Saturdays

Sometimes Saturday seems long and dull to me, but not today. I thought most of the day that by now I would have a sleeping (well, I hoped he woudl be) two-year-old in the portacrib, but the babysitter surfaced late in the day, and I am relieved. That's somewhat of a disappointment. I love having him in the evening and don't have a problem putting him to bed. But in the morning, he's like the dog and cat--wakes me early and wants to pee and be fed. I am able to take care of the animals needs rather quickly and go back to bed for another hour or so. But with Jacob, there's no back to bed.
This morning I ran errands all over the place. Sometimes I'm sort of intimidated by doing that. My anxiety makes me afraid I'll encounter steps I can't handle or whatever. But I took myself in hand, told me I could do this in good spirits, and did it (actually Eat, Pray, Love gave me some helpful thought patterns). But I got a long overdue present for my new great-nephew, a hook to hold my new bird feeder, browsed the show warehouse but found nothing I wanted that wouldn't hurt my toe, got some b'day presents (which involved walking all around a huge shopping center), and went to the grocery. Pretty proud of myself.
Ever have a hungry day? I'm having one, maybe because I didn't eat much lunch--but I had two scrambled eggs with salmon for breakfast. Tonight I fixed halibut on roasted beets and greens with an orange/dill gremolata. Took most of it to Jeannie and Jim but kept a helping for myself. It never occurred to me that once Jeannie got Jim home she would be tired to the point of exhaustion and no cooking, but she is--Jim needs medication and help around the clock, and she was most grateful when I offered dinner. I ate my portion and was still hungry--so I heated half the twice-baked potato I got with a coupon at Central Market (I got two for Jeannie and Jim too). And after a bit I was still hungry, so I had ice cream with chocolate sauce. I am going to weigh 200 lbs. if I don't watch out! I did exercise today so that makes so far a steady week. I'm still not doing the arm stretches because my shoulder hurts--sometimes it feels almost okay but then, last night, trimming green beans hurt. Go figure!
Tonight I've sent queries to two agents about my mystery and done some research on a company that publishes for the library market and reads unagented material--with some pretty stringent guidelines, like no sexual tension. Not sure I'm ready to try that. I'll try agents first. Having joined Sisters in Crime and then signed up for the Senior Sleuths Forum (refers to the age of the protagonist and not the author, though I find most of them are senior like me), I find they're lots of help.
But now I'm going to take a vacation from Liz and Eat, Pray, Love--she just left India and arrived in Indonesia, with no contacts, no idea where she was going, etc.--aiyee! a sense of adventure that I both admire and am scared by. But anyway, a friend sent me her latest mystery and that's my book for the evening. A nice, cozy Saturday night with a cozy.

Belief, devotion, things spiritual

I'm still reading Eat, Pray, Love. Truth is it's not a book you can read in big gulps, and I'm sometimes tempted to take a break and go back to a mystery, but I'm drawn to this and yet, ambivalent about it. Sometimes I applaud Liz Gilbert and sometimes I not sure I even like her--but so much of what she says hits home, like the section about belief being a leap of faith. To be truly devout, you have to take that leap of faith. You have to believe that you can feel God in you, a step way beyond talking to God in prayer. I liked her definition that prayer is talking to God, while meditation is listening to God. But last night instead of praying I tried meditation--of course I fell asleep and then didn't sleep well all night.
But then I'm impressed at her perseverance. Life in an ashram is not easy, and there are times she hates it or hates specific practices or songs or whatever. But she stuck with it, and eventually she saw the difference in herself. It really was like an enlightenment, and it makes me jealous.
There's the business about devotion requiring sacrifice and discipline, which she surely showed at the ashram. True devotees, she claims, get up early to get at their devotions--and I can't even drag myself out of bed to exercise. I wonder if that's the point where she stuck with it, and I don't. She also says to be truly spiritual we have to conquer our cravings. Tonight I couldn't help myself--I wanted chocolate, so I had the ice cream with chocolate sauce on it that I really want every night (okay, it's only a small helping). Am I to be kept from the ranks of the truly spiritual because I can't resist chocolate and white wine? I did compensate with a delicious but healthy dinner--stir-fried a bit of leftover roast pork tenderloin, haricot verts, broccoli, mushrooms, and onion. Tried to add a half a zucchini, but it turned out to be half a cucumber which I didn't think would stir-fry well. Maybe I'm too rooted in foot to ever be truly spiritual.
And there's this question--does God want us to be truly spiritual and meditate or go out in the world and do good works.
Okay, I've gone on too long, but it's really neat to find a book that makes you think. Mysteries, I'm the first to admit, rarely do that.

