Friends at Last

My dogs are friends at last, which really means that Scooby, the Aussie above, has decided to accept Sophie. He's twelve years old and has regarded her puppy enthusiasm--and yes, intrusion into his well ordered life--as an annoyance at the least. He'll now play and romp with her for about ten minutes before he gets fed up and goes inside. I leave the door open for his escape. She runs at him, jumps and attacks from all sides. He'll start to chase her, and she's off like the wind. Of course, he can't catch her--neither can I, which is why I leave a leash on her all the time. She gets so excited she tears from one end of the yard to the other and back, running in great wide, sweeping circles, while Scooby barks at her. I don't leave them alone yet--in fact, I don't leave her outside alone. Just not quite ready for that, and I'm afraid Scooby might lose patience. I do sometimes admonish him to be gentle.
Sophie has grown long and leggy, like a teenager, and I've decided that may be where she is in her development. She's rebellious, and one form its taking is to regress in her housebreaking. The vet says not to make a big deal of it, but I'm a little worried about when if ever she'll be trained. Apparrently regression is not unsual. But having had one accident free day, I'm dismayed by four accidents today.  Sometimes I think she's got some stubborn terrier in her, though I don't know much about the poodle half of her. Are poodles stubborn? All I know is they're smart, and she surely is that. One thing she is very good about is crate training--she resists going into the crate but goes when I force the issue gently, and she never utters a sound once she's in there. Tonight she spent the evening in her crate because my class met here.
The class remains a delight. They can tell the most amazing stories--some of which make me feel naive or sheltered or at the least not adventuresome. One woman who says she can't come back in the next session hinted at some things she'd seen and done when young, and we all clamored for her to come back. We want to hear those stories!
I've gotten back to my work-in-progress and it feels good. In fact, I'm a bit resentful of the time other things take. Maybe this weekend I can spend more time at it and really make some progress. No title but I do have a general idea of where the story is going. Fred, my mentor, read the first chapter and said, as he always does, "Slow down!"
The print copy of Skeleton in a Dead Space is still not up on Amazon but should be in a day or two. The publisher has gotten copies and has sent my comp copies to me. Can't wait.
I'm feeling like an author today, a feeling I don't always enjoy.

A busy day

This will be a short blog, full of typos, because I'm in Frisco at Jamie's house. I came for Maddie's tenth b'day, only to learn that Maddie woke with strep throat this morning. But the day started earlier with a wonderful, exciting meeting with an author (I promised Marcia I'd say that but it was true--she brought her sister Sandy and we all laughed as much as we did work--some of the topics don't bear repeating here, but a good time was had by all.) We went to one of my favorite restaurants for lunch and lingered long and, I'm afraid, loudly. Marcia has truly been an easy and pleasant author to work with, and although I've known her distantly to for years, I have really enjoyed getting to know her so much better over the last year and a half. 

I rode to Dallas with Marcia and Sandy and they delivered me to Jamie's office at the Trade Center in Dallas. So now I've had a nice evening with the Frisco Alters, including Maddie who is already feeling better.

Tomorrow I'll try to blog about an unusual book I've just read and enjoyed. It's given me new thoughts about small press publishing.

