Somebody please align the planets

My newspaper horoscope today said to let go of pet projects, something I've actually done with a bit of success. But I haven't gone deeper to explore the alignment of the planets and what it means to someone of my sign, Cancer. I don't need to--I know they've been out of alignment for several days.
Yesterday I had to take my car for repair--one of those annoying little warning lights went on. $500 later and at the end of the day I got my seven-year-old VW beetle convertible back, supposedly good as new. Meantime, in the early morning I ended up with five-year-old Jacob, so I took him to the dealership and then shopping with my friend Jeannie. This meant a lot of transferring of the booster seat--not a major problem, just an annoyance. At Tuesday Morning, Jacob spent at least thirty minutes in the toy aisle, walking up and down, commanding, "Stand right there, Juju," and then putting his hands to his head and saying, "Come on, Jacob. Buy something." He finally settled on a really cheap $2.99 toy, which he promptly left at my house.
I had not one but three social engagements last night--and they all fell through. First, two good friends were to come from out of town so I could cook them a gourmet meal and we could have a sleepover. One had a death in the family, and they had to cancel. Then I was invited to a dinner party, with my contribution to be guacamole. I had made a large batch of guac when the host called to say he had gout and was cancelling. I gave most of the guac to my neighbors. They were going to a neighborhood BYOB party and invited me, but by the time I got the car home I decided it was hot and I was tired. Truth be told, I was in a funk.
Today started off better, and I was all geared up to take the cat to the vet. With cats, if you miss that first attempt to put one in the crate, you might as well give up. Yep, I missed, and the cat was on alert. So instead I gave him his hydration treatment, for which he was quite docile--I think he's getting used to it. Then I ran by the vets to exchange their crate for a larger one and went to a TCU luncheon featuring a TCU Press book. While there I discovered that I have double-booked myself for lunch Friday--one appt. at 11 and one at 12. I'm going to camp at the restaurant and the noon people will meet me there. Jordan called to ask if I could keep Jacob after school. A friend had unexpectedly lost her mother and Jordan would be making an extended sympathy call. So I expected her to bring him about 4:15 and happily went to get a nap before that. At 4:30, I woke with a start and called to see where she was--at the friend's house. Where was Jacob? At school. The part of the message I didn't get was that I was supposed to get him. So I rushed off to the day-care, which is only across the street.
Tonight made up some for the confusion. Betty and I took Jacob to The Tavern, which we have discovered is one of our favorite restaurants. She and I split deviled eggs--we'd done that last week and loved them--and then an order of scallops with salad. Jacob had a grilled peanut butter and banana sandwich with lots of good thin fries. Christian came and met us at the restaurant, so I took Betty home and came home to settle down.
Tomorrow doesn't promise to be much better--take the cat to the vet at nine, meeting with a web designer at ten, lunch with a good friend at 11:30, pick up the cat, and come home and prepare for class that night. What can possibly go wrong? A whole lot!

