A hectic day in balmy weather

What a gorgeous day! Sunny, with a temperature in the mid- to upper 80s. Tonight it was so lovely I took a mystery out to the front porch and alternated between reading and watching the world go by. I am so lucky to live in this lovely area, with huge trees all around. Many of the trees on my street are still green and look from a distance like live oaks, along with some cedar across the street. But the elm and maple trees are just beginning to bud, and so is the redwood that I'd so worried about. I have tried to nurse a plumbago plant through the winter, and it shows no signs of buds but it has green in its stems. I'm still hopeful.
It was a hectic day in spite of the weather. I had an eight-thirty haircut appointment, so I decided that I wouldn't wash my hair, I'd just go as I was. Well, my hair looks like an egg beater has been after it when I wake up, so even with brushing it was pretty awful. I'm sure there's a connection between that and the fact that nothing I put on this morning looked right (I don't often try on several outfits--usually just throw it on and go). I finally made it to the salon, got my hair washed and cut, and then when Rosa was ready to style it, she said, "What I want to do with your hair is make it look sort of like you did when you came in this morning." My jaw dropped. "You know," she said, "sort of windblown and casual." She did and it was neat, though by tonight its lost all its volume and just looks messy again!
Our boss, the dean of the library, took my office (all three of us) for an "appreciation" lunch today at Joe T.'s (for those who don't know, it's a landmark Mexican restaurant in Fort Worth where you can sit on a gorgeous, lushly planted and very large patio). We were early enough to avoid a line and get a table in the shade--a double win--and enjoy a lunch of the "small dinner"--nachos, enchiladas, tacos, beans and rice.
Then I rushed to the grocery store, rushed home and put away groceries and tried to straighten the house, all in preparation for Jacob's arrival at 2:30. We played together for an hour while "Mama" got her hair cut. I tried so hard to coach him to say "Mama pretty" when she came back, but no dice. He was cheerful and good company, and I enjoyed some loving time. Another of those instances, like sitting on the front porch, when I have to tell myself to take a vacation from work.
I have piddled tonight, wrapping birthday presents, emtpying garbage, checking my bank account. I was thinking that in anticipation of the arrival of the Houston Alters late tonight, I couldn't settle down and work--but I did. Made some headway on the draft of a grant application to support a series of recovered writings by women of the Southwest. Such writings, often buried in memoirs, local newspapers, letters, etc., give us real insight into the lives of women of the 19th and early 20th centuries. I think we can support that it will be a real addition to TCU's academic program in several ways, but it has to be said just so.
I'm a firm believer in letting projects stew on the back burner. The grant application narrative has been on the back burner and just began to come to the fore yesterday and today. The Scots book is still simmering.

Hookers, deviant moms, and high-priced gas

Reading the newspaper sometimes really rouses my ire or argumentative side or something, and I found all kinds of things of interest in the paper this morning--it was one of those mornings I wished there was someone here to whom I could say, "Listen to this!" My father used to read aloud to my mom every item he found of interest, and I don't think it was a bad thing. (I think Mom occasionally thought it was too much!)
The first thing that caught my attention--how could you avoid it?--was the "news" that the woman involved with Eliot Spitzer had spoken out about how hard the last week has been for her (what does she think he's been going through?). What struck me though is that she's only 22. Her mom was quoted saying in effect it wasn't as if she were 32 or 42, she's just 22 and got into something obviously a lot bigger than she knew (no condemnation from mom about being a hooker, and that was kind of a relief--just practical sensible words). I'm sorry for Eliot Spitzer, sorry that he, like some of our other leaders, has such a glaring flaw that takes down a really brilliant career. But then again that often happens to the really righteous--they doth protest too much. And I'm angry at him--for his wife, for his children, for this young woman (he should have known better than to dally with one so young!). A friend of mine, divorced after something like 47 years, talked about the pain Spitzer's wife was obviously feeling as she "stood beside her man" at the mike. Such a sad affair all the way around.
Another sad affair: the Dallas woman who threw her two young sons off a freeway bridge and then jumped. I was astounded this morning to read that detectives were still looking for a motive. Really? This woman has a criminal record as well as a history of drug and physical abuse--and they need a motive? They should rush her to the nearest mental health facility. I am always upset that our legal system is hell-bent on revenge against people who obviously have no idea or responsibility for what they do. And then they're so anxious sometimes to put killers on meds so they can be sane enough to be put to death. Our logic, our humanity, our compassion--it's all out of kilter. (OK, I'm a bleeding-heart liberal. I admit it.)
On a brighter note, I read this morning about the blessing of high-priced gas: people are giving up their SUVs and Hummers for smaller cars, they're using more public transportation. This may be the moment that America turns away from its obsession with the automobile, the bigger the better. (But not Melinda in my office, who loves her SUV). As a Volkswagen driver, I feel very righteous--but even my gas is exepnsive these days.
I'm happily planning for a weekend visit from children and grandchildren. Colin and Lisa, from Houston, will bring 2-1/2-year-old Morgan and almost year-old Kegan; Jamie and Mel will come from Frisco with Maddie, almost 9, and Edie, just turned 5. We should have fun!

