:00

Everyone talks, blogs, texts about how much time we waste on Facebook. I always thought it wasn't so much. I can whiz through postings. Emails too. Because I'm on several listservs, I get upwards of a hundred emails a day, but I can pretty much whiz through them too. But this week, with exercise on my mind, I realized what I was really doing. If I had an odd hour or so in the day--not long enough for serious writing or reading--I'd sit at my desk and think maybe emails and FB would keep me occupied for that period of time. Wrong! That's plenty of time to ride my stationary bike or do a good yoga workout. (Okay, spelling freaks--I know I spelled it stationery the other day, and I apologize for my great lapse!) So that's what I"ve been trying to do--exercise in that odd hour. Didn't do it today because I didn't have that odd hour in the day and I was busy every minute (except for my nap), much of it on my feet in the kitchen, the house, the grocery store, so I figure that counts toward something. I expect to have spaces of time in the next few days. And I will work out. Determind. So maybe it's not so much about Facebook as it is how we (at least, I) look at time.
Exercising Sophie doesn't get me much exercise, but it sure is funny. I throw the ball, she runs to get it, runs back close to me, and issues this funny low growl. For a small dog, she has a deep growl, even though her bark is yappy. Fortunately, she's not a bad barker. But she'll growl at me, I'll reach for the ball, and she'll take off to the far corner of the yard again. We do this many times over. Meantime, Scooby is practically in my lap, enjoying lots of love. He finally gets tired of her competing for my attention and really disciplines her--but she jumps and dodges and taunts him. You can see the border collie herding instincts at work in her.
A big lesson I'm trying to teach right now is "Off" which means "Don't jump on me." She's chosen this as her signal to let me know she wants to go out, so I never am sure if she wants out or attention. In the morning though, waiting for Jacob, I know she wants to go out on the porch and on cold mornings I won't go until it's time for him to be here. When she continues to jump, I tie her to one of the supports of the bookcase. She howls--a really funny sound--and then she gives her deep growls. Finally she realizes nothing is going to work, and settles down to watchful waiting. It's like having a two-year-old in the house, lots of fun but oh my the patience required.
Tonight was my memoir class Christmas party--fun way to start the season. Several people brought wine and appetizers. We had two propsective members, who really seemed to enjoy the evening, and we all sat around and talked. HIghlight of the evening was a Chinese auction--everyone brought a book they were through with. I ended up with a Jodi Picoult title, and since I have never read her I thought that was good. I made a really simple appetizer--pimiento cheese spread over a rectangle of crescent rolls, sliced and baked. Only I didn't re-read the recipe and put in twice the cream cheese and more than the cheddar called for. Thought that was really ample filling for the rectangle--no wonder! Result was oh so messy--but oh so good!

Exercise--do you have a regular schedule?

2011-11-29T19:13:00.000-08:00

For some time, at least a couple of years, I either did my yoga routine at home or rode my stationery bike. But all that changed with the puppy--I had to be out in the yard with her because she was too little to leave alone, I was housebreaking her, which meant a lot of cleaning up and going back and forth. The first week was like having a newborn in the house--I was exhausted. She gradually got better, though she's got a long way to go before she's a "grown-up" dog. But the demands on my time aren't as great. There is also the Jacob factor--he is often here in the late afternoon when I would normally do my yoga. If I have no errands, I can do it in the morning when the dogs are out, but such days are fairly rare. Result: no exercise. I did my yoga two or three times, sporadically, and worried about not exercising. I rationalized that I'm active, out in the world running errands, eating lunch, etc., cooking at home, and so on. But I knew it wasn't active enough. And Sophie? She has too much energy, so at night when I want to work at my computer, she pesters me.
This morning I sat on the back steps and threw a tennis ball for Sophie, intending to play fetch. She doesn't fetch well--gets hold of the ball and runs in mad circles around the yard, then ventures close to me, growling. When I reach out to pretend to take the ball, she's off in mad circles again. She got lots of exercise and finally quit, winded; I got no exercise, but Scooby got lots of love.
Jordan developed an exercise plan. When she came over today to get Jacob, she would walk Sophie. I suggested we all go. We couldn't get the gentle leader on Sophie and Jordan was impatient to go, so we settled for the regular leash. I didn't even make it from the porch steps to the sidewalk before I gave Sophie to Jordan--I simply do not want to be pulled down and break a hip. So Jordan walked her mother, her son, and her mother's dog. Actually they were all about ten feet ahead of me the entire way, with Sophie pulling on the leash constantly. Once around our double block, part of which is uphill, and I retired from the field. I found as I had in Scotland that uphill is hard for me. Jordan, Jacob and Sophie ran around the block the second time.
They left about five, and I had dinner plans at seven--two hours with no specific chores. I did my yoga routine, and it felt good. So I hope I'm on a new track. I know I won't work something in every day. Tomorrow, I have errands in the morning, a lunch date, Jacob in the afternoon, and a dinner date. But there are many days I could do the yoga, and when Jordan can walk, I will too. Her plan is to walk once with me, run once with Jacob, and then run once by herself, taking Sophie on all three trips.
Sophie is sleeping peacefully in my office, and I expect to sleep well tonight. I hope I'm not like the new convert who gets religion for three months, but as I sit in peace at my desk, I see the benefits of exercise.

Deck the halls

2011-11-28T17:57:00.000-08:00

I spent today decorating not halls but surfaces--the mantel, two buffets, a library table, and the dining table. For years, I had a huge tree but since the year one fell over in the middle of a party, I haven't had another tree. The kids all have trees at their houses and it doesn't seem worth it to put one up in my house. If that's curmudgeon-like, I apologize. But I do like to give the house a festive spirit--at least, the living and dining rooms, the so-called public spaces of the house.
When I was a kid, decorating the tree was not the happy family affair I thought it should be--I recall the entire family going to pick out a tree. Squabbles surely followed, but we brought a home the best tree most of us could agree on. My father and brother trimmed the lower branches, put the tree in a stand (Mom was always particular about keeping lots of water in the stand), strung the lights and retired from the field, leaving Mom and me to hang decorations. One year, after John and I were grown, Mom got a flocked table tree and decorated it in pink--I remember my father was distinctly displeased. I decided when I had a home, trimming the tree would be festive, so for years I had a tree trimming party. Although gifts were not requested, many guests brought unique ornaments and I ended with a marvelous collection of ornaments, many of them Texas-themed from those who knew my interest in Texana. So now I have all those ornaments and no tree.
To me, the fireplace mantel is always focal--and always the hardest to do. Today it was the last thing I did, and I thought I'd need Jordan's help to pull it together, but tonight I did it. The main items are the tall red vase, part of the decorations from the Christmas wedding of Jordan and Christian seven years ago, and the Jim Shores Santa with its 12-days of Christmas motif. Newly added is a tiny Jim Shores angel, meant of course to hang on a tree. At the other end of the mantel and is a creche handmade in a small village in Guatemala. Making these creches has brought sustainability to the village, so I like the idea as well as the finished product.

Next on my agenda was the buffet in the living room. Every house should have a toy train at Christmas, so here's the one I put out every year.

I try to make the dining room table different every year--fairly easy because I can never remember what I did the year before. This year I decided to go with a fairly spare look--no greens except the wreath, which has four holders for tapers that are on my shopping list. The bowl was also part of the wedding decorations. And finally because Christmas should be a time of cutter and randomness, I put out a display of ornaments. This is just a portion of my large collection.

The Lost is Found ... and an unexpected day

2011-11-26T19:49:00.000-08:00

Hooray! I have found my fetish necklaces, missing for some months now. This morning, as I was dressing, I suddenly remembered that they had tangled so much in the drawer that I hung them on a hook in my closet. I looked, and sure enough, under a sweatshirt and something else, there hung my necklaces. Overjoyed. Also have a small compensation for the lost gray shirt--I ordered pajama jeans and they came with a free T-shirt. It's short-sleeved, scoop-necked, and a nice shade of gray. Not the J.Jill one I've lost but better than nothing. So now I have hope for the good gray shirt. And the yellow dishrag? Who cares!
Book signing this morning was not a success--people don't come to a funky hardware store full of old, really old and good stuff expecting to buy a book. I made one sale, just as I was leaving, to a man who hung around all morning because his wife/partner/whatever was the sales clerk, general factotum in charge. I think he did it out of pity, since she'd already bought a copy. But she gave me lots of information on the house that first inspired Skeleton in a Dead Space--and some great ideas for the fourth book. Can you believe that--one book out and I'm already thinking about #4. The second is done, and I need to edit the third, which is complete in draft. So here I am thinking about the fourth book. Wow! What a change from two years ago.
My friend Sue and I intended to lunch at Carshon's deli today but it was closed. So we ate Mexican at Esperanza's--Sue had tortilla soup, which I should have had, but I had the enchilada platter--one chicken, one cheese, a taco and beans. Tonight I had an upscale dinner with Mary Volcansek--steak tartare but of course I sabotaged myself by eating chocolate mousse. I got to figure out this eating thing and get more disipline.
As if it would help my discipline, I came home and made "dirt pudding" for dinner tomorrow night--oreos, Cool Whip, powdered sugar, cream sheese, and milk--oh yeah, and a stick of butter. I tell myself I made it for Jacob, and I will only have a small bite.
Tomorrow is a cooking day. Haven't really been cooking in a long time, and I'm looking forward to it. But when I'm cooking, am I avoiding editing? Oh, that blasted Puritanical conscience.

The day after Thanksgiving

2011-11-25T18:40:00.000-08:00

Today, my thoughts are on re-living yesterday's family fellowship--and a spirited political discussion--plus the wonderful meal. But lots of other folkls are thinking about shopping and movies and, well forgive me, but crass commercialism.
Jamie's father-in-law said he was thinking about going to WalMart at midnight because they had something--computers?--at a super price he wanted to get. And my 12-year-old granddaughter was all too ready to go with him. They didn't go, of course, but this morning, he was bummed to find out WalMart actually opened at ten. I'm still relieved they didn't go. There's been lots written lately about Thursday night shopping detracting from the family atmosphere of the one day in the year when we gather together to give thanks. (Jordan and I went to church last Sunday, and I loved singing those old familiar Thanksgiving hyms, including "We gather together.") I think Thursday night shopping is pushing it too far. Okay, I'm a curmudgeon.
But I've read tonight that there were riots in several stores and in one WalMart in an upscale neighborhood in California a woman pepper-sprayed fellow shoppers to get an advantage. This, when we're all still reeling about pictures of the pepper spraying at UC-Davis! She apparently got away, and people suffered "only minor injuries." I'm sure if it was you or a loved one, minor would become a relative term.
We went to lunch today at Buco di Peppo, a free-standing restaurant on the outer fringe of Stonebriar Mall in Frisco. Although I expected a wait, Jamie called ahead, and we were all nine seated immediately. Jordan and I ordered salads and asked for instant delivery, since we had to rush--oh, double that instant delivery on our wine. My chopped salad was delicious and was both lunch and dinner, and Buco di Peppo has improved the quality of their wine since I was last there. It's a good Italian place, where you go through the kitchen to get to your table. But the traffic getting in and out of the mall was awful.
We rushed away from lunch, leaving the others, to go to a nearby movie theater and pick up Jacob who had gone to see "Happy Feet II" with his other grandparents. Jordan said, "Everyone in the world is at this theater," and I reminded her that no, the other half were at the mall. I would not have gone to a mall or a movie today for all the tea in China, and I'm a bit bothered by those who did.
Yep, I'm a curmudgeon (is that a gender specific term?). I hate it that Christmas carols and decorations go up before Halloween and the biggest thing about Thanksgiving is bargain shopping. For me, it is family and turkey and all the trimmings and the wonderful family time that comes when everyone is full of turkey and sides and wine and relaxed yet not ready for bed.
It's a special holiday. Let's keep from ruining it. Remember Small Business Saturday. As I posted on Facebook, I'll be signing at Old Home Supply tomorrow, a small business if there ever was one, and then having lunch at Carshon's and dinner at Sapristi's--both independent, small restaurants.
We discussed and argued and carried on last night about the 99% and the Occupy movement--I'm wondering how Small Business Saturday relates to that, if at all. Somehow I have a Pollyanna-like notion that ordinary people are making their voices heard. If so, you all shout--especially in the voting booth!

Those fried turkeys

2011-11-24T18:56:00.000-08:00

My sons and sons-in-law have been frying turkeys with enthusiasm for several years--Colin and Brandon have fryers, and so far we have avoided disasters. Then I saw a truly frightening video on the TODAY show about the disasters that can occur and how many people are seriously injured a year frying turkeys--also houses fried by mistake. So I was relieved I'd be with with Jamie and Mel, where I could expect a tradtional turkey done in the oven. Imagine my dismay when Jamie last night announced he was going to WalMart to buy a fryer. I lectured about dangers to no avail.
Mid-afternoon today he discovered that his fryer came in a hundred parts and had to be assembled. All hands turned out to help--except me. I was having a lovely long nap. There was much prep and the moment came--the fully defrosted turkey was lowered into the hot grease without incident, and the cooks congratulated themseles.

Thirty-five minutes later it came out looking golden and good--okay, the legs and wings were burned, but it looked good. Jamie knows I love skin, so I got the first bite. I usually o.d. on skin and am too full to eat the meal. This was crisp and succulent. Then came the carving.