Cats and dogs

This will come as no surprise to anyone, let alone me, but cats are finicky. I have a wonderful new petsitter, a big gentle man nicknamed Moksha. He comes twice a day and emails me after each visit. When he's here, he brings Scooby into the house (something I would never do until evening for fear I'd never get him out again), and the three of them--Moksha, Scooby, and Wywy sit on the couch while he loves on them and talks to them. My neighbor even commented that she heard him talking to Wywy through the door, and he was so kind and gentle. I love on my animals, but in passing--Moksha does it deliberately. Scooby loves the attention, and I swear his face fell when he saw it was me Sunday night. But other than being a little extra demanding and in a hurry to go to his bed, you'd never know he missed me. Wywy, on the other hand, decided to punish me. He sits endlessly at my elbow on my desk--annoying if I'm trying to work on papers, and he knows it well. And he decided not to eat wet food. I put it out, he ignored it, it got stale, and I threw it away. Today, after two days, he has deigned to begin to eat again. But his look is still reproachful--and he still ignores me when I'm right in his face. Today I reached over to pet him and he bit at me--not enough to break the skin but enough for me to bat him away.
The book world is in turmoil over the Google Print Settlement--Google scanned a lot of books in public libraries, without permission; a class action suit was filed, and google lost. But administering the settlement is a nightmare, and we at TCU have put off dealing with it too long. Today we finally moved ahead, which means an intense couple of days getting a mailing out, but I am glad we're doing something. The press also has a big event this Sunday--but not as big as I'd like. Last year we had 225 people for Books & Music in the Garden; this year, we have only 64 reservations. I'm sure they'll pick up toward the end of the week, but not enough. Something to rethink.
I read a blog today about whether or not it is better for writers to slog away and write crap when they're not feeling inspired or to just wait; general opinion, better to write. Most books are rewritten, not written. So I'm in the process of getting the end of my novel down on paper, no matter how worthless the prose seems to me. I'll go back and carve it into scenes.
And my cookbook is almost here--at the bindery. They might try to drop ship some to me for Books & Music in the Garden, and I will for sure have them for my April 29 talk to the TCU staff book luncheon. I need to start working on mailing lists, etc. but rest assured, I'll post a huge notice on the blog when the book is available. In some ways, I have more of myself invested in that book than any other I've done. I guess the one that comes closest is my short story collection, because no one publishes short stories any more and I was so determined to see mine in print. New York publishers? Who needs them?

Self-pity and other things

Still feeling fairly rotten today, though no temperature and I'm better able to control coughing and nose-blowing. But around 5 p.m. I wasn't happy if I was up, and I wasn't happy if I was in bed. Little things that needed doing seemed beyond my energy level. I did pull myself together enough to scramble an egg and eat it with some good dry toast my neighbor brought (pan tostada), began to read a book, and may even work on my novel a bit--I dreamed a scene last night that I really felt good about. And I hope to go to work, however briefly, in the morning.
Talked to Melinda this morning, and she's been out sick all week, so we must have given it to each other--actually I'm making her Typhoid Mary because she stayed with a friend who was sick--on the way home. And Megan reports today that both Austin boys, now over their throw-ups, have fever and colds. As people say, "It's going around." I always hated that phrase. I once dated man who would say, "I'm trying to take a cold," and I always wanted to retort, "Don't try so hard!"
I capped the whole bad day by tripping over a root when I was out cleaning up after Scooby. Fortunately I was near the fence between the two houses, so I threw down the pooper-scooper and grabbed for the fence. Went down landing on my knees and scraped one shin pretty badly. When I righted myself I looked up and Susan and Jay's bird feeder, still filled with Christmas ornaments, was swinging gaily overhead--glad it didn't swing loose and bounce on my head. Scooby looked like he was saying, Is she going to fall on me again? No harm done, except to my pride, and Scooby was the only one who saw me.
I really really like Michelle Obama. I saw her on TV last night put an arm around Her Majesty the Queen, and I though "Uh, oh, you're not supposed to do that." But it was such a spontaneous, warm gesture that Her Majesty assured everyone no offense was taken and it was a mutually affectionate relationship. They both rate tops with me.
I'm reading a book called Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World, by Vicki Myron. It's about a cat that lived in the public library in Spencer, Iowa, for 19 years. But it's also a nostalgic look at Northwest Iowa when it was still the land of small towns and small farms. And its the story of one woman who built a life for herself and her daughter, against some pretty strong odds. Every once in a while, I break away from my addiction to mysteries.

A gift from a fan

I had a wonderful suprise today (sorry, don't know how to fix that strange layout). I was working from home when the postman came, about eleven, with a package from a high school friend--actually she is the older sister of my best friend, and I spent many days and nights at their house, the one that is less than two blocks from the current Obama residence. The package contained this pillow, which Liz's granddaughter had made and her daughter-in-law wanted me to have it. I don't know Sue's age, the granddaughter, but she had apparently read my middle-school novel, Maggie and a Horse Named Devildust. The front of the pillow, as you can see, has the title and a picture; the back has comments about the funniest part, the saddest part, etc. It's a thrill to know youngsters are still reading that book, which was published in the 1980s. There's a funny story behind it--my agent asked if I could do a novel about a young girl who wanted to be a cowgirl, but her mother wanted her to be a lady: he had a publisher who asked for such a book. I wrote it, sent it, and it was returned with a rejection that said, "Frankly, we find Ms. Alