A thought on being a female and some other thoughts

Honeysuckle is such an awfully invasive plant. I wonder if our grandparents didn’t realize that when they planted it everywhere. It’s all over the chain link fence at the back of our property and that covering part of one side. My house is closing in on a century, and in some places the honeysuckle stems, caught now forever in the fence, are as thick as a small tree limb, impossible to get rid of. On the side fence, a profusion of ivy, carefully tended by my neighbor, has believe it or not, about conquered thehonesuckle.

But on the back fence, it’s blooming now and looks so pretty spilling over the top in cascades. How can you criticize something that cheering and optimistic? Today I sat by a window for a bit and watched the tiniest of birds—a wren?—flit in and out of the leave and a bee seeking nectar. It was like a little bit of nature at work, and I was fascinated.

I ran across a term new to me today: womanist. I’ve been learning daily in recent months from Richard Rohr’s meditation from the Center for Action and Contemplation. But he did not invent the term womanist—he credits Alice Walker who wrote, “Her origins are in the black folk expression, ‘You acting womanish,’ meaning ‘wanting to know more and in greater depth than is good for one—outrageous, audacious, courageous and willful behavior. . .. She loves, she is committed, she is a universalist . . . committed to the survival and wholeness of entire people, male and female.’”

For too long, acting “girlish” had been derogatory, so I like the idea of womanish. And how can it be bad to know more and in greater depth. I think I’m going to be womanish from now on and proud of it..

A pleasant day, working on my cookbook and suddenly seeing it take shape before my eyes. There are miles to go, lots to be done, but I see the skeleton now. And I’ve had such fun rediscovering old recipes.

But tonight, I left work behind and went for supper with an old friend who will have knee surgery next week, sort of a last fling before she’s laid up. Her doctor tells her however that she will be driving within seven to ten days. Neither of us can believer it, but she’s an eternally cheerful trouper—and a skilled R.N. If anyone can pull it off, she can. I’ll want to take her supper or something, after her daughter spends a few days with her, but the logistics will take some figuring out.

Meantime we had a jolly dinner at Winslow’s Wine Bar and Café. I had the appetizer crab cake (and wished I’d ordered two), a really good glass of chardonnay, and a chocolate mousse so rich I couldn’t finish it. Who would ever have thought that would happen to me?

Words, Women and Fellowship

It has dawned on me this holiday season that I belong to and treasure three groups that are mostly or all women and all revolve around words. They are Sisters in Crime, the Book Ladies, and Story Circle Network Works-in-Progress.

Sisters in Crime is the biggest, but not the oldest I don’t think. And the sisters have welcome some brothers into their ranks. Back in1986, mystery writer Sara Paretsky spoke about the graphic sadism that was being found in many mysteries, and author Phyllis Whitney spoke out about the lack of recognition of women as writers of mystery. Those talks ultimately led to the formation of Sisters in Crime. Yes, folks, it was founded with a feminist agenda. Today the organization has about 3600 members and 48 chapters worldwide. The “mother chapter” is a bit large and impersonal for me, although I do monitor the listerv one day a week.

But I am more active in the Guppies subchapter. Guppies either stands for “going to be published” or the “great unpublished,” but so many members who have moved on to publication stay active because the chapter is warm, welcoming, and full of information from marketing to construction. Guppies also offer a wide range of online classes for members. I served one two-year term on the board and was reluctant when my term expired. At the time, two or three years ago, a man was president.

If I hadn’t joined Sisters in Crime, I doubt I’d be published. From them I learned about agents, blurbs, blogs, everything I know, and from them I got the sense of self-confidence that I could do this thing I’d wanted to do for years—publish a mystery. I found my first mystery publisher through them; later their shared expertise gave me the impetus to jump into indie publishing.

I’ve not met many of the Guppies, because mobility issues and age prevent me from going to the many conferences where there is always a gathering of Guppies, be it in the hotel bar or a nearby restaurant. But I’ve become friends with several on the listserv, and I treasure those friendships.