You're only as old as you feel

Feeling old? Let me tell you about the speaker we had at a book luncheon at TCU today. When Mary Penson arrived at my office, I told her I was going to introduce her and asked, "May I say how old you are?" Her reply was, "Of course." She's 91, and she wrote her first novel at 70. TCU Press has published three young-adult historicals by Mary. Today at the luncheon she was a delightful speaker. To a roomful of women, with one lone man, she talked about how 19th century women were chattel and had two responsiblities--to marry and "pop babies" (I swear, that's what she said). When the gentleman in our midst said, "Sounds good to me," she threatened to see him outside after the lunch. And later something else she said prompted her to turn to him and ask if he was still with her. Then she said, "I'm really glad you came today." She talked about writing historicals so that she doesn't have to deal with the lingo of today's children, and she talked about her absorption in history. She said she felt her newest book, Martha Mary Overestreet, M.D., was her best to date (she's not through writing), and I agreed. It's the story of a young girl, eighth grade, in a small North Texas town in the late 19th century, who is determined to control her own destiny and not to marry and "pop babies." I've never asked Mary, but I'm sure her formula for living a long life is to keep busy and involved--and it sure works for her.
A friend I met for breakfast this morning gave me another clue for living a long life. She said her doctor had advised her to eat steel cut oatmeal (as opposed to rolled, which are cut into pieces and then rolled to make them thin). Steel cut oats are not rolled, and they take longer to cook and are chewy. But Mary said she feels the difference since she's been eating them with a bit of brown sugar, cinnamon, some dried apricots, and milk. It's on my shopping list for Saturday!
Tonight Betty and I tried a new restaurant--new to us and in a new location for the restaraunt. Called Chadra's, it's a Middle Eastern, maybe Lebanese restaurant. I had eggplant with ground sirloin and tomatoes--delish! And the small dinner salad was very lemony and good. A successful adventure!
I'm reading a mystery that started out slow, then seemed to diverge into two separate plots--one involving the husband and the other the wife--but now, two-thirds of the way through, the plots are coming together, and I'm finally hooked. I chose it because I read that this author wrote Santa Fe based mysteries but so far they have been only passing references to Santa Fe and no action there. I'm ready for a novel that sweeps me up and carries my away! But it strikes me as funny that I can so clearly see structural problems in other people's work, even published work in an established series, but I can get my own mystery published (and it of course has no structural problems--well, okay, not that I see!)

Dreams, Newspapers, and Scotland

I dreamt last night that my brother and his wife, John and Cindy, bought a huge house in Dallas. It had at least three levels, with eight or more bedroom suites. Part of my family gathered there for a reunion and the others planned to come the next weekend--I think my mother was also to come the next weekend (but she's been gone twenty years). John and his chldren were there too, but I really remember Cindy bustling around in the kitchen. And I was most impressed that my brother could afford to buy this property while maintaining his rural property in Tolar. But they operated it as a b&b, with a price list that gave you cheaper prices if you brought your own bedding and towels. (Note to John: If you can buy this big house, please do so in Fort Worth. It would be much more appropriate for reunions of the entire family, yours and mine!)
Where did that dream come from? Well, the Houston Alters are coming next weekend and maybe the Frisco Alters; the weekend after, maybe the Frisco Alters again and Jordan and Christian and Jacob--so maybe that's the staggered vision (and Mom is watching over all of us). And last night at dinner Charles gave me credit for giving him and his late wife, Reva, the idea of using their ranch as a b&b--so that's the price list. Cindy in the kitchen? Well, she always seems to be there, and John had just told me about a wonderful meal she'd made. Funny how little things of the day weave themselves into your night-time consciousness.
Yesterday the Fort Worth Star-Telegram ran the 24th and final episode of a series of articles on the gruesome murder some years ago of three young Hispanic women, girls really. I have no idea why this newspaper, with space dwindling, took up that much space with something few people would read. I wanted to ask why they ran it. It didn't ennoble anyone; it didn't teach people how to be safe from the occasional sociopath; it was preoccupied with violence, grief, and evil--what good did it do anyone to read it? If anything, it gave the spotlight to an apparent serial killer, now imprisoned for life but still saying, "I'm not admitting to nothing I didn't do." Entertainment? I doubt it, and if that's your cup of entertainment tea, I'm glad I don't know you. When we hunger so for a newspaper of substance and watch it shrink daily, wrapping arts into another section, then food, shortening the weekly opinion section--why use all that space--often front-page space--with such banal material? The newspaper, like many, is faced with the internet dilemma, and all I've heard indicates that they are trying to steer readers to that venue. I've made my dismay clear in a letter to the editor--yes, they published it--but what I haven't said is that when I go to the internet version, it's unsatisfactory. If someone tells me something I missed in the paper, and I try to search for it, I can never find it. If I'm away from the city and try to read online, I feel I haven't really gotten the news. I am truly upset and aghast at what's happening to newsprint these days--and while the newspaper publishes my letter, it doesn't listen to the message.
My dinner last night was a success, and my main course buffet made a stunning presentation, which my guests raved over appropriately. Tonight, Jordan grazed on leftovers and kept saying, "This is fun. So good!" Last night, though, was a lovely, comfortable evening--good friends, lively conversation, all the things I like around my dinner table. At one point Sharon, who is very goal driven, results oriented, asked me "Why go to Scotland?" I had no immediate answer, so I said, "To go to Scotland," and she replied, "Fair enough." But when she asked what I was writing and I said I was thinking about a book on Scots in Texas, she said, "Oh! Where did they settle?" I explained that they never settled as a community but came individually and became part of the culture. "Then why write about them?" she asked. "Because I'm Scottish, and I want to," seemed a lame reason, and I'm not sure what I mumbled. But it's a good question and one I must come to grips with if I mean to do a significant book. I think part of the answer lies in the widespread infiltration of Scottish culture in our state--festivals, etc. And of course there's the fact that most of the heroes of the Alamo were of Scottish descent. I'm still working on that question--and will be for a while, I suspect.
Scottish food did not make it to Texas. A friend gave me today a book she picked up at an estate sale, titled A Feast of Scotland. I'll never remember what cock 'n leekie is, nor colcannon, nor clapshot. But I'm having a wonderful time reading about it. I found a recipe for salmon steaks cooked in a mixture of light cream, drambuie, and anchovy paste--Jordan shook her head when I mentioned it. I think I'll make a list of the things I want to eat while I'm there, like kippered herring which I remember my father ordering for me when I was very young--and I hated it.
I brought Scooby in early tonight, because I heard there were door-to-door people in the neighborhood--his ferocious attitude is enough to scare anyone away. They don't know he's a softie, and I feel safe.

