The second battle of the Alamo

I was a recluse today. Just me, Sophie, and that pesky squirrel on the patio. If I had to choose a day to be a recluse, this was a good one. Dark, rainy, stormy this morning. We had those proverbial sheets of blowing rain. Not much thunder, but enough to keep Sophie close to me. This afternoon, the rain stopped, and I even saw sunshine briefly. But there’s more rain tomorrow and then a severe drop in temperature.

I made good use of my day at home alone, worked hard most of the day except for a mid-day break. Spent the day at the Alamo, and I guess it’s time to explain that. In June, a friend was diagnosed with metastatic cancer—someone I knew basically through a close-knit online group of writers but had had one really good in-person visit with. She had a contract with a New York publisher and was working on a book on the second battle of the Alamo. But Debra, the Energizer Bunny, had several other projects going on all the time, and I became part of the squad cheering her on to work on the Alamo book. I knew the story of the second battle, and it’s the kind of history that fascinates me.

When she was hospitalized, she called me one day. “Deb, what can I do for you?” I asked, and she replied, “Write the Alamo book.” I would never ever have wanted that assignment under these circumstances, but it was a project I took on willingly, partly to honor her and partly because it intrigues me. It was the end of summer before the editor, Deb’s partner and literary executor, and I could all reach an agreement. We had danced around the subject as long as Debra was with us. But when she died, we tackled it.

And I have been working on it for about a month now. I’ve sent a draft of the first bit to the editor and gotten back an incredibly helpful critique. Since I’ve written fiction for so long, it’s almost a new experience for me to work with an editor this closely in a back and forth manner, and I’m loving it. I spent most of today putting together a chapter she wants that hadn’t even occurred to me. But it’s all the history I love, and I’m having fun. Problem is, unlike my own fiction, I have a deadline—it was February, but it’s been pushed to May. I think I can do it, but I feel the pressure. So today was a long day at the keyboard.

Tonight, I’m going to continue re-reading a novel about this second battle. TCU Press published it some twenty years ago, and I edited it. But that’s a long time. So far, just barely into it, I’m finding it enormously helpful for atmosphere and period details.

So you might like to know about the second battle of the Alamo. I assume everyone knows about the first. The second was in the early 1900s when a part of the mission compound was in danger of being torn down and replaced by a glitzy hotel. Two women, members of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, saved the iconic mission. But what began as a collegial relationship soon deteriorated into a definite difference of opinion about which parts of the mission were essential.

The story of the massacre at the Alamo is a man’s story, full of blood lust and courage—and all those qualities we associate with bold men. But the story of the Alamo does not end with that 1836 battle and defeat. Nor is it always a men’s story. The second battle of the Alamo was a women’s battle, fought with the same determination as shown by the original defenders but with different weapons—with words and money and sometimes with outrageous behavior.

Rainy Sundays are the best

Amy's pasta supper

Thunder and rain wakened me this morning about 7:30. I lay there and listened to a heavy downpour, remembering that Jordan and Christian were having their furniture, stored in a pod for a month, delivered at 8 a.m. Lingering in bed on a morning like that is sheer pleasure, and it was close to nine before I got myself going. I steered clear of the Burtons, didn’t figure it was a good scene. As it turned out, Christian took Jacob to church to serve as an acolyte and Jordan dealt with the movers.

Meanwhile I spent the morning at my desk, alternately working and staring out the window at the damp, wet world. What started as a stormy day turned into a slow, steady rain, the kind good for our plants but not so much for moving furniture or keeping dogs dry. Tonight the world is beginning to dry out but more rain is predicted tomorrow.

As I get settled in my cottage, I’m beginning to cook. I may become an unpaid advertisement for Nu-Wave induction cooking. I have a burner—two but I only need one-and two frying pans and one pot to cook on it. So far I’ve only used one skillet, but Jordan cooked a lamb chop, and I scrambled some eggs and cooked a slider. Burner heats quickly, you can control temperature easily, and the skillet is a breeze to wash.

Saturday night I hosted my first real happy hour—not just drop by for a drink. Served makings for baguette sandwiches—ham and brie, smoked salmon and herbed cream cheese, plus figs halved, topped with blue cheese, and drizzle with balsamic vinegar. Forgot how much I like figs. So I’m edging back into the world of food, and one of my semi-immediate plans is to sort a folder of recipes.

Having winnowed my absolutely appalling collection of clipped recipes for the move, I’m already beginning to rebuild it. One of my great pleasures is to read Bon Appetit or Southern Living and clip recipes I think I might cook. Sometimes before I even add them to the collection, I sort, throwing away those I know I’ll never cook. But who can resist cauliflower with curry butter?