Jamie complained an audience made him nervous but he did a beauatiful job. And the meat was moist with just the right texture. Mel fixed excellent sides--we are a traditional family, with green bean casserole, dressing and mashed potatoes and gravy. For dessert, coconut pie and chess pie--I love the latter but one bite will do you. I've seen all kinds of recipes but Mel's is the traditional old-fashioned kind with white vinegar and cornmeal. And mostly sugar. I'm trying to get her to do a blog post about it.

So we had a happy Thanksgiving, with not all my family but Melanie's family and my Frisco Alters, and we have much to be thankful for. Maddie is learning sign language and she signed that she was thankful for family. Her younger sister tried to valiantly to sign "What Maddie said."

And here's our budding fashionista in her holiday outfit--she wouldn't get out of her pjs until the last minutes because she didn't want to reveal her outfit!

I hope everyone had a blessed and happy holiday, and I pray for those who were lonely, hungry, sick this holiday. May God bless them.

Now, lickety-split on to Christmas.

A food day

2011-11-22T19:55:00.000-08:00

Seems like the major thing I did today was eat. Betty, Jordan, Jacob and I went to the Frank Kent Honda dealership for lunch--lunch in a car dealership? Yep. It was great. Good friend David Rottman, who once owned and ran Cafe Aspen, has gone to work there, and they asked him to spiff up their on-site cafe. He's brought back a lot of his classic Cafe Aspen items--the chicken salad, those delicious hamburgers, coriander chicken salad, turkey club, fish of the day, soup of the day--all wonderful stuff in a much more casual atmosphere--you order at the counter and eat at shiny new chrome tables with banquette backs snaking through the space. And you don't have to buy a car. My sense is that it's a serivce to customers while they wait for repairs and to employees but anyone can wander in and have lunch--and an early supper. I think they close at six. We visited with David only briefly, but it was really a reunion. Great experience.
By serendippity, a friend from church was there waiting for her car and she joined us, so it was a lively and interesting lunch time--two hours, thanks very much.
Tonight was neighbors night at the Old Neighborhood Grill, and I had an unexpected date--Jacob. He was the star of the party--kept everyone entertained. He'd start a story with "Hey, guys!" and I frequently had to remind him not to interrupt when others were talking. Aftr all, they did want a bit of adult conversation. But they all seemed charmed with him and his stories. He had corn fritters and alternated between ketchup and syrup on them.
Both our lunch and dinner companions said Jacob really ought to be having a career as a child actor or model--which his dad did. They were struck with his outgoing personality and charming happy face. At one point at lunch he was behind me, and I said, "Jacob Burton, you come give me a hug." I'd turn one way and he'd dart the other; we kept it up for a while, and Genie, who had joined us, said "I'm sure my day is going to be lot better just from seeing his face behind you."
Mr. Charming just tried to convince me he had two broken legs and couldn't get up to go potty and brush his teeth. I told him to crawl, which he did a bit until he bounced to his feet and said, "Fooled you!" He's right now watching the Food Network and appears to be quite engaged in it. Maybe he caught on that this was a food day too.
Glad to report that although I've not found any of my lost items, they've given me a new idea for another Kelly O'Connell novel. And my electronic problems--email on laptop and phone, plus sending pictures on the phone--all seem to be solved. Things are moving in the right direction.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Paranormal, supernatural--do you believe?

2011-11-21T18:40:00.000-08:00

I've never been one to believe in ghosts or the like, but then I certainly won't deny the possibility. I've been known to tell stories others have told me about the friendly ghosts--I like to call them haints--that live in a house I once lived in. Winston, my almost-brother, saw them in the living room, and good friend Anne reported they woke her when she was sleeping in the guest room. So I'm always in a state of uncertainty, but lately I'm beginning to believe there's one--or at least a poltergeist--in my house.
A tiny unimportant thing this morning convinced me--I couldn't find the yellow dishrag that I used last night. I looked everywhere, even in the trash, but it has simply vanished. I'd attribute that to a senior moment, but there was yesterday morning when I found the grocery list I keep on my desk in the middle of the living room floor. Okay, there's a possibility that I carried a sheaf of recipes from my desk to the bedroom, picked that up by mistake, and it fell out--but I don't really believe that.
So far, this is the list of mysteriously missing items at my house:
1 yellow dishrag
1 paper-clipped sheaf of recipes with a menu plan attached
1 grey T-shirt that I really loved wearing
3 strands of fetish necklaces, intertwined--also much loved
This morning I almost thought I'd lost my pink sweatshirt jacket, but I found it--I'd hung it in the wrong closet. Also, by thoroughly cleaning a closet, I found my favorite gray sweat jacket. But those other items? I have searched and searched and they are nowhere.
And there's another kind of presence in my house--in the moirnings I frequently wake with the sense that someone else, someone friendly and protective, is sleeping in my house. Sometimes of course I know that it's Jacob tucked in his bed in the family room, but other times I most often think it's my mom, who's been gone twenty-four years. And for just an instant I think I am in my bed in the house in Madison Park, where I grew up, and Mom is just in the next room. It's a comforting feeling, but I don't know what a psychiatrist would make of it.
Mom, however, would not steal my favorite gray T-shirt or my fetish necklaces, and she had enough recipes of her own that she wouldn't want mine--in fact some of mine are from her. As for the dishrag--go figure!
I'm enjoying Jacob's vacation, perhaps more than he is. I took a delicious long late afternoon nap today instead of rushing to nap so I can get up at 2:45 to run meet him in the schoolyard. Love it on a dull rainy chilly day like today.
If I weren't very frustrated by phone problems, I'd be a happy camper. I took some pictures this morning with both phone and camera that I wanted to send off with a guest blog tonight. Went to download them from the camera and discovered that Sophie, in her worst chewing stage, had mangled the cord that goes from camera to USB port. So I sent them to myself from my phone--but they just stacked up in unsent items, although I can send email and text messages. A lengthy talk with TCU Help Desk this morning straightened out my email problems but even a talk with Apple support and a forty-five minute session with ATT didn't solve the picture problem. It's like my pictures are frozen in my camera and phone. Maybe it's that polergeist.

Random food thoughts

2011-11-19T18:54:00.000-08:00

This morning I was watching the Food Network and restaurant chef Anne Burrell was cooking a turkey--a brined turkey with apple cider gravy to be specific. When she pulled it out of the oven, it was a delicious dark brown color, which she attributed to the brining and then the massage with herb butter. She checked the interal temperature to be sure it was thoroughly cooked and then said she was putting it in the refrigerator, uncovered, overnight, to dry out. What? I thought the whole point of cooking turkey was to keep it moist. What's with dry out? Later in the segment (supposedly the next day) she carved it and commented on how moist it was. I'm puzzled, but I guess the skin dried out and became crisp and good--makes my mouth water. I love turkey skin! Apparently the gravy was delicious too--she not only dipped a piece in and took a big bite, she double-dipped. I had just tried to teach Jacob last night that double dipping his cracker in hummus was rude.
An odd eating schedule today--I had lunch at ten-thirty, so I could get a nap before I went to sign books at one at Barnes & Noble. Had a chicken thigh--I had sprinkled it with soy, garlic powder, and seasoned salt and baked for thirty minutes, then turned and did the same thing Thursday night for Linda and me, and I had one left over. Makes the best cold chicken thigh I've ever had. I like chicken thighs almost as much as turkey skin. (Note: sprinkle the soy first, so it doesn't wash away the powdered seasonings.

Jacob and his mom came to visit at the signing. I sold eight books in an hour and a half, which is pretty good for a "cold" signing at a big bookstore. Traffic dwindled, because the TCU footbal game began.
Tonight I fixed mashed potatoes, English peas, and breakfast link sausages for Jacob and me. He said it was the best day ever and the best dinner and he loved me. Guess I'll rush out and get more sausages. After my Scotland trip, I wanted to teach him the terminology, so we practiced saying we'd had bangers and mash for supper.
Then I discovered a recipe catastrophe. I'd spent a lot of time working out the menu and collecting both recipes and the RSVP list for my annual Christmas party. It ws all clipped together. Tonight I was going to make my traditional blue cheese ball and freeze it and came to my desk to look for the recipe. I couldn't find any of the paperwork! Not a panic tonight as I have the recipe in a cookbook and practically know it by heart, but the loss of all the other papers is a big tragedy. I can recover some of the recipes and the guest list but there were some I've never cooked before--and I want those recipes. There was a molded cheese ring with raspberry jam--and I've already bought the jam. I know all this will show up, but I may have to go through the whole file drawer in my desk. It is so frustrating.
But the best part of the day? Jacob just went off to watch TV--at 8:45 mind you, not as though he's been glued to it all evening. And his parting words? 'Juju, I love you!" Be still my heart.

Odd thoughts

2011-11-18T20:40:00.000-08:00

I"ve been sitting at my desk, trying to decide if I have any thoughts to blog about. It's almost ten-thirty, Jacob is asleep (he fell asleep with the TV on), the dogs are in their beds, and the house is quiet. A wonderful time of day. Tonight good friends Weldon and Elizabeth came for suppr--leftover pulled pork chili and they brought the salad. Easy way to entertain. We got to talking about people and life, and I said I've decided there are two kinds of people--those who are engaged in life and take charge and those who just let life happen to them. My high school/church/college chum who was here last weekend talked about that when she wrote me that she had enjoyed meeting my family and friends because they were all so engaged in life. I guess I didn't introduce her to those who aren't--and there's probably an obvious reason there. But there are people I worry about because they are so passive--they don't take charge in relationships, health care, whatever. And sometimes those people can drag me down, so I find myself avoiding them--and then I feel guilty. Well, guilt is the first thing to get rid of, as I preached to my memoir class last night. And often, you can't help people who aren't engaged in life--they don't see life in the same terms that I do. But I know I'll still keep reaching out, trying to help, trying to change them. I long ago decided I'm a nurturer, a caregiver.
And my memoir class--we had our last fall session last night, and it was a doozie Three people presented papers, and my friend Linda summed it up best when we had our circle closing. We're supposed to say one word about how we feel, but Linda said she couldn't say it in one word because she was so grateful for the women in the room and their depth and complexity. What's said there, stays there but I wish I could share--a short story that led us into a great discussion of the structure of short stories, a woman's comparison of giving birth in the States and England, a cookbook interspersed with memoirs.
Today on Facebook a male friend said he wished he could find a similar class for men, and I told him to start one. Several women have expressed interest in joining the class, and most of the present class want to come back, so I guess I'll be doing this for a while.
Now, if I could just get those passive people involved. Or maybe I can't save the world.

Random acts of kindness vs. instinct

2011-11-15T18:46:00.000-08:00

Today when I was running errands in the neighborhood, I drove by a woman standing on the side of the street. She had a cane although she was not elderly, and I assumed she was waiting for me to pass before crossing in the middle of a block. It was a gorgeous day--what happened to that rain we were promised?--and I had the top down. She lifted her hand, and I waved back. Only as I passed did I hear her say something like, "Excuse me?" or "Please." I did not stop, and then my conscience beat me up. Yet there was something just enough off that I didn't want to stop. I knew if she asked for a ride, I didn't want to let her in my car.
We're told constantly to listen to our instincts, and I believe it--but that warning conflicts with the idea of random acts of kindess. And I'd been the recipient of random acts of kindness the day before.So how do we know what to do?
A few minutes laters, as I drove by a TCU parking lot, a student shot out into the middle of the street before he looked either way--I stopped and waved him on, which he never acknowledged with a smile or a wave. My stopping was definitely instinct and not an act of kindness, but there was no sense honking angrily and bullying my way through even though I was in the right. There's the middle ground, I guess.
I once read a book, or started it, on the important or value of fear. Many mystery writers tout this book as a great source. I read a bit and gave it up, but the basic point was that fear is a great self-preservation instinct. If it feels wrong, it probably is wrong. (Oh, how I long to turn that into a comment on politics, but I'll refrain.) I think it's a valid point, but then again we don't want to live our lives in fear nor, heaven forbid, pass that on to our children and grandchildren. I do have a lot of fears like heights and deep water and so on, although not as many as my grandmother, but still I've worked hard at not foisting them off on my children.And the result is that they're a fairly fearless bunch. But I think they too feel the instinct of self-preservation.
Countering that is what we hear in church or elsewhere about being our brother's keeper, looking after our neighbor, thinking of others. That's the kind of person I want to be.
So what wouldy you have done? Would you have backed up to see what the lady with the cane wanted? Would you, as I have, spend much of the day worrying about her? Or would you dismiss it and decide your instincts were right.
Fortunately my day took a much more positive turn with the arrival of Jacob. We went out to dinner with "Aunt Betty" and had a good time. A friend at the next table talked with Jacob and then said to me, "I guess we have no issues with sociability." I laughed and agreed. And Jacob said to me, "This has been a fun day." Makes the whole day worthwhile.

