A literary night--and some thoughts on heat and puppies

Tonight was the panel discussion at the Haltom City Public LIbrary celebrating the 50th anniversary of Harper Lee's classic To Kill a Mockingbird. Bob Ray Sanders, a leading journalist and community figure and also a native of Haltom City, moderated a panel discussion that ranged from the book to segregation in Fort Worth--Bob Ray remembers having to walk by three schools to get to the one he was allowed to go to, even though his family had been property owners for generations--and finally to integration in the '60s. Audience participation was lively, and everyone thought it was a stimulating and thought-provoking evening. We talked about the book as literature, as social commentary, and as it relates to today when prejudice surely is not erased from our society though we've come a long way. Othre panels members were author Mike Cochran, a high school teacher who has taught the novel for ten years, and an actress who read portions with great dramatic appeal. I was pleased to see some familiar faces in the audience and to have others stop and talk to me about my work.
Betty and I were joined by my friend Linda from Granbury and her friend Nancy, so we had a happy foursome at supper--I got my favorite meatloaf at the Grill--and it was nice to have my own cheering section in the front row of the audience. I like getting out to events like that and realize I should do more of it. Made some phone calls today to inquire about visiting various book clubs in the area.
I don't think Sophie had ever seen me in a skirt before--she kept biting at the ruffles on it.
I think the high today was 108, maybe a notch or two higher. I know the heat will end, I know it willr ain someday, and I know the puppy will be housebroken, but as you plod along day by day, it all looks like a long way away. The keep predicting lower temperatures--l04 is lower at this point--a few days out, but when that day comes the lower temperatures have been pushed further away. Sue asked me last night if it scared me, like maybe it would just keep getting worse and worse. I said that doesn't frighten me as much as the the feeling that I am trapped by a huge, hot monster, sort of like Grendel in Beowulf.
As if to prove to me that things aren't going to change soon, the puppy just pooped on my office floor. I took her out half an hour ago, probably didn't wait long enough. 'Scuse me--I have some cleaning to do.

The Magic of a Mentor

I've written 3000 words on a new novel--barely a drop in the bucket--but I felt that I was wandering around in the story. Yesterday, at lunch, I handed the pages to Fred, my mentor, and then I put it aside from my mind. I'm reading galleys on the first novel, due out August 29, and I need to concentrate on that. But I'm a great believer in the "back burner"--I think things simmer in the back of your mind when you're not consciously thinking about them. If I sit myself down and say, "Now I'm going to plot this novel," I come up with zip. But if I wait and let it come when I'm at the keyboard, ideas flow.
Late last night I wrote Fred an email that simply said, "There has to be a murder." I am what they call a pantser--I write by the seat of my pants and not with an outline, though I have a general idea of what's in a story.
Today I got Fred's  response--as always, he told me to slow down, write in more backstory. This time he said I had packed so much emotional intensity into six pages that it threatened to wear a reader out--spread it out (another version of slow down). He suggested some possible plot scenarios--I think I'll take some, omit others. Even as I proof another book I can feel ideas for this new one simmering in my mind, and I itch to get back to that manuscript--a good and positive feeling. I think that's why I keep writing, since I'll obviously never become rich. I have long said working things out in words is for me like the satisfaction a mathematician gets from working out a complex problem.
110 officially today--and it makes me feel 110. Picked up Jacob at 4:30--the hottest place I ever go is the side of that gymnasium as I walk to get him. Home to juggle a five-year-old boy, two dogs who had to pee but couldn't stay out in the heat, dinner, then feed the animals, take the garbage carts down and, in a fit of compulsion, bathe the puppy. It was Sophie's first bath and she didn't enjoy it much but I guess it wore her out as much as me. She's sleeping at my feet right now. Of course, after bathing her, I had to shower to get rid of eau d' puppy.
Supposed to be even hotter tomorrow. I think I'll stay in all day--no errands, no lunch out, just me and the animal kingdom.

