A quiet and safe Fourth of July

Fireworks in Fort Worth

The pool in Blanco

It’s a quiet Fourth at the Alter/Burton compound. Jordan ahs gone off with her high school girlfriends for a weekend at a rental house in Blanco. The house they’ve rented has a wonderful view of the Hill Country and a smashing swimming pool, which would be important to them as they like to lie out. (My granddaughter recently said something to me about laying around, and I quickly corrected her that it’s lying around—but I can’t correct these girls.)

I truly admire Jordan and her friends for remaining so close in the years since high school. I won’t give away their ages, but trust me—they’ve seen more than one high school reunion. Yet these are the women she would turn to first in moments of joy or crisis. And I am most fond of each of them.

Meanwhile, back in Fort Worth, Christian, Jacob, and I are having a quiet but satisfactory time. Jordan charged Christian with taking care of me, and he’s most attentive. Lucky for him though I am over whatever bug I had and do not require as much attention or sympathy. Today I read most of the day, because I have a book I agreed to review, and I figured the best way to go after it was to get it done. So I devoted the day to it.

It’s a book about two women traveling through France, seeking the stories of women in various small cities and towns about food and family and how they survived World War II. I enjoyed it, especially the family stories and the recipes. One of a man who was separated from his mother as a child by the bombing of Paris and how that affected him as an adult. Another about a woman whose family had a farm. Of what they ate, she said, “We didn’t have to diet,” as she described sometimes having one potato for a family of five. Even in these difficult times in America, I don’t think we can truly grasp the hardship of Europeans during that war.

As for food, my comment is that the French sure ate a lot of rabbit—in rillettes (I think that’s a paté) and stews and other dishes. I have had rabbit once—chicken-fried—and liked it, but like many Americans I am leery of looking at a bunny and then finding it on the dinner table. The French apparently have no such compunctions, and I’m not sure why I do. We eat chicken, don’t we?

Back to the mundane. Christian and I decided on take-out fried chicken tonight. We chose a nearby restaurant, but friends told Christian the chicken was really spicy. He knows I don’t like that, so we settled for the Cook Shack—I had a good chicken sandwich and cole slaw but not the fried pickles I wanted. And I still have a craving for good, old-fashioned, bone-in fried chicken. When quarantine is over—will it ever end?—I’m going to Drew’s Place, where they serve soul food, including fried chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans. Meantime, this was good.

Christian is spending evenings watering my new grass. The rain we hoped for has not materialized and is now not predicted for a couple of days. Like taking care of me, watering the grass was one of the things Jordan charged him with while she is gone. Woe to him if she comes home and finds brown spots!

So ends an unusual Fourth. I found it hard to feel celebratory today. I’m too upset about where my country is, with a pandemic killing thousands of my fellow Americans and racial unrest being fueled by the man who is supposedly leading us. America today is not the country of my dreams—I pray that we will be able to reverse this and begin the long, slow climb back to greatness, a new kind of greatness that leaves behind some of the problems that got us where we are today. But we need a totally new administration to do that.

Of Books and passing time

I can survive well enough on my own—if given the proper reading material.” – Sarah J. Maas—American fantasy author

Predictions for authors and the book industry varied from gloomy to wildly optimistic as this period of social distancing set in. It seemed only logical to me that people, robbed of other pastimes, would read more. But bookstores are closed, Amazon is making medical supplies a priority over books, and the outlook is grim. Authors report lagging to nonexistent sales.

I truly though I would read all the time, but for the first two weeks I read only sporadically. I was glued to the internet, reading every credible source I could find on pandemic news. Maybe it’s that now I am inured to predictions of death and destruction, but today I got back to serious reading.

I finished Something from the Oven, by Laura Shapiro, a study of the changing eating habits of America in the 1950s. Actually the story of change begins earlier and carries on to a climax in the ‘60s with the revolution jointly inspired by Julia Child and Betty Freidan, two seemingly opposed women who had much in common and together changed forever the American housewife’s role. I was particularly interested, however, in the ‘50s, the rise of packaged and prepared foods, and the attempts to “glamorize” them. There were some awful dishes served in those days. Just think pineapple Jello with miniature marshmallows and you’ve got the essence.