Random acts of thoughtfulness

2011-11-14T18:34:00.000-08:00

Today I'm grateful for the kindness and caring of people around me. I thought my only feelings about today would be that it was an expensive day--and it was. The puppy was spayed; the plumber replaced the corroded pipes under my house that had meant no hot water in the kitchen--and predicted I'll need a new hot water heater soon; the electric gate was broken and a gentleman scheduled to fix it. Plus I went on fairly major shopping trips to Origins cosmetics and PetSmart, where I thought I as buying a 20 lb. sack of dog food and bought a 35 lb. one--clearly too big for me to manage.
The crossing guard at the school corner by my house has taken it upon himself to watch out for me--and I'm grateful. This morning, as I got in my car, he yelled, "You be carefull"--the same thing I say to my kids all the time. Then when I went to back into the street, he stopped traffic and yelled, "Granny, come on!" (Colin says his kids will now call me "Granny.")
This afternoon when the plumber arrived, he carried in my sack of dog food before he got to work on the plumbing. Since he knows the house and was mostly working under it, I went ahead and took a nap, only to be awakened by knocking on the door and "Are you all right?" It seems Booker, the crossing guard, became alarmed when I didn't answer the door and there were trucks in the driveway, so he came in, found the plumbers at work. They told him I was asleep, and he said, "She's got to approve what you're doing"--as if I'd crawl under the house to check on them! When I went out to talk to the gate man Booker came up and said, "You scared me. You need to get me your daughter's number so I can call her if I get worried about you again. I got to take care of you. You're the only Granny I got." (He's probably at the most 15 years younger than I am!) But I really was touched that he was concerned. We hugged and he went off to shepherd children across the street. He's everyone's friend and stops to have conversations with lots of the parents. When I went to get Jacob, he repeated he wanted Jordan's card.
And the final act of kindness--the gate man said I had a bad battery charger. I asked if he didn't just put that one in and he said in June; it was defective. When I asked how much I owed him for the service call, he said, "No charge." Apparently he'd had several of them go bad, but Ithoiught it was kind of him not to charge for his time.
I'm tired tonight--it's been a hectic day. Sophie, my recovering surgical patient, is lying quietly sleeping, but she gets up every time I do. Scooby has given his new bed a complete sniff examination and is apparently satisfied with it. It's supposed to be orthopedic foam, whatever that means, but I'm afraid his old legs sink into it so that he will feel unsure of his footing. Oh well, I think I'll go "examine" my own bed soon.

Can't resist posting these pictures of some of my brother's cattle--Pam, one of my weekend guests, took the pictures, and I thought they were striking.

Today I'm grateful for ...

2011-11-12T20:52:00.000-08:00

I may get repetitious in this daily gratitude thing, but today, once again, I am grateful for friends, old and new. Today my "new" friends (we've been friends at least ten years) Jean and Jeannie came for lunch with my "old" friend, Barbara, and the new friend she so nicely brought to me, Pam. I made a pot of pulled pork chili--watch for the recipe on Potluck with Judy soon because it was really good and also easy. We had a good time visiting--they found lots to talk about, lots in common.
After dishes were done--not hard at all--I took Barbara and Pam on a short tour of my corner of Fort Worth. Barbara had wanted to see Fairmount because it's the setting of Skeleton in a Dead Space, She asked why I chose Fairmount and I tried to explain it's the interesting nature of the neighborhood--all those imaginatively redone old houses with fewer and fewer falling down ones, but still some--and the history. So pleasant and comfortable in its day, Fairmount began a slide into rental and neglected property in the last half of the twentieth century but then was reborn as a fashionable neighborhood because of its proximity to downtown and the hospital district. For a while there, newcomers moving into the neighborhood called themselves urban pioneers. We drove by Lili's, which is mentoned in the second book, and Nonna Tata, mentioned often in the first book. Of course, we'd eaten at the Old Neighborhood Grill last night, which is the most frequently mentioned restaurant in the book.
Tonight we went from folksy neighborhood grill to upscale Patrizio's. Barbara treated us to dinner, and I suggested Italian. She and I had cheese-filled ravioli with artichokes and tomatoes in a lemon/butter sauce--delicious. Pam had penne caprese--a similar sauce on penne. We came home with doggy bags and sat in the living room exchanging stories about our lives and laughing a lot. I can't believe two naive young girls from Chicago have had the adventures and complications--mostly with relatives--that we have had. What's nice is that we're upbeat about it, optimistic about the future, and so lucky to be surrounded by children.
Barbara's visit, made possible by Pam, has been a real blessing for me, and I am so grateful to both of them. It's wonderful to talk with someone about a life now long gone and to remember its joys and even its funny, embarrassing moments. And this is repetitious too, but I feel so thankful that we're so "in sync" probably almost sixty years after we first became friends. Doesn't happen often!
I will see "the girls" (Jordan's term for them) off with a bit of sadness tomorrow but the hope they'll be back soon.
And then I'll get back to work! I've had fun but I have a full week ahead of me.

Seeing Texas through Mississippi eyes

2011-11-11T20:16:00.000-08:00

Last night in memoir class we talked about the idea that you cannot tell another person's story. You can only tell your perception of it. So I can't tell you for sure how my houseguests reacted to the mini-Texas tour today--but from my point of view, it was a great success and they enjoyed it thoroughly. We first drove to Granbury, where they admired the picturesque courthouse, newly cleaned up and now glistening, and the charming buildings around the square. My eyes have seen the Granbury square many more times than I can count, but I thought it looked lively, a bit more spruced up today. We browsed for quite a while in The Panhandle, my favorite cooking store--and I did a little Christmas shopping. Then on to my friend Linda's store, Almost Heaven. Actually Linda met us at The Panhandle and gave a walking tour as we ambled along the block and a half to her store. Linda's store is a delight with beatiful and clever decorative pieces, mounted sayings--Barbara bought one that said, "Grace is not something we say before meals. It's a way of life"--purses, throws, all sorts of things, but all tasteful. Linda has a terrific flair for display these things in an eye-catching way.
Then it was on to the old house that Linda and Rodger have redone with the same flair they show in the store--it's a delightful residence. Dee Gormley, who ran a knockout bookstore and put on wonderful literary events for years, joined us for lunch--chicken tortilla soup, salad, cole slaw and pumpking cheesecake. Wonderful company, wonderful food. The ladies came away thinking I have really great friends--which is true.
We went on to Tolar and Musick Road and my brother's ranch. He practically met us at the door with wine glasses in hand.We visited for a bit and then John and Cindy gave us the deluxe tour of the ranch--it is so dry and the stock tanks down, but they still have pastures of little bluestem, now dry and straw-colored, and something I think he called King bluestem, which lies close to the ground. Both will make excellent forage for the cattle in the winter. John loves to explain the geography and ecology of his land--how they brought the pastures back, the view of the Brazos River valley, the menace of feral hogs--and Barbara and Pam asked intelligent questions, plus Pam took some incredibly good pictures of the cattle feeding. My idea of their story is that this was a day unlike any other they'd ever spent, and they enjoyed it. Pam has traveled extensively to Europe and places in the U.S., Barbara has traveled but not quite so extensively. Still I think this was a new and totally different day for them. And I always enjoy riding around the ranch--the land is beautiful, and today was a perfect day. Back at the house, I rushed us off to Fort Worth fairly quickly, worried about my puppy who had been in her crate all day. She seems none the worse for it.
We went to the Old Neighborhood Grill for supper with Jordan, Christian and Jacob. Barbara knew about the Grill from reading Skeleton in a Dead Space and hearing about my two signings there, so she was delighted to visit it. And everyone seemed to enjoy dinner.
My house is quiet again--dogs asleep, guests gone to the apartment. But as they left Pam said to me, "Wonderful family, wonderful friends." Yep, that's how I feel about it too--I am blessed with family and friends. And it's fun to share my little corner of Texas with others, particularly with someone who like me grew up in Chicago's South Side. John felt that too, and at one point said, "It's not the South Side of Chicago." Other times he referred to growing up in the city, as we all did, and once said you couldn't see weather coming in the city but out there, you can.
Yes, Barbara and John, we've come a long and good way from Chicago's Hyde Park.

Golden times

2011-11-10T20:11:00.000-08:00

Make new friends, but keep the old.
One is silver, the other is gold.

That saying has real meaning for me tonight. My best friend from high school is visiting for the weekend. Barbara Bucknell and I even went to off to college in Mt. Vernon, Iowa, together. As she said tonight, she loved it and I hated it. Small town, really small, really strict school--and I was in love with a young man in Chicago. Barbara jumped in to the social life and loved it; I, being a bit shy, never did as well. We still have to have the discussion about what happened to our college roommates--I remember the name of hers, but only the first name of mine!
Today Barbara is Barbara Bucknell Ashcraft, recently widowed, mother of five, grandmother of fourteen. She and a friend, Pam, came today from Jackson, Mississippi. Neither Barbara nor I are much on driving on the highway, so Pam is the angel that brought us together.
We picked up right where we left off. Barbara's beloved husband, Don, used to complain that all we ever talked about when we got together--there have been lots of visits over the years--was things that happened in the past. I hope he was listening tonight, because all we talked about was children and grandchildren. We really caught up on each other's families, although we semi-keep up all along. I think it's wonderful that our friendship has endured for over fifty years. I was in Barbara's wedding party, and she and her husband celebrated their 50th anniversary a couple of years ago. We have so many ties, so many common memories--and yes, those come out over a glass of wine too. Some funny, some nostalgic, all treasures.
Tonight was also my memoir class, a class where we've agreed what is said there goes no farther. But the class willingly invited Barbara and Pam to sit in. Pam faded midway through and excused herself, but Barbara stayed, participated in the comments, and said she enjoyed the whole thing immensely.

And of course guests give me a good chance to cook. Tonight it was black bean soup with feta and fesh cilantro--colorful and good. I had made some of Jacques Pepin's fromage fort (strong cheese) and I spread it on a portobello mushroom and broiled it, then cut it in small wedges. Great appetizer, if a bit garlicky.
All in all a lovely evening. I'm basking in a happy golden glow. I guess maybe it's all golden, because we are in our golden years. Who would ever have believed when we were going to church together as teenagers that we'd still have so much in common and be so compatible almost sixty years later. I'm tempted to quote one of my mom's favorite sayings: "The Lord works in mysterious ways!"

Writing as discovery

2011-11-08T19:26:00.000-08:00

I've talked about pantsers vs. plotters before, but essentially pantsers write by the seat of their pants. They don't plot--they just plunge in and see where it goes. I'm a pantser and, as I wrote recently, that habit often leaves me adrift in the broken middle of a manuscript. But the other day I confidently told Fred, my beta reader, that I had been writing the "climactic" scene of my work-in-progress. Of course when I got back to it, I found that just summarizing the remainder of the events was not going to do at all. I hadn't really finished writing the book. I had at least a chapter and an epilogue to go.So yesterday, I wrote over 2500 words--I didn't really keep count--and I burned myself out on it. This morning, as I lay in bed contemplating getting up and starting the day (I do that a lot) I realized that I had to milk that final action scene--there were a lot of details I hadn't accounted for and some things that could heighten the suspense and also add to the emotion, even the humor. But I'm not ready to go back to that work yet. I think that's a good sign--it's percolating on the back burner in my brain.
Meantime, I started reading a novel I'd written after Skeleton in a Dead Space. I wasn't getting much encouragement with Skeleton, and I felt the need to be writing something. When Turquoise Morning Press enthusiastically accepted Skeleton, I put the new work aside, polished the one they contracted for, and went back to the sequel I'd also started. The new work languished, and in my mind it became more amateurish, the protagonist more of a Pollyanna. The more I was distanced from it, the less enthusiastic I became.
Well, last night I started re-reading that work, and you know what? I kind of like it? I see a lot of work to be done on it, mostly cutting which is a problem because it's already on the short side. But I'm making notes and correcting small things as I go along. But Kate isn't a Pollyanna--she's a singlel woman in her thirties with a background. I can't judge about amateurish--who can judge their own work? But I'm kind of hooked on reading it. I intended it to be a culinary mystery, but I'll sure have to beef up that aspect and, yes, I think I'll add recipes. That thought makes me miss my dear friend Reva, for she could tell me how to cook turnip greens and poke sallet and chicken-fried steak and the other delicacies that they servce in a small-town East Texas cafe. After all, I'm not sure Paula Deen could make decent chicken-fried steak!
Of course, there's that old question: is it better to continue a series or take off in a new direction? I'll worry about that tomorrow!

Frogs and snails, and puppydog tails

2011-11-07T16:52:00.000-08:00

I've been trying to recall the mischief my boys got into. They accuse me often of just not remembering their squabbles and tricks. I do still have the mental image of Colin who at about 18 mos. covered himself thoroughly with corn starch or baby powder or some similar white stuff--I can see him standing in the hall, a dusty white ghost. At about the same time he stuck one foot in the commode and flushed, watching intently--I did get a picture of that. And the time Jamie wrote on the wall--but what child doesn't do that? Jamie was always into something, from stepping in every puddle he could find to dragging home a stray cat by the tail. But in my mind they really weren't mischievous.
I had a lesson in inventive mischief this weekend, with three little boys, ages 5-7, running loose Sunday morning. When they were supposedly playing with the dogs in the backyard, they took Scooby, my big old Aussie who was muddy, into the guest house--forbidden and unfamiliar territory for him. They proceeded to freeze wet balls of toilet paper in the small fridge out there. Then they froze acorns and leaves and finally they filled an ice cube tray with mud and froze it. Megan defrosted and cleaned, bless her! Then she swept out the mud they'd tracked in.
If those boys went in and out the back door once, they did so a thousand times. My alarm system does a little jingle when a door is opened and closed--I find it nice for monitoring Jacob but yesterday the system seemed to sing all morning. Muddy dogs streaked into the house, Sophie once making right for her favorite chair in the living room, followed by my two screaming daughters. If someone let her in wherever Ford was, he began to scream because she jumped on him--well, of course she did: he was screaming. The boys climbed on tables, rode the ancient trike at breakneck speed, and chased each other. They had a wonderful time, punctuated of course by quarrels and spells of yelling at each other. The quietest thing they did was to pore over those advertising inserts that come in the Sunday paper, pointing out toys for their Christmas lists: "I want that . . . and that . . . and that" until each boy had a list of dozens of items. I never did find out who smashed rocks on the porch steps by the driveway, creating a white powdery dust I did not want tracked into the house. You've never seen such expressions of innocence. And Jacob opened the driveway gate and went out to talk to a neighbor--I didn't even know he knew how to open it, but now that he does, it's forbidden.
In retrospect they were adorable and wonderful and fun; at the time, maybe not so much:-)

Family days

2011-11-05T21:21:00.000-07:00

Whew! Family days are wonderful, and I bask in having them all around me. But they are exhausting too. This afternoon I had three grandsons ages 5-7, and one wild excited puppy. Tonight we all went to Joe T.'s for dinner--six adults and five children--well, Maddie at twelve hardly counts as a child. But Joe T.'s is noisy, and though I turned my hearing aids on the setting that was most meant to block out extraneous noise, I could only catch words, not the thread of a conversation. Some folks find it fashionable to say that the food at Joe T.'s is sub-par and its only attraction is habit and luxurious grounds. Not so--I think it's all good, and I sop up too much of it. Cheese enchiladas in a mild tomato sauce--I love to mush my refried beans into that sauce. Those wonderful cheese nachos--okay, I scrape the chillies off but I still love them. Great guac, and tonight I liked the tacos, though I often pass them by. They didn't seem as greasy tonight. Somebody at our table ordered sopapillas, and I loved the sweet--the sopapillas weren't particularly crisp but the honey/cinnamon combination was great. All in all a good meal. The kids clustered around Jamie, as kids are wont to do, and it s a wonder he got any dinner. He was, as always, impeccably dressed, and I worried about about all those greasy young handprints on his jacket. But, hey, that was his problem.
It was a semi-lazy, semi-frantic day. Sawyer and Ford were around until about ten--into everthing, curious, questioning, full of it. They left about ten and I had about an hour of peace before i took Sophie to training class--always an anxious time for me. Lesson went well. In fact, I feel we made some progress. And then home to a blessedly empty house--lunch and a nice nap. And then it was time to go to dinner.
So it's been a very different day from my usual routine, and I'm grateful for the change, the confusion, the happy voices, the joy. Tonight I have Megan and her family in the guest house and Jordan and Jacob in the guest room--love to have some of my chickens under my roof at night.

There's something about Fridays

2011-11-04T19:19:00.000-07:00

Today I felt like a balloon--if you let a little bit of air (or energy) out of me, I'd collapse in a puddle on the ground. I was home after errands early, had an early lunch and a nice nap--the kind where the alarm comes as a grand intrusion when it's time to get up and go get Jacob from school. After Jordan picked up Jacob, I went back to bed for a second nap. Never did really sleep, just dozed, but I was so comfortable I had to make myself get up, feed the dogs and myself. It's a nice lazy feeling, and I'm wondering how many of you find Fridays give you that sense? I think I had some obligation every night this week, plus I was trying to write furiously and I have come to a stopping point on that--not finished but much more comfortable with where I am. So maybe that's why I'm like a deflated balloon tonight, but it's a nice feeling, and I intend to enjoy it.
My Austin kids--Megan Brandon and the two boys, Sawyer and Ford--are probably about at Hillsboro now on their way to Fort Worth, so it won't be that lazy a weekend. But I'm looking forward to it. I think life will keep getting busier between now and the holidays, so I can enjoy an evening of laziness. Hope you are too.

Sleep while you solve problems--yours and others

2011-11-03T19:20:00.000-07:00

Mystery author Sandra Parshall (Under the Dog Star, The Heat of the Moon, and others) recently wrote about her method of working on knotty plot problems. Before she goes to sleep, she fixes her mind firmly on the problem and often wakes aware of the solution, the direction the plot should take. Well, I had recently written myself into a corner in the broken middle of my novel--I was moving along with the crime, only I didn't know who was the villain or why he or she was doing things. Major problem at 50,000 words. I've always had vivid dreams and remembered them clearly the next day, so I thought Sandy's method was a shoe-in for me. Years ago I used to dream articles and novels and short stories, but I rarely remembered them or the "perfect" way they worked in my dream. Unlike a lot of people, I don't keep a pad and paper by the bedside--I'm afraid what I write would be gibberish, and I don't want to wake up enough to turn on the light and write intelligibly.
Sandy's method was not a shoe-in at all. I tried it for two nights and woke as puzzled as ever. Then I got a stomach bug in the evening which kept me awake and in and out of bed for too much of the night. In between trips, I'd doze and found myself writing the entire end of the book, inventing characters--one really great one, sketching out scenes. Next morning, I got up, wrote it all down, and it really held together. Sleep therapy or whatever had worked. Of course, after I fed the dogs, checked my email and took a quick look at the Sunday paper, I was back in bed by 8:30.
But I was so elated by my success that I didn't write for two days. Then, yesterday, I began to write and the story came tumbling out of my brain and onto the computer. I've now written the climactic scene and simply have the wrap-up to do. Granted, it's a first draft, and I have a lot more work ahead of me, but I am so relieved to know how the story works out.
As my mother always told me, all things work to some good end. In this case, there was a plus side to having a stomach virus. Not that it's going to become my preferred way of plotting. But sleeping might be.

Book Clubs Book Buzzed and some pictures

2011-11-01T20:05:00.000-07:00

Here's the Halloween mask I didn't wear last night--susan made it and I think it's wonderfully clever. Note the blonde hair--but I do not have a moustache.

And here's how Sophie and Jacob spend their afternoons. A love affair for sure.
Years ago my friend Jane Roberts Wood had a novel, Train to Estelline, published by a small Texas press (run by friends of mine). The book took off and landed Jane contracts for future books with big national publishers--but I've always thought the reason was that Jane spoke to every book club in the Dallas area that she could find. If you haven't read that novel, you should. It's available from UNT Press these days and is a classic of West Texas lit.
I've been following Jane's example and spoken to or booked as many clubs and groups as I can. I've spoken to a group at TCU where I sold nine books, a neighborhood group where I sold five or six, and tonight a group in the Fairmount neighborhood, setting of Skeleton in a Dead Space, where I chatted informally with five people and sold one book. They asked if I'd come back for the second book if they promised to have more people, and I assured them I'd not only come back, I'd remind them when it came out. It's not how many books you sell at any one of these meetings--it's the people you meet and get to know. If they like you and your book, they spread the word, and the grapevine grows. Marketing at its most basic level.
One of the women tonight said to me, "I love to get so involved in a book that I can't bear for it to end," and that's something for all authors to remember: create a world in your book that makes the reader want to stay in it. That's a big reason I write cozies--people like the cozy world with its absence of overt sex and violence.
A new website called bookbuzzed launched today (http://t.co/p8HRjoKm) and I was delighted to be the inaugural featured author, thanks to an arrangement made by my wonderful publisher, Turquoise Morning Press. The site urges people to publicize by tweeting on Twitter, and my fellow TMP authors were great about tweeting and retweeting. Bookbuzzed also gives away a free book and sends questions to the author throughout the day--what are you reading now? what's your favorite book? career if you weren't writing? dream vacation? character you most relate to in your book? These questions are important, just like the book groups above, because they give readers a sense of you as a person, hopefully someone they like. That makes them want to read your book.
So it's been quite a good book day and I wrote 1500 words on the third novel. Moving right along and feeling good about it.

A happy halloween to all

2011-10-31T19:12:00.000-07:00

Since I no longer have kids at home--haven't for almost twenty years--I've let Halloween go. It's not much fun to do by yourself--or that's my excuse. Some years when the Frisco girls were young I went there to see them in their costumes; some years I've turned out all the lights and hibernated; for a few years the Texas Book Festival was on Halloween, and I was in Austin. We had a wonderful time--Melinda, KK, and I gave out treats in Megan's yard while she and B took the boys down the street. But the last couple of years, I have a new tradition, thanks to my good neighbors, Susan and Jay. They enjoy Halloween--Jay particularly likes greeting each child, commenting on his or her costume, joking with the parents. He sits on their front steps with an enormous bowl of candy at his feet and doles it out. Susan has made delicious stew both years, so I simply put the dogs up, turn out all my lights, and go next door.
Kids come to our neighborhood by the thousands (almost literally)--the sidewalks are crowded, the streets are full of parked cars and some cruising slowly. Even after dark, the steady parade continues. I saw the biggest van I've ever seen across the street tonight. It's not a particularly rich neighborhood but as Jay says it's "Halloween friendly": the houses are close together and not set too far back from the street, and the residents (except me) open up their hearts, buy tons of candy, and turn on their lights. All of the children and their parents who came up the walk tonight were exceedingly polite, full of "thank you" and "Happy Halloween." At least half the parents were in costume, and some came carrying babes in arms sound asleep--hmmm, wonder who would eat that candy? I hope not the baby. In all the constant two-hour stream, we saw only one neighbor.
At eight o 'clock, Jay and Susan ran out of candy and turned out the lights. Jay walked me home since my house was so dark. But I am grateful to them for sharing the evening with me--it's not much fun to hide in your house with the lights out. And I'm grateful for the stew--I'd been wondering what to have for supper and was definitely in need of comfort food. Susan sent a goodly serving of it home with me for supper tomorrow night.
Other than that, it was a busy day--an appoinmtment with the audiologist at 8:15. Note to self: do not make such early appointments again. Quick run to the grocery and to drop off some books; then the podiatrist and on to the pet store, where I bought the rapidly growing Miss Sophie a larger crate, this time one of the open ones. I had thought I'd have to call Jay and ask him to get it out of the car and assemble it--but I did it all myself. Quite proud, if I do say so. But it was the easiest assembly I've ever seen. Sophie went in it for the first time readily and seems to like it. I think she likes seeing the world, and now I can drop treats to her through the top. It actually will be easier to travel with than the other one. This one collapses neatly, and Sophie now rides in the car with a harness attached to a seat belt.

Things I've Lost

2011-10-29T18:11:00.000-07:00

That title to this post might make you think I'm going to write about lost people, relationships, etc. Nothing so deep and dark. I'm talking about actual things. This morning I decided to wear my favorite soft gray short-sleeved shirt over jeans and under a bright pink fleece jacket. I haven't worn that shirt in a while, and do you think I could find it? I went through the closet three times, hanger by hanger, and I have no idea where it is. I tell myself it will show up, but I'd rather have it now than later. Last fall, when it was time for sweats, I looked for my standby gray flannel hooded jacked, with accents of dark stitching, that Jamie and Mel gave me--it was great to throw on over a T-shirt and flannel pants and stay warm while I worked at home. Sometimes I even ventured out of the house in it. But it has disappeared. I have a sneaky feeling that if I emptied the closet where it should be--hanging above a collection of odd blankets used when there's a full house--I might find it. Or have I done that?
When Jacob was a toddler, my hishi (New Mexico fetish images) necklace went missing. Jordan was convinced Jacob had seen it on the dresser, picked it up and threw it in the recycleable bin. After a party Christian kindly emptied that bin but without looking at the contents--who would? I was sure it was still in the house, and periodically I looked for it. One day I found it--way up under my bead. In the meantime, I'd acquired two more hishi strands, so now I had three and they looked great together. As of the last month, I can't find them.
Then there was the time I washed four pillowcases and pulled three out of the dryer. Checked the washer, the dryer, the spaces in between--nada. Friends of mine announced that it is impossible to simply lose a pillow case, and they came to investigate--and went away baffled. To this day they occasionally ask me about that pillow case, but it's been a couple of years now, and it still hasn't turned up. I've bought new linen.
Yesterday I went out to the guest apartment to begin to prepare for kids next weekend and "real" company the following. When I bought the blasted doublebunk beds, I bought really neat sheets and comforters for them--blue checked sheets, blue and yellow plaid comforters and shams. Now there is only one comforter. Colin and his family are the most frequent occupants of the apartment, and he assures me the comforter is out there. I looked again today--closet, under beds, under the futon pad--no comforter.
So here's what I'm missing that I'm upset about: one gray shirt, my hishi necklaces, my gray flannel jacket, and one comforter. It's not that they're things that would someone would filch--besides, I don't have that kind of friends. And they're not things that would interest Jacob, even if he was guilty at two of taking the hishi, and we don't know that. They're just random, unexplained, unexplainable disappearances. Worse than losing a sock in the dryer.
Elizabeth and Weldon maybe you better come back--I'll cook. Anyone out there psychic? I'll offer a dinner to anyone who finds any or all of these things.

Rangers Fever

2011-10-28T17:10:00.000-07:00

Facebook was lots of fun this morning, in spite of the gloom of the Rangers' loss last night. Message aftr message traced the emotions of the evening, although in backward order because you read the newest first. So in reading them it went from disappointment and despair to unbelieveable tension to early elation when we we're winning. Some had really clever comments and others a baseball lingo I apparently don't understand.
I've never been much of a sports fan, though I like baseball better than football because I can follow the game and tell what's happening. For too much of football, all the players pile on each other, and I have no idea what just went on. Basketball is in the middle for me--fast and exciting, and I can usually tell what's going on. But I've never been one to change my schedule for a game or sit and watch with nothing else to do.
I grew up in the era when the World Series, not the Superbowl, was "the" sports events, and I can remember kids sneaking small portable radios into grade school during the Series. Although I lived on Chicago's South Side, I was never a White Sox fan but always for the Cubs--since they never won, maybe it has something to do with the underdog. I really think it was because the kids next door were Cubs fans--and I doubt they had any more reason than I did.
For years in Fort Worth I went to TCU football games dutifully--they always lost, though we heard much about the glory days of Slingin' Sammy Baugh and Davey O'Brien. These days I'm mildly happy if TCU wins, not at all interested in which conference they're in--doesn't make sense to me--but I'm always a bit resentful of all the money poured into sports programs while TCU Press had to squeak by on used furniture and out-of-date computers. My ears are deaf to arguments that football makes money--that shouldn't be the point in a university.
Anyway, rant over and back to baseball. Last Sunday night Megan and Brandon were watching the game, so I thought I'd be sociable and take my book in by the TV--I often stay with my book at the big granite slab in the middle of their kitchen but not this night. I'd read and glance at the TV, but the more I watched Derek Holland, the more often I put the book down and watched the game. I was mesmerized by the concentration, the pressure, the decisions that they had to make. When the manager finally went in to take him out, I could see Holland begging to stay in--and I wish he had, so he could have gotten closer credit. But that night, baseball and the Rangers began to mean more to me. I've watched off and on this week--one eye on the game and one eye on something else. Last night I went to sleep in the 8th, sure we'd won. What a shock the headlines were this morning.
So tonight, I'll mute it, try to write, and keep an eye on that little box in the upper lefthand corner. Trouble is--I have to get up and walk to the TV to see what it says!

My theory about getting going

2011-10-27T19:28:00.000-07:00

Cold, rainy day, a head cold, and muddy dogs--not a pretty picture. But I proved one of my own theories--when you get up and get going, you feel better. People used to tease me that I made my children go to school with a 105 temperature--not quite true, but they really had to prove they were sick. Jamie was given to dizzy spells (undiagnosed to this day but almost gone), and I clearly remember one day when he was about seven. He told me he couldn't go to school--he was too dizzy. I said, "Nonsense. Of course you can go to school," and stood him up in front of me. When I let go, he collapsed like a puddle at my feet. Poor baby--I'd say I feel guilty in retrospect but he'd capitalize on that.
I didn't feel up to par Tuesday but felt fine yesterday--because I had to be up and going. An early dental appointment (that had to be rescheduled when I got there), a luncheon where three of us spoke on Grace & Gumption: The Cookbook, and dinner out with Betty at Pappadeaux, long a favorite. But today I didn't have anything on my calendar until time to pick up Jacob--and I began a real downhill slide. Jeannie called to see if I wanted to go to lunch, and I offered a pitiful, "No, thanks. I want a long nap before school gets out." Got the nap, thought I felt better, but sank again as the afternoon wore on. Supper at the Grill with Linda--meatloaf, my favorite--and I barely ate half of it and brought the rest home for tomorrow..
But then my class arrived. I got engaged in their papers and conversation and forgot to feel sorry for myself. Still, I"m going to bed early tonight.
Part of my disaster today: I went out to check the apartment, since the Hudgeonses will be here a week from tomorrow and my good friend Barbara the weekend after that. Found one set of clean sheets, tried to put them on the main bed and realized I was trying to put standard sheets on a queen bed. So then I put them on the bottom bunk--if I ever buy double bed bunk beds again, just shoot me. Took me a good 20 minutes to make that bed. Then I noticed that though the kids had dutifully left the refrigerator door open, they hadn't uplugged it--huge iceball on the freezer compartment. I've been defrosting it and running out to check all day. Think the wood floors will escape undamaged. I had a pristine, unused cat box that just fit into that apartment-size fridge. And in sorting bed clothes, I discovered I'm missing one of the matching comforters I bought for the bunk beds--how does one lose a comforter?
In spite of all I wrote 1500 words today--maybe not golden, but 1500 words. They say persistence is the most important attribute for a writer. My goal is 1500 words a day--but I really missed some with the Austin trip. Going to get after is this weekend--and one day this week I think I did 2500.

Texas Book Festival

2011-10-25T15:49:00.000-07:00

With Melinda in the "living room" of the TCU Press booth

Estimates are that 35,000 people attended last weekend's Texas Book Festival, and I think every one of them walked by the TCU Press booth, with a goodly number stopping to browse and buy. Melinda and KK had set up a "living room" in the doorway by our booth (note the trees in the background)--folding chairs and a small coffee table. There was usually a good breeze, whereas some of the tents got crowded, hot and stifling. The living room was a perfect place for people watching, and people we didn't know sometimes sat down to rest. Melinda says she spent a long time one day watching the boots go by (make a line from a song go through your mind?). I sat there a lot because it gave me a great view of the crowd, and I spotted friends I hadn't seen for a while.

The festival offers all kinds of activities--panels, readings, talks. But I usually stay around the booth and visit with people. Seeing friends is the big draw for me. This time I met for the first an author I've corresponded with for several years--a special treat. I did sign books at the Texas A&M signing tables--our booth is part of the larger A&M tent--and I sat at the Texas Institute of Letters booth for an hour. Actually sold one copy of Skeleton to an old friend. All in all I sold seven copies this weekend and gave one to Megan and Brandon--thought I'd already done that. Brandon is offended because there are characters named after several members of the family but no Brandon! But I digress. I also signed several copies of Elmer Kelton: Memories and Essays, our tribute to the late great Texas author.

The festival began in 1998, with Laura Bush as the prime mover behind it. Now in its twelfth year, it is one of the largest and best book festivals in the country. In its first years, I thought it should be all about Texas books and authors, because that was always my focus at TCU Press. Instead, the festival has grown steadily by featuring nationally prominent authors. Maybe the idea is more to show that Texans are readers than writers. This year, Paula Deen was a big draw. I don't mind that I didn't hear her--I watch her on TV a lot--but one of the TCU Press interns bought a copy of her new book. I leafed through it and instantly wanted a copy--will put it on my wish list. I usually don't buy books at the festival--if I allowed myself to do that, I'd end up broke.

Another digression: family friend Ralph Lauer took the smashing photographs in a new Louis Lambert/June Naylor cookbook: Big Ranch, Big City. Scrumptious recipes--I gave it to Megan for her birthday and spent some time this weekend browsing through it.

The Texas Book Festival is the one professional event I still attend in retirement, and I look forward to the 2012 festival.

Oh what a beautiful weekend!

2011-10-24T18:15:00.000-07:00

Yes, the play on the song from Oklahoma! is deliberate. I have just had the most wonderful weekend. I went with Melinda, TCU Press production manager and my good friend, to Austin for the Texas Book Festival. My weekend was divided between family and the festival, so tonight's post is about family. Tomorrow I'll talk about the festival.
The last few years Melinda and I have developed a routine for our annual trip to Austin. We leave about ten, stop for lunch--for a couple of years we stopped at West and went into the authentic Czech restaurants in town, but now our destination is Heritage Homestead, a 500-acre community on the Brazos, outside the town of Elm Mott, where people have chosen to return to the earlier days of craftsmanship. They create pottery, wooden objects from furniture to cutting boards and canes, homemade soaps, weavings, all sorts of things. You can visit their gift shop or tour the actual workshops. For us, the destination is the cafe--homemade food, including wonderful bread. The members of the community all dress simply, no make-up for the women, plain hairstyles pulled away from their faces and caught in a chignon or braid. But they are most gracious and welcoming. After lunch, we browse the shop and then head for Austin, where we pick up Melinda's good friend KK (by now my friend too) and head for Z Tejas for happy hour. This year author Marcia Daudistel and her sisters met us, plus Dan, TCU Press director, and my kids, Megan and Brandon. The group split up--Melinda, KK, and Dan went to set up the display, and I went home with Megan and Brandon to greet my grandsons Sawyer (7) and Ford (turned 5 today).
They took me to Vespaio, an upscale Italian restaurant that is my absolute favorite in Austin. The last time I was there they took me to tell me they were expecting Sawyer, so it's been a long time, and I have longed to go back. I feasted on white anchovies and veal-filled ravioli. Brandon ordered the mixed grill and gave me one of his marrow bones--generous beyond belief, but I was grateful. Haven't had marrow in a long time and love it. The boys really behaved well--it was a noisy restaurant--and the evening will remain a remarkable memory.
Halloween birthday party: Sawyer is the one in the tri-cornered hat and red coat--he was a Revolutionary general though in spite of the red coat he insisted he was on the American side. Ford was a ninja turtle but he's barely visible--and don't miss the spider pinata.

I spent some of the next day at the book festival, but Ford's b'day party was in the afternoon--twelve or so kids in costume whacking away at a spider pinata and sitting spellbound for a magician, then eating pizza and the richest chocolate cake I've had in eons.
Sunday was a lazy day--I slept until 8:30! Unheard of! Megan fixed a late breakfast, and then I was off to the festival for a couple of hours. Came back about two, napped, we went to Central Market and then I fixed oven-fried potatoes topped by cod fillets--thanks to Krista Davis for the recipe. I haven't watched a baseball game in forever, but I was being sociable and reading while the grownups watched the game. I got hooked, mostly by the intense concentration of the players and the pressure they were under. Like the rest of the nation I watched Hollander pitch with awe and was sorry they pulled him for the last inning--I can see why, but I also saw him beg the manager to let him stay in. Even so, what a coup for a 25-year-old, so yes now I'm watching again tonight.
Melinda and I usually have breakfast with an old friend on Monday before heading home but Melinda was running late, we got lost, and by the time we got there, she had left. I'm hoping for a Christmas visit. Meantime we had a good breakfast--I ate maybe 2/3 of a baked potato omelet, sinful! And then we were on our way. Home by one o'clock and glad to be here.
But I have a weekend of memories.

Sophie spent the weekend with Jacob and Jordan, and I'm afraid she's spoiled rotten, but they all had a good time. Jordan said to me today, "Sweet baby is a lot of work!" Amen! I have titled the first photo "Spoiled rotten"--Sophie is soon going to be way too big to be a lap dog!

A long lazy day--not!

2011-10-20T19:42:00.000-07:00

For the first time all week, today I didn't feel rushed. Went about my morning routine, went to the grocery and hardware and was home by 9:30. The whole day stretched before me, and I intended to get some writing done. But first there was a kitchen laundry to do--I do napkins dishrags, kitchen towels, etc. in a separate load, an inheritance from my father's strict sanitation rules. And then there were some other things to do--and it was eleven when I got back to my computer. I bought some really good egg salad at the store and anticipated a light lunch of egg salad, hummus, and sliced cucumber.
All my plans went out the window when I looked at my computer and noticed that the next thing on my calendar was a lunch a week from today--a whole week empty? Surely not, much as I would like it. A second look showed me that the luncheon was today in forty-five minutes. I made it, with barely time to spare. It was the Friends of the Library past presidents luncheon, and I am included as sort of an honorary gesture, which I much appreciate. Saw people I don't see often enough, heard interesting reports from the dean of the library (once my boss)--she is really thinking outside the box and coming up with creative ideas for marketing--and I ate enough for two people. So good. As I was leaving, the dean (June Koelker) called me back. She and a board member wanted to know more about my new book, and pretty soon I was giving a pitch to a room of 35 people! I was already glad I went to the luncheon but that doubled my pleasure.
Hurried home for a quick nap--there went the long leisurely nap I'd antcipated--and then went to get Jacob, who announced he had a party at Legoland this evening. "Who's giving the party?"
"I am."
"Did you discuss it with Mommy?"
"Yes. She said, 'No, no, no.' So see, we discussed it." He was adamant and quite crushed when she arrived and put the damper on things, plus did not approve of the way he'd done his homework. He dashes through it--"Draw a banana like the one in the picture, Jacob"--he drew a straight line and said, "I don't know how to draw a banana." Poor kid was so downcast when he left it wore me out all over again and I took a second, unheard-of nap.Got up in time to eat meatloaf and spinach with Linda before class.
As always, memoir class was stimulating. Class members are branching out into fiction, and one gave a thorough report on the historical incident behind the novel she plans to write. Another recalled four incidents from her young years that indicated inappropriate behavior on the part of men, though she was too naive at the time to recognize it. And a third, our queen of short fiction, created a short story about a woman who was convinced David Koresh, having survived Waco, lived in the apartment below her. This woman has a gift for creating eccentric narrators and for reading her fiction aloud, so we ended the evening with lots of laughter.
But my lazy day wasn't.

