Efficiency

If yesterday was my day of gratitude, today was my day of efficiency. Within half an hour of getting out of bed, I had washed my hair and baked a batch of biscuits, so that Jacob and I could have sausage biscuit sandwiches for breakfast, cleared the kitchen after last night’s supper, and settled down at my desk. I felt so efficient I almost thought I deserved to go back to bed.

But that efficiency got me off to a good start on the day, and I worked steadily all morning, taking copious notes from a resource I’d found and then adding almost nine hundred words to my manuscript. That seems to be my daily goal with this manuscript. It’s funny, but after a certain time, I run out of steam and the words become wooden. Then I know it’s time to quit.

When I reach that point, I read emails, do more research, read Facebook. I am, as you can imagine, if you’ve read this blog much, keenly interested in what is going on in our country these days, and I’m following the current uproar closely. But for me, reading Facebook is more than politics—over the years I’ve made many friends, people I’ll probably never meet but whose opinions and daily activities interest me. And I find everything from inspiration to humor. In fact some memes make me laugh out loud, which is surely good for the soul.

Yesterday I saw a picture of four comedians—Dick Van Dyke, Mel Brooks, Carl Reiner, and Norman Lear. All four are in their nineties and looked hale and hearty and full of life. It struck me that laughter must be good not just for the soul but for health and longevity. Who wants to live that long if you’re unhappy and critical of the world and people around you? I have always appreciated a positive attitude—and I strive to have one myself. But this picture really struck home with me. Okay, I’ve also always been a big Dick Van Dyke fan.

By contrast, I thought of many people we see and meet daily who are consumed with anger and resentment. Specifically, I thought of politicians, many of whom are shown on Facebook, making the most angry, contorted faces. What can that intense negative emotion be doing to heir health? Yes, I though specifically of the man who occupies the White House these days.

If laughter is good for the soul, I had lots tonight. Two friends—Marj and Amye—came for happy hour, and Marj brought supper from a place in Keller, where she works. Turns out Chicken Salad Chick is a chain with ninety-five restaurants across the country. Specialty is obviously chicken salad—probably ten varieties. I chose classic, and asked Jacob what he wanted.

Jacob: what’s chicken salad?

Me: chicken mixed with mayonnaise and other things.

Jacob: I’ll think about it. I’m going to sleep

This morning, me: What did you decide about the chicken salad?

Jacob: Explain it to me again.

I did, and he said he’d try it, so I emailed Marj to get him any variety without onion. But she also emailed him, and he chose a turkey pesto sandwich. So frustrating! I really wanted him to try the chicken salad. Obviously, it’s not something his parents eat often, if at all, But I adore all those meat salads—chicken, tuna, ham. I hope a Chicken Salad Chick franchise opens in our part of town.

We had a jolly evening, with lots of laughter. Jacob is sometimes monosyllabic with me, but he carried on fluent conversations with these two friends of his mom. Marj, a teacher now in administration, was able to explain some things to him when he complained about school or a teacher. Lots of talk about summer camp, because Marj’s daughter and Jacob both head off to camp this weekend.  A delightful evening.

Now to sleep, so I can get up and do it all over again tomorrow.

Sophie and Marj, having a little lovefest

A day for memories

            Today is my mom’s birthday. No need to say which one, except that I’ll say I never had trouble figuring out Mom’s age because she as born in 1900. She’s been gone thirty-one years, and I still want to turn to her to ask, “How do you cook such and such?” or “Who are those people in that picture?” or “Do you remember….?” She still seems but a phone call away.

If you ask, I will tell you the first thing I remember about my mother is her laughter. She could find laughter in so many situations, sometimes to the consternation of my more stern father. I see her in the back seat of our station wagon, between my two oldest children who were strapped into 1970s versions of car seats and screaming their heads off. The louder they screamed, the more she laughed. My father stared straight ahead, as though ignoring the commotion would make it go away. She told stories about family members and herself that made us laugh, and she laughed until she cried. There was the uncle who locked himself out of his apartment pulling a fuse to trick newlyweds—only he was stark naked, and my aunt, in the bathtub, couldn’t hear his soft knocking.