Debt deal and staying optimistic

If Facebook is any gauge, a lot of liberals are not happy about the debt deal. I suppose a lot of conservatives aren't either, but I think in the long run both parties compromised, did what they had to, and the president, out of necessity, accepted something that was far less than he wanted. To him, I say job well done; to Congress, I say quit your blustering and posturing (that phrase started on FB and I think it's perfect).
But when it looked like we weren't going to get a deal--and I might go a few months without social security--I began to think about the way I live and what I could cut down on. Entertaining for one. I told Jordan if they planned to eat at my house a couple of nights a week--when Jacob is in school across the street--it would have to be potluck, and she snippily replied, "And you'll have to stop feeding all your friends." Too true. And all those lunches and occasional dinners out. As I put on make-up yesterday, I realized that I use really expensive make-up and cleanser, not what you get in the drugstore. Special cream to keep wrinkles away from my eyes (me, vain?). I've started buying house brands in the grocery for some things but for others I insist on top of the line--and I buy that expensive tuna canned in Oregon (just ordered another case to split with friends--Jordan nearly fainted when I told her the per can cost). I do drink cheap wine, but that's not much of a savings. I drive a gas-efficient car, though I've never measured just how efficient it is. In short there are a lot of ways I could live more cheaply--clean my own house, mow my own lawn (I really think I'm too old for that), stop updating the house--but that's self defeating. Someday I don't want it to look like a house an old lady lived in for forty years and never did a thing to. When reality comes up front and close, as it did with this debt debate, it makes you take a long, hard look a your priorities. And I realize for a single, retired woman of "a certain age" I live pretty well.
I work hard but for not much if any income--I got a little over $11 from Amazon the other day but the same mail brought a $315 electric bill, which actually isn't too bad with this heat. But I am working--got galleys to read on the novel, compiled a list of possible review outlets for the review coordinator, and proofed my new web page today, all the while keeping one eye on Sophie and moving more things from her reach. I used duct tape to keep her from the phone jack--she actually disconnected me during a call today.
Sophie takes a lot of my time--she needs to go out every two hours. Training her at this point is mostly training myself to take her out in a timely fashion. Right now she's sleeping peacefully at my feet--one of the nicest times of the day.
I tell my self over and over that the heat will break and the puppy will grow up. How soon, Lord, how soon?
I'm rambling. Over and out.

Taco night

Ever since she was maybe five or six, my youngest daughter has requested taco night for her birthday. Now she extends it to any occasion when she wants to get people together, so tonight was taco night at her house, with five adults and two children. Needless to say, I was the eldest, but how nice that these young people, now in their late 30s, want me around.
Jordan puts out appetziers. I brought southwestrn tuna, which she wasn't sure her friends would eat--and sure enough Christian and one guest didn't eat it. But that was my dinner, and Jordan and her first-ever boyfriend David helped me eat it. I reminded her that she and David had eaten a lot of it on my front porch one night--long after they were boyfriend and girlfriend. They are now best buddies.
Jordan put out salsa, taco meat, tortillas and taco shells, sour cream, guacamole, refritos, jalopenos, cheese, and pico de gallo. We drank wine and chatted and had a really good time. I brought gingersnaps for the kids, but Jordan had M&M cookies, which they much preferred. The adults loved the gingersnaps--given to me by a friend.
The southwestern tuna recipe was given to me long ago by a friend now gone from my life--some friends are transitory. For several years, I lost the recipe (finally found it in the back of my recipe drawer) and tried to reconstruct it from memory, putting in such things as capers. Today when I made it I had a major tragedy: I have--or I should say I had--one can of that outstanding salmon from Pisces Cannery that I ws hoarding--probably can't get any more until next spring. But when I grabbed two cans of Pisces tuna to make the salad for tonight, I mistakenly opened the salmon. So I had salmon for lunch and probably will have it for supper tomorrow.
But here's the southwestern tuna recipe:
2 7 oz. cans tuna
1/4 cup mayonnaise
3 Tbsp. chopped red onion
3 Tbsp. chopped fresh cilantro
2 Tbsp. canned green chilies--I just dumped a 4 oz. can in
1 Tbsp. grated lime peel
1 tsp. lime juice--I probably used more
1/8 tsp. ground cumin--guess what? I think I left that out by mistake
1/8 tsp. chili powder
Mix it all together. This time I tried an experiment and used a hand mixer on it--made for a much smoother texture. With just three of us eating it, there still wasn't much left, but it makes about two cups and the suggestion is to serve it with tortilla chips. I would also suggest crackers. Enjoy!

What are you worrying about?

A bright note amidst worries: Jordan and Jacob playing with  a rapidly-growing Sophie.

