Good food and more heart-wrenching moments

  

Always a joy to go to the Star Café. Friends Betty and Don Boles have owned the Stockyards restaurant for years, and for a few years around the turn of this century, I ran the cash register on Saturday nights. Now I go occasionally for the food and the atmosphere—and, of course, the company. The food—best chicken fried steak in Fort Worth, bar none. I never ate the stuff until I went to the Star and now I love it—but only here. It’s crispy, and flavorful, and tender. Tonight I split a steak and a baked potato with Betty, and had a small salad with their house-made ranch dressing—best ever. The steaks are also darn good, and even the hamburgers are hard to beat.

Atmosphere is funky western, though Don probably wouldn’t like that description. Lots of neon beer signs, walls covered with Texas memorabilia and signed photographs, tables covered with checkered tablecloths, scarred wooden floor. This is one of the oldest continually operating restaurants in Tarrant County. And rumors say it’s haunted—I even wrote a short story about a ghost seen there from time to time.

In reality, no ghosts. Just a lot of North Side folks and some others, ranging from friends from our church to “characters” of the North Side and everyone in-between. A warm, comforting mix of people, always friendly, always helpful. Tonight I was with Betty and our friend Jean, and we sat in the front window where we could watch the world go by on Exchange Avenue. A cowboy came and sat on the bench outside, playing his guitar—alas, we couldn’t hear it. Sometimes you can watch a mounted policeman patrol the streets. And Betty and Don love to invite “greenhorns” to come watch the Longhorn herd parade down the street. Then they take the greenhorns back to the Star for lunch.

Correction: Last night I referred to Amy Guyger, but even as I did, it sounded wrong. Still I had found the name that way on the internet. It is, of course, Amber Guyger, and today was another highly charged emotional day. Guyger’s mother took the stand, a woman so broken by grief that she could barely talk and mostly simply answered with, “Yes, ma’am,” while dabbing at her eyes with  crumpled tissue.

The most emotional moment came after the sentence of ten years was delivered. The younger brother of Botham Jean, the murdered man, took the stand and quoted John 3:16: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, so that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” Then, with remarkable grace, this young man—eighteen I believe—asked the judge’s permission to walk across the courtroom and hug the woman convicted of murdering his brother. It’s hard to imagine such grace of spirit, but I hope it sets a pattern for those who continue to cry out for justice. The prosecutor spoke and said the jury has done its duty; justice has been served. It’s what our system of government is all about.

And a moment of trivia: I promise I won’t come up with a new word every day, but I came across one today I couldn’t resist. Cockwomble: a foolish or obnoxious person. You may apply it to whoever you wish.

Earthquakes, sewer lines, and oh, my!

I came home today from a delightful lunch to find workmen ringing the front doorbell. They explained they were from the gas company, needed to run a camera down the sewer to make sure it wasn’t damaged during the move of the gas meter. Turns out though they couldn’t find the sewer trap or whatever it is. One said they’d go up on the roof, which puzzled me a bit, but okay. But pretty soon there were three men with impressive equipment prowling around the back yard. I called our contractor who told me where the trap was. They found it and said the line had collapsed, due to age.

I know I have a suspicious mind, but they were checking for their damage, found it collapsed, and it was due to age? I was doubtful, but just then Jordan came out to the back yard, curious to find three men there when she got home. She’s good at holding her own in situations like that, so I bowed out. Our schedules haven’t meshed, so I don’t know what they concluded, what she found out, etc. Contractor asked if we were having troubles with drains or toilet, but the answer is no. I’ll wait to talk to Jordan before calling the plumber who knows this house well.

This evening, I was waiting for Betty and Jeannie. We were going to have a glass of wine and catch up before Betty and I went to dinner and Jeannie went home to care for her husband, whose health is not good. But Jacob came out saying he was really freaked. Things in the house were shaking, and he heard footsteps. He grabbed two paring knives, after I assured him a bread knife was not a good weapon and went back in to get his homework. This time, he felt a sudden breeze and heard a voice say, “Leave.” He came running out, carrying both knives point up—yes, my heart was in my throat. He was convinced my old house has ghosts. When Betty came, she went in with him, declaring that she was excellent at detecting ghosts. By gosh, she came out and reported that items on the kitchen counter were dancing. She said earthquake, but I could hardly believe that when I felt nothing in the cottage. But there was an eleven-year-old boy and a seventy-something-year-old woman telling me earnestly there was an earthquake. Still waiting for a rational explanation.