Stuff

I'm always sending friends and family emails with the subject line, "Stuff." I suppose it's frustrating but I so often have a potpourri of things to say, and tonight's that way.
First food: I was watching Paula Deen while I rode my stationary recumbent bicycle this afternoon. Now I'm a fan of hers, but good heavens! The amount of butter and sugar that woman uses! And she made coconut cookies, iced with white chocolate, and sprinkled with toasted coconut--does she realize what that does to your cholesterol? Okay, I'm particularly conscious of it because I'm really trying to watch what I eat (and drink) and today my lab work came back with an "Excellent" written in next to the cholesterol number.
Betty and I ate at the nearby Lebanese Restaurant, Chadra, again tonight, and I had spaghettini with meat sauce--really good but a serving for three people. They don't have a big menu, but we really like the food--and Betty loves the dense bread garlic knots they serve. I had the front matter and first pages of my Great Texas Chefs and showed it to her--of course she skimmed right over the dedication, which is what I wanted her to see because it's dededicated to "Betty, who explores restaurants with me."
I've been reading novels for the press, and I've found two or three that I think have real promise. This is a problem for us, because we barely break even publishing them--and sometimes don't, if the author isn't VERY energetic about promotion. So I'm thinking we should do them paper print-to-order. I'd love some opinions--would you buy a paperback novel as quickly as a hardback?
Meantime I'm also trying hard to study the market and discover what to do with my mystery, Dead Space. One of the things all the books say is that you have to demonstrate you're a professional writer. Surely, I can do that. And I have confidence in both the book I've written and my ability to craft and tell a story. So I guess now it's a matter of perserverance--and I intend to hang in there. And I might just show that confidence by starting on the second novel in my proposed series--that's another selling point, a series.
Nice weekend ahead. Tomorrow night I'll take my friend Charles to a local restaurant where they serve mussels, which he loves. Saturday I'll cook dinner for Jeannie and Jim--he's home from the hospital but needs so much care that she's exhausted and cooking is the last thing she wants to do. I'm waiting for her to tell me what's on his diet. Sunday, a few of the Grace & Gumption ladies are giving a program at my church and then I'm hosting a potluck supper for the neighbors and Jordan, Christian, and Jacob. I'm only making the appetizer, and I can set the table Saturday morning. Eating outside while trying to corral Jacob is too much trouble!