The book which really has captivated me though is Erik Larson’s The Splendid and the Vile, about Winston Churchill and the early bombings of London in WWII. Larson is the extremely talented and thorough author of books about the Galveston Hurricane of 1900, the 1892 Columbian Exposition in Chicago, and the sinking of the Lusitania, among others. Churchill is, of course, a fascinating character—idiosyncratic but canny, a strong and determined leader, bound to save his country at all costs.

I see many parallels between those 1940 days in London and our situation today in the pandemic. People were, as we are, living with anticipatory dread (isn’t that a wonderful and descriptive phrase), fearing an unknown and unpredictable enemy that loomed large. They were, as Governor Cuomo said today, surrounded by death. But for many Londoners, this crisis brought out the best in them—and so it is for many in America today. The only difference is that the Brits had a strong leader and, today, we do not.

One of Larson’s skills is the ability—based on his deep and thorough research—to reveal character. So we see Churchill in his elaborate gold dressing gown, embossed with dragons, cigar clamped in his teeth, pacing in the gardens at 10 Downing Street during a night bombing. Or we see him touring London after the first devastating raid, crying with the people as he saw the destruction. We get a glimpse of his family—the daughter who wanted so badly to be part of the war effort and her parents’ determined efforts to keep her safe. Or his wife, Clemmie, who tried to keep a normal household. People make history, and the people of England are revealed here.

The narrative occasionally jumps to Germany where we get glimpses into the thinking of Goring and Goebbels and, by reflection, Hitler. These passages were harder for me to read, but I pushed through.

My dad, a Canadian who fought Germany in WWI, hero-worshipped Churchill, so reading this not only fascinates me but serves as a tribute to that wonderful, strong, honorable man who raised me. I’m still only half-way through, but I will finish this book and be the better for having read it.

Hiding in a book

I suspect most of those who follow this blog are readers, so in effect I’m going to be preaching to the choir. But I had two lessons today on the power of books. One was a newspaper article which discussed the growing communication gap between peace officers and citizens, especially black citizens. The article suggested several books to read for better understanding of each culture and how they can relate to each other.

The second was a more personal experience. I have been lost or hiding in a book all day yesterday and today. It’s a manuscript I’m reading for my friend Susan Witting Albert, a fictional exploration of the relationship between General Dwight David Eisenhower, his wife Mamie, and his British driver Kay Summersby. Believe it or not, I was too young during WWII to be aware of much of this history—or the scandal which was apparently kept quiet. But I didn’t even know the battle history, and I find it fascinating.

Getting lost doesn’t happen with every book I read, though I don’t know about you. But in a few books I find myself wrapped up in the world created by the book, so much a part of the characters and what’s happening to them, that I can read all day without stopping. It’s a rare and wonderful treat when that happens.

Oh, sure I read a lot of books that I enjoy but am not driven to read constantly. The plot is good, the characters believable, but that magic is just not there. I think of the things we see on Facebook and TV about teaching a child to read and opening a whole new world for them. Three of my four children were avid readers growing up (not so much now that the world crowds in on them) and some of my grandchildren read, others don’t. Jacob finds it boring, and I’m waiting for the light bulb to go on in his head. Madison, the oldest, crushed me when she said she thought To Kill a Mockingbird was boring—maybe she had the wrong teacher. They read dystopian sci-fi an fantasy things like The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Rick Riordan’s books and the Game of Thrones—things I can’t relate to. But I’d rather have them reading those than not reading at all.

I had a professor when working on my masters who said he’s rather have kids reading comic books than not reading. I remembered that my knowledge of the Bible is straight out of the comic book Bibles I had as a child. And my conception of the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve, the rise of Satan, etc., all stems directly from a class on Milton I took while working on my Ph.D.

Yes, reading opens a magic world for us and enlarges our horizons. I’ve got to get over the lingering guilt that I should be working when I’m reading. A fellow author reminds me that reading is working for us. What a nice thought. I’ve worked hard the last couple of days.