Pioneer women physicians and the WalMart Supreme Court decision

Maybe it's my medical background--I come from a family of physicians, married one, worked in osteopathic medical schools--and maybe it's my interest in the history of the Old West, but I am fascinated by pioneer women physicians. I once wrote a novel, Mattie, based on the life of Georgia Arbuckle Fix who practiced on the Nebraska frontier in the late 18th and early 19th century. That novel earned me a Spur Award from Western Writers of America, an award of which I am justifiably proud. (A bit of self-promotion: Mattie is available from Amazon in print or on KIndle or Smashwords as an e-book).
My friend Dale Walker wrote a terrific book about another pioneer woman physician, who predates Dr. Fix. Mary Edwards Walker, born in 1832, practiced medicine during the Civil War, on the bloodiest battlefields as well as ministering to citizens wherever she was. Accused of spying, she was briefly held in a southern prison camp--surely an incredibly horrible experience for a woman, let alone the many men who suffered that fate. To say she was unconventional is an understatement--she held strong political beliefs and wasn't hesitant to express them all her life, she fought for woman's suffrage and prohibition, she championed the professionalism of nurses even though she always made it clear she was a doctor and not a nurse, and she fought for Prohibition. And she wore bloomers--those long, baggy pants that narrowed at the ankles made fashionable by Amanda Bloomer--because, according to Dr. Walker, the long skrits that dragged the ground were not hygenic. But it is her service during the Civil War that, to me, is the most remarkable. Most of the U.S. Army did not trust her--a woman physician? Pshaw! But she persevered--at Manassas, Fredericksburg, Chickamauga and other battles. She met President Abraham Lincoln and Mrs. Lincoln and corresponded with Secretary of War Edwin Stanton. After the war, she toured the United Kingdom, arousing controversy wherever she went--mostly because of her dress. In 1865, President Andrew  Johnson awarded her the Medal of Honor--the only woman in U. S. history to receive this prestigious award. It was her most prized possession, something she never gave up, even when it was rescinded from the record during the height of the women's suffrage movement. President Jimmy Carter restored the medal to her, but of course by then she was long dead.
Of her lifelong battle for equality, she wrote "Woman's mind is an emanation from Deity, and man's mind is very probably emanated from the same source, and the difference in the minds of the sexes is owing in part to the roughness of the clay . . . ."
Dale Walker is an award-winning historian of the American West, with a long list of outstanding books to his credit. No, he's not a descendant of Mary Edwards Walker or her branch of the Walker family. Find the book on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/Mary-Edwards-Walker-Beyond-American/dp/B001G8WCN8/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1308708580&sr=1-4. There are several books on Walker, but knowing Dale's thorough research, I'm quite sure this is the most accurate and complete.
This book--and the story of pioneer women physicians--seems most appropriate to me today, as I ponder the Supreme Court decision on the class action suits against WalMart. Sure, I understand the legal terms--there were too many unrelated cases of discrimination--but I find it significant that all three women justices dissented from the decision. And that Justice Scalia, who wrote the opinion, has been openly biased against women.
I've never been one to whine that women don't get their due--I've had a good career and never felt hampered by my gender--but I recognize it's a battle that's not completely won yet. It's like racial discrimination: we've come a long way, baby, but we still have a ways to go.

How methodical are you? Right brain or left?

My eight-year-old granddaughter astounded me this weekend--she's so organized and methodical. I do remember when she was in pre-school she was the only child who folded her blanket neatly after nap time. She couldn't stand that the furniture, etc., to the Dora playhouse she has long since outgrown was scattered around the playroom and asked for a bag to collect it all--alas, Dora herself is missing. Edie has an expanding file folder thing in which she has carefully labeled the various files with post-its--designs, ideas, sketches, etc. At her cousin's birthday, the Star Wars horns were scattered artfully on the cake table--she lined them  up in two, evenly spaced, matching rows. Oh, to be so organized.
My file drawer by my desk is haphazard at best, surely not aphabetical. I generally know which part of the drawer something is in, but I sometimes have to look and look, going through it file by file. And right now I've lost a file I really need--last night in desperation I created a new file in order to get something off my desk.
The shoes in my closet are helter-skelter and sometimes I have to search for the matching shoe.The clothes in my closet are the same way, and I often go through garment by garment, pushing things aside, to find what I had my mind set on wearing that day. My book shelves are a mess and I search for hours for a book I know I have, frequently giving up.
And yet I consider myself an organized person, indeed almost compulsive. And I think those who worked with me did too. But Melinda always patiently explained to me that I am right-brained--therefore I am creative, but I cannot proofread worth a darn. I admit it's true--my mind doesn't dwell on details, and I sometimes leap before I look. I buy cars, houses, and dogs on impulse--but I listen to my instinct and never seem sorry. When Jordan and I used to spend Sunday afternoons at realtors' open houses, I'd tell her the right house would reach out and touch us. In one hugely expensive house we could nowhere near afford, she asked, "Is this touching  you, Mom? It's touching me." Sometimes, a long while later, in retrospect, I look back and realize I'd have been better off if I'd done something differently. But life is too short for regrets.
And the junk in my attic? The kids will have to worry about that when they cart me out of here.
What about you? Right brained or left brained?