Sadness . . . but there's always Jacob

A friend's husband is dying today. He's the son of people I knew, and I was particularly fond of his mother, but both are now long gone. And I actually took tai chi from Armin--he said I was a good student, but I think he was just being kind. His wife is a contributor to Grace & Gumption, and since that group of contributors has bonded like family, we are all feeling Ruth's grief. Lately, it seems to me that too many people are seriously ill. Jeannie's husband is doing well but still in the hospital until they can wean him off oxygen; Katie's husband is recovering well at home; Melinda's father faces serious surgery; and Ruth's husband is dying. I am at a loss to know how to help, what to do, but I pray a lot these days.
I think your reaction to illness in a friend's family is a really individual thing. Knowing that Ruth is surrounded by family and has her minister with her, I have not gone, not wanted to intrude. Some of our group have expressed the same feeling to me, but others have gone to her and been welcomed. Today I sent my hugs with one of them. I have emailed and told her I am available for whatever she needs, and now it's like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And Armin and tai chi remind me that I am going to start yoga. My former student worker (now a long time ago), Elizabeth, has a private yoga practice and comes to your home, so I have scheduled three appointments (you get a discount if you do three at once). I expect it to be magic, of course, and I will immediately be limber, thinner, livelier, all those things. Elizabeth (the whole world except me calls her Beth) will disabuse me of that notion. And the nice part is that after our first lesson, we'll go out to dinner.
The problems my friends are dealing with make mine miniscule, but I have analyzed my mystery problem--though I've found no solution. I have confidence that the mystery is good--it's been read by people who know, and I have a track record of writing successful fiction. Plus I have a really respectable record of awards. So, okay, it's not as though I can't write. The problem is finding an agent, and I don't know how to go about that. Websites are full of generalities and lead you to lots names you can send blind queries to--a process I've so far found useless. And many of those lists cost you money, so that's not good. I've joined Sisters in Crime and then signed up for a senior sleuths chat room, which seems to have both seasoned writers and beginners, all wanting to write mysteries with protagonists who are "senior." That's not what my Dead Space is, but I have an idea for a senior sleuth, and, hey, I might learn something.
Jacob brought his mom for dinner tonight, and my neighbor Jay came for drinks, went home and got his macaroni and cheese which Jacob loved, and he and Jordan planned a Sunday night supper which will apparently feature Jay's veal piccata. Jacob decided Jay was his favorite person in the world and kept calling him B (which may be he's mixing him up with his Austin Uncle B). When Jay was leaving, Jacob ran after him for hug after hug, but my jealousy was modified when he gave me a big kiss as he left tonight. After supper, Jordan, that girl on a diet, announced a craving for chocolate, so she and Jacob shared an ice cream cup with chocolate sauce on it.
.

Putzing and Reading

Some time ago I wrote a piece I titled "On Learning to Putz." (When it was published, it ws "On Learning to Putter" because of the anatomical implications of the "other" meaning of the Yiddish word "putz.") It was essentially on learning to do nothing and enjoy it, an art that's very hard for me to master. But today I putzed or puttered, whichever word you prefer. I slept really late, read the paper in a leisurely way, scrambled some eggs, watched "Meet the Press" (okay, so some people are convinced it will be Obama and others are just as sure it will be Hillary--when will this end?), made a cheese dip that ultimately I didn't like much--it called for ricotta which is too sweet, read through some notes (which thoroughly confused me about any project on Scots in Texas), and read. A lot of reading.
I'm reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert--I think every second woman in this country has read it before I got around to it. It's about the author's quest for spirituality, for wholeness in her life, for meaning, a quest that she decides will take her to Italy (to eat), to an ashram in India (I presume to pray), and to Indonesia (where she must learn about love--I'm not that far into the book). I like Gilbert--she's honest about her fears and failings, her dreams and fantasies. But a part of me is hesitant, The book begins as she is leaving a marriage that no longer makes her happy. In part, from what I read, I thought she just didn't want to grow up and have a baby. Not wanting to have children is an individual choice, but growing up isn't, in my mind. And once you've committed to a relationship, I truly believe you should work to find happiness (and maturity, if need be) within the space of that relationship before severing it. Perhaps that's a reminder of my own marriage, when my husband said he was tired of taking care of others and wanted to take care of himself, a peculiar thought from the mouth of a man with four young children, the youngest of them barely six.
I also got the feeling that Gilbert sees herself as set apart, privileged somehow, maybe just a little bit cute. I thought probably this was my age showing, but my young neighbor just echoed those thoughts to me and said, "You know, if she can afford to go off like that for a year, good for her, but most of us can't." And a friend my age expressed the same reservations. Yet both of them, like me, say they enjoyed the book.
And I do like it. Her adventures in Italy are intriguing, and I truly admire a woman who will set off for Italy, Indian, and Indonesia alone. Especially since I'm the one deemed not capable of traveling alone overseas, which I am the first to admit is true. And I like her quest--like many of us of all ages, I yearn for certainty in my faith but it always alludes me. I am learning, much later than Elizabeth Gilbert, that I may have to look for it outside the church.
Linda came from Granbury for dinner, and I roasted a pork tenderloin, did some oven roasted rosemary potatoes, and a salad. It's good to visit with an old friend (almost 40 years, I suspect) in a leisurely manner--another form of putzing.
I've conducted a scientific experiment, almost accidentally. Ninnie Baird, founder of Mrs. Baird's Bakeries, had a book of household hints, among which was the fact that cucumber peel will get rid of those tiny tiny sugar ants. When I came home from Austin, I found those ants in the kitchen, so I put out some peel. I thought they would run fleeing in the other direction, but the next time I looked they were swarming all over the peel. So much for that, I thought. But the next morning, the peel was thick with very still ants. And today the ants were all gone, so I threw the peel away. Experimental success, though I'm not sure why.
No puttering tomorrow. It's a work day, and I have a long "to do" list.

How old are you?

I've been reading page proofs on a collecton of profiles written by a journalist friend. In one, she writes about an older woman who was a dear friend. In her late eighties, the woman asked Mary if she knew the secret to staying young. Mary of course didn't, and the woman said, "Pick the age at which you were happy and choose to stay that age forever." She was, she said, 35, though some days she felt 40. Mary has chosen 43. But I think I choose 33--I had two children, a happy marriage, and a life that seemed to offer endless possibilities. Still, the possibilities my life offered turned out not at all to be the ones I expected, but there were some pretty good ones. And I do still feel about 33. I noticed in Austin that I felt younger and my aches and pains disappeared. Can't figure that one out. Can't believe work makes me feel older--it's supposed to keep you younger.
Today I went to the Carter Museum with a friend to see the exhibit on the Fort Worth Circle of Artists and another on snapshots. The Carter is a building that makes me anxious--steep terrazo stairs, high open balconies, the kinds of things I don't like. And the friend I was with has knee problems and walks with a cane, very slowly, so I got uncertain on my feet just trying to slow down to her pace--I need to build up a head of steam and then I can charge right along. So it all made me more than a bit uncomfortable, but I found the exhibits interesting. After a bit (four rooms), the Fort Worth Circle got repetitive, and the snapshots were interesting, mostly for what they illustrated about the change in cameras over the years. The snapshots themselves were fun for a while, but ultimately they don't mean much if you don't know the people. Apparently though it's a big deal--there's a large and impressive book from Princeton University Press to accompany the exhibit.
Back to Scotland. I've about decided to draft an article on Scots in Texas and run it by the state magazine I sometimes write for. Maybe that's a step toward a book. I'm feeling my way here. Meantime I have a list of chores--with deadheading the iris and planning the garden at the top of the list, followed by laundry and other less interesting chores.
I've ordered a book from Sisters in Crime called Breaking and Entering about breaking into the mystery market. I'm not giving up on that project.

What a day!

