Feeling literary and social

Occasionally I get a real longing to be in the world of books and among book people. I scratched that itch this week by attending the banquet of the Texas Literary Hall of Fame. My history with that movement, group, whatever, is long but spotty. I was on the first committee to choose the inductees—in 2004 the committee honored J. Frank Dobie, Elmer Kelton, John Graves, Katherine Anne Porter, Shelby Hearon, Horton Foote, Larry McMurtry, and Walter Prescott Webb. An impressive class of inductees, some of whom were honored posthumously. Since then, the Hall has honored a new class every other year, though the ceremony got off schedule in 2018, postponed until 2019, and then, because of pandemic, not held again until this year. I blush—but not much—to mention that I was in the 2010 class with my good friend Jim Lee.

I chose to attend the dinner and invited Jean to go with me, partly because I thought she might find the people interesting and partly because I needed a shepherd. I went with some trepidation—I have been retired for eleven years and for the last two virtually a recluse. Would I know anybody? Would anybody know me? I was pleasantly surprised—I saw many people I knew and received lots of virtual hugs, had lots of good conversations. Jean did a masterful job of shepherding me through the crowd in my transport chair, so I could linger and visit with several. I was indeed back in the world of books.

The Hall, founded at the Fort Worth Public Library, had moved in recent years to TCU. Apparently leaving the library was not happy, but it has found a good new home at TCU under the direction of Mary Couts Burnett Library and its dean Tracy Hull. Tracy worked hard to make this dinner special so that Bunny Gardner, who started the whole thing way back when, would be glad of the move. And from what Bunny said to me, she was.

There were seven inductees—one of whom I knew from having worked with him on several books, though we did not that evening get a chance to talk, a couple of whom I knew by slight acquaintance, and one I knew by name. Jean said their acceptance speeches gave her new insight into writers, their passions, and their frustrations. If you’re interested in books, particularly Texas books, I would urge you to watch for the 2024 dinner.

My interest in the Hall of Fame is renewed so that I’m thinking of people to nominate and have three in mind. A friend on the selection committee tells me that those who nominate must submit a summary of the reasons an author is worthy, so there’s another project for me.

Tonight, still being social, I went to dinner with Carol, Kathie, and Subie for a belated celebration of Kathie’s September birthday and an early celebration of Subie’s December date. We went to Pacific Table, one of my favorites, but it is being remodeled, and the indoor space available was small and all hard slick surfaces—so noisy. I still say they have the best Caesar salad in town, and the fried oysters I had with it were wonderful. It was good to be together with these dear friends—obviously if we were late for a September birthday, we hadn’t seen much of each other for a while. But it was so noisy I missed much of the conversation. I did come home with a belated birthday present for my July birthday—remember those muffin tins your mom had that made cornbread in the shape of ears of corn? I know have one that makes it in the shape of saguaro cactus. Can’t wait to try it.

Came home to a houseful. Jordan and Christian were entertaining their nearest and dearest for supper. Most of the guests are people I’ve known since their high school days, so it was a delight to visit with them and catch up. Sophie of course won’t miss out on a minute of sociability, and many of the guests were her friends and fans. She went from person to person getting love. But now, she and I, the old folks, are settled in the cottage.

This social life is too exhausting for me. No, not really. I enjoyed it

Me and Christian 
at theier dinner party

A bookish day

 

At 103, it’s a day to stay inside with a book. I talked with a friend in Omaha today, and it’s even 103 up there. Told her she might as well be in Texas. Seems like there’s no escape, though a friend in the Pacific Northwest reports cool temperatures.

This morning I read an article about gender reading. It seems women read books written by both men and women, but men rarely read books by women. Some enterprising group compiled a list of ten books by women that men should read. No surprise that Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale led the list. I confess that I recognized only five of the ten and have read only two. Those two are The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver, which I thought should have ended a hundred pages before it did, and Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, which remains high on my list of all-time favorite, right along with Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner. The three I haven’t read are Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley (elsewhere this morning I read a good summary of Frankenstein in a Maureen Dowd column titled “Our American Monster”), The Color Purple by Alice Walker, and Atwood’s novel that is so much talked of these days. Confessing to the lapses in my literary background reminds me of a graduate school instructor I had years ago who claimed no one could consider themselves educated if they haven’t read Dante’s Inferno. The fact that I hadn’t read it sparked this pronouncement, but I still haven’t read it. I seem to have done all right even with that gap in my education.

And if you want to curl up in cool air-conditioning and read a book, there’s now the perfect outfit for you (oops! I’m making a gender assumption)—perfect, that is, if you’re a girl. The nap dress is the latest fashion rage for women and girls—loose and flowing enough for lounging or sleeping but structured enough to go to the grocery or the bank. The bodice is often shirred and elasticized, eliminating the need for constricting underwear. Those tops remind me of the hand-smocking that decorated some of my clothes when I was a child—wish I had just one today as a keepsake.

Tonight, friends from church came for happy hour. I wanted to talk to Steve Mosher because he has just been named to the Board of Judges for the Texas Literary Hall of Fame which was developed by the Friends of the Fort Worth Library and is now under the umbrella of the TCU’s Mary Couts Burnett Library. I’ve known Steve casually for years through our mutual church but it turns out I didn’t know him well. He’s a knowledgeable and well-read aficionado of Texas literature—and a guy with a wide-reaching network of friends in the Texas literary world. Plus someone who laughs easily and often. Good company.

