Chilly day, heart-warming book

           

Today was another gray, chilly one. Yes, it stopped raining mid-day as the wetness moved east of us, but everything remained soggy. Apparently, parts of North Texas had bad flooding, which tells you how much rain we had. For me, it was another day to hunker down and stay at home.

I made a good start on a talk I will give next month to a woman’s club, and I dealt with some odds and ends. One of the luxuries of my retirement life is that when the weather is uninviting, I can simply elect to stay in. I did that tonight. My Wednesday night dinner pal, Betty, didn’t check in until four o’clock, by which time I had talked myself out of going to dinner. She sounded equally reluctant, mentioning more than once how cold it is outside. So we decided to wait until next week and then try a specific restaurant noted for reasonable and good appetizers. That’s all we need for dinner.

But today I lingered over a small, slim book that I’d been hearing about. Notices on various places, like an online newsletter for booksellers, had intrigued me about a book called,
The Boy, the mole, the fox and the Horse. Then a writer friend raved about it, and I was hooked. Not that it swayed me, but Amazon shows over 2300 reviews, 93% of them five stars. What I wouldn’t give for ratings like that!

I have so little bookshelf space, and friend Mary and I had only recently cleaned, sorted, straightened—and, yes, sigh, eliminated some books. So I tell myself I read online to save trees and to save space in the cottage. But there are some books you just need to have on the shelf so that you can revisit them from time to time. I sensed this would be one of them and ordered it from Amazon.

Created by Charles Mackery and dedicated to his mum and his dog, the book has text all in script, written with a thick point so that sometimes it’s hard to decipher. But the script is an accompaniment to wonderful line drawings that are open, free, and expressive. In many ways, including its folk wisdom, this book took me back to Winnie the Pooh.

The Boy is lonely, the mole thinks mostly about cake, the fox doesn’t speak, and the Horse is wise and kind.

When the boy first finds the mole, the mole says, “I am so small,” and the boy assures him, “But you make a huge difference.” When the boy asks him if he has a favorite saying, the mole says, “Yes. If at first you don’t succeed, have some cake.”

They meet fox, whose foot is caught in a trap. He immediately tells mole that if he weren’t caught, he would eat him. But mole chews through the trap to free him. They become a threesome. Lots of wisdom comes from the mole: “Being kind to yourself is one of the greatest kindnesses.”

“Sometimes I feel lost,” said the boy. “Me too,” said the mole, “but we love you and love brings you home.”... “I think everyone is just trying to get home,” said the mole.

They meet the horse, who says, “Everyone is a bit scared. But we are less scared together.”

I could go on and on quoting passages from this book, but I want you to discover it for yourself. Aside from the charm of the text, it is a beautifully put together book—years in publishing have taught me to appreciate a finely crafted book, and this is one. Good quality paper, careful reproduction, a solid binding, and endsheets of a musical score with the boy, the mole, the fox, and the horse racing through the lines. A note says it is to be “lively and in strict time.”.

If I ever could meet Charles Mackery, I’d shake his hand and tell him I agree about the importance of kindness. It’s a timely message for our country these days. But until that fictional meeting, I’m going to sleep soundly tonight and hear the wise words of the mole in my dreams.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” “Kind,” the boy answers.

“What do you think success is?” asked the boy. “To love,” the mole replied.

Bragging on a grandchild

My Apple genius granddaughter

As you may remember, I did a face plant on the bathroom floor at two a.m. three weeks ago. Glad to report my bruises are almost gone. But when I fell, my Apple watch did not call Colin or Jordan as it is programmed to do. That was the main reason Colin gave me the watch. So we’ve been wondering and worrying and planning to go to the Apple Store whenever Colin comes up here or I go to Tomball.

But today I had an inspiration. My oldest granddaughter is a student at Colorado University and works part time behind a genius bar at an Apple Store in Boulder. I sent her a long email, detailing my woes, and then spent the afternoon texting with her as she walked me through checking various settings. I had to apologize for my denseness, but she was sweet and patient—gave me clear instructions where to find various settings. Finally, she suggested that old remedy—turn it off and let it re-start. Then Jordan called me as a test—and voila! It worked! I can answer calls on my watch, and should I fall again it should notify Colin and Jordan.

