Cold weather, a new toy, and homecoming—oh, homecoming

 

Shea, my new dog

You know how people says “it’s going around” meaning a stomach bug or a sore throat? I want to know if a laziness bug is going around, but I won’t be surprised if the answer is yes. The first cool, really cool morning (45 degrees here) does not inspire to energetic action. I did not want to get out of my cozy, comfortable bed this morning, despite the persistent poking of paws as Sophie tried to tell me it was time to get up and stay up! She’d been out half an hour before, but she sometimes just doesn’t want me to sleep. I think she wants company.

I have a new dog. His name is Shea, after one of the most memorable dogs in my life. When my ex and I moved to Texas, we brought with us a magnificent male mahogany tri-color collie (wish I had a picture) named Shea. Truly a beautiful dog and such a gentleman. A friend in Missouri was going on a year-long sabbatical in Europe and asked us to keep the dog. We readily agreed, and so did Shea—when the friend returned, Shea refused to stay at his house and kept coming back to us. As the time for our departure neared, we worried, but finally the owner came to us and said, “I’m hoping you’ll take him with you to Texas.” Huge sigh of relief.

My new Shea is a wooden pull toy made by the late folk artist Jim Clark. When I saw it in his studio, I knew I had to have it as a memory of Jim, a memory of Shea, and a wonderful object that I’ll enjoy having in the cottage. Thanks to Jean Walbridge for parting with it and with a pig-shaped cutting board that reminds me of one my mom had. I will put the cutting board to work in the kitchen—the one we sometimes use is glass, and I don’t think it’s good for the knife blades (which are already too dull).

Big doings this weekend—homecoming at Paschal High School. Unfortunately, Paschal did not win the game against Haltom City, but that didn’t dim any spirits for the dance as far as I could tell. Jacob escorted Violet, who had asked him to the Canwick dance. They dined with a group at a country club and danced, I suppose, somewhere on the TCU campus.

Morgan and her beau with their mums

Jordan and Christian had friends in for a potluck supper, and we were all sitting around the living room when in came this parade of five boys, each wearing a blue jacket and sporting a boutonniere. They made a beeline for Jacob’s room and soon marched back out, wordlessly, carrying athletic shoes and other things to “dress down” for the afterparty. Bunch of good-looking young men. It’s noon on Sunday as I write, so of course I haven’t had a report on how the evening went. I don’t have particularly happy memories of high school dances and the like, so I’m delighted to see Jacob having such a wonderful experience. It was also homecoming for the Tomball two, and here’s a picture of Morgan with her mum—haven’t gotten a report on that one either, but the pre-pictures were pretty handsome.

Kegan, ready for the dance

And my final bit of news is that I start a class tomorrow on writing the culinary mystery. My four Blue Plate Café mysteries sort of count as culinary—Kate Chambers runs her grandmother’s small-town café, serving chicken fried steak, fried chicken, fried catfish, and the like. The Irene in Chicago Culinary Mysteries are more clearly food writing, with a diva chef and her protégé—well at least Irene likes to think Henny is her protégé. I prefer to put Henny in charge.

Anyway I’m about to start a third Irene mystery, so what better time to take a class and sharpen my skills. The class is offered through the Guppy online chapter of Sisters in Crime. Who knows? At the end of two weeks, I may really have a handle on “Irene Saves the Day.”

It’s looking like a great week ahead. I hope for you also.

Another blessed rainy day

Apparently, it rained a lot during the night, because it was wet and humid this morning, but blessedly cool. Don’t laugh—I put a shawl over my shoulders while I worked at my desk this morning. And I loved it. The kind of day you want to curl up with a good book—or with your computer.

I tried the routine thing again this morning. No laundry to fold and hang and put away, but it was still almost 10:30 before I settled down to the Work-in-Progress. Maybe I shaved a little off yesterday’s time, but not much.  I timed how long it takes to do my exercises at the grab bar—and I’m embarrassed to tell you what a small portion of my day it takes. No excuse for not doing them every day.

Once again, my radio program jinx proved true. I was scheduled to be on a Red River Radio (blog talk radio) show today from 5:00-7:00 p.m. Having goofed once before on time zones, I studied the directions carefully—clearly CDT was different from EDT. So at four I settled down at my computer to get a few odds and ends done before the show—only to discover an email from the host asking where I was. I hastily called in. It worked out okay—there was already one other guest author that I knew would be there plus two more I wasn’t expecting. I’m wondering if they weren’t call-in guests. One of them read a poignant piece about the death of a child, but I wasn’t sure if it was fiction or memoir. Moving, nonetheless. Coming late to the party, I never was sure if the one of the others was a poet or novelist and didn’t learn much about the author who I knew would be featured.

I did read a passage from The Color of Fear, and I got to talk a bit about my mysteries, so all was not lost. But I’m still embarrassed about being late.

Christian wasn’t home for supper tonight, so Jordan and I experimented with a dinner we thought he wouldn’t like. We didn’t much like it either. It was a crab/artichoke hearts/mayonnaise spread on bread, topped with tomato slices and sliced Monterrey Jack and broiled. I instantly knew several ways I’d improve it—toast the bread first was a no-brainer. But it was rich, without a real taste of crab, and not really worth the trouble. Not going in that cookbook I keep talking about.

I did write my thousand words for the day this morning and felt good about them. A sudden twist to the story jumped into my mind last night. I sometimes fear that the novel will be all one sudden twist after another. I shall read carefully to make sure those twists all hold together and are headed someplace.

Now time to read someone else’s writing.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Literary fame--such as it is

Tonight I went to the induction ceremony of the current class for the Texas Literary Hall of Fame, a project of the Friends of the Fort Worth Public Library. Inductees were Laura Bush (who did not show up), Deborah Crombie, James Mardis, Larry Swindell, former Speaker of the House Jim Wright, and Lawrence Wright. A couple of them I know personally; the others I know by reputation. It was a sparkling occasion, and I decided one reason I like to go is that I get so many hugs from people I don't see often enough. That aside, the heavy hors d'oevres were great--well, there was that mushroom stuffing we couldn't figure out--and the desserts rich, the wine plentiful. And the program just right--each honoree spoke briefly, and none got carried away at the microphone. Newscaster Rebecca Aguilar ran a tight program that lasted slightly over an hour.
For me, there were lots of special moments--Deborah Crombie's books are favorites of mine, and I've met her enough times to feel free to go up and welcome her to Fort Worth (she apparently got lost on the TCU campus), and I remember working with James Mardis when he allowed TCU Press to use a poem in a short Christmas collection; Larry Swindell was book editor of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram and I wrote many a review for him plus considered him a good friend; and I remember, though he probably doesn't, working with Lawrence Wright on the executive committee of the Texas Institute of Letters. He was charming, self-deprecating about his ancestors, and perfectly witty tonight.
As a former inductee, I received a box with a gift--trouble being neither Melinda nor I could figure out how to get into the box. I've put it aside for smarter minds who might come along tomorrow. But it was a nice evening and a gentle reminder that I am a part of the Texas literary scene. Truly, it's a thing I don't always remember, but even if in that scene I'm resting on past literary laurels rather than my contemporary mysteries, I'm grateful. I don't think there's a writer who doesn't have an ego that needs stroking, and I admit freely to being in that category.
Other than that, fall has hit. I woke up cold this morning at six, got up and added an extra blanket  to my nest. Slept until eight. Glad tonight is the fall back night, though I'll probably wake bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at six. It's okay--I have chili and cornbread to make for company.
Lately I've noticed that I go to events that I'm kind of hesitant about and end having a wonderful time. Tonight was one such time. Hope it continues.