The second group, a bit more personal, is the Book Ladies, which I’ve mentioned a couple of times lately. Anywhere from five or six to twelve or fourteen ladies meet once a month for breakfast at the Old Neighborhood Grill. Sometimes we talk books, sometimes we talk politics (we inadvertently ran off the one conservative in our midst, during George Bush’s presidential campaign). We have no agenda, no dues, nothing beyond one member who sends out a monthly reminder. We’re mostly a grey-headed group these days, but most of us have had a career that involved books—lots of librarians, a few authors, booksellers, teachers, etc. We too share personal news, and we recently had a lovely Christmas breakfast at a member’s home. I was one of the founders of this group back in the ‘80s, and that’s why I think it pre-dates Sisters in Crime—or comes pretty close. I really look forward to the breakfasts, though these days the restaurant is noisy, and I miss a lot of the conversation.

The third group is the smallest and the most personal. In the online Works-in-Progress subgroup of Story Network, about ten or twelve of us chime in regularly, at least on Mondays to share plans and goals for the week and on Fridays, as brazen hussies, to share good things that have happened to us during the week. On Wednesdays, I ask the group what they’re reading—great way to get suggestions for your own reading list. As a mystery writer, I’m sort of an oddball in this group because most of the women—and membership is women only—are memoirists. It comforts me that Susan Wittig Albert, who founded Story Circle Network, is a mystery writer and keeps reminding me that mysteries serve a real purpose. In this group we share writing triumphs and tragedies, as well as personal news, and I feel that I know many of them really well, even though I’ve only met two members. We rejoice together, we mourn together, we worry together, and we cheer for each other.

What conclusions can I draw from belonging to these groups? Not many. It doesn’t mean I hate men—I don’t. Does it mean women are more engaged with words than men? Not at all, though probably it’s still true that women who write get less recognition than men, but it’s getting better every day, thanks to organizations like Sisters in Crime. Do I think women tend to confide and support each other more? Maybe so.

But what it really means to me is that I’m lucky to have found my niche in the world. It took me a long time, and I’m grateful for these groups. Writing still is a solitary experience, when you come to put words on paper, but it's wonderful to have cheer grups.

The company of women

I like men—a lot. Not to be trite, but some of my best friends are men. And, yes, in the day I’ve loved some of them. But there’s something about the company of women. Something indefinably comforting. I’m not talking about gossip sessions or those heart-to-heart talks where you confide your deepest secrets and all of your problems to your best friend. No, just ordinary talk.

The Book Ladies met for breakfast this morning. I found myself with women talking about travel, books, and writing. To my right was a preservationist and librarian, and beyond her a bookseller who still works in semi-retirement at Barnes & Noble. A retired teacher and an author sat across the table.

One woman had recently been to Iceland, and someone else piped up that she’d been there years ago and longed to go back. The one who was just in Iceland is going to Australia soon—it will be spring there. The teacher just returned from Dublin. I’ve taken some memorable trips in my life—Scotland comes first to mind—but I’m pretty much an armchair traveler, and I enjoy the detailed accounts these ladies send home.

There was talk about writing and digitizing books and then a writer who has suddenly “broken out,” the phrase for one who has just found success and recognition for her books—broken out of the pack, as it were. One of this writer’s books apparently has to do with the torture of women. We all frowned—we won’t be reading that.

All this while enjoying the kind of breakfast I don’t often allow myself—egg, toast, hash browns. It’s a great way to start the day. One woman wrote me that she was unable to be there this morning but looked forward to talking to me next time about her recent re-visit to downtown Chicago. I have a hankering to return to Chicago and visit the new writers’ museum.

Came home, wrote my thousand words for the day, and spent the rest of the day culling recipes. I have always had what I called an appalling collection because whenever a recipe came near catching my fancy I clipped it and put it in a drawer which eventually overflowed. I went through it once before the move to the cottage, but I demonstrated to myself today that I kept a lot of recipes I’d never cook.