At the Water’s Edge by Sara Gruen—a book review

I wanted to read this book because the blurb billed it as about a search for the Lochness monster. As many of you know, I am fascinated by Scotland, all things Scottish (okay, even haggis), and particularly Lochness. The ancestral lands of the MacBean clan (of which I am a member) lie in the hills above Lochness, and I’ve been there.
Nessie is almost a deus ex machina in this excellent novel, with its hints of the paranormal. The story features Ellis and Maddie Hyde and Ellis’ best friend, Hank. Ellis and Hank could be straight out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel moved into the 1940s and WWII. Both 4-F. Ellis has disgraced himself in his father’s eyes and been cut off from family funds, so he decides the thing to do is go to Scotland and solve the mystery of the Lochness monster, a mystery his father tried desperately to solve years earlier, failed, and made enemies among the locals. Ellis has no trouble convincing his wife and Hank to go along with the scheme and the three carefree partiers set off for Scotland.
But this is less a novel about Nessie, than it is about Maddie, who tells it in her own voice. It’s about her growth in maturity, compassion, and understanding of other worlds than that of privilege which she married into, about discovering a world beyond that she has known in her marriage. Ellis and Hank have no comprehension of the horrors of the war that rages on continents near them, although there are occasional air raid alerts in the small Highlands village. They stay in an inn which is clearly not up to their standards—either in accommodations or service. But while the “boys” are off chasing monsters, Maddie gradually comes to know the villagers and the starkly beautiful land around her and becomes fast friends with two young women who work at the inn. The story unfolds from there—one of love, and growth contrasted with selfish self-interest. I was drawn into its world, stealing every minute I could to read. Maddie almost become my alter ego.
Not so the “boys,” who remained spoiled, petulant and deceiving. They still referred to the innkeeper at “the help” and urged Maddie not to become too friendly. Gradually Maddie grows away from her two companions and closer to the Scottish people around her.
No spoilers. It’s a story with tragedy, passionate love, war, danger, and intrigue. But it held me spellbound. My only complaint is that while the war was always omnipresent, in the conclusion suddenly too much focus is on the details of the end of the war and the discovery of concentration camps--really removed from the world of the novel--and there is too much afterstory—but that would be another spoiler.
Nessie? Maybe she’s real, maybe not. It’s enigmatic. But strange things happen at the water’s edge of Lochness. I’d give this one four stars and recommend it highly.

Saturday night and the high life

Ah, Saturday night when people party and celebrate the weekend. I'm home with Jacob, who is glued to Fox 4 waiting for the Baylor game. We had wonderful sweet corn (so sweet!) and buttery broccoli for supper--you know it's good when he eats two helpings. I worried about a "meat" or "protein" dish--gave him peanut butter and honey and had tuna left from lunch for myself. A satisfying meal.
Things progress well on the dog front--last night we had the two dogs in the same room. There was no hostility, but an electric atmosphere of excitement...with a measure of jealousy thrown in. Today I put Sophie out for a couple of hours and let Luke in--he wandered the house. Turns out he loves toys, which is okay, and loves to get on the couch, which is not okay.
After all my denial, Luke definitely has kennel cough. Went by the vet's for yet another antibiotic--the dog is now a walking pharmacy. But he gets sweeter by the day. Greg came by to mow today--loved on Luke outside and said, "You can tell he hasn't had much love." Then of course he had to come in and love on Sophie who was having conniptions of jealousy.
Not exactly a lazy day--by eight this morning, I was putting meat and sauce in the crockpot for pulled beef barbecue for tomorrow night's dinner. Still have to do the finishing touches to the sauce and pull the meat (the part that really frustrates me) tonight. Went to the vet, the bank, dropped off a book, and, finally the grocery. Came home and made a Bundt cake--also for tomorrow night when there will be eight of us. I'm a big believer in potluck, so Subie and Phil will bring cole slaw, Jordan will bring potato salad, Jay and Susan will bring sweet northern beans. I have Texas caviar and a block of cream cheese to cover with raspberry chipotle for appetizers. Sounds like a good meal to me.
All that activity called for a long nap. When I woke up, Jacob was sitting in the living room. He said his mom told him not to answer the door for anybody and to wake me at four-thirty.
So now the big dilemma--will I write or keep reading the book that has me so intrigued. It's The Prime Minister's Secret Agent by Susan Elias McNeal. I'm hooked on that series--so much WWII history. This one leads up to the attack on Pearl Harbor and the intelligence that could have prevented it. Guess that settles it--I'll take book and a glass of wine to the deck and visit with Luke (do you know how hard it is to learn to say deck and not porch?).