Tired all day

2011-10-18T18:26:00.000-07:00

So didn't want to do my yoga today. Every muscle, particularly in my back, felt stiff and my right hip hurt. I wondered if that was from being beaten during the night by the arms and feet of a five-year-old ton of bricks who migrates toward you in his sleep. Once when I turned him over he nearly fell out of bed, and I had to grab him. Needless to say, my sleep was intermittent and not very satisfying. I sat at my computer about 8:45 and thought, "I could so go to sleep right now." But I had way too much to do--household chores galore and email to check and some writing I wanted to at least get started on--I bet I wrote three sentences before it was time to run to the grocery store for coffee--uncharacteristically I was completely out, not enoiugh to make one more cup) and then to pick a friend up for lunch. Got a brief nap and could feel myself ready to fall into a deep sleep when it was time to pick up Jacob. Yawned my way across the street to the school.
Jacob wants to badly to help me train Sophie, so today when we practiced walking on the leash without pulling, I let him try it and he did a darn good job. Also at one point when I was holding her and she snuck behind me, he saved me from going down. I teetered and felt that old panic that blanks out logical thought like get rid of the leash. I called out to him to hold on to me, and he was right there with both hands. So proud of him. We train in the driveway in a part made secure by the gate, so I feel safe that she won't get away if either one of us loses control.
Tonight Betty and I tried out a reincarnation of an old neighborhood Mexican restaurant--food was excellent, though the interior looks as it always had. When I mentioned to Betty I didn't much like the ambiance, she said it was because there was none. Still we shared outstanding guacamole and tilapia puffy tacos. BYOB so Betty hoofed it to the liquor store for a bottle of wine. All in all, we had fun and a good meal.
Kids, friends, and dogs fill my days in such pleasant ways, but I am not forgetting my work. I've kept up with emails today, explored a bit more trying to learn to navigate the Goodreads site, and am about to write what I'm about to make my requisite thousand words for the day.

What haven't you done?

2011-10-17T19:55:00.000-07:00

I've lost three friends lately, although only one of them was close--a woman a bit older than me who has befriended me for years. I liked and admired her and looked forward to our visits--she was always upbeat and fun to be with. We cared about each other's families and compared notes, shared memories of the good old days. Then there was the husband of my high school best friend--I knew him of course. We'd had good visits, most recently when they were here two or three years ago for a weekend. He was a wonderful husband, father and grandfather, active in his community and his church, devout. We differed politically but that's minor, and I was fond of him--above all because my friend loved him and he made her happy. Then there's a man who I may not have seen even in passing in ten years but when our children were little, his then-family and my then-family were close--makes me think how people and family situations change. This man was exactly my age. So each of these losses hit me in a different way but each had its impact. I said sort of idly last night that it's hard when your contemporaries die, and my neighbor looked at me and asked,
"If you didn't wake up tomorrow, what would you have not done that you want to do?" He went on to point out that I've raised beautiful children, I have wonderful grandchildren, I've had a good career, I've finally written the mystery that I wanted to--I could have added and I've been to Scotland. That was a biggie for me.
Those of you who read this blog frequently know that I often end a post with "Life is sweet." I told Jay last night that's why I want to wake up in the morning. Religious theory about the afterlife aside, I'm probably happier with my life now than I ever have been. I want to eat right, exercise, do all those things so I can keep enjoying this good life.
No, there's not much in my life that I really wanted to do and haven't yet done--but that doesn't feel like an ending. It feels like a beginning, because I always find new things I want to do, accomplish, new plans to make, family visits to anticipate, a new book to write. No regrets but I'm sure not ready to get off the merryground.
How about you? Is there something you'd regret not having done?
Thunder is rolling outside, and Jacob claims he can't sleep because there's a tornado outside his window. He's in my bed now, but still bright-eyed. I have given up the idea of constructive writing for the night. Even so, life is sweet--just extra busy this week.

Computers, puppies, manuscripts and food--a mixed-up day

2011-10-15T18:23:00.000-07:00

There's not much worse in a writer's day than to turn on your computer in the morning and it doesn't start. This morning mine had a blue-and-white screen that said something about security open. It had options, but when I hit the tab key, it simply went from the date to something incomprehensible and back again. I tried ctrl/alt/delete, I turned it off, I unplugged it--nothing worked. I was stuck, so I did what all great thinkers do: I went to the bathroom. And there of course it hit me that I should stop trying to fix it with my remote keyboard and use the keyboard on the laptop. Worked like a charm, and pretty soon I had exited whatever that was (probably crucial to the life of my computer but I surely hope not) and had the screen with the picture of my happy family and all my icons. I was back in business and most grateful. Not only do I start my day with email and Facebook, but this was the day I'd targeted to start reading the work in progress, writing out that one plot thread, and evaluating others. What looked to be a day with alternative plans was now back on track.
In the late morning, Sophie and I went to our training class. A big part of training Sophie is to train me. Last night, after she'd just been out, she kept jumping on me, and I repeated "Off!" so many times I got tired of it. Suddenly, she was quiet, and I figured out why--she'd left a puddle. It was like she said to me, "Mom, I tried to tell you!" She did--but it was late, I'd just gotten home, I wanted to clear up the day, and she'd just been out. Tonight I'm paying better attention to her signals.
Today's lesson was about walking on a loose lead. Sophie and I flunked, at least in my mind. She wants to pull and go off in a thousand directions. I realize I haven't taken her out in the world enough, so she is eager for every new person, every new experience. But I'm afraid she'll pull me down. I vow we'll practice hard this week.
Jay and Susan are painting the back side of Jay's office (really their guest house) which means they're in my yard all day. Jay went to the deli and brought sandwiches--lox and cream cheese for me. I should have learned never to order it to go--they didn't toast the rye bread (I don't like bagels) and the lox for some unknown reason was cut up into tiny pieces. Go figure. Still tasted good, and I was grateful. We sat on the porch--perfect porch day.
My main project today is indeed re-reading my first draft, with Fred's suggesitons in mind. I've pretty much kept at it and am working on it tonight. Once into Kelly's neigborhood, the world of the Kelly O'Connnell mysteries, I get sort of wrapped up in it and going through the pages is fun. Trouble is that I know so well what I've written, I'm sure I miss things I want to correct. But I feel no sense of needing to hurry, so it's a nice leisurely day.
Cooking hint for the day: not many people like creamed tuna, but they might like mine. Since I rarely have milk on hand, I make a white sauce with white wine and add a dollop of low-fat mayonnaise for creaminess. A little salt, pepper, garlic powder and thyme and a healthy addition of green peas--it's delicious.
Life is good.

Two very different books

2011-10-14T20:29:00.000-07:00

Two books on my mind tonight. Late last night (too late) I finished Liz Lipperman's Liver Let Die. I'd call this first in a new series a "non-culinary" mystery. Jordan McAllister is stuck writing personals for a small-town newspaper and dreaming of a career as a big-time sports reporter when she is suddenly asked to take over the food column. Jordan knows how to fry bologna and that's about it--her cast iron skillet is literally unused, though she puts it to good use here. In one of the funniest scenes I've read in a long time, she is sent to review an upsccale steak restaurant. She confesses to the waiter that she doesn't much like red meat, so he suggests foie gras, convincing her that it's chicken. Confronted with the look and texture of foie gras, she desperateley stuffs it in a borrowed purse and escapes the restaurant. Her review includes more than you want to know about force-feeding geese.
Jordan, like a babe in the wilderness, writes her column with the help of her assorted friends and neighbors, one of whom is an outstanding cook. Potato chip casserole becomes Budin de Papitas Frites con Pollo, and pork chop casserole is Cote de Porc a'la cocotte.
But murder is deadly serious, and the waiter who served her the foie gras turns up dead at the steps to Jordan's apartment. She's suspect #1, and her amateur attempts to find out who really killed J.T. and prove her innocence drag her deeper and deeper into something menacing that she doesn't understand at all. There's suspense aplenty before it all gets straightened out, and you'll have as hard a time as Jordan does figuring out who are the good guys and who aren't.
The other book is Lone Star Leaders: Power and Personality in the Texas Congressional Delegation, by James Riddlesperger and Anthony Champagne. The Bookish Frogs, a lay support group for TCU Press, had a potluck supper tonight. For a while, I thought we were going to have a dessert buffet but it turned out there were plenty of delicious appetizers and side dishes--from pulled pork sliders to spanikopita and mac and cheese. The desserts were plentiful and delicious, and the wine flowed. The best thing about those evenings is the interesting people who attend--had fun, for instance, chatting with a Facebook "friend" that I don't think I'd ever talked to before..
Lone Star Leaders was written by two political science profs, but it's not the dull scholarly book you might expect. Instead it's a coffee-table book full of anecdotes and enlivened by photographs and cartoons. Tony Champagne spoke tonight and was both funny and interesting, full of facts about the Texas Congressional Delegation that most of us didn't know, from stories about well-known legislators like LBJ, Sam Rayburn and John Nance Garner to some about lesser known legislators who have had a great impact on our daily lives. You could have heard the proverbial pin drop when he spoke--everyone was completely engaged. I"m looking forward to digging into the book.
Two good books--take your pick.

Beta readers

2011-10-13T19:22:00.000-07:00

This week I heard from my mentor--since he doesn't think of himself as a mentor, I think I should now call him my Beta reader. I was never sure about that term but I see it all over the writing lists, so I looked it up: a reader who readers with a "critical eye" with the aim of improving a work for a general audience. Well, my Beta reader, Fred, had several suggestions which kind of all boiled down to I have too many balls in the air in the current work in progress and should eliminate some. I know he's right about at least one plot thread and will eliminate it. Another one I must review. One I'm pretty sure I want to keep, and another solution he suggested I've already solved in a different way--though when I told him, Fred seemed to think that was a good idea. But the one I really should write out will wipe out everything I did yesterday morning, so it kind of set me back on my heels. I'm once again moving ahead at a good clip, accumulating words toward that goal of a 70,000-word manuscript, so I was dismayed at the thought of writing out a good chunk of it. I tell myself, or try to, that it's quality not quantity that matters. The truth is my March 15 deadline is for a finished manuscript and this is a first draft, so if I stop moving ahead in word count and go back to rewrite and reconsider, it becomes part of the revision process which I will now do sooner rather than later.
But at the same time I found a promotional contest for a new culinary novel--well, really it's sort of a non-culinary mystery because the protagonist is a food critic who knows zilch about cooking or food. There are several steps to this contest: post on Twitter, post on Facebook, buy a copy and submit proof, and finally, write a review. The prize, though, is worth all those steps--fancy digital cooking equipment. So what the heck--I temporarily abandoned my own novel to read Liz Lipperman's Liver Let Die and I'm having fun with it. And I tell myself thoughts about my own novel are simmering on the back burner of my brain. I truly do believe that theory.
Tonight was memoir class, and we had a stimulating evening of some profoundly honest and moving pieces and then one hilarious one plus some really interesting discussions about why you write memoir--one class member says she writes with such honesty she can't share it with anyone outside the class. A new member who says she doesn't know what she wants to write doesn't want to do memoir because parts of her childhood were difficult, she's dealt with them, and doesn't want to relive them. So there was a chorus of suggestions of what she can write about. Another member advocated that everyone has a story to tell and those stories must be captured and preserved. Each person has to decide how to approach memoir, but it sure was an interesting discussion.
Enough complex thinking--I have to get back to reading that mystery.

A normal day?

2011-10-11T19:19:00.000-07:00

I managed to write 3,000 words today--2,000 in the morning and another 1,000 in the evening. I have no idea how many words other authors accumulate in a day's time, but I was pretty darn proud of this. Whereas a week or so ago I was in the broken middle, I seem to have found a plot line to carry the story forward. I am actually full of ideas for tomorrow's writing, but I think I'll quit for tonight. Running out of gas for one thing, and I want to start a cozy that I'm going to review in hopes of winning a contest--grand prize is some sort of digital fancy kitchen equipment that I probably don't undertand but it sounds wonderful. The book is Liz Lipperman's Liver Let Die about a non-cook who ends up being food critic for a small paper.She also ends up in the middle of a murder--my kind of book.
Not that I've cooked in the past two days. Yesterday I had lunch and dinner out but managed to eat modestly. Okay, I ate chopped liver for lunch--but only a small scoop and I didn't have it in a sandwich. Last night I had a salad. Today I ate all three meals out and once again really tried to be modest--one scrambled egg and a half piece of toast for breakfast, one brat, potato salad and kraut for lunch (doesn't sound like diet food, does it?) and half a serving of meatloaf, black-eyed peas and green beans for supper (the other half of the meatloaf is in the fridge calling my name for lunch soon). If my social life doesn't slow down, I will be a) late with my manuscript, and b) fat as a pig.
Tomorrow, I speak at a monthly book luncheon at TCU for staff and then will fix a chopped steak dish for the Burtons. But Thursday, aah, I get to eat the meatloaf for lunch and Linda will come for supper before the memoir class. I think she'll get creamed tuna, but shhh! don't tell her.
Right now the weather in North Texas is beautiful. Great top down days, and I love the freedom of driving with the wind blowing my hair in my eyes so I can't see--a visor cap helps with that. By 12:30, the sun was almost too hot to have the top down but I soldiered on. By the time I got Jacob, it was too hot for the shirt I'd started the day in. He managed to create a mud puddle in the back yard--the puppy, thinking she's a pig, wallowed in it. I have laid down the law about turning on the water. Hope it works.
Life is good.