When Colin gave me the phone, he said, “Now if you’d just fall on the floor, we can trust that it works.” I declined, and I decline to test it again, but I feel reassured—not that I plan to fall again!

Different kind of evening tonight—it was Central Market’s 25^th anniversary celebration. Mary had two tickets and her husband was not interested, so she and I wandered the market while he sat in the café and read. I don’t get inside Central Market often anymore because I used their curbside pickup service, but it was fun to go up one aisle and down another, spotting several items I forgot about but will now remember for my next order—the pimiento cheese I like, chicken sausage with spinach.

The celebration consisted of different food stations and involved a lot of waiting in slow lines, but I got one of their motorized carts and waited in comfort, looking around at people and groceries all the while. At each station, the serving was small, but I still felt like I’d eaten when we got through. We had a good green salad with crisp apples, cheddar, and a vinaigrette—delicious; a bite of strip steak with micro greens—steak was good, greens had no dressing so weren’t appealing; crab bites (I was afraid they had shrimp and didn’t try, though I can eat crab and love it), sushi, chocolate with a bite of orange, crisp toast with citrus and yogurt, ice cream with Balsamic vinegar drizzle, bread and butter, Parmesan with a pear/Balsamic drizzle. We skipped the salmon bite and the station with jalapeno bites and margaritas.

I did just a bit of grocery shopping, and Mary was patient about fetching items I needed—avocados on sale, a special cheddar that has Roquefort embedded in it, chips and Jordan’s favorite dip.

Mary, Joe and I went to dinner afterward at an Italian place where they had pizza and I couldn’t even finish my Caesar salad. Good visit, good times.

Another of those evenings when I was struck by how good people are to the handicapped. One group at Central Market urged me to get in line ahead of them. I thanked them profusely and explained I was waiting for someone; a woman stayed behind to open the restroom door for me—the kind of door I often struggle with. She saw me out with a cheerful, “You have a good one.” Such incidents reinforce my faith that most people are good. Got to remember that in these trying days.

Taking Stock

New Yer's Eve gaiety with Jordan

and her BFF from high school, David

Oh, how hard it is to remember to write 2019! Soon it will become automatic, but today I must think carefully. Seems to me as we look optimistically toward the new year, it’s a good time to look back and take stock of what happened in 2018. Most folks seem to agree that for a variety of reasons it was a bummer of a year.

Nationally, it was a year beyond belief and not in a good way--one increasingly outrageous act after another, one false tweet followed upon another. But there were hopeful signs—Donald trump’s presidency seems like one of those endangered species that he so wantonly removes hunting restrictions on—it’s endangered and crumbling; the NRA’s hold on America is also crumbling, thanks to some courageous teenage survivors of a horrendous mass shooting; the Republican stranglehold on Congress has been broken—I realize whether or not that is good depends on your personal point of view, but to me that is cause for rejoicing. I have a great deal of confidence in Nancy Pelosi, for whom I will use an unladylike phrase—she’s a tough old broad.

For me personally, health matters were once again prominent in my concerns, and again, there was good news and bad. Recovery from my bizarre and complicated 2017 hip surgery found me stronger every day. I have accepted the doctor’s suggestion that the walker is now my lifetime companion and focused on getting as good on the walker as I can. These days I’m fairly good at collapsing the walker, stashing it in the car, and driving away—I can do errands alone, which is a relief to both me and Jordan. And the atrial fibrillation which flared in 2017 seems under control, but in 2018 eye surgery for an implanted lens that went wandering proved to be an ordeal. I had just gotten over that when I began to feel negative about food. Turns out intolerance to a heart med led to “acute renal failure”—not the way I wanted to lose 15 lbs. I didn’t eat, slept a lot, and didn’t care one whit about my writing—the latter tells you I really felt bad. But thankfully that is all behind me. One more hurdle to jump in my ongoing effort to prove to doctors that I am healthy. I swear they keep finding one more thing that “we really have to investigate.” Meantime, I am feeling strong, healthy, and happy.

And 2018 was a landmark year for me—I turned 80. Don’t feel it, hope I don’t look it, though it’s hard not to act it on a walker. Jordan engineered three wonderful days of partying, and all the kids came, along with many many friends. But a planned Great Lakes cruise later in the summer had to be cancelled for health reasons.