In the kitchen again

Wow, I'm tired. It's been a grocery store/cooking day. I'm having old friends for dinner tomorrow night--a couple, once my neighbors, that I've known since before our third children, respectively, were born--and those kids are 36 this year. My good friend Charles lives in their garage apartment (that was connived and not an accident), and he'll come with them. They'll pick up another friend, Cissy, recently both widowed and displaced from her apartment by the relentless urge to tear down and rebuild. I remember serving Bill and Sharon an antipasto platter one night that they thought was wonderful, so I'm doing a more substantial version, sort of dinner on a platter--a strip of salmon, an herbed chicken thigh, a half ear of corn, a dolma, and a small baked potato Southwestern style for each. Then piles of cherry tomatoes, asparagus, hard-boiled egg halves, artichoke hearts--all laid out on a long platter that goes down the center of the table (it's a wonderful maple platter that I brought from Appalachia years ago). And fresh sourdough bread at the far end. I've got most of it cooked by tonight, except the salmon. Also I made a brandy/chocolate bread pudding that I'll serve with whipped cream and frozen raspberries (fresh are just too precious). So I did all that cooking and then fixed myself dinner--a bit of spinach, left from the remolaude sauce I made for tomorrow, a half ear of corn (corn doesn't come in five halves!), the excess stuffing from the potatoes. I had bought bay scallops for my entree and followed a recipe that combined them with crispy browned brioche bread crumbs (the brioche was in the freezer), sliced mushrooms (also left over and in the fridge), and a bit of shallot. Delicious but way too rich. I have scallops and potato for lunch tomorrow!
In between all this cooking, I truly have spent the weekend editing. We'll do a wondereful book next fall called True West: The Heyday of the Western in Popular Culture, with only about 20,000 words of text but lots and lots of illustrations drawn from the author's incredible collection of paraphernalia (I keep wanting to say ephemera)--movie posters, book jackets, comic books, sheet music, you name it. The text is funny--and so knowledgeable about the popular western. That was the field I studied in graduate school--though I was in the 19th century and this author is in the 20th. Still I remember writing a scholarly paper on McCloud, the western--was it Arizona?--sheriff who ended up on duty in NYC--and who is duly mentioned in this new text. Editing has been fun.
Rachel Ray is on my TV right now, cooking polenta egg cups with chorizo but wearing a sort of peasant dress with flowing sleeves and a huge dangly necklace that comes almost to her waist, along with a tight spiral bracelet on her wrist. Do you realize what would happen if I tried to cook in an outfit like that?

Wintry weather

Most Texans today will tell you the world is out of whack, regardless of our recent primary election. We've just had our second snow in a week, with an almost-80 degree day in between. Yesterday was glorious, beautiful, the kind of weather that makes you want to garden. Today is bitter cold, wet, the kind of wather that makes you want to pull the covers over your head. I went to lunch about 11:30--it was cold and wet but nothing severe. When I came out of the restaurant at 12:15, cars and sidewalks were icy, and a mixture of snow and sleet hit us. I hurried home and vowed not to leave until the weather improves. Since I have work to do tomorrow, a lot of it, and lunch and dinner appointments, I hope it improves rapidly.
I had a voice message on my cell phone today, and when I listened it was apparently an unconscious call Jamie had made. I listened to him playing outside in the snow with Edie (Beastie), the youngest, for at least three minutes. They have much more snow in North Dallas--four to six inches. Jordan sent pictures of Jacob's first venture into snow--he looked very unsure about what this stuff is.
I'm buried in manusripts to read, a grant proposal to write (the press was invited to take its proposal for a series of recovered women's writings of the Southwest to the next level of application, which is wonderful but means work). And when I go to the office, I seem to get buried in detail. What a time for Texas to hold us snowbound. It makes you learn that the world goes on regardless, and missing a day of work isn't catastrophic, doesn't mean the end of everything. It just means you have to work faster when you go back.
Last night my church held a dinner celebrating the 75th anniversary of the laying of the cornerstone. Almost 600 people signed up to attend, though I think there were quite a few no-shows. Still I was busy at the check-in table, and so many faces passed in front of me that I wouldn't have recognized my own children. I was grateful for the people I know well, like the wife of the former chancellor, who cheerfully gave me her name. I thanked her, told her I knew that one, but it was helpful. A couple of people just assumed I knew them, and of course I blanked on their names until five or ten minutes later. The dinner was remarkably good for serving that many people, and the program fun--all the living former senior pastors spoke. But it went on too long for me, and I made it home by my stated goal of 8 p.m., thereby missing the video which was supposedly the highlight of the evening. Maybe my friend is right--I have a touch of ADD.

Using my camera

Mostly this blog is to prove that I'm using my camera and can successfully post pictures on the blog. Jacob brought his mom to dinner last night, and while she actually snapped the pictures I did everything else. We had a delicious supper, if I do say so--baked salmon basted with basil and oregano butter, sauteed fresh green beans and sliced mushrooms, and salad. Jacob had ketchup. His new deal is he comes in the front door and makes a beeline for the corner where I keep my walking sticks, shouting, "Mine, Mine, Mine!" When I shout back, "Mine!" he grins and says, "Tick!"