Tonight no need to cook. Amy Russell, one of my very favorites of Jordan’s friends, brought us supper—a terrific pasta dish with tomatoes, artichoke hearts, spinach, all in a creamy sauce. Delicious. Accompanied by a green salad with goat cheese and dried cranberries. Who could ask for more? Then Amy went home and cooked an entirely different meal for her family. Now that’s friendship above and beyond, and I for one am most grateful.

Figuring out retirement

The kidnapping crew wakening Jacob for breakfast

Yesterday started out rainy, wet, and gray—a perfect day to linger in bed, read a book and be lazy. Of course for Jordan and Jacob, it started with a bang at 7 a.m. when several of Jacob’s friends came to kidnap him for a breakfast birthday party. One brave mother took 18 fifth-grade boys to Ol’ South. Jacob reported sleepily later in the morning that it was fun, but the most fun was being so rudely awakened.

The day turned sunny, so rain and gloom weren’t any longer excuses for malingering. I did some desk work, getting two Kelly O’Connell Mysteries posted to several e-book platforms—Danger comes Home and Deception in Strange Places.. But somewhere along the line, today or yesterday, it occurred to me that I have made some momentous changes in my life.

Not just the move to the cottage, though they may all be associated. But I let go of the notion that I had to labor under deadlines to produce three mysteries a year, and I decided to focus on a memoir. I’m still exploring that, but to me, you don’t sit down and write, “I was born in….” Pieces of my memoir come to me, and I write about them, but I don’t worry if none come to the front of my mind for a few days..

The big benefit of all this is that I have now given myself permission to read. All my life, reading has been my greatest pleasure, but I always felt guilty taking time for pleasure. Talk about a Puritan work ethic. But when I had deadlines, etc., I was focused on them and rarely stole time for reading, let alone the relaxed kind of reading I like to do.

Susan Wittig Albert banished my guilt. Reading, she said, is part of our work. So now I’m happily reading Pancakes in Paris, by Craig Carlson, founder of threerestaurant Breakfast in America diners in Paris. Talk about overcoming a dysfunctional childhood and jumping into the entrepreneurial role! After that, I intend to read The Mercer Girls, about young women brought to Seattle in the early 20^th century to bring culture to that city. Mercer was the gentleman in charge of this venture.

With my new approach to life, I find myself more relaxed. If I wake and want to lounger in bed, I do that—I doze, I think about projects, I play with the dog. I’m less impatient with Jacob, and I enjoy the visits of company more because my mind is not always rushing ahead to a new project.

How much of this is due to the cottage? I have no idea? After seven years though, I think it’s time I figured out retirement—and maybe I’ve done it.

Lazy, rainy days

 

Sunrise in Venice

 

Fort Worth has been getting a slow, soft rainy drizzle most of the day. I did an outrageous thing for me and slept until eight. Two results: I was sluggish and sleepy all morning and was an hour behind myself. A trip to the grocery store with six heavy bags to lug in and unpack wore me out. Revived by a most pleasant lunch with Subie and Phil at The Tavern--lots of laughter, a bit of gossip, all the good stuff of friendship. Then home for a bit at the computer and a nice cozy nap.
I go through spells of not cooking for myself--I bought tuna salad from Central Market instead of making it myself, for heaven's sake!--so tonight I made tuna cakes, using a new recipe. To me it had everything but the kitchen sink--not the things I usually put in tuna or salmon cakes. Stuffing mix (okay, I did that reluctantly because I don't like prepared food and I certainly didn't want the check-out person to think I was going to use that for me turkey--ah, foolish pride), grated carrots, sweet pickle relish, mayo, water (I guess for the stuffing mix). A little voice in the back of my mind that I should have listened to kept saying, "But it doesn't have an egg!" I had cut the recipe in half, so one egg would have held it together. As a result of the missing egg, the croquettes or cakes or whatever you want to call them fell apart in the pan. Taste was okay but not great--with all that extra stuff it made more cakes than I usually get out of one can of tuna, but I bet they'll be fine in sandwiches with mayo.
The rain grew steadier and heavier, and I settled down tonight at the computer to cross-check images for the chili book--frustrating work. Had to make sure the captions, the list of illustrations, and the numbers on the photos all agreed. Plus there are those photos I haven't gotten yet. I think I made progress, but I'm never sure.

I'm still vicariously traveling through Italy with Jordan. Today she was in Verona--I didn't even know she was going there, but I think it may be the one city that seemed the most charming to me. I am amazed at all the cities with canals and water everywhere. She also sent a video of Lake Como today--I've heard to much about how gorgeous it is, and indeed it was. But at the risk of sounding plebian, it reminded me of Coeur d'Alene. Jordan has one more day--Milan tomorrow--and then she heads home. Christian, Jacob and I will be so glad to have her home again, but she has had a wonderful experience in what looks like another world and she's radiant in most of the pictures. I am absolutely delighted that she's had this experience.