What a day, indeed! I started it in Austin and ended it in an ER in Fort Worth. Jordan, Jacob and I left Austin about 10:30 and pulled into my driveway before 1:30--good time, considering it was a trip of way too many trucks and erratic drivers who sped up and slowed down for no reason and one who wavered all over the road, crossed two lanes to exit and nearly went into the ditch on the exit ramp.We surmised that at noon he was still at last night's party. Jacob survived the trip by screaming, shouting, laughing, singing, and throwing toys which he then demanded back. I may not have been driving but I was busy. Just after we passed Hillsboro, he fell asleep, woke briefly, then slept again, and we whispered. When I came in the house, I found myself whispering to the cat.
Jordan was strong and tough on the highway today and did a great job of driving, in spite of her declaration that she hates hates hates being between a concrete divider and a truck. But tonight her strength fell apart. She called about five asking how to separate two hot dogs from a frozen pack, and I advised running hot water on them and then using a table knife to pry them apart. At 5:30, she called in tears saying she'd cut herself and needed me to take her to the ER.
Of course, I flew out the door. Luckily I was dressed to go out for dinner and not in my sloppy clothes. On the rushed way over there, I thought about dinner. I had my mouth all set for a Lebanese meal. Second time. First I had it set for that meal tomorrow, when friends were coming in from Granbury. But they had a strange tale: a tree blew down across their drive and in trying to get a loaded truck around it to deliver merchandise, they got the truck stuck in the mud. Don't count on us was the message. So I rearranged my thinking and thought I'd persuade Betty to go there tonight. Instead, I found myself driving in frantic haste and cursing the fact that I was hungry. Once I got to the ER and they spirited Jordan away I also cursed the fact that I hadn't brought a book.
On the way to ER, the story came out: she cut her little finger and ring finger on her right hand right at the crease of the joint. It bled so profusely that she felt faint, which scared her because she was alone with Jacob. So she called 911 and the ambulance came. The EMTs didn't know for sure if it needed stitches and were trying to load her up, asking what hospital she wanted. Wait! She couldn't leave Jacob! So she called a friend to stay with Jacob and me to take her. We got to the ER at six and left a little before nine.
Long story short: the cut on the little finger was 2 cm. deep. They took three stitches in it, and one in the ring finger. She left the hospital with the two fingers splinted and a huge bandage all around her hand. She has a wedding to go to tomorrow and began making up a more picturesque story than cutting hot dogs about how all this happened. She reminded me that when her brother Colin had half his spleen removed and a large scar slanted across his abdomen, he told people it was a shark attack (he was then running a scuba hotel on Grand Cayman).
Me? I came home, gratefully, fixed a BLT and splurged on ice crea with chocolate sauce and two glasses of wine.
And that brings me way away from the important news of this week, which was that we had a great time in Austin, the kids loved playing together, and we wish we stayed longer.

Austin--and grandsons

I'm in Austin, in a house with four adults, an almost-four-year-old, a 22 mos.and an 18 mos. Our days are pandemonium--screaming, yelling, squealing, giggling, tears--and the blessed quiet of nap time (quiet time for the oldest one and naptime for the grandmother). The boys play wonderfully well together, aside from pushing, shoving, grabbing,etc. Sawyer, the oldest, seems to delight in pushing Jacob in the swing, and Ford, the youngest, plays quietly and then suddenly belts out "Jacob!" At 6 p.m. they are fussy and hungry; by 7:30 they're hyperactive, fatigue coming out in silliness and screams; by 8 all is quiet and they're in their beds. It's a joy to see them together. And for me, it's a particular joy to get to know Sawyer and Ford better--and have them know me. At first Sawyer hung back,saying he wasn't ready to give me a hug, and Ford stared at Jordan and me curiously as though wondering who these interlopers were that were sitting in his front yard. (The fenced front yard is their playground with more than enough toys.) But then he looked at me and said, "Gaga." (That's the Austin boys name for me, while everyone else calls me Juju.) Then he looked at Jordan and said "Jojo." The ice was broken, and we were off to high good times. We don't get this kind of togetherness when the whole family is together,and while I miss the others, I value this.
In between I sneak up to the office,where I'm sleeping, to deal with emails and read on my Kindle. Megan scolded me for reading when I don't see my grandsons that often. So I'm trying to limit it.
Last night after we'd gone out for Mexican food at a riverfront restaurant, Jordan announced that after the boys were in bed, the parents were going to have an intervention with me. My first thought, of course, was "Hey, I like my white wine but I don't drink that much!" I asked if I had to move out of my house,quit my job, quit drinking. She said no, it was something good. But then when we got to it she began with, "We all love you a whole lot, but you can be controlling." I heard those as damning words, because I try so hard not to be controlling. It turns out though that ever since I turned my b'day celebration over to the kids--at their request--I've been bugging her about this person and that who knows it's my 70th b'day and wants to be included. She told her siblings I was driving her wild, and they decided to tell me so I could enjoy anticipation and she could have a littlel peace and quiet. They were in part feeling sorry that I missed Scotland and wanted to give me something to look forward to. So here I am, sort of controlling my b'day party and very excited about it.
But determined not to feel my age. When I woke up Sunday after my busy day with Maddie I was stiff and sore, I hurt and I was tired. Depression snuck in because I thought maybe I really was getting old. But the next day I was fine--and at the end of the drive to Austin I was less stiff than Jordan.Since I've been here I've done better on balance--even on uneven flagstone--and I've been free of aches and pains (well, mostly) in spite of sleeping on a mattress on the floor. I'm back to thinking it's in large part attitude.
Big on my mind: I need a writing project, and I want to find a way to market my mystery. But I'll think about that tomorrow.