speaking to book clubs

2011-10-10T20:18:00.000-07:00

There's been a thread on the Guppies (Great Unpublished) list lately about the value of speaking to local book clubs. I'm all in favor of it. Granted the audience is small, but if they like you and your book, they'll spread the word. Tonight I spoke to the "Berkeley Babes," a neighborhood group with a name that some acknowledge as incongruous. One said to me, maybe it was appropriate years ago when the club was formed and the members were indeed "babes."
Tonight they met at a local restaurant on the patio--a lovely evening and perfect setting. The friend who invited me said they made it a rule that visiting authors could not sell books, which was a bit of a disappointment, so I took bookmarks. Turns out I needn't have worried: all but one of the fourteen women present had read (and presumably purchased) my book, which made disicussion all the much easier. We drank wine, ate salads, and they munched on pizza, which I declined. Then I spoke about the book, finding that once I've done it, extemporaneous was easy for me. I had some notes that the dog chewed and I was going to take them as a joke, but forgot--and the gimmick wasn't needed. I talked about how I got the idea for the book, the publication process, agents, etc.--talked maybe for 15 minutes--and then opened it for questions. They had lots of them, and there was lively discussion for at least thirty, maybe forty-five minutes. At the end, I had one prospective sale (she'd been traveling and hadn't read the book) and ten new friends (four of those present are in my writing class, and I may have picked up some intrest in that). But those ten new friends will, I hope, tell their friends about the mystery they read and the author who spoke to them.
I have three more book clubs and a university employees book group coming up shortly, with the probability of at least one more book club. . Small audiences, but worth the time. And good practice in speaking to promote my book. Word may spread from those and garner me more invitations. Lots better than sitting at a table in a bookstore watching people walk by and avoid looking at me--though I may do some of that too.
I always remember Jane Roberts Wood's Train to Estelline. Jane made it a hit by talking to every small group she could find. I think she's a good role model. If you really want to promote your book, no group is too small, no effort not worth making--with a smile.
A note of confusion: last night's post about Spam was meant to go on Potluck with Judy. I get mixed up easily between the two, and it ended on Judy's Stew. So I hope you enjoyed it. Yay, Spam!

Spam stix--no kidding

2011-10-09T19:55:00.000-07:00

The Texas State Fair is here, along with its weird deep-fried foods. Every year contestants try to outdo previous years—like this year fried bubble gum is edging out fried butter. One of the lesser known contests is for Spam recipes, but my friend Weldon Adams submitted his fried Spam stix—and didn’t win. Still, his wife, Beth, insists that they are “embarrassingly good.” We had them for dinner tonight. I found them like crunchy fish sticks, delicious dipped in ketchup. I was only cautious because the fat content in traditional Spam is pretty high. Christian, my fussy son-in-law, ate two helpings plus what was on his son’s plate, and ignored the back-up hamburger I’d gotten him. We thought Jacob would like them but he didn’t (ate a ton of purple-hulled peas with ketchup).

For those that might not know Spam is a canned lunch meat made of ham, pork, sugar, salt, water, starch, and sodium nitrite. Since it was introduced in 1937 over six billion cans have been sold worldwide. It was introduced primarily for the armed forces because, with all that sodium, it keeps well. They used so much of it at Pearl Harbor that Hawaii became sort of Spam Central, and the international recipe competition is held there to this day.

When I was a kid, Spam sandwiches were made much like ham sandwiches with lettuce and mayo or mustard. My frugal mother, who’d lived through the Depression and was living through the second World War in her lifetime, treated a whole can of Spam like a ham—she crisscrossed knife slashes across the top, sprinkled it with brown sugar, studded it with cloves, and baked it. Mom sliced the leftovers and fried them for breakfast meat. Weldon says his family ate chicken-fried Spam.

Spam has become sort of an inside joke these days. Lots of people who’ve never tasted it say, “Yuck! I could never eat that.” (Count at least one of my daughters among them.) But it spite of the product’s generally poor reputation, Hormel has a huge Spam Web site that you can explore for hours (http://www.spam.com). Much of it seems tongue-in-cheek. The Spam Museum, for instance, is a virtual museum. Listing visits per year, the site says, “As many as you’d like.” There’s a page devoted to Spammobile, a gift shop that sells T-shirts, coffee cups and mugs, drop earrings with SPAM cans, lapel pins, bumper stickers that say “I love Spam,” a Spam fan club (“your membership lasts a lifetime”), and an endless list of things. The Book of SPAM is available online from amazon.com. Today Spam comes in a dithering array of flavors—original, hickory smoked, with bacon, with garlic, with cheese, lite, turkey. The Web site has recipes—Spam stroganoff, Spam meatloaf, Spam quiche, a speedy dip, croquettes, and a minestrone soup made with Spam. There are also suggestions for adapting the ubiquitous meat to various cuisines. Prefer French food? You can have your Spam in ratatouille or something called Ragin’ Cajun Spam party salad. Asian? How about Speedy Cheesy Stir-fry? Spam a la orange? Sweet and sour Spam Cantonese? If Mexican is your preference, you can have Spam in chili relleños, ranchero eggs, chimichangas, or breakfast burritos. And finally, of course, there’s Italian—pizza is inevitable, but you can also make turkey Spam lasagna, eggplant Italiano, spaghetti sauce, or fettucine primavera. The possibilities are endless.

It’s no coincidence that spam has become the term for unwanted junk email. There’s an explanation on the Web, but it went over my head.

Here’s Weldon’s description and recipe for his Spam stix:

French Fried Spam Stix are intended as a replacement for both sausage links and hash browns to help break the monotony on a breakfast plate. They are a tasty match with my special “Dippin’ Sauce,” especially when paired with scrambled eggs. And kids love them for breakfast…or lunch…or dinner.

In addition, this dish is completely gluten-free, dairy-free, soy-free, & corn-free. (It can easily be made egg-free as well by substituting Almond Milk for the beaten egg.) Food allergies are such an issue today that Hormel Foods should highlight the fact that Spam is gluten-free.

Ingredients:

1 12-oz. Can of Spam (Several flavors will work, but I use the classic)

½ Cup Almond Meal (a.k.a. Almond Flour)

½ Cup Brown Rice Flour

½ Teaspoon Salt (or to taste)

1 Egg (beaten)

Extra Virgin Olive Oil (to fry in)

Note: if gluten allergies don’t trouble you, substitute regular white flour and corn meal for the rice flour and almond meal.)

Kickin’ Chicken Dippin’ Sauce (So named for the chicken on the label of the Sriracha bottle)

Ingredients:
1 cup ketchup
1 Tablespoon Sriracha hot sauce (or to taste)

French Fried Spam® Stix directions:

Set out two bowls in a line next to a deep pot you will use to fry in.

In the bowl next to the pot, mix the Almond Meal, Brown Rice Flour & the salt.
In the bowl further away from the pot, thoroughly beat one egg.
Open and carefully remove the Spam from the can. Rinse and gently shake off any excess water.
Your block of Spam will have score marks (indentation lines) on the sides and ends from the shape of the can. Stand it upright. There is a single score mark down the middle of each of the skinny ends.
Use a sharp knife to cut the block in half using those lines as guide lines. Then divide each half the same way on your own, making 4 slabs of Spam.
Keep them stacked up and lay your Spam on its side. There are 4 score marks on the sides. Use them as guides to slice the SPAM® that way as well. Then divide each of the thicker end pieces in half the same way. You now have 28 almost uniform ‘French fry’ shaped pieces of Spam. Add enough Extra Virgin Olive Oil to your fry pot to cover at least half the thickness of these sticks and bring it to heat.

Once the oil is hot enough to fry, use the “wet-hand/dry-hand” method to move the sticks to the fry pot. Take some sticks in your “wet hand” (the one further away from the pot) and roll the sticks in the beaten egg. Then drop them on top of the mixed dry ingredients.

Using your ‘dry hand’, cover the sticks and roll them over to ensure equal coating on all sides and ends. Then using the same hand, lay them on a broad spatula and lower them into the hot oil to fry.

As you fill the pot evenly across the bottom, check to make sure the first ones are not overdone. They should have a nice golden brown on the sides and bottom. If so, flip them with the spatula. Once all are done, remove them to a cooling/draining rack.

Repeat the process until you have fried all 28 sticks. Once all are on the cooling rack, you can mix up the Kickin’ Chicken Dippin’ Sauce.

Kickin’ Chicken Dippin’ Sauce directions:

In a bowl, mix 1 cup of ketchup with 1 tablespoon of Sriracha Sauce.

Paired with eggs, this serves four.

Strenuous days, a five-year-old boy, and a rough dinner

2011-10-08T18:11:00.000-07:00

I haven't been exercising lately because I had this puppy to care for, a full-time job that gave me plenty of exercise. But more and more she's getting self-sufficient. And I'm gaining weight and feeling the need (guilt?) to exercise. So today I did my yoga routine for the first time in two months. Not as bad as I expected--my muscles seemed to remember what they were supposed to do. Granted, I'm a little less flexible--not that I was ever very flexible--and my muscles quiver more in some exercises. But on the whole, I didn't do badly. I went from that to Sophie's first training session, which proved to be less hard on my body than on my nerves. I worried a great deal about being pulled down between the car and PetSmart, but I managed to control her efforts to run to every person she saw and we made it inside. Lesson was very valuable, from how to use treats to vocabulary. Sophie is, I think, part way through what she should have learned in this first lesson--for instance, she knows "sit" and "down" and I learned a super new technique for dealing with her jumping on me.
Jacob arrived shortly after I finished a hasty lunch--he was not in sympathy with my almost desperate need for a late afternoon nap. Woke me up to "love" on me and for several other reasons. Finally he kissed me and said have a good nap. When I woke up it was almost six and suspiciously quiet from Jacob's playroom--he was sound asleep. I fed the dogs, started dinner, and then wakened him gently by scratching his back. He never wakes up from naps in a good mood but his bad, whiny mood took a while. Then he began to whine because I'd promised a picnic and it looked like rain; I suggested the porch; he cried and wanted his daddy. Finally he decided on the porch, and we carried our dinners out there, only to have him declare it was too windy. Back inside, where he spilled his dinner on the living room rug. Then he wanted to go back outside--carried our food back outside. Then he was sure there was a tornado coming, and we had to go inside. Long story not very short: I had a cold ground beef patty, salad was okay, he had 1-1/2 chicken nuggets, declared he couldn't eat the corn, and finished his meal with chocolate-covered raisins--half good half bad is my grandmotherly rationale.
Rain is in the air, praise be, and Jacob is obssessed with tornadoes, telling me about the ones he's experienced--yeah, sure--and predicting them outside. We have the weather channel on but it's hard for him to distinguish between videos of past tornados and anything happening here and now. He keeps wanting to go to the bathroom to hide but I have refused.
Writing the great American novel? What's that? I may get to read the John Grisham novel that I'm having a hard time with. My colleague Fred tells me it has a section about an inapropriate develpment project, relevant to my work-in-progress, but I haven't come to it yet and am finding, as I have before, that Grisham just doesn't captivate me. This one is The Last Juror.
In sum, a grandmotherly Saturday. Were my kids like this?
Most of the rest of my family is in Austin for a race of some sort--I can't sort out if it's an ironman or a muddy whatever, but I'm a bit sad not to be with them.

2011-10-07T19:15:00.000-07:00

My day started with marching drums about 7:30 in the morning. Sophie got so excited we had to go out on the porch early and listen to the drums--which can get rather repetitive, especially before you've had coffee. But there's something really neat about an elementary school that puts on a neighborhood walkathon instead of selling candy to raise funds--there was so much school spirit. The majority of parents marched with their children, and the Paschal HIgh School Band led the way, behind police cars with flashsing lights. Parents and children alike wore their red Lily B. Clayton T-shirts, and you could feel the excitement in the air. Jacob is lucky to go to this very special school. It was a long day for him, because tonight was family fun night, complete with hot dogs, face painting, bounce house, super-high slides, and all that kind of thing. His mom is out of town on business and pouting about missing all the fun.
I on the other hand had a relatively easy day--after I could get my car out of the driveway, when the parade festivities were over, I ran a couple of errands, did odds and ends, ate an early lunch and had a good nap. Jacob spent the afternoon at the neighbors' playing with three-year-old Abby. They created sidewalk art, of which he was very proud. I got to stay home and clear stray junk off my desk. By the time his dad arrived to take him to family night, I was able to settle down and get some good solid writing time. Just wish I knew where this novel is going.

The kind of day that makes me grateful

2011-10-05T19:40:00.000-07:00

A boy and his dog after school--wait! I thought she was my dog! Guess not.