Or the time a friend came by to ask her to witness important legal papers. Discovering the woman had not had breakfast, Mom started some toast, wrote Alice P. Mac and then checked the toast. When she came back, her mind on breakfast, she wrote Bread instead of the last part of our name, Bain. Alice P. MacBread. A childhood friend of mine still laughs at that story.

My next big memory is of cooking. She was a wonderful cook, and she encouraged me, let me make a mess of the kitchen so I’d learn, and I did. Once, quite young, I made a chocolate cake that tasted awful. Mom asked how much baking soda I used, and I said, “Nine teaspoons.” She looked, and there was a misprint in the recipe. She laughed about it and made me feel better. By the time I was twelve, I was her sous chef, and when she hosted big dinner parties I had the kitchen cleaned before the guests went home. I often made the appetizers and was known for a blue cheese dip that never came out the same way twice. To this day, cooking is my avocation.

You might call Mom one of the last pre-Friedan housewives. She catered to Dad, cooked him three meals a day, including the meat and potatoes he wanted every night. (But in cities like Boston she dragged him to seafood restaurants where he staunchly ordered roast beef.) Every night before dinner, she showered and put on a fresh dress. She ironed sheets, in the days before permanent press. She entertained lavishly for him.  She led him to believe he was king of the roost, though she often triumphed in subtle ways.

Mom was no slouch. With a degree from the University of Chicago, she was proud of her years as secretary to Chancellor Robert Maynard Hutchins who accomplishments included founding the Great Books program, which she followed all her life. She never worked because Dad would not have liked that, but she flexed her work muscles by managing the gift shop at the hospital where Dad was administrator. And together she and Dad read all the works of historians Will and Ariel Durant.

She knew hardship, lived through the Depression, lost her first husband to a WWI wound in the early thirties, leaving her with a toddler to raise. She and my dad lost a baby girl who lived six months, and she lived ten years as a widow after Dad died. Some days she gave in to weeping, mainly on the anniversary of my sister’s death, or a migraine, but most days found her with a bounce and a cheery smile. She’s always been a role model for me, telling me not to take myself too seriously, to think of others, to find the good in life.

I miss you every day, Mom.

Tribute to my mom

With people posting pictures of their moms on Facebook, I wish I had good pictures of my mom. I do have a few but they are not digitalized. She died too soon for that. Besides, she always said she took such a bad picture that her father told her the only place he’d hang it was in the barn. I inherited that from her.

The other things I inherited are her love of cooking, food, family and laughter. I’m sure I missed that indefinable quality that made many describe her as the most dignified and ladylike woman they knew. With a degree from the University of Chicago and a background as secretary to Robert Maynard Hutchins, chancellor of the university and founder of the Great Books program, she probably could have had any kind of career. But she was a ‘50s housewife who kept home and family together, supported my father in all his efforts, and satisfied her own ambition with volunteer work.

Mom taught me to cook. Once one of her friends came in when another girl and I had made a mess of the kitchen. “How,” the friend asked, “can you let them do this?” Mom’s reply? “If I don’t, they’ll never learn to cook.” Another time I carefully followed a recipe for devil’s food cake. When they tasted it, Mom and Dad exchanged long looks. “Judy, how much baking soda did you put in this?” “Nine teaspoons,” I told her proudly. She checked—and it was a typo in the recipe. I had followed it to the letter but wasn’t quite smart enough to realize that nine teaspoons would be wrong. Some of my best memories, though, are of cooking with her. To my father’s frequent dismay, she loved to experiment. He was a meat-and-potatoes man and steadfastly ordered roast beef when she dragged him to seafood restaurants on the East Coast.

When my brother and I were young, Mom would tell us stories of the medical school days of our fathers (they were roommates at one point; John’s father died of a WWI wound and Mom married my dad). She’d tell, for instance, the time my uncle stepped out into the hall of their apartment building to pull a fuse as a joke on newlyweds and the door slammed shut behind him. Problem with that was that he was stark naked, and my aunt was in the bathtub. When she came out she couldn’t figure out how she lost him in a one-room apartment. Tears would roll down her cheeks when Mom recounted this.

