So nice to wake up to sunshine this morning. No rain forecast until sometime next week. Everybody seemed to like the better weather--the yard guys came, having been delayed for two days by the rain, and Sophie stayed outside much of the day. The only glitch came when Jean came for happy hour. I put together a cheese tray with the Hunter cheese and Port Salut I bought at Central Market yesterday and the herbed goat cheese spread I made. Jean carried everything out on the patio but soon had to carry it back in. There were flies everywhere! I had little covers on the wine glasses, and we put a sheet of wax paper over the cheeses, but it was hugely ineffective. So we ended up inside. I do hope this is not the end of patio weather, though I admit it was pretty steamy out there this evening. The humidity is still high, even if it has stopped raining.
When I
turned on my computer this morning, the first thing I saw was Richard Rohr’s
meditation for the day: “Clearly, what this world absolutely needs is more
love.” Anyone else hearing the Beatles in your head? There’s your earworm for
the day. Speaking of earworms, the other day I woke up with “Hark! The Herald
Angels Sing” repeating in my mind. I have no idea why, but I, who these days
can only do the first verse from memory in church, could clearly remember all
the verses. My childhood must have been coming back to me.
More
trivia: my new word for the day: collocation. I was writing my once-a-month
column for Lone Star Literary Lifestyle and found myself writing about a woman
who calls herself an authorpreneur. She referred to a collocation, so I looked
it up—being able to do that at the computer is such a blessing to me—and found
it means the repeated use of two words cobbled together to make one word. This
woman used the collocation because she is an author and a publisher—the indie
imprint under which she publishes her books is Black Mare Books. (She once had
a black mare mustang.) Well, shoot, my imprint for indie published mysteries is
Alter Ego Press. I just never thought of calling myself an authorpreneur, but
now I am grateful for the word.
On
Wednesdays, in a small online writers’ group, my tradition is to ask where
everyone’s bookmark is. Of course, I have to start off with my own, and this
week I had a rather weak explanation that I hadn’t settled on a book for over a
week but had been toe-dipping in several. I forgot to explain that I picked up
a Scottish mystery solely because the housekeeper in a castle is the amateur
female detective. Her name is Alice MacBain—my mom’s name, even spelled the
same way. The clan is usually McBean, but my dad changed his spelling to what
he thought was more authentic. The book unfortunately was a spoof that didn’t quite
come off—a closed room murder in a castle, and all the family members were
snobs. I didn’t get very far.
I also
tried Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, figuring that a foodie
like me should read some Bourdain and that title is probably his classic. He
has an incredibly sensual way of describing food—like his first encounter, as a
young boy, with a raw oyster. But as one critic said of his writing, “It’s too
masculine.” There was all that testosterone fueling the dialog. It quickly became
too much for me, too in-your-face. I know that will not sit well with Bourdain’s
many fans, and I truly recognize that he earned his place as an icon in today’s
world of chefs. I just don’t want to read about it.
So now
I’m going to explore Killing in a Koi Pond, by Jessica Fletcher and Terrie
Moran. Terrie is a friend, recently
anointed the latest collaborator on the long-running series, and I’m anxious to
see how she handles stepping into those very big shoes. And I really want to
cheer for her. And then, I want to read While Justice Sleeps, by Stacey
Abrams. I wanted to see if she does as well at writing mystery as she does in
getting out the vote.
But
the big excitement for me today was a haircut. I’d been thinking about this for
some time, and when Rosa came this morning for our appointment, I told her we
needed to talk. She knew instantly what I wanted to talk about, and we
reminisced about the days when I had short hair and lamented my present shagginess.
Next thing I knew I had a new, short haircut. I admit I didn’t look in the mirror
for some time after she left, but when I did, I was pleased. Rosa has been
doing my hair for over seventeen years, and she’s pretty tuned to what I want
and need. And she long ago told me when I couldn’t come to her, she would come
to me. I am so blessed.
Sweet
dreams, everyone. Dream of sunny skies for a few days.