Tonight Jacob and I went to meet Aunt Betty at The Tavern. He was delighted when I told him Aunt Betty and said, "At the Star?" The Star is the restaurant that Betty and Don own, but I said no, we were going to another restaurant. He gave me a thumbs down. But it was a beautiful evening, and we put the top down and loved the drive through a tree-filled neighborhood. Jacob decided he wanted mac and cheese and mashed potatoes for his dinner (glad his mother is out of town and so unable to say, "he needs a green vegetable" which has often been my mantra). I tried to talk him into choosing one or the other, but he was adamant (I think, as a grandmother, I should have been more firm but I get so tired of telling him no all the time). He barely touched either--they had "grass" (parsley or chives) on them. When his father joined us, he ate a good portion of both, and I ate a bit of the potatoes--so buttery and good.
As Christian and I talked, after Betty had to leave, I said one thing I'd learned from daily baby-sitting or day-care or whatever you want to call it is that "famliarity breeds contempt." Jacob is a lot more likely to balk, ignore, etc., because he's here every day. I do get very tired of being the disciplinarian and yet if I don't, I"m letting him get away with bad habits and, worse, I'm letting him "be the boss" of me." (He's big on who is the boss and insists his mommy is but I explain, over and over, that when he's at my house, I am the boss.)"
In spite of all that, it was a lovely dinner. Christian and I had the kind of good visit we don't get very often. I loved the deviled eggs appetizer and seared scallop and salad entree that Betty and I split--our usual fare at The Tavern. And I drove home with the top down, reveling in the cool and fresh air and thinking how good my life is.
This was a kind of rush/rush day although it shouldn't have been. My compulsive nature kicks in when it shouldn't, but I wanted to get a TCU reimbursement form filled out and comp copies of my novel mailed to the three authors who had so kindly blurbed it. I went to the office, thinking I had to use one of their computers to fill out the form--absolutely boggled my mind and Melinda's too. She really tried to help me. Finally I made a series of "help" phone calls that landed me with a tech person in financial services. His best advice? Go home and do it on my pc. I did, and it took me less than five minutes. I had wasted over an hour at the office, trying to make the darn thing work. The Mac/pc war raged fast and furious in the office when I was there--I've never used anything but a pc but both my employees were die-hard Mac users. We had arguments about it, but I finally just left well enough alone. Turned out today it was a Mac problem. In the end I got my books packaged, ran to the post office, got a copy of my work-in-progress to take to my mentor, Fred, at lunch, and essentially got eveything done that I meant to. But I sure felt harried all the time. This is NOT the way retirement should feel.
Home from lunch, I had an extra hour because Jacob was taking Spanish and I didn't have to get him until four. Did I nap as I planned? No, I had all these nit-picky things to do, although I finally did get in an hour nap. And then I felt rushed again--getting Jacob to do his homework, feeding the dogs and getting them ready to be left, fixing my face, checking email.
My final verdict on the day? Where and what would I be if I didn't have all these things to do, all these demands on my time? I am so grateful to be so involved in life and so blessed with granchildren, friends and family, and animals, and work I really want to get to. No wonder I don't have blocks of time for great writing, but still: I am one lucky woman.

Amanda Knox Redux

2011-10-04T19:52:00.000-07:00

Every other person on the web will be writing about Amanda Knox, but I feel compelled to add my two cents. I became emotionally involved with this girl way back during her first trial. She seemed at once strong and vulnerable. During the appeals trial, at first it was obvious that she had matured during her prison ordeal and she seemed confident, participating in her defense. (I heard today that the prisoners and jailers where she has been kept were all very fond of her because she was, to put it simply, such a nice and good person.) As we watched the proceedings daily, we saw her crumble bit by bit, beaten down by prosecurtion threats and outrageous accusationss. Yesterday she had to be helpd into court and when the verdict came, as we all saw, she was near collapse and nearly carried from the court. Her lawyer said when he talked to her last night, she was joyful land grateful.
Her former boyfriend seemed lost in all the media focus on Amanda I didn't realize until this week that it was a joint appeals trial and his future too was at stake. Godspeed and a good life to him.
Amanda Knox tonight is presumably back in Seattle, safely hidden from the media, as she should be. She needs time, oh so much time, to process her experience, to realize it's over, to try to become herself again. Rosy endings aren't always rosy, and I can see hard times ahead for her and her family. In a way it may almost be like the caretaker whose patient dies--and then what do they do?
But a couple of thoughts occur to me--one day, I hope in the not too distant future--Amanda needs to ackowledge her debt to the media. If the media, mostly American but those from other countries too, hadn't focused on her, hadn't shown the spotlight on Italy and its legal system, she might well still be in prison--for a long time. Clearly she is innocent but if the case had remained anonymous, with no publicity, Italy and its legal system would not have been in the spotlight. As it is, they saved face by covicting her of slander but declaring the sentence fulfilled by time served. We're used to damning the media in this country for everything from politics to hero worship, but in this case we all owe a debt of gratitude--and Amanda Knox particularly.
My other thought is that she has been born again--not in the religious sense, but she surely has been given a second chance at life, and the world will be watching to see what she does with it. My sense is that she's become made of stern stuff, despite her courtroom breakdown, and I hope she will accomlish something big, again perhaps as a gesture of gratitude, of knowing she has been saved. Should she waste her life, it would be like all our angst was for naught.
I'm pulling for her. I think she'll make something of her second life. And those book deals that are bound to come along? I hope she stalls them for a long time. Yes, someday, there's a book there, and authors will be clamoring to write it. But haste...well, haste leads to bad decision.
Pray for Amanda Knox.

Tongue-tied before an audience

2011-10-03T17:24:00.000-07:00

Jungle Red Writers, one of my favorite blogs, had a segment today on the various members experiences on TV and radio--most had funny stories to tell of disasters. I've had my share of those too. In a small town in Missouri in the early '60s I used to host a program called, I think, "The People's Health." I'd interview doctors about various health problems: "Tell me, doctor, if I have a pain inmy side is it apprendicitis?" Generally it went fairly well, and I was comfortable. But that was radio.
I've been interviewed on local TV and done a few interview programs myself--30 minutes talking with an author. When someone interviewed me, I was fairly comfortable with it. But when I was doing the interviewing and they'd flash that "15 minutes" card, I'd think, "Omigosh, I"m only halfway through." Somehow I always muddled along the rest of the way, and it went fine, but I don't leap at TV opportunities.
My children, on the other hand, were seasoned TV personalities at an early age. They appeared, twice I think, on a program called "Hobab," which somehow means helper. Once they all sat in a row, and the hostess asked them what they did to help their mother. The older three jumped in--they made their beds, the cleaned their rooms, they helped with dishes. I mean, they were really angels. Jordan, who couldn't have been more than four, looked at them all as if she'd never seen them before. When it was her turn, she said, "The maid does all that." Later, the hostess asked if they knew policemen were their friends. Again, the older ones gave the pat answers, but Jordan said, "And if you don't have a Cadillac or a Mercedes,they will help you get one." Honest! The days of maids, Cadillacs and Mercedes disappeared quite soon after when I became a single parent, but I've always loved remembering that show.
In truth, my son-in-law Christian is the pro in the famiily, having been a child model and appeared in various TV series--Christian, so sorry I can't remember the names of them but you were charming. Besides, I knowo he doesn't like talking about it a lot now.
Lord knows I've done a ton of public speaking in my time but to this day it makes me nervous. I am quite comfortable with a book club or other small group, and I love doing q&a but I get bored listening to myself talk for 20-30 minutes. I get part way through and think, "How far is it to the end/" A good friend of mine always protests, "You do such a good job, I don't know why you're so reluctant." For a while, I just turned down speaking engagements, but now, with Skeleton in a Dead Space, to promote, I'm getting out at it again. Tomorrow night I will speak to an expected audience of 75 women at University Baptist Church, but it will be an interview format, and the interviewer is a good friend who does a great job at that. She has interviewed me for programs before, and we always have a good time. So I'm dipping my toe in the water.
But today I spoke in an entirely different setting. A good friend died on Thursday and her daughter asked me to speak at the service. At first I waffled, but my youngest daughter and my brother both said, "Of course you will." Jordan pointed out that Connie was so precious to me I had to speak in her memory. And I knew it was an honor to be asked. So with nerves on edge, I spoke--briefly--which I think is appropriate in that situation. I only stumbled once--by somehow starting to substitute the name of the protagonist in my current novel for Connie's name--but Jordan said I recovered quickly and nicely. I was glad to be able to honor Connie with my memories of times with her--good times, mostly lunches that we both enjoyed. But the relationship goes way back and involves another story--not for here.
I have two additons to this post: one is that I am relieved beyond measure by the verdict in the Amanda Knox case. I wish her godspeed back to her old life which, of course, she'll never be able to recover. But I hope she can move on to a new and fulfilling life. Someone said they see a book deal in the future--I sincerely hope publishers don't start hounding her right away and that her family continues to be her advocate and protection.

And finaly, this picture. Kindergarten homework sure wears a guy out--and his grandmother.

Oh, wat a beautiful morning!

2011-10-01T20:18:00.000-07:00

Actually it was a beautiful morning, so cool I couldn't put the top down on my car. But what I really meant, with all due respect to Oklahoma, is "Oh, what a beautiful weekend." Last night I went to a reading and book signing--it pleases me that TCU Press is still publishing books I acquired (it may not please the current director as much, but he hasn't squawked). This was C.W.Smith's novel, Steplings, which I really think is good. We published four of Charlie's novels. Although I knew the passages he read, it was fun to hear it in his voice. Afterward went to dinner with Charlie, his wife and daughter and the guy who filmed his video trailer, plus his publicist who is a friend. We go way back and have lots of ties in common, so it was especially good to visit with Lisa Taylor.

Today I worked--ran some errands but was home by 9:30 and applied myself to the computer--sent out invitations to the next Bookish Frog event, roughed out a speech to book clubs, finished rereading what I've written on mystery #3 and even wrote about a thousand new words. Hooray for me.
Tonight I had dinner with Kathie and Rick, two dear friends, and an added bonus was that we went to Lucille's where they're having Lobsterama--all kinds of lobster dishes at reasonable prices. I had a whole Maine lobster with drawn butter and a salad with blue cheese dressing--but not the house blue cheese vinaigrette that I thought I was ordering. Kathie refused to fight with taking a lobster out of the shell and had a lobster roll, but Rick and I both had the whole thing. Somewhere along the way I learned to deal with lobster fairly easily, and I do love it. I would always order the whole thing just to get the claw meat--so succulent and sweet.
Tomorrow I'll meet Jordan at church and then we'll come home for chicken salad for lunch. Then I get to nap and work on the novel again. And I plan to experiment and fix myself a spinach souffle for supper. The real reason that I went out this morning was that I forgot to bu spinach.
My kind of weekend.

Banned books--and a bit of nostalgia

2011-09-30T20:11:00.000-07:00

Although many have posted and written about this week being Banned Books Week, I feel I can't let it go by without mention. A fellow mystery writer posted today that she made it a practice to buy one book on the list each year and this year she bought The Hunger Games. My twelve-year-old granddaughter, a voracious reader, read that for goodness' sake. Shelf Awareness, the daily online column for booksellers that is a wonderful font of information, posted a list of the books most recently banned, with the comment that "You'd think it was a list of books for a reading group with interesting, eclectic taste." We all know Mark Twain's books have been banned many times, but here are the surprises to me: Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen, Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson (a book that enthralled me), Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison. Okay, maybe I'm not too surprised that Morrison is on the list, and not surprised at all that Brave New World by Aldous Huxley and The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger are also on the list, though both are classics. I'd be proud if my granddaughter read these books and talked to me about them.
Another list I read had to do with banned books made into movies: American Psycho, Lolita, A Clockwork Orange, Lord of the Flies and The Handmaid's Tale.
I wish I understaood more about who has the authority to bann these books--and are they banned locally or nationwide. Surely no one can tell an entire nation not to read Mark Twain!
My own brushes with censorship have been mild. My first young-adult novel, After Pa Was Shot, published way back in 1978, is set in East Texas around the turn of the 19th-20th centuries and is narrated by a 14-year-old girl. At that time, not all Jewish immigrants from Europe landed at Ellis Island. A good number entered the United States at Galveston, and many, often itinerant salesman, drifted north through the small towns of East Texas. In the novel, my narrator, Ellsbeth, becomes friends with a young Jewish girl of just such family background. In talking about the town's prejudice against the family, I used the word "kike," certainly not one I would use myself today, but it passed what to me is the tried and true test: it was appropriate to time and place.
A schoolteacher friend of mine said if her superintendent read the book, it would be banned from their library because of the word "kike." I couldn't believe it. I guess, however, the superintendent never got around to reading it for as far as I know the book is still on school shelves.
In the '90s, I wrote a young-adult book about horse-racing, Callie Shaw, Stableboy. I wanted to call it The Devil Amongst Us, because Callie's aunt cautions her that if horse racing comes to North Texas, "the devil will be amongst us." The book is based on the Arlington Downs Race Track, a major attration in the 1930s in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. The publisher flatly refused to use the title, saying no school library would purchase it. Practicality won, and we went with the fairly ordinary title instead of the one I thought had some flair. Censorship can get down to the nitty-picky.
My bit of nostalgia: my dad used to play the piano in the evenings. Neither he nor I could carry a tune in the proverbial bucket, but we had a wonderful time singing to his playing. His signature piece was "Red Wing," and I can still hear him singing, "Oh, the moon shines tonight on pretty Red Wing." I got to thinking today about other songs, and two popped up from long buried memory, "I dream of Jeannie with the long brown hair," and "Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me." Anyone remember those? Then I thought of "On the Banks of Bonnie Loch Lomond," and its line of "Oh, ye take the high road, and I'll take the low road/And I'll be in Scotland afore ye." A flood of wonderful memories.