A side note: I am heartened by the kindness of people when they see me on the walker, from those who hold doors to the grocery people who worry that a sack may be too heavy and all those who simply smile and say hello as they pass by. Americans are generally good, kind, caring people despite the turmoil in our country and what sometimes seems a prevailing climate of hate and racism.

My writing career took a tumble and a turn this year. In the spring I published a Kelly O’Connell Mystery, Contract for Chaos, but it landed with a thud and needs love to this day—it’s about racism, so I thought it timely. The few who’ve read it often say it’s one of the best Kelly novels, but it hasn’t caught fire. I am proud of the cookbook I published in November, Gourmet on a Hot Plate, an outgrowth of my learning a different way of cooking in the cottage with a tiny kitchen and no stove. I’m trying to build an audience for a related blog. I want tiny kitchen cooks to share their recipes, concern, ideas, etc. Turns out many single people say the cookbook is great for meals for one. Possibly because I have little room for dinner guests and most of my entertaining these days is at happy hour. Consequently, the book has lots of appetizers.

But my career took a major turn when I inherited the “second battle of the Alamo” project. It’s a big deal for me to write under contract to a major publisher and on a subject that fascinates me, but I am tremendously saddened that it came about because of the death of an incredibly vital and energetic woman who I called a friend. When Debra Winegarten realized the seriousness of her cancer diagnosis, she called and asked me to write the book she had under contract. The publisher was agreeable, and Debra’s wife sent me all her massive research materials. So, since September I’ve spent my days deep in Alamo history. The book will be a tribute to Debra, who passed away in September.

For the time being, the Alamo book marks at least a temporary end to my mystery writing and return to my first love—the history of women in the American West. The book will take the first half of 2019 and maybe longer, and where I’ll wander after that is up in the air. I toy sometimes with the idea of mysteries based on the real-life people of the second battle (think Daughters of the Republic of Texas) but no aha! moment has hit yet.

So that’s my year, a mixed bag of good and not-so-good. How about you? Have you taken stock of 2018? Are you feeling the general optimism about 2019?

World Kindness Day

Green shakshuka

"How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world." William Shakespeare

It’s a little late in the day to remind you, but today is World Kindness Day, an international marking of the importance of creating a kinder world by celebrating and promoting good deeds. Can you think of something you did to make someone else’s day better?

All I can think of that I did today that might count was to cook dinner for a treasured old friend. We had a jolly happy hour with Jordan, my neighbor Mary, and dinner guest Nancy. After the first two left, I fixed Green Shakshuka. Shakshuka is a Mediterranean dish of eggs poached in a sauce of tomatoes, chili peppers, and onions, commonly spiced with cumin, paprika and cayenne pepper.  I have made and enjoyed traditional shakshuka, with the tomato sauce, but tonight it was a green sauce.

Of course, I fiddled with the recipe a little. The recipe called for Swiss chard, but I’m not particularly fond of chard so I used spinach, which I like a  lot. Worked well—and Nancy commented on how good the spinach was—but I think the chard wouldn’t have wilted down so much. Another time I might simply use more spinach. I followed the directions and sautéed onion and garlic, but I’m wondering if green onions might not have been a good idea. When the spinach wilted, I added a bit of cream, and then made four nests—to hold four eggs that poached in the sauce (in a skillet with the lid on).

The toppings for serving were almost as much trouble as cooking the dish. Cotija cheese—but I used goat cheese; sliced avocado; sliced jalapeno (I fixed it for Nancy but passed for myself); chopped cilantro; lime wedges. I do have to say it was pretty good—the lime really finished it nicely..

Even made dessert tonight. An apple crisp that was so easy and delicious—when my Gourmet on a Hot Plate page is up and running (http://www.gourmetonahotplate.blogspot.com ), that’s one of the first recipes I’ll include. Since I had the cream I’d used for the shakshuka, I offered cream with the apple crisp. A satisfying meal.

My other notable accomplishment of the day: an appointment with the audiologist. I now know how to make a phone call and leave the phone of my desk, while the sound goes directly into my hearing aids. Jacob accidentally discovered it last night playing a video he did when he was about five, and it nearly blasted me out of my seat. Today, with more control, I played it again and thought nostalgically about how cute he was, singing, “I’m uphappy today,”—his own arrangement and creation.

It’s not too late—go do something kind for someone. This tired old world needs every act of kindness we can give.