Jeannie cancelled, and I told Betty I had planned to put out smoked salmon and cream cheese. Upshot was we had a delicious dinner of open-face sandwiches of cream cheese, tomato, diced scallion and smoked salmon—plus a thick slice each of Braunschweiger, because I know she likes it. Yeah, they don’t go together, but it was good, and certainly all I needed for supper after a large lunch. Thanks to Sharon Corcoran for taking me to Aventino’s where I had lasagna, intending to bring half home for lunch. Yep, I ate the whole thing.

A puzzling day to say the least.

Poltergeists and other creatures of the night

Do you believe in ghosts? I've always said I do and I don't, but I sort of alarmed two of my grandchildren Saturday on the drive from Tomball when I said I thought there were ghosts in my house. Are they scary, they asked. No. They're friendly ghosts or as I like to call them, using an old country term, "haints." My very first novel had a scene about haints and a dark cemetery, and I guess that's stayed with me. But in at least two houses I've lived in I've felt the presence of other spirits, and sometimes, just for a fleeting moment, I think I see a figure lurking around a corner or peeking through a doorway. I never feel threatened, and often at night I wake with the sense that someone's in the house watching over me. Sometimes it's my mom, gone almost thirty years now.
When I lived in the big house I refer to as my doctor's wife house, two good friends told me they saw people. Winston, the shirt-tail uncle who helped raise my children, once sat in the dining room, looked across the large entryway into the sunken living room, and asked, "Judy, who are all those men in  your living room?" Alarmed, I asked if they were threatening, and he said no, they were friendly. Then a friend who stayed in our upstairs guest bedroom for a while reported that figures walked in and out of her room at night but all were friendly. So, don't count me as a disbeliever. Jacob keeps wanting me to show him a haint, but it isn't as easy as that. They don't stand still for a viewing.
A week ago yesterday, my hot water heater just flat quit. Nada. Not a drop of hot water, once I'd used what was in the tank. The plumber came first thing the next morning and declared he could find nothing wrong. Just to be sure, he blew it out, cleaned it, and said "Call me if it goes out again." It hasn't, so far.
Yesterday my furnace quit, and I woke to a cold house, as I wrote last night. First thing this morning, the furnace guys were here. When I got up this morning, it was 61 in the house; by the time they got here, about 9:30, it was 72. Go figure, because they couldn't. They spent well over an hour (with dollar signs going round in my head) checking out everything they could possibly check out. No problems at all, so they left saying, "Call us if it does it again."
Coincidence? I don't think so. I think there's a poltergeist in the house. A poltergeist (noisy ghost in German) is a ghost responsible for loud noises (okay, I did hear some things go bump in the night last night) and for moving objects around. I think of poltergeists as mischievous, sort of like the Christmas Elf (do you think he hung around?).
I think a poltergeist is responsible for my water heater and furnace troubles. I just hope he doesn't get into a battle with my friendly haints.
What? Me read a paranormal novel? No thanks. I'm not interested. But I suspect in reality the paranormal is all around us.

Ghosts--to believe or not

I've done it again. Out of habit I posted a blog last night and forgot my guest blogger, so once again, on Thursday morning, please welcome my Wednesday guest. This week my guest author is Nancy Lynn Jarvis, who left a real estate career to become an author and writes, naturally, about a realtor.  Nancy says she doesn't really believe in ghosts....but I'll let her tell you about it.

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I don’t usually write about ghosts, but I had to for this mystery. My books, with the exception of Mags and the AARP Gang, a book about a group of octogenarian bank robbers — which you may have guessed from the title and description, is more of a comedy than anything else — feature protagonist Regan McHenry, a realtor who gets sucked into playing an amateur sleuth because of her clients, friends, and because she and her husband bought a house with a partially mummified body in it.

I’ve dealt with bodies buried in the backyard, Wiccans, séances, a sociopathic killer, a murder involving an old Woodie during a car show…even so I didn’t expect to write a mystery that may have ghosts in it. That’s because I don’t believe in them, you see, except that I’ve seen one, which really plays havoc with my nay-saying. And I’m willing to go to just one degree of separation and listen to people tell of their first-hand experiences with ghosts--oh boy.

It was from this ambivalent perspective that I wrote The Murder House, the fifth in my Regan McHenry Real Estate Mysteries series. Like me — a twenty-five year veteran of the real estate business— and many realtors I know, Regan has had the experience of walking into a house and having the hair stand up on the back of her neck . She knows what it’s like to be hit by a wave of cold and experience an overwhelming sensation of evil when previewing a house.

But also like me, she clearly states that she doesn’t believe in ghosts, not when there might be a rational explanation for what seems like a spectral presence. Her certainty made it great fun to write a book in which Regan, convinced the only thing that might cause a house to be haunted is its past reputation, sometimes wonders if she is right.  