Texas Wind

Sometimes I am intrigued by weather that should alarm me. Perhaps it comes from a childhood on Lake Michigan and a fascination with watching storms roll down the lake. But last night reminded me of Dorothy Scarborough's The Wind and how powerful Texas wind can be.
Remember those TV ads: "It's ten o'clock. Do you know where your children are?" Last night, at 10:30, I didn't know where my children were--at least one of them. He's in his forties and was with his wife and two of my grandchildren, ages six and four. Not to worry? Mother's habits never go away, and besides, I wanted to go to bed. I texted Jordan who assured me they had just left her house (I'd come home much earlier) and would be here in 20 minutes. When I went out to open the driveway gate for them, I discovered the wind was blowing hard and the temperature had dropped from its unbearable high of late afternoon. So I sat on the porch, enjoying the weather. I know full good and well what bad that wind can bring, especially with wildfires already in Palo Pinto County and our ongoing drought, but putting those thoughts aside I loved watching it blow through the trees. Yes, I did think that the elm in front of my house is old and could go with the next big storm--I would prefer it to go into the street and not into my house. But it seemed in no danger last night.
Today, my family is all gone, and I am getting fat on leftovers. The dog and cat are relieved to have their house back, and I have spent a lazy day reading Julia Spencer-Fleming's latest novel, One Was a Soldier. It's absorbing. I justify reading on the grounds it will help me improve my own fiction--and I think that's true.
Ho, hum. We're off on another summer week. Tomorrow, which was forecast to be 101, is now to be "high 90s" and Tuesday it's supposed to be low 90s and rain. Let's hope the weather people are right. Have a good week, everyone.

Life's little unexpected turns and twists

My day didn't turn out as I expected at all. We were to go to Jacob's T-ball game but had no car--Jamie, Colin and Lisa had taken Jamie's car to swim and run, and Mel was leery of driving Colin's car, so we didn't see the rising baseball star. But his coach has recommended that he sign up for Little League next year because he's  that good! Then I had visions of a lovely deli lunch--Colin always wants to eat at Carshon's. To my dismay he said he didn't care, and Jamie quickly jumped in with his favorite pizza place. It's a hangout from their high school days. Two things wrong here: I don't like pizza and dont need the calories, and I always think this place is dingy and dirty. Yet I wanted to go to lunch with my family, so I took a tuna salad sandwich. As Jamie said, "When you're old, you can get away with anything."
In addition to a houseful of people--four adults and five children, plus me--we've been juggling three large dogs in the heat. If we could just turn all three out in the yard, they'd be no problem. But 102 or more is too hot for that. The chocolate lab is outside now, while Scooby, unsettled by all the commotion, paces in my office. The island dog--probably part Belgian Bouvier or German shepherd--is in the apartment. He and Scooby are the old men, and their pecking order is funny. When Scooby and Mosby, the lab, are here together, Scooby is the alpha dog. But when Kaibo, the island dog, appears, he is the alpha dog. Much discussion tonight of my getting a new dog (I will, in July) with some negative opinions and support at least from Jamie, who says I can bring it to his house if it's housebroken!
Jacob's birthday was was what I expected--lovely but crowded and on the hottest day of the year so far, early in the summer. My car said 107 when I went out there about 4:30. House and yard were full of excited youngsters and their parents and other friends of Jordan and Christian. These young people are always so welcoming to me. I get lots of hugs and really feel at home. Wonder of wonders! Darth Vader appeared in person--or elaborate costume. Even my neighbor Susan thought he and his companion (I don't know who that was supposed to be) were scary. I visited with people and often sat with my family around the kitchen table Good times. Jordan is a party organizer, which she says she learned from her mom.
Jamie and crew left tonight, so it seems an incredibly short visit, but Colin and his family will stay over tonight and,  I hope, linger for a good Father's Day breakfast.
If somehow the weekend hasn't been quite what I expected, I think it's my own fault. I set my expectations high and get an idea of just how things should work and then I'm edgy when they don't go that way. Worked hard at overcoming--or at least hiding that--this weekend. And really enjoyed my kids and grandkids. They're a wonderful bunch.