Two big things worry me these days. One is the continuing drought and heat wave. Today was predicted to be "only" 99 (I haven't checked, but it usually goes higher) but by next Wed. it is to be 107. Sometimes I wish we didn't have forecasts--I'm sure it's helpful to many people to be able to plan ahead, but I simply find it depressing.I feel trapped by this monster heat, and I bless my a/c which has so far chugged steadily along. My bill was high, like everyone else's, but I notice the system doesn't run all the time so I guess it's not straining. But lawns, gardens, and more important, pastures and stock tanks and lakes are drying up. People are losing their livelihoods to the weather, so it's much bigger than my personal dread of a day of 107 degrees. And there's simply no end in sight, nothing for us to look forward to and hope for. No, it's not 1980 all over again, but it's headed that way.
The other big thing that worries me is the inability of politicians to raise the debt ceiling. It seems to me, on both sides, all posturing and bluster, but, hey, folks, we're getting down to a deadline here. I read today that President Reagan raised the debt ceiling lots of times (I don't recall how many) and George W. Bush raised it 18 times. Where was all the fuss? And why pass a bill that dictates we'd have to revisit the issue--and go through all this agony again?--in six months. My partisanship comes out here: that seems a clear ploy to defeat Obama. I think throughout Obama has shown himself to be thoughtful, intelligent, and willing to compromise--he's given in more than I would have but I see the significance of the impending disaster. I'm even, reluctantly and slowly, coming to respect John Boehner. I think he really wants a solution, and he's embarrassed that he can't control the new far-right members of his delegation. To my mind, they--okay, let's call a spade a spade, the Tea Partiers--don't understand enough about how Washington works (compromise) nor do they understand the international consequences if the US defaults.
For me personally I understand all too well. I am not one of those who depend totally on social security, and I worry about those people. I worry about the elderly who won't get care, and the children will go hungry. Me? I 'll lose about a third of my income and have to curtail my lifestyle a great deal--no more lunches out, no more entertaining and cooking for guests. I'll become a hermit because that's all I can afford without decimating my savings. I realize many people will suffer a far worse fate, and I promise not to whine. But come one, guys--can't we fix this one? Between now and Tuesday?
The difference between these two worries is significant: we can't do a darn thing about the weather, except pray, do rain dances, and, if we're inclined, study weather charts though they're awfully depressing. It's a problem in God's hand. But the debt debate is in men's hands (generic men, thank you--I sitll believe in the generic pronoun) and rational men, who we've elected to lead our country, sure ought to be able to solve it.  I guess I should pray about that one too.

Falling into a routine

After two-and-a-half weeks with the new pup, my days have fallen into a routine--not a good routine, mind you, just a routine. In the morning I feed the cat, take the pup out until she pees, then lock her in the bathroom while I take Scooby out and feed him, Then back to the bathroom to brush my teeth, gather my towel, hairbrush and comb and the pup and proceed to the kitchen, where I feed her, wash dishes left from the night before--usually a wine glass and a water glass-and wash my hair. Towel my wet hair and comb it back to dry. The trick here is to get the pup back outside to poop without disturbing the older dog--some days it works, some days it doesn't.
Then on to the office, where Sophie, full of energy, runs amuck, chewing on everything but her numerous toys, and I spend a lot of time refocusing her attention. Aftr an hour or so, she runs out of steam and naps. My clue to hop up, make the bed, water the plants, etc. When she wakes, it's time to take her out again, and then depending on my day return to the office or put her in her crate so I can run errands.
Lunch and dinner provide similar juggling acts--take care of cat, older dog, and pup without letting them cross paths because they don't do well together. I'm hoping that will change when Sophie is older and not quite so full of energy--but, omigosh, does she have energy. I bless the days that Jacob and Jordan come and let her run wild in the backyard.
Am I writing? Well, not much. But I have finally, with lots of help from a friend, ordered bookmarks, and by myself I designed a flyer for the signings that will also do as an "If you're oiut of town, here's how to order" flyer. I'm keeping up with emails, writing blogs, including a few guest blogs, and generally trying to be professional about life. I've 2,000 words on a new novel, and every morning I think I'll get back to it, but it's like the weather forecasts: they keep telling us that in three or four days the temperature will go down into the upper 90s, but when the time comes, it never does. And now Hurricane Don is not only going to miss us, it's not much of a hurricane anymore.
I know my days will change and grow easier as Sophie grows older but right now I just keep reminding myself what it was like to have a new baby in the house. Except new babies didn't chew everything in sight (including my hands and feet) with sharp little teeth. Tonight, she destroyed the handle of a wicker basket, which I quickly took away because those little slivers could get in her lungs.
Sophie is truly an amazing, loving little creature--but she's not a placid dog. I said I wanted a dog with spirit, and oh boy, did I get her!