I'm a happy camper this morning over the election though I guess I'm a bit naive. My neighbor, a conservative who happily disagrees with me about politics, stopped by last night to say he had voted for Hillary. When I expressed surprise, he said, "I just want to keep the contest going." Being naive and also talking too loudly (we were outdoors, with the polling place across the street), I said, "You dont' want McCain, do you?" I know I sounded incredulous. He laughed, said he didn't want any of them, and was moving to Canada. We agreed on a compound. But then this morning I read that a lot of Republicans crossed over to vote for the candidate they considered the weakest. To me, that's dirty politics, on a par with some of Karl Rove's tricks.

Old friends

What's the saying? "Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver, the other gold"? Some old friends stopped for lunch today on their way through town--and I do mean old. They've been among my closest friends for forty years, and while we've shared many low points, from marriage troubles to serious illness, we've shared a lot more good times and some downright silly ones. We talked of our children and grandchildren, we talked a bit about the past and who was left in Fort Worth that they knew, we talked politics--we pretty much agree--and we talked about our lives today. They expressed what I feel--life at this age is good. Oh yes, the seventies bring aches and pains, but as Ray said, you just ignore them and go on. It was a real joy to see them and brightened me for days to come but especially on this rainy and cold day. (I was not brightened that they said "This is just what Scotland will be like in April!")
By serendippity, a local friend had sent me one of those emails that makes the rounds--you may have seen it--about the great freedom that comes with aging. The writer said that she (I'm just presuming it was a she) was for the first time in her life the person she always wanted to be--not the body of course, with it wrinkles and sags and scattered pains, but the person who is more kind and forgiving of herself. "I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant. . . . I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day (if I feel like it)." I like the philosophy!
Anticipation is high here tonight--not for weather as it was last night (turns out we didn't have much bad weather, but it was sure rainy, cold, and miserable today). Tonight it's the primary tomorrow. Jordan just called and I almost didn't answer because I've gotten so many political recorded messages. But the Democratic primary is so close that its nail-biting, and I feel the tension. I will be glued to the TV tomorrow night.
Just had a nice conversation with Jacob. On his part, it consisted mostly of "Juju" and "cook-y" (his mother had just given him a cookie). But it's fun to be able to talk to him.

Stormy weather--and a new era?

It's one of those nights when the weather is "funny"--no other way to describe it. This afternoon, after the wind died down, it was sort of eery. Then it rained, a fairly determined silent rain. Tonight there was a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder but no more. Our county and those all around are under a tornado watch until the wee hours. So even though the weather's not doing anything, you feel it omnipresent, with a sense of anticipation. We're to have storms tonight and into tomorrow, so I've prepared my battle plan for getting Scooby out of the house in the morning. He is so terrified of storms!
Meg just called. She and Brandon have been following this storm across the country. It delayed them getting out of Salt Lale City yesterday, so they missed their flight in Denver and spent the night there. This morning the storm caught up with them in Denver and delayed them again, so they got to Austin at 4 this afternoon instead of midnight last night, bringing the storm with them.
With dire predictions about the weather, I called my dinner guests and asked if they wanted a rain check. I also told them the menu had changed because I couldn't get quail. The quail, Linda said, didn't matter one bit but the possibility of 70 mph winds made a difference. We'll do it another time. Meantime I cooked my meatloaf and Sue came from next door to share it. We got to talking, I left the meatloaf in the oven, and it was dry--but still good.
I went to church this morning. The walls didn't fall in--how embarrassing would that be? And I enjoyed the service. Many of the elements--hymns, music, etc.--were taken from the original service for the laying of the cornerstone 75 years ago, and the anthem was specially commissioned for today. Posts not very far down the aisle from the chancel marked the boundary of the original church--it was a whole lot smaller than today's sanctuary! Somehow as I sat there following the service, I thought how much of the liturgy doesn't change--and I find that comforting. I like the hymns of my youth, the familiar words. And yet our church, like many, experiments with the service, tries new things, is ever changing. And I'm the last one to say change is bad, yet it's hard not to cling to old ways in church--and in our lives. It struck me that Barack Obama may indeed be the sign of a tidal wave of change in our country, a change that is somehow all wrapped up in changing values, behaviors, even linked somehow to the enormous popularity of evangelical churches. What, I wonder, are the American people looking for?
Sue said she'd read or heard on NPR that Obama resembles Reagan in some ways (not economic policy, we hope!)--he talks of hope, without a concrete plan, and he's come along at a time when the American people feel their world is at least out of kilter if not falling apart. Reagan was a kindly fatherly figure; Obama is an attractive, charismatic, fairly young man. He represents, as did Reagon before, an arm up--never mind the hard realities. Don't get me wrong--I'm still holding out hope for Hillary. I think she has the plan and not just the words, and I think she found her issue in the last few days in homeland security but she should have started earlier.
I guess I'll go back to figuring out the history of Scots in Texas. It's a whole lot easier than figuring out what Americans want as opposed to what they need.