It was also fun to write the book because during the writing process, I began asking people if they believed in ghosts. What I discovered is that most people have a ghost story or two to tell even if they aren’t into the paranormal. And ghost sightings aren’t predictable based on the witness’s educational level, occupation, religion, culture, gender, or age.

I was able to share my favorite ghost story in the book’s dedication, too. If you like, go to http://www.amazon.com/Murder-House-McHenry-Estate-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B00HO114IA/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1391550549&sr=1-1&keywords=Nancy+Lynn+Jarvis and click on “look inside” to read it.

I used my personal ghost sighting in the book, as well. The ghost in the woods in The Murder House is what I saw at the Wayside Inn in Massachusetts before I knew many others had reported seeing such a ghost. In The Murder House,  there may be a rational explanation for what people are seeing in the woods, though, and at the Wayside Inn, there isn’t.

After writing The Murder House and living with its alleged ghosts, did I change my mind and become a believer? As Regan says at the book’s conclusion when asked if she’s seen the ghost, “I think that’s too personal a question for you to ask.” Let’s just say that one thing is clear: I have developed a love of swapping ghost stories and would love to hear yours.
Realtors are known for baking cookies for open houses and such, and Nancy has developed her own recipe for mysterious chocolate chip cookies. She generously shares it on her website:

 http://www.goodreadmysteries.com
 

About The Murder House:

 

Every community has a house that people walk by hurriedly, nervously peeking at it out of the corners of their eyes. Bonny Doon is no exception. A bloody double homicide occurred in the Murder House almost twenty years ago and the killer has eluded capture ever since. Recently the house was inherited and the new owner wants to sell.

The problem is no one wants to buy a house with a reputation and everyone reports that it’s home to ghosts. The seller thinks realtor Regan McHenry would make a perfect listing agent ― after all, with her penchant for playing amateur sleuth, she’s no stranger to murder.

This is the perfect mystery to read if you don’t believe in ghosts — and an even better mystery to read if you do. http://www.amazon.com/Murder-House-McHenry-Estate-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B00HO114IA/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1393523018&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Murder+House



Pasta, dog food, and other grandmotherly woes

Jacob and I have had dinner, read Boxcar Children for 17 minutes, and  written a long overdue letter to Elizabeth--well, that is, he dictated and I wrote except he signed it with a flourish. He's played with his leggos so that they are now scattered all over my desk and is watching something inane but harmless on TV. The last few nights he's been reluctant to go to the back of the house by himself, so here he is--in my office.
Dinner was not a success. A picky eater, he really likes red sauce on pasta. I found a simple recipe and made home-made sauce. He announced he wasn't hungry, and I knew why: he left four, yes four, snack bar wrappers in the playroom. I told him if he was going to sneak food without permission, he should at least be smart enough to put the wrappers in the trash. I swear the child has radar--he said, "Can we have the other kind of sauce?" Every time I make something from scratch for him--my preferred way of cooking--he wants the canned or preserved or whatever. Discouraging. Except I would never have admitted it to him but I didn't think the sauce was very good--I'll perk it up with some more salt and Italian seasonings. Meanwhile, no snack, no dessert--when he announces he's hungry I'll put more sauce on the pasta and reheat it. And we're going to bed early tonight...very early.
We had a mystery while we were eating dinner. When I was setting the table I noticed dog food scattered on the floor of the playroom. Neither of us could figure out where it came from--the lid was tight on the can (he checked for a rat inside); if Sophie had gotten into it the lid would be off, and she would have eaten, not scattered it. Jacob decided it was a ghost, which led to a discussion of ghosts--I fully believe in good ghosts and told him I'd seen some in the house. Of course he wanted to know date, time, full description, etc.--details I didn't have in my mind. Then when I went into the kitchen, he saw a whole family of ghosts in the backyard. The motion sensitive light in the way back went on just then, but my suggestion that ghosts activated it alarmed him a bit. Hope this doesn't mean he wants to sleep in my bed tonight.
Sophie obligingly cleaned up the scattered dog food, though Jacob had a great game of finding small pieces she'd missed and hand feeding them to her. Then she ate every bite of her usual dinner, so I don't think she got into the food can. And Jacob swears the scattered food was not there when he came home from school. A real mystery.
I tried new yoga poses tonight--chair sit against a wall went well, but have you seen those Facebook pictures that advertise a simply way to lose belly fat? The picture shows an alarmed-looking woman sitting in what looks like a "V" pose--legs straight up at an angle to the back, which is also straight up at an opposing angle. I want to tell you that's hard to do. However, if that old lady can do it, I'll master it. And I practiced hunkering, which is a yoga pose but has a more mysterious name. Whatever, hunkering is hunkering, and I never could do it but now can. Not easily, however.