The day was brightened by another guest blog, this an interview on Writers of the West by Jean Henry Mead. http://www.writersofthewest.blogspot.com/ I'm doing pretty well at this guest blog things--another one, about Scottish food, coming Monday. Jamie says I'm really milking that Scotland trip for all its worth. Guess he's right.

Feeling My Age

I too often say, boastfully, that I don't feel my 70+ years  at all, and some kindly say I don't look that old. But yesterday and today I felt them. With my family coming and going at odd times this weekend, I went to two grocery stores yesterday--Central Market for meat and a few other things, then Albertson's for general supplies and canned goods. By the time I went to one, came home and unpacked the groceries, then went to the second and unpacked plus watered my abundant porch plants, it took me three hours, and I was really ready for lunch and to get off my feet. Worked a bit, napped, and by 4:30, I was back in the kitchen cooking steak fingers, green beans vinaigrette, and oven-fried potatoes for Jacob, Christian and Susan--Jordan's colleague who lives with them. That took me an hour and a half, and then after a quick dinner, I had to do dishes.
It occurred to me that I used to cook meals like last night's every night for four kids, and on weeekend I shopped and sometimes cooked for 15-20 on Sunday evening. I don't know that I coiuld do that these days. I'd like to think that it's just the habit of laziness, but much as I love to cook after an hour and a half my back tells me to sit down, even if only for a few minutes.
This morning I spent almost two hours in the kitchen making a huge casserole--I planned to make a double one, but as plans got more vague, I cut back to one and froze the extra ground meat. Still, I had visions of a lovely family dinner--two of my sons and one of my daughters, all with their families. Didn't happen. Jordan, Christian, Jacob and I ate together, though Jacob said he wasn't hungry, agreed to eat broccoli and blueberries, and then ate chicken nuggets, more blueberries but refused the cauliflower (I didn't have more broccoli and Jordan's attempt to pass cauliflower off as white broccoli was unsuccessful). So now I have this huge, rich, fattening, delicious casserole left. Maybe someone will nibble on it over the weekend; I foresee that Jordan and her family and I will be eating it next weekend. Hmmm--one of my overnight guests Tuesday night said they wanted leftovers, I had planned an elegant meal of sea bass in papilotte but you know, hamburger, onion, mushroom, cheese casserole might just sound good. Maybe I can do an exotic dessert.
So here I sit at 8 p.m., the house empty, waiting for Jamie and family who stopped to eat at the Mexican Inn (don't ask for my comment!) and Colin and family, who didn't get off from Houston until almost five and then had car trouble. Not exactly the evening I planned, but it occurred to me that a few years ago that would have sent me into a frenzy. Now I'm quite philosophical about it.
It will still be good to have my family around me, however briefly, this weekend.
Oops. I forgot. I have to go back to the kitchen to make a double recipe of corn/Rotel dip for Jacob's birthday party tomorrow. Woman's work is never done.