Let sleeping dogs lie

All my life, I've heard "Never wake a sleeping baby or dog." Jacob doesn't seem to get that principle, no matter how much I explain it to him. Today he began to itch ferociously at day care and since the school were getting ready to go on a field trip, the teachers didn't think it wise for him to go. So I got him about one o'clock. Things were fairly peaceful--his mom brought some Benedryl (if I thought it would make him sleepy, I was sadly mistaken), he played with the puppy and then ran to give the big dog love, and I read a book. About three o'clock I decided to nap and insisted that I was putting Scooby in his bed and Sophie in her crate. I gave strict instructions that he was to stay in the backroom, lie on his bed, and watch TV, except in the case of emergency, by which I meant fire or some other drastic thing. Of course I hoped he'd go to sleep.
I'd doze off and then hear a noise and open my eyes to see Jacob loving on Scooby (Lord knows the poor dog needs a lot of love these days, having to put up with a puppy). Then I'd see him at the crate, and he'd say "Let her out. She's not sleeping." My reply: "She would if you'd go away." Jacob jumped on the bed, put his face by mine, and said, "But I love her so much." Another time, when I had again dozed off, he took a flying leap and landed on me--an abrupt awakening.
I tried to explain that if he woke the dogs and got them worked up, they'd both have to go outside to pee, and it was just too hot. "Uh uh," he said with firm conviction, "they won't." Of course, the puppy was desperate to go out. Jacob said he'd take her, but he was out and back in so fast my head spun. "Did she pee?" "Nope." So I took her back out and the first thing she did was pee.
At one point, Jacob tripped over the pup right in front of me and said to me, "I'm telling on you!" When I asked what I did, he said, 'You tripped me." Yeah, sure, that's what grandmothers are for.
Lord give me strength. I can handle a five-year-old boy, and I can handle a ten-week pup, but I'm not sure about the two together.
Jacob has gone home to a late supper, and there is one exhuasted pup sleeping at my feet. The cat stayed aloof from all this and is hiding I know not where--wise cat! And oh yes, Jacob stopped itching the minute I got him home, although going out in the heat with the pup did make him itch again. Who knows?

OLd friends are gold

Make new friends, but keep the old

These are silver, but those are gold.

An old friend, Jim Lee (sometimes known as James Ward Lee) took me and Melinda to lunch today for my birthday--a delightful occasion with talk of politics, publishing, and trivia. I've known Jim at least since the early 1980s and maybe before. I remember going to a conference on Texas Literature--he, Tom Pilkingotn, and Don Graham co-edited a collection of essays on Texas literature which was the basis of the conference. I knew Jim Lee by reputation and perhaps by then I had already contributed to his biblioigraphy of Southwestern Literature.

But over the years our professional relationship grew. He was chair of the English department at the University of North Texas, and he used to call me periodically to announce that he'd had a "million-dollar idea"--that usually meant work for me. Some turned out to be two-cent ideas but a few were really good. When he came to Fort Worth, we occasionally had lunch and slowly our professional relaitonship became a personal friendship.

About 12-15 years ago (he'll correct me on this) he moved to Fort Worth. One day he was in my office and eyed the stack of manuscript submissions. "I could help you with that," he said. So he became the acquisitions editor for TCU Press, with a letter of appointment from the provost that clearly stated "with no compensation." We loved having Jim in the office--he was funny, witty, always up. But he drove us wild with his haphazard notebook in which he kept a record of submissions and what he'd done about them. There finally came the day that he announced that it was no longer fun, and he  quit, leaving the acquisitions--and that notebook--to me.

By the time he moved to Fort Worth, Jim was a single man, but he had a harem of women trailing after him. Once the man who was then editor of the press asked, "What is this? The Jim Lee harem?" I told him  yes, and I was proud to be part of it. But Jim soon began to keep company with a woman he met at a party at my house. Several people who knew us both thought we should have paired up, so once at lunch--we went to lunch often in those days--I asked him when he was casting his eye about he didn't look at me. He was purely astonished. "I like you better than most people I know. Why would I want to ruin that?" It was probably one of the nicest compliments I ever got.

