Up, down, and sideways

 

Probably most writers agree, but that’s how I felt about my writing today. At the beginning of the week, a good friend came by for a glass of wine, and I waxed eloquent to her about my progress, the proposal I’d submitted to an interested editor, the new mystery I was just beginning to think about. “I’ve got my groove back,” I announced, perhaps prematurely.

I will have to wait however long for word on the proposal. But meantime, I can work on the new mystery. I wrote 3000 words. Then I decided they were trash, discarded them, and spent a couple of days starting over—some 700 words that first day. If you realize that a mystery is at bare minimum 60K words, you know that 700 words is hardly worth talking about. Yesterday I added 1300 words, but I didn’t feel good about them. That’s not unusual. Authors generally write, think it’s a bunch of trash, let it sit, and go back to it.

So that’s what I did today, and re-reading, I plugged in facts and dialog and things that came to my mind, and before I knew it, I was at 2700 words. Not much new copy, just expanding and polishing what I’d written. But this time I felt good about it. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, except that I know I have to make enough potato salad for ten people for Sunday’s Mother’s Day lunch. Still, maybe I’ll get a few words in. And maybe, sooner or later, I’ll hit my stride with this book, and the words will flow. At this point I think I can tell you who is murdered and who is the prime suspect (but innocent)—but you never know. These things change.

Things I figured out today: a mystery author on a writing thread I follow talked about how different it was to compile a guest list for her son’s upcoming virtual wedding, rather than the lavish affair she’d always thought he would have. That sparked my memory, and I realized I’ve been to one virtual wedding and a funeral since pandemic started. At both of them, I sat silently as a spectator, feeling that everyone else knew each other and I was kind of an outsider. The wedding was my New York niece’s, replacing the wonderful blowout she had planned for the Caribbean, but I felt that the guests were all the people she had grown up with. My two daughters and I were silent spectators.

I knew even fewer people at the funeral which was for a neighbor I’d gotten to know when her grandson and Jacob were in kindergarten together. The boys were great pals briefly, but when the grandparents moved away, the boys grew apart. Still the neighbor lady, Mary, and I had a common background—she had gone to osteopathic medical school at the college where my dad was president, though after his time. Still, to this day anyone from the Chicago College of Osteopathic Medicine, seems like family to me.

Tonight, Christian cooked dinner, and I was grateful for the break in cooking chores. Let me amend—he cooked the entrée. Chicken Francese, which he aptly described as chicken piccata without the capers. Jordan fixed Louella’s rice, a family favorite, and a terrific salad. It was a wonderful dinner, and I’m full and sleepy.

Jordan and I did one of our frequent calendar reviews tonight and figured out that, except for Sunday’s Mother’s Day lunch, we will not have dinner together again for over a week. I have plans Monday and Thursday, she and Christian will be out Tuesday and Wednesday, and she leaves Friday for a weekend in Austin. We are definitely getting back to normal after quarantine.

I’m not sure getting back to life as it was is reassuring. I read today that Tarrant County new virus cases are up—110 today, over 200 a couple of days ago—and so are deaths. And here’s a statistic that should alarm and inform all of us: U. S. deaths of unvaccinated people, 577,000; deaths of vaccinated people, 74. From what I read that figure is for the entire duration of the pandemic to date. It makes you want to shake the anti-vaxxers who endanger all of us by encouraging the growth and spread of variants. Why oh why can’t they see what they’re doing to the rest of us?

Maybe for the same reasons I can’t see the road ahead in my mystery. We each have our own fixed ideas. What’s a problem is reconciling those with the good of the community at large. Having said that, it seems futile to say, “Happy dreams.” But nonetheless, that’s my wish for each of you.