We talked books and authors and award and theories, and oh my, it was a delightful evening. I sometimes get to talk books with people, but I don’t often get to talk about Texas literature and its outstanding names. Tonight was a real treat. Steve says the book that started him, an Iowa boy, on the road to Texas reading was John Graves’ Goodbye to a River. Who can quarrel with that? We talked of Elmer Kelton and Katharine Anne Porter and the history of the Hall of Fame, and we each madly name-dropped about who were our friends. Steve’s wife, Nancy, is a devotee of the cozy mystery and her conversation introduced me to several names I haven’t read and need to explore.

We all talked longer than we meant to—from 5:30 until almost eight o’clock—but to top off the evening, Jordan called as soon as my guests left and said, “Cook the asparagus. We’ll cook the chicken.” Christian had made pesto chicken, and I quick stir-fried some asparagus. I keep reading a lot about the need to peel asparagus—darned if I can figure out how to do that.

All in all, a good day. Hope yours was too

Texas Literary Hall of Fame

I’m in danger of the big head tonight. I just got home from the biennial induction ceremony for the Texas Literary Hall of Fame, sponsored by the Friends of the Fort Worth Public Library. Hors d’oevres, wine, and the presentation ceremony.

It was my great privilege to accept for Susan Wittig Albert, who was unable to attend because back problems make it difficult for her to get around. As I lugged my walker to the podium, I joked about the lame helping the lame. Susan is perhaps best known for the China Bayles herbal mysteries, which she has been writing for thirty years. She also wrote the Beatrix Potter series and still writes the Darling Dahlias Mysteries. But she also has to her credit several historical nonfiction titles – A Wilder Rose, about Rose Wilder Lane, daughter and co-author with Laura Ingalls Wilder of Little House on the Prairie fame; Loving Eleanor, highlighting the relationship between Eleanor Roosevelt and political reporter Lorena Hickok; The General’s Women, exploring the relationship between Dwight David “Ike” Eisenhower, his wartime driver and lover, Kay Summersby, and, to a lesser extent, Mamie Eisenhower.

Susan is a consummate professional, and it was a great honor for me to accept in her place. She sent me the words to say—clever, funny, and blessedly brief. They were well received.

There were five other honorees, and I proudly say I was instrumental at one point or another in getting three of them published, and the other two are old friends/acquaintances. For a brief moment there, I was back in the world of literary Texas and oh so delighted to be there. In addition to the honorees, I saw several people I was glad to see, made some good connections, and generally had a good time.

The Texas Literary Hall of Fame began in 2003, and I was part of an advisory panel that first year when inductees included John Graves, Elmer Kelton, Katharine Anne Porter, J.Frank Dobie, Shelby Hearon, Larry McMurtry, Horton Foote, and Walter Prescott Webb. I myself was inducted in 2010 and feel honored to be in such stellar company.

From the sublime to—well, if not the ridiculous, at least the mundane. We have a new fence. What’s remarkable about that is how wonderful it looks and how it emphasizes that we were overdue for that fence. The old one was gray, haphazard, and missing a board of two. Wooden fences don’t necessarily have a long life in Texas.

And I’m still on my unusual foods kick—mushrooms on toast for breakfast. So yummy.

So now comes the weekend. I intend to spend it working. How about you?

Literary fame--such as it is

Tonight I went to the induction ceremony of the current class for the Texas Literary Hall of Fame, a project of the Friends of the Fort Worth Public Library. Inductees were Laura Bush (who did not show up), Deborah Crombie, James Mardis, Larry Swindell, former Speaker of the House Jim Wright, and Lawrence Wright. A couple of them I know personally; the others I know by reputation. It was a sparkling occasion, and I decided one reason I like to go is that I get so many hugs from people I don't see often enough. That aside, the heavy hors d'oevres were great--well, there was that mushroom stuffing we couldn't figure out--and the desserts rich, the wine plentiful. And the program just right--each honoree spoke briefly, and none got carried away at the microphone. Newscaster Rebecca Aguilar ran a tight program that lasted slightly over an hour.
For me, there were lots of special moments--Deborah Crombie's books are favorites of mine, and I've met her enough times to feel free to go up and welcome her to Fort Worth (she apparently got lost on the TCU campus), and I remember working with James Mardis when he allowed TCU Press to use a poem in a short Christmas collection; Larry Swindell was book editor of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram and I wrote many a review for him plus considered him a good friend; and I remember, though he probably doesn't, working with Lawrence Wright on the executive committee of the Texas Institute of Letters. He was charming, self-deprecating about his ancestors, and perfectly witty tonight.
As a former inductee, I received a box with a gift--trouble being neither Melinda nor I could figure out how to get into the box. I've put it aside for smarter minds who might come along tomorrow. But it was a nice evening and a gentle reminder that I am a part of the Texas literary scene. Truly, it's a thing I don't always remember, but even if in that scene I'm resting on past literary laurels rather than my contemporary mysteries, I'm grateful. I don't think there's a writer who doesn't have an ego that needs stroking, and I admit freely to being in that category.
Other than that, fall has hit. I woke up cold this morning at six, got up and added an extra blanket  to my nest. Slept until eight. Glad tonight is the fall back night, though I'll probably wake bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at six. It's okay--I have chili and cornbread to make for company.
Lately I've noticed that I go to events that I'm kind of hesitant about and end having a wonderful time. Tonight was one such time. Hope it continues.