Aftermath of a birthday

Mini carnations from a granddaughter.
She bought the vase in New Mexico.

My grown children like to poke fun at me for my participation on Facebook. I think they believe that I take any word from any source as gospel. My protests that I check out reliable sites, ignore the crazies, and try to be responsible about what I read and what I share fall on deaf ears. But the other point they cannot grasp is the friendships I have made on Facebook. Many many people that I have never and will never meet in person but whom I consider good friends and with whom I enjoy frequent exchanges.

That was brought home to me with this birthday. Colin, my oldest and perhaps the biggest skeptic, asked me how many birthday wishes I got on Facebook, and I’d say as of today it’s about 250. Most of them came on the birthday site that Facebook posts but today others have come in on a post Jordan put up and a few other ways. A good number of those came from members of the Guppies subchapter of Sister in Crime, my fellow sisters and misters in writing mysteries. Guppies are a wonderfully supportive group, and I have many acquaintances and a few good friends in the chapter. Then there were wishes from people from various times in my long life, like the children of some of my childhood friends, and people I knew when they were children, regular readers and commentators on my blog, people who share my social and political sympathies, and a couple who don’t but remain friends. It’s really a remarkably varied group, and to say I am flattered beyond words is an understatement. It’s been a lesson in

A glorious orchid from a young friend.

gratitude.

I think I mentioned on a Facebook post recently if not on this page that Colin dug out my lifetime statistics for Amazon book sales. Amazon has sold slightly over 99K books by me, though I must confess almost 9/10 of them are one title—Mattie, the first adult novel I wrote and one which won a Spur Award from Western Writers of America. For years I sold it on Amazon for ninety-nine cents, which accounts for the tremendous sales numbers. (Today a reprint edition is available from TwoDot, a subsidiary of Rowman & Littlefield publishers, and it’s a bit more than ninety-nine cents.) But that total figure does not count copies sold by publishers. Regardless, the thought that I have perhaps brought reading pleasure to that many people is a significant accomplishment for me. I have said before that it’s my core belief that we must leave the world a bit better than we found it, and so perhaps my books have done that. I am surprised and delighted. Best-selling authors might laugh at my figures, paltry compared to theirs, but for me, a low midlist author, those numbers represent accomplishment.

The two things—birthday greetings and book sales—may seem unrelated, but in my mind they go together. I have made friends, and I have given people reading pleasure. To me, that indicates a life well lived. I don’t mean that in a smug way at all but in a happy way. We all want to know that our lives have meant something.

Having taken stock like that doesn’t mean that I’m checking out. It’s just that eighty-five does seem, as Jordan kept telling me, some sort of milestone birthday and an appropriate time to take stock. So what I find is a life that has been enriched by so many people, so many friends, and moderate success at writing. Who could ask for more?

Flowers for my desk from a neighbor

Sometimes life is glorious and wonderful. Sometimes, though, it is mundane, and so tonight, after all the glorious food and good times of the weekend, I found myself improvising a shepherd’s pie out of the roast beef left over from poor boy sandwiches for a crowd Saturday night. And oh boy, did we have leftovers! Turkey salad, anyone?

To share a bit of my birthday joy, I’m posting pictures of the flowers I received.

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?

Austin

Back from two-and-a-half days with my Austin family and feeling like a semi-new person. I did put work aside (okay, I did a little bit but only because I felt like it), read a lot, slept a lot, and really really ate a lot. Also spent a little time consciously reassessing and probably a lot more subconsciously, but I could feel my sense of joy in life returning.

My Austin family is a delight—Megan, Brandon, and I stayed up after the boys were in bed, drinking wine and talking about this, that, and politics. For the first time in forever, B. and I are not too far apart in our political assessments. Watching Megan is like watching a whirlwind in action—on a weekend when she said they had nothing going on, she attended three soccer games, went to the grocery twice, and served dinner to a total of nine adults and fifteen youngsters—no small feat but my oldest daughter pulled it off with grace.

Friday night we went to a bistro called Vino Vino in the Hyde Park area. Fun, interesting menu though I wimped out and ordered a slider—wish now I’d had the smoked trout salad. Brandon, the boys and I split an order of steak tartare—I think it’s pretty cool that a nine- and an eleven-year-old like steak tartare that well (Meg abstained). For dessert, chocolate mousse with carmelized bananas (only three slices—now that was a problem!), and four spoons.

Saturday and Sunday I didn’t leave the house—read, napped, ate at my own leisure until evening when Megan fixed spectacular meals: Saturday was roasted salmon filets, slow-roasted tomatoes, and cous cous. It’s all one recipe, and my rough idea of it is you roast the tomatoes in olive oil and herbs, drain out the herbs, add fresh, and stir some of that oil into the cous cous, pour the rest over the salmon. Good heavens, it was good. The tomatoes are so soft and flavorful, I swear you could skin them, whirl them in the blender, and have spaghetti sauce.

My nephew’s wife and two-year-old joined us Saturday night because he had taken the three older children on a Scout family outing to stay on the USS Lexington in Corpus Christi. But Sunday he called to say they were all well rested and could we get together that night. So Russ and Beth came with four children, ages nine to two. Brined, grilled pork chops, a great potato salad Russ brought, and roasted Brussel sprouts. I don’t see that branch of the family often enough and it was a real joy to visit with the adults and listen to the screaming children, who mostly stayed outside.

There’s something rejuvenating about large, affectionate families, and I am certainly blessed in that regard. The whole weekend cheered me, and I came back with a few resolves—to take care of the books I have in print and need to repost before I worry about a new manuscript, maybe to find a publisher for my historical novel which languishes unappreciated, and not to beat myself up about not getting everything done every day. We’ll see how long such resolve lasts.

Two of the things that I decided were stressing me were the ongoing remodeling (looking really good) and my bum hip which limits my activity. The first I will just have to live through; for the second, I’m having a test Wed., and then I hope we can stop diagnosing and start fixing. So I’m optimistic. Now about that trip to the grocery that has me intimidated….

It will work out. The Lord moves in mysterious ways his wonders to accomplish.