Cardboard boxes and cousins

They say a cardboard box is the best toy, and Maddie and Jacob proved it today. Before Jacob arrived, Maddie cooked lunch--okay, I supervised a little and chunked the chicken, but she cut up broccoli very small and grated cheese. We boilied the chicken and some egg noddles, added the broccoli after a while, then drained the whole thing and added the cheese, chunked cream cheese, and chicken broth. Maddie got many raves for her lunch, and she cleared the table like a hostess and served Rice Krispies treats on plates for dessert.

She didn't stay in the kitchen when Jacob came about 10:30. Jacob adores her, calls her Moo, a shortening of her years-ago nickname Maddie Moo. Jamie had brought him a huge rocking horse on a metal frame and heavy springs, and Maddie tried valiantly to assemble it before he got here, but it was beyond her. And all such things are far beyond me, though I did figure out one small pice of the directions for her and felt very proud. I am sure it was partly a questions of strength that held her back. But even without the horse, the box was a great thing, and they had wonderful fun with it.

Now they're all gone, the house is quiet, and I'm pooped. Mel helped with dishes and cleanup went quickly, so the only chore I MUST get done is packing for Austin. I am really taking a vacation from work!

Off to nap, then pack, then keep on with the latest Sue Grafton, which I'm really enjoying. Maybe I'll have some deep and noteworthy thoughts tomorrow but not today.

A grandmothering weekend

So far, my weekend with Maddie is going great. I thought she would arrive in time for supper last night and was prepared with cuisine choices--Lebanese, Mexican, hamburgers, or seafood. But, in true Jamie fashion, they didn't get here until slightly after nine. Jamie hung out for a while, and it soon appeared that Maddie was reluctant to let him go--more than a little bit. She hung on to him, with tears said, "I don't want you to go," and finally sobbed outright. He was good and had several private talks with her and finally left with a promise to call from the road. She was teary and didn't want to do anything else until her daddy called. She came to me panicky because she'd lost one of the things he gave her--turned out they were acorns. So when he called, he sent her out to the driveway to find another, and she was happy. After she talked to him, she was completley herself, and beat the tar out of me in a short Scrabble game.
We did have another bit of excitement as Jamie left--a possum ran down the driveway. I got a flashlight, and we could see it watching us, all curled up high in an oak tree. The dog was going bananas. Maddie didn't much like the possum, but Jamie and I were fascinated. My house is close enough to a big park, the zoo, and the river that was do often have critters. I worry about coyotes but figure Scoob is big enough to hold his own.
Today we shopped for a birthday present (Webkinz which I'd never heard of), went to Central Market, and spent a fortune at what Maddie called "the plant store." She was a big help--fetching things, pushing the cart, etc. Then we had lunch at the deli, where she declared she could eat every day, and a short quiet time at home during which Juju snatched a nap. Then off to play with Jacob for two hours. The power at their house kept going out and when it came back on the alarm wailed, which scared Maddie to death. She was not happy, but she loved playing with Jacob--and he was in hog heaven. Then it was supper at the Lebanese restaurant--dolma, stuffed squash, and a canelloni--my grandchild is cosmopolitan! Now we've made Rice Krispies treats (okay, not cosmopolitan all tlhe time) and settled down quietly.
I'm reading the newest Sue Grafton novel and haven't gotten much done today, except when Maddie was playing with Jacob. Work, what's that? My job is being a grandmother!