Weathermen (and
women) will tell us this is not the wettest spring in Fort Worth, and of course
I believe them. But it seems the threat of rain hangs over us all the time.
Today it was sunny and lovely—until occasional clouds came. But no rain. Still
we are to expect it tomorrow. Sure puts a crimp in Jacob’s fishing plans.
I got busy about
my new project today and wrote—whoohoo!—a big 443 words. No, folks, that’s not
a good show for a writer for a day’s work. I usually aim for a minimum of a
thousand words. But these were the first words on paper (except for the
prologue, and that’s another story) and they came slowly, with hard work, and
are still not right. It’s like I have to find the rhythm of the book before I can
really get into it, and I haven’t gotten that yet. So I have books spread out
on my desk and internet sites open, and I’m struggling. It will come, and I am not
yet panicky. It is, as my mentor says, early days.
I did admit
defeat. I spent yesterday trying to clean up the formatting problem embedded in
a manuscript by the conversion form PDF to Word. I could do most but not all of
it. At the end of a very long day, I had semi-cleaned up three chapters and
still had spots I would have to ask the professional formatter to fix. I simply
decided it was not worth my frustration, and by the time I finished I would
still not have a perfect product. So I sent that entire reprint to my favorite
formatter and started on a new project—and it went slowly.
Otherwise, no
excitement in my day. Friend and neighbor, Mary, came for happy hour. I always
enjoy exchanging news with her and, particularly, cooking news and ideas. She
is a devotee of InstaPot and air fryer, while I am a resistant Luddite. We
discussed a recipe I love which involves boiling two chickens. She said it can
be done in the InstaPot in an hour or something. Skeptically I asked if it made
broth, and she assured me it did. I remain convinced that I will boil an old
hen to make my chicken loaf, a recipe I was given a long time ago. I am trying
not to cook so much, because I have writing projects to concentrate on. But I don’t
think that will be a successful resolve for long.
Tonight I had
leftover steak and potato salad—the County Line Barbecue recipe. Look it up on
the internet. It’s delicious. I halved the recipe Sunday, and it still made a
ton. Next, I want to try some recipes with cabbage, and tonight with my Imperfect
Produce I got a large head of cabbage. Ready to experiment.
As always, the
international news fascinates me. I am appalled by the number of deaths among
climber of climbers on Mount Everest, and the reports of climbers who said they
had to step over bodies. Pictures show them waiting in line as though they were
in a grocery store. Does that not give them pause? Not being an adventuresome
soul myself, I can’t imagine why anyone would continue the climb in the face of
these tragedies.
And then there are
the deaths in Fiji and the Caribbean. Food poisoning? Why are these happening
so close together? I think I read tonight of three in the Caribbean and a
couple on Fiji. I’ve been to the Caribbean—when your son works there, you go—but
I am thankful that he is back stateside, and I have no need to go again. I am,
I fear, not a traveler. Home is so comfortable for me.
And, of course,
our traveling squatting president is all over the news today. Poor guy—I don’t
think he could do a thing right to please the media if he tried—which he doesn’t.
He brings all his grief upon himself, from minor gaffes with royal protocol (did
he really haul his entire family and staff over there at our expense?) to big
things like his attacks on the mayor of London. I would say we should keep him
at home, but then he issues all those disastrous executive orders. What’s a
country to do? I know—impeach. But it won’t work.
Happy times. In
2020, we’ll be singing “Happy Days are Here Again!” Just hang on. And vote.
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