Musings about houses

Have you thought about the houses you've lived in? No doubt, many of us changed our houses--remodelling, repainting, somehow leaving our mark on them. But did the house change you? A recent book review got me to thinking about the houses I've lived in and the American obssession with bigger, better houses. I suffered from that obsession for a long time.
I was raised in a skinny, 1893-built duplex on Chicago's South Side--seemed big as all outdoors to me as a kid, but it was small for a family of four. When I left home, I lived in a series of student housing-type places, including an old Victorian house that was empty except fo rmy three rooms on the ground floor--a bit spooky--and a hunting cabin that someone had built on to in stages. I used to laugh that in 1964, as a starving student, I lived in a split level, but the bedroom was a chicken coop that had been cleaned and attached to the house and the bathroom was opposite the front door--made you a believer in privacy. Still the house had a funky charm, and I loved it. My new husband painted the mailbox with "Alter's Ego" and a physician we knew said, "I get the Alter part, but what's the e-g-o?" Go figure!
When he was in residency and I in graduate school, we lived in rentals in Fort Worth. Then, when our first child was less than a  year we moved into my dream home--a rambling huge Mediterranean with wonderful tiles in the entry floor, tiles surrounding the round fireplace, colorful tiles in the bathrooms, wrought iron chandeliers, a living room with a vaulted ceiling. It was everything I ever wanted--but yes, we changed it, redoing the kitchen, enclosing the patio to make a marvelous huge dining room, and eventually converting the garage into a master bedroom. We gave grand parties in that house and were wildly happy--well, for a while. When my marriage fell apart, so did my happiness with the dream home--built in the 1920s, it was too much for me to maintain. By then, there were four children, and we left for a much smaller, single-story house. It was another charming older home, but the kids mourned for their first home for a long time. I know that house changed me and molded me.
With four kids, I didn't give up the search for the perfect, larger house. The kids and I spent countless weekends touring realtors' open houses but never saw anything that I could afford. We moved to a rambling ranch-style and then, when the four were ready to fly the nest, I moved back to the neighborhood of smaller, older but charming homes--and I've lived in this one for 19 years.
My longing for the huge dream house disappeared somewhere along the way. I began to realize, I think, that I made the home--the house didn't make me. I am happier in this smaller house--2 bedrooms, an office, bath and a half, playroom, and garage apt.--than I ever was in that huge Mediterranean of my dreams. Sometimes I wonder why it took me so long to figure that out. Someone asked me recently if I was ready to consider a retirement home, and I almost jumped out of my skin. No way! I'm staying here. My animals and I are comfortable, and there's room for most if not all of my kids. Grandson Jacob is at home here, and has his own room--the playroom. Life is good.
I'm convinced that houses do mold us but ultimately, home is where we make it--and where we decide to be happy without longing for bigger, better, showier and more expensive.
It did grieve me that a developer "upgraded" the Mediterranean home, replacing all the original tile with fabricated materials, covering up the wonderful turned pillars, and generally making it just another big house, without the grace and charm of the original. Subsequent owners have tried to restore the original look, added on, built here and there, until I hardly recognize the house. There's a lesson there too about moving on with life.

Woohoo! A new cover

Here it is, the long-awaited cover to my forthcoming mystery. Guess I don't need to tell you the title, because there it is in big bold print. The publisher, Kim Jacobs of Turquoise Morning Press, was kind enough to consult me all along the way--neither of us liked the first mockup, apparently done by a designer. As Melinda at TCU Press said, it looked like it was a vampire story.  In this the final version, I'm a bit undertain about a skull (but then I'm the one who thought up a skeleton and suggested it for the cover art)--told Kim I think it's the teeth that bother me. LOL. But it is really appropriate to the book which, in spite of the title and skull, is a cozy mystery--amateur sleuth, no onstage violence, no lust--okay a sprinkling of longing. Anyway, I'm excited to have the cover because now I can build a new website and do all sorts of stuff to tell the mystery-reading world about my book. Launch date is August 29, presumably for e-book with print copy to follow in a week or so. If you're in Fort Worth, watch for a launch party at the Old Neighborhood Grill. When Peter suggested it, I said, "Perfect, because the Grill is mentioned in t he book several times."
I also did a guest blog today at Buried Under Books (http://www.cncbooks.com/blog/2011/06/14/searaching-for-ancestors-and-finding-stories/comment-page-1/#comment-73274). More of my Scottish adventures and a bit of family history, but it received lots of warm and favorable comments. All this re-living the trip online is making me ready to go back. Next week there'll be a guest blog on Scottish food--I loved it.
Meantime my own food blog is getting good reaction and response. Lots of people like it and I've had a couple of mentions of guest blogs. So I'm feeling pretty good about my "new" or "reborn" writing career. Retiring may be the best thing I ever did, much as I loved my work at TCU Press.
 Watch for another Potluck installment tomorrow, probably on tuna.  Did I hear a groan?