Food and manuscripts

Weekends seem to be a lot about food for me, but I surely didn't mean last night's supper to turn out as it did. I was getting ready to "refresh" some leftover restaurant chicken salad and saute a few green beans when Jordan called. She and Jacob were at a nearby park and did I want to meet them at Hofbrau--she had thought the people she was with were going there, and I guess she had her mouth set for it. Both Jordan and Megan worked at Hofbrau in their school days, so it's sort of a sentimental favorite though I'm never sure what I want there, except the brau chips which are so awful for you and make you too full to eat anything else. I did and I didn't want to go, but Jordan and Jacob are a powerfuld draw and I really didn't need to sit at home with leftovers (I had the chicken salad for lunch today, but it hadn't lasted well). We met at Hofbrau, but Jacob was discontent, not satisfied to sit still, and a bit of a pain. Jordan decided we'd order to go and take it to my house (very close). So in a rush I ordered a baked potato. Then Jacob got interested in the people at the next table (who were very kind) and his crackers, and Jordan decided we'd stay. I wished I'd ordered more. Then Jacob was discontent again and she decided we'd go. My head was spinning, but we ate at home, which is truly better. Jacob wandered, played with his toys, and watched "Melmo" (Elmo). He was happy and delightful. I sauteed those green beans to go with my potato, and Jordan fixed us both salads, although she got mine a bit acidic and I had to swallow hard for a couple of minutes to finish it.
Jordan and I both like lemon, and we do tend to overdo it. I did that tonight, making our favorite salad dressing--essentially oil, vinegar, and blue cheese, only this time I put it over watercress salad and wished I'd gotten an avocado at the market this morning. Then I made Dover sole with lemon butter. All good but by the time I finished, I rushed to get an ice cream cup and pour chocolate sauce over it. Ah, a good excuse.
Tomorrow I've lured friends in from Granbury, 30 miles away, with the promise of quail. Rodger said, "I love quail. I'm up for it." I frantically emailed today to tell him to reset his taste buds--Central Market was out of quail. Rodger will get buffalo meatloaf, Louella's rice (delicious and so easy), and salad--but maybe another, less acidic dressing. And since I'd planned a sort of sophisticated meal, I'll go ahead with the crab-stuffed mushrooms I'd originally decided on. It's sort of strange to stand in the meat market and make an instant choice of what to serve guests, strange at least for me who plans these things ahead.
I've spent a good part of the weekend reading a manuscript. If I don't see one working out, I don't often devote this much time to it, but I see something in this one that needs to be sculpted out. It's a hard line to walk between the manuscript the author wrote and wants it to be and the one I want it to be. This one deals with genealogy (and the discovery of a black branch of the family) and fasola or Sacred Harp singing. The latter is what drew me to it. I'd like to do a book on Sacred Harp but it's sort of a secondary theme in this work. I can't quite tell the author to make it the theme, when she has her own story to tell. I'm pondering.
Meantime I'm also pondering on a book about Scottish Texans. There's not much available--small bits on Texans with Scottish ancestry, including many at the Alamo--and the common knowledge that most Celts went to Appalachia first and then moved west. And the ever independent Scots didn't come as a group, as did, say, the Germans. They came as individual families, making them hard to trace. But I don't want to tell the stories of Houston and Austin again with a Scottish tilt to the telling; I want to tell about the ranchers, etc. It's fun to watch the bits and pieces move around in my mind.