Clothes, food, and good people

Some Facebook posts today have made me realize there really are still good people in this world—a family who took in a Central American boy for a summer and ultimately adopted him, a woman who opens her home to immigrants recently released from our detention centers—she has given food, clothing, a place to sleep, and, most of all, kindness and encouragement to over 1400 immigrants in the last eight years. And there’s a South African community that “punishes” a miscreant by putting him in the middle of a circle of his tribe who spend two days talking about the good in him. What a wonderful, positive approach. We need to spend a lot more time talking about the acts of kindness and caring in this tired old world of ours.

I can’t claim much self-pity tonight. I am well-fed. Jordan picked a recipe for our Sunday supper—chicken francese, essentially chicken in a lemony broth. But it required dipping the chicken first in flour, then in beaten egg, and doing it in batches. Definitely not a recipe for a tiny kitchen and a hot plate. I turned it over to Christian, and he did a masterful job, with some tweaks of his own. Delicious.

And speaking of recipes, friend Ellen Kurtzman hooked me up with a Scottish web page. I got to tell you—those folks really like fruitcake, something my family won’t touch. Years ago, when I was a doctor’s wife, we used to get fruitcake as gifts, and I had it in the freezer for months. Don’t get me wrong—I like it. But a little goes a long way. Still this web page has tone of fruitcake recipes.

The most amazing one? A three-ingredient cake—dried fruit (which my kids uniformly abhor), flour, and chocolate milk. Sounds great to me, but I don’t know what I’d do with it after I made it.

My mom used to make a yeast-rising coffee-cake with English dried fruit in it, flavored with cardamom. I love it and long for it to this day, but my kids are loudly scornful of it. Who raised those kids with such limited taste?

And clothing. At this late date, I ordered and got a Beto T-shirt to show my support for our Texas senatorial candidate. I wanted to wear it to church this morning, but common sense prevailed. Still I figure I have to wear it everywhere in the next—what?—sixteen days.

Loved the picture of Thomas Torlincasi, a local activist, at a Cruz rally. Talking to a reporter, he casually unzipped his jacket to reveal his Beto shirt. The image even made the George Stephanopoulus show this morning.

And, finally, speaking of clothes—I set the record for a fast change this morning. I wasn’t sure if Christian would make it to church or not, but just in case I washed my hair early. At 9:30 he said he probably wanted to go, but he was trying to get up and would let me know by ten. By 10:15 I decided we weren’t going. So when Jacob came out, dressed in church clothes, at 10:40, I was still in jammies, no makeup. Would you believe we left at 10:48 and made it to a pew before the processional? As always it was worth the rush, and I’m glad we went.

Gratitude

Deep and grateful thanks to all of you who sent wishes, prayers, and hugs. I am humbled but cheered by your concern. I am still in the hospital, with all signs and symptoms steadily improving, but I will be here another night. The cardiologist told me this morning I could go home only if I took the monitor and IV with me. Guess I’ll stay.

I have been worried about Sophie, who feels abandoned. When a friend went by the cottage to pick up some things for me, she said glared at her as if to say, “You’re not my mother. What have you done with my mother?” She was comforted by having Megan all night, and this evening Jacob took her in the main house for a while. But in the picture above, she still looks a little cautious.

Meanwhile, I’ve been treated to the best of medical care and can’t help thinking back to the fifties when I worked in what was then a state-of-the-art hospital. Yesterday, a technician did a scan of my lungs (no, not an x-ray), and told me it would go to Dallas to be read. Everything is digital and electronic I remember food service when there was one choice for dinner, and every patient was served around five. Now, there’s a menu, and you can order it twelve hours a day.

I had been thinking before all this happened about the goodness of people Some wonderful stories are coming out of Houston and the surrounding area. The owner who opened his furniture stores to evacuees, the marooned bakers who kept making pan dulce for twenty-four hours and used 4400 lbs of flour—the bread went to various shelters; the people who have welcomed evacuated horses—and their owners—to their ranches.

I’ve personally been touched by kindness the last twenty-four hours. When there is so much unfortunate focus on race in this country, I couldn’t help but reflect my caretakers have included two of apparent Arab descent, two of Asian background, and a handful each of Anglo and African American. There was no differentiation—they all work together in harmony and they were uniformly kind and caring to me. I have seen nothing but the best of Texans.