Speaking my mind

I usually try to stay away from politics in this blog, but lately my mind has been so boggled by events that I can't help but speak out. To begin with there are the education budget cuts on the state level. I have heard several reports that there are plenty of jobs available especially in the health care and manufacuring segments, but there are not people trained to perform those jobs. I presume that means in many isntances the kind of training provided in both high school and junior colleges. Yet we're going to cut the educational budget by a whopping $4 billion. I worry of course about my grade-school grandchildren, when arts programs and other "electives" are being cut left and right. Someone told me today of a local school district that has let all their librarians go--how do you teach without a library? Bless Wendy Davis and may her efforts succeed--or at least have some effect on the legislative process.
And then there's the prospect of Rick Perry running for president. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the idea that anyone would take it seriouisly--but then, I felt that way about George W. Bush's bid for the presidency. And look what happened. I read a list today of ten things that Perry has done that should scare the socks off all of us, like declaring Texas should secede. Another thing I have a hard time taking seriously, but I guess he meant it. And his legislative priorities sure scare me. Thanks much, but I think Medicare and Social Security are making my retirement comfortable if not luxurious.
And then there's poor old Newt Gingrich--does he not see the handwriting on the wall?
I was talking to a fellow liberal the other day about how frightening most of the potential GOP candidates are, and we decided Mitt Romney was the least frightening, but she said she hopes it's someone really far out that no one will take seriously.
As for the Democrats, I don't think people pay attention to the positive things President Obama has accomplished, like the million or so jobs saved with the rescue of the auto industry. It baffles me why people don't understand that the country didn't get into a recession overnight and can't recover from it that quickly either.
There, rant over. But it sure is hard to be a liberal these days and keep the faith.

A bargain with myself . . . and maybe with God

This morning I went to church by myself. It may not sound like much to most readers, but it's a big deal for me. I dislike going to church alone almost as much as I dislike going to the dentist. . . and yet I long to go to church. For many years, I faithfully went alone, but then two things happened: my good friend Betty retired as organist. She had always kept me involved in the life of the church, finding tickets for me to sell in the lobby, sign-ups to do, committees to join, even projects to head. I used to say whatever came up, she'd say, "Judy will do it." About the same time, the minister I'd worked with left, all the people seemed to change, and I didn't have the base I'd had at the church. If I weren't single, would I have gone ahead and forged new connections, like my friends Jean and Jim who recently joined the church? I don't know. I do know that's what I should have done.
But the second thing is that my old phobia, a fear of being alone in open spaces (called agoraphobia), came back to haunt me. I lost my balance--or more accurately, my confidence in my balance. Curbs and steps without railings stymied me; so did parking lots. For a while, I really curtailed my travels and avoided telling friends. Slowly, I foiund that good friends accepted and stood ready to help. I began to force myself to do things, to take that step I didn't think I could. I carried a walking stick or a cane, to the puzzlement of many. I even discovered that I could use valet parking at church and not have to walk across the parking lot.  But going back to church was hard, and I could usually find some piddling at home to avoid it. We could get really Freudian here and go back to my childhood and being forced to attend church, but I won't go there.
Then  Jacob began to spend many Saturday nights with me, and I wanted him to grow up in the church. I regret with all my heart that my children didn't grow up in the church. After a first disastrous experience, where the day-care worked scared the daylights out of Jacob and set him to screaming and begging me to take him home, I waited months, tried again (with his mom this time), and he loved it. He thinks church is fun, though last week when I gave him his choice between playing and going to church with me, he chose church. I suppose next year, I'll have to get him going in time for Sunday school, and then I'll begin going to that again too.
My church has an interim minister. I've never gotten to know him, because of my spotty attendance record, but his sermons are wonderful. He's leaving in something like two weeks, and I didn't want to miss his sermon. LIstening on the radio didn't seem enough. Plus in my ongoing determination to overcome this phobia, doing things I should but would rather not is part of the program. This morning I decided I didn't really have to go, and then I drew mysellf up short and asked, "Are you going to be afraid all your life?" I made a bargain with myself: if I went to church, I didn't have to ride my exercise bike today.
I went to church. Not sure if God knows he won the bargain or not, but I was glad to be there. Sat with an acquaintance, greeted many people I know and like, got a hug from a special friend. I'll go again . And maybe ride the bike too.
Sorry, folks, I can neither explain nor fix the font change. It doesn't show up in draft, but when I publish the postk there it is. Thank  you, Blogger!