I discarded a recipe for spaghetti for twenty-five. My days of feeding such a crowd are over. I discarded recipes that called for full ovens, though I discovered last night that my toaster oven will easily accommodate two individual casserole dishes. But that’s a far cry from a standing rib roast. Others went in the recycle bin because they just didn’t suit my taste today or because I now cook better versions, but I kept some for sentimental reasons. A few in childish handwriting—Jamie carefully wrote out a recipe for a small chicken loaf, and Megan copied directions for Play-doh. There was the recipe a friend gave me for chicken enchiladas when I barely knew what an enchilada was—mushroom and cream of celery soups. Not quite authentic.

I pulled some to use soon, particularly that I thought Jacob and/or Christian would enjoy—red beans and ground beef, a sausage and cheese casserole, and others. I’ve said it before, but there are just too many good things out there to cook. Life is a feast.

Cooking and friends, the things that keep us grounded in the present and enable us to go about our lives while President Trump and Kim whoever-he-is rattle their sabers. A crazy world.

Women and friendship

I just reviewed a book called Dumped: Women Unfriending Other Women, edited by Nina Gaby, for Story Circle Book Reviews. Read the review here:
http://www.storycirclebookreviews.org/reviews/dumped.shtml. I've always know that women's relationships, even the closest, were complicated and subject to unexpected interruption. But I thought some friendships just drifted away, either because of distance or changing interests or who knows what. Call me Pollyanna, but I didn't realize the harshness of dumping nor that it happens often. Dumping involves either directly saying to the other woman, "I don't want to be friends with you any more. You aren't cool, you bore me," or something in that vein. Or it may be the sudden silence: phone calls unreturned, emails and texts unanswered. The dumpee is left perplexed, wondering, "What did I do wrong?" And that's the point that really struck me--women who are dumped too often see themselves as inadequate, unworthy of the friendship that was, however briefly, bestowed upon them. As in a lot of life's problems, it takes two to tango--a self-absorbed, ambitious, unthinking woman, perhaps also insecure but more brazen about her defenses, to dump, and an insecure, self-conscious woman with a dump-me sign on her face. It may well be why some women refuse to establish close relationships with other women--and I do know women like that.
The book, a collection of personal essays, is recommended reading for all women--it will make you look at your relationships, analyze your role in the friendship, study whether or not you're nurturing the friendship or simply leeching off it. I think we all play all those roles, though I was cheered by one woman who wrote that she could never dump anyone. The woman she dumped would always take away a part of her.
I have known several women I might have liked to dump--some that wore me down in various ways, whether by negative or critical attitude, neediness, clinginess. But I never could have done it. It's just not in my heart.
Another personal observation: it's dangerous for women to have just one relationship with another woman. Because when that sours,  you're left stranded. I think we're perfectly capable of having meaningful relationships, each a bit different, with a variety of women. Today, on a rainy dull day, I was forcefully reminded of that.
I had lunch plans with a colleague and dear friend from my former office, but I had to change them because I was to be at home awaiting delivery between noon and three of a TV--it came at six. But Melinda was perfectly agreeable to lunch at my house, and I fixed salmon cakes, roasted cabbage slices, and sautéed spinach. We had a perfectly delightful time and a good visit, much of our talk taken up with the world of Texas books, a love we share, but we also talked of family and grandchildren and our futures. I like that we're always looking ahead.
This evening, as I was still waiting for the blasted TV, a longtime friend (35 years?) who once again lives nearby walked over with her dog for a glass of wine. (The dog is a whole other story for another blog.) We talked about dogs and books and cooking and who knows what and were perfectly comfortable.
I am blessed with good friendships, but I work hard to maintain them and rarely give up on a friendship. I think there's an art to that, and some of the people in Dumped haven't perfected it. Yet it's within anyone's grasp.