Icemaggedon

Well, that's what daughter-in-law Melanie called it, though I may have the spelling wrong. But there's something about North Texas ice storms that leaves us in anticipatory tension long before they're due. Maybe it's modern forecasting techniques that warn us so far in advance. Or maybe it's just the bone-chilling cold outside. But I've already felt ice-bound today though the bad weather isn't supposed to hit until tomorrow night.
What I thought was to be a day at home alone, brightened by dinner guests, turned out to be quite a sociable day. Moksha, who has taken care of my pets for several years, came today to check out his key to the front door and get an update on Sophie's needs, and we talked for a long time about all kinds of issues, mostly political. And then neighbor Jill came to pick up packages UPS had left here--I gave her all the extra diapers I had left for her year-old son. And we visited briefly A nice conversation with my brother, and it was lunchtime before I knew it--or got any work done.
I mentally prepared for housebound days, so I slept late and lazed through the day. Ashamed that I served my guests prepared food--I always cook for company--but it turned out well. I did tiny bits of work but somehow things like emptying the dishwasher, setting the table, making ham salad for lunch took up most of the day.
Tonight, newly discovered good friends came for supper--I've known the husband for years in a professional relationship but we only recently discovered each other socially, and they are both a delight. Della, the wife, is a dog whisperer and Sophie was entranced. A fire in the fireplace to ward off the chill, talk of old times and people we'd known--he's a physician and she's in health care and we had lots of friends in common and lots of memories--made for a delightful evening. Watch for the dinner menu tomorrow night on Potluck with Judy.
Life is good, and I am blessed.

A typical spring Saturday

Saturdays in spring are special--lazy, comfortable, all that. Today I rushed around and went to the grocery and vet (for that expensive weight management dog food) and then the nursery where I bought double blossom impatiens (I'm not a big fan of impatiens but it does well in shade and double blossom is different than the usual kind) and some sweet potato plants to put with it in my planter boxes, which face north. Planted hens and checks in the bird feeder that I bought and then realized I didn't want to feed every squirrel and grackle in Tarrant County. Those succulents are about the only thing with shallow enough roots to do well in that feeder. And I finally got my basil into a pot in a sunny location. One remaining chore: epoxy the decorative birds to the feeder before Jacob takes one off and smashes it. I'm always a bit afraid of epoxy--I think I fear I will glue my fingers together.
Last night I fixed myself Dover sole, one of my staples, and had a piece left over that, yeah, I could have eaten, but I didn't need too. So today it made a great sandwich with a slice of tomato, a slice of onion, and some mayo on rye bread. But as I was walking through the dining room lunch in hand I glanced out the window and saw Jay climbing an impossible-to-climb fence. Then, holding on to the side of his house, he walked along the top of the fence between us. I held by breath until he was safely on the ground, and then I clapped but they didn't hear me. He and Susan had brought the tall stalk of a dead cactus bloom (I do mean tall--24 ft.) around and tied it to the fence by their bird feeder so the birds could feed on the seeds or dead blossoms or whatever. It does look sort of weird, but I'll watch to see if birds come to it.
Tonight, Jay and Susan and I went to Jordan's for happy hour--and to give Jordan a copy of the cookbook. Her friend, Addie, spent a long time leafing through it, going "oooh" and "aaah--that makes me hungry" so of course each time I wanted to know what recipe she was looking at. I was tickled that none of them seemed to read the narrative, memoir parts. I had taken southwestern tuna (out of the book) and a block of cheese from Cabot Creamery in Vermont. On the way out I told Jay and Susan I wanted us to taste this aged white cheddar because the creamery had contracted me about supply cheese for an event as part of their publicity program. Jay, a Vermont native, knew all about it and said he orders it all the time. And it was delicious.
By 7:30 I was ravenous, even though I'd snacked. All I could think about was getting home and fixing some supper. Our trip home was marred because Jay got a call that a good friend, who has been ill, was in the ER. But I came home and grilled a chopped sirloin burger and made an avocado/blue cheese/tomato salad with lemon. I'm now feeling a little less ravenous.
I did pick up 24 doz. cookies today for tomorrow's event, and Jeannie came and got them, the case of wine I had, and the paper towels. I am so worried about the fact that she's knocking herself out over this event, and I don't seem to be doing much. But Jeannie is the party planner par excellence--she knows what she's doing, and my sense is she wants to be left alone to do it, asks for help when she needs it. We'll leave about 11:30 in the morning for a 2:00 p.m. event. We're supposed to have sunny weather tomorrow.