Or the time a friend came to ask her to witness some important business papers. Mom found out the friend hadn’t had breakfast and set about making toast. She signed her name, Alice P. Mac—and checked the toast. When she came back instead of completing her name with Bain, she wrote Bread. To this day one of my friends laughs about Alice P. MacBread.

She was a terrific grandmother, adored and amused by her grandchildren. Once she sat between my two oldest, then toddlers, in the back of a car. They were tired and screaming, and the louder they screamed, the heartier her laugh. My dad drove as though he’d never met any of us.

I have so many rich memories of Mom that I’m sure I left out a lot. When she died at 87, in 1987, I wanted to call her and demand she answer the questions she left unanswered, from “Who is in this picture?” to “How do I cook such-and-such.” I talked to her a lot. Today I swear she visits me. I wake with the sense of someone in the house—Jacob? Sophie? No, I think it’s Mom, watching over me.

Writing about everyday heroes

Please welcome my Wednesday guest, Susan Schreyer, the author of the Thea Campbell Mysteries. The sixth in this locally-set, humorous series, Saving the Queen of Diamonds, has just been released in print and e-book format. Susan lives near the scenes of her murders with her husband, two almost-on-their-own children, a bunch cats, a couple of tame lab rats and the ghosts of a number of family pets of various species. Her horse lives within easy driving distance. Occasionally, Susan makes a diligent effort at updating her blogs "Writing Horses" and "Things I Learned From My Horse," and writes articles for several worthy publications. Mostly, she works on stories about people in the next town being murdered. As a diversion from the plotting of nefarious deeds Susan trains horses and teaches people how to ride them and, when the weather gets to her, works in a veterinarians’ office. She is a member of the Guppies Chapter of Sisters in Crime and is co-president of the Puget Sound Chapter of SinC. When she has a minute she cleans her house and does laundry.

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      Hi, my name is Susan Schreyer and I write about people and events on the edge of reality. No, I don’t write paranormal (although part of the fun is the distinctly unexplainable element or two in every book). I write about people with jobs, families, friends and lovers, pets, hopes and dreams -- and conflict. Pretty normal stuff, right?
Now, throw in a murder or two, life-threatening situations with dramatic conclusions and emotionally satisfying endings. Ah, now you see where I’m going. Not the stuff of everyday life, for most of us, right? Especially if you’re not law enforcement, but you do get to put the world right again.
What about the heroism? The “above and beyond” selfless act? Isn’t that pushing at reality? Nope. That’s normal, in my opinion.
“Aw, come on, really?” you say.
Really. Most readers will identify with a character’s struggles, desires, their less-than-noble thoughts, and their failures readily enough. But what about when the chips are down? How often does that elusive chance to shine come our way? Heroism is action everyone can hold to their hearts as something we would at least try to do if presented with the opportunity.
 “Yup, got that part.”
 Good. We’re on the same page. Now, look around you. There are acts of heroism all the time, every day -- even in our own neighborhoods. It’s right-thinking paired with right-action. There’s a hero in each and every one of us, although I don’t think we often recognize it, even when it happens. That’s why I write it. It’s every reader’s chance to say, “Me, too!” and see the hero in ourselves.
These elements are the substance of the Thea Campbell mysteries: excitement and situations that stretch the
limits of reality in a setting that has a high degree of familiarity, then touch on the human desire to participate in heroic action and make the world right. Oh, and one more thing:
Along the way, let’s not forget to laugh! Life, even when very serious, has distinctly farcical moments!

Amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/Susan-Schreyer/e/B004CLPMUG   Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/SusanSchreyer; Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/susan-schreyer?store=allproducts&keyword=susan+schreyer webpage: http://www.susanschreyer.com blog (Writing Horses) http://writinghorses.blogspot.com blog (Things I learned from my horse) http://thingsilearnedfrommyhorse.blogspot.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Susan-Schreyer-Mysteries/161359303906634 Twitter: @susanschreyer