Jim and I have collaborated on books--Literary Fort Worth and Elmer Kelton: Memories and Essays most recently--and TCU Press published his collection of essays, Adventures with a Texas Humanist (with a clear nod to Walter Prescott Webb's classic Adventures of a Texas Naturalist). We work well together, though we have also been known to quarrel to the point that one colleague once said, "For God's sake, it's like a bad marriage." I guess that's why Jim and I are good friends.
TCU Press will publish a collection of his short stories in 2013, but he warns that he could be dead by then. Melinda and I told him he couldn't die because he'd have to promote the book. When I said he needed to go on Facebook to promote, he said, "I'd have to commit suicide if I did that." Jim is nothing if not cantakerous--but loveably so.

I don't see much of Jim these days, and I miss him. So lunch today was a fine treat and a fine birthday present. Yep, old friends are gold, and we must keep them.

Kidz Can Make a Difference

I am so proud of Morgan Alter, my granddaughter who is about to turn seven (she's the one in the green tank and white cap). She came up with the idea and organized, with her mom's help, a Kidz Clean Up day in their Kingwood neighborhood (north of Houston). Morgan decided that kids--and parents--could band together early on a Saturday morning and walk along the streets picking up trash. She posted a large sign, and her mom sent out an email to the neighbors. Last Sunday seventeen volunteers turned out to collect twenty pounds of trash. Morgan was the crew leader--that's her brother, Kegan, standing in front of her. Mom Lisa figured it was good not only for the kids to get a spirit of pitching in and being a part of the neighborhood, but it was good for the entire neighborhood to come together. As she wrote me, "Kids can make a difference." I am proud of the whole family and the difference they've made in their neighborhood.
Sophie had a busy day today--an eleven-year-old boy came to play with her all morning, which was like a vacation for me--I gave the cat an infusion, ran some errands, and got some work done. Then tonight a friend came to bring her a "dental bone" and played with her. She's tapped out at my feet right now. And I'm ready for bed. Such tiring days we have!
Warning: I may break all my self-imposed rules, which are silly anyway, and do a political blog. I am outraged by the Republican refusal to cut taxes and tax shelters on big corporations and wealthy citizens but ther willingness to cut  benefits to the middle class and those with even lower income.

Other people's houses

The latest Southern Living arrived a few days ago, an event I always look forward to. I generally thumb right to the recipes--they have some wonderful ideas, and I've cut out and saved lots of recipes in my appalling collection. But this time I looked at some of the houses--a summer cottage that someone enlarged and turned into a permanent home on retirement, an indoor/outdoor dining space added on to an existing structure. I drooled over these picture-perfect settings, barely able evene to imagine myself owning such gorgeous property and living in it.
Then today I went for a tour of the two-bedroom 1920 house, carefuly redone, that a friend of my daughter's has just bought, and I drooled again. A perfectly landscaped backyard with an outdoor bar and no grass--rocks and flagstone. Built in sub-zero refrigerator, built-in gas stove, lovely granite counters, a butler's pantry, and even a fireplace at eye level in the master bedroom (if you were lying in the bed). Final touch, for me, was lovely roofed porch. While I was happy for the new owner, I felt a pang of envy and wondered if I would have fallen in love with the house and bought it--which is what she said happ ned to her. But I came home to my comfortable red brick, with its welcoming porch, and was glad to be here.
Truth is that I'd like to live near water and I don't--not for water sports but to sit and stare at it. And another part of me would love to live in Santa Fe. But I live in Texas, which right now is damned hot, but I love it. My house is comfortable--folks usually rave about it when they come in, though to me it's time for a thorough redo that I can't afford. But it has a good kitchen--not counting the fact that I can't have a gas stove. It has plenty of space for kids and grandkids, and it has a grand front porch on which I entertain--though not this summer with our never-ending heat wave.
I don't really want to move by a big body of water, even in the cool North though that's tempting, and I don't really want to live in Santa Fe. My children and grandchildren are in Texas, and in Fort Worth I have a great network of friends. I used to think about moving to Santa Fe, but I knew deep down I'd be lonely and bored. In Texas I have connections I've built over forty-five years. You don't walk away from such a life easily--or at least I don't. I don't have that much adventure in my soul.
Maybe other people's houses always look better to us, and we should--brace for a cliche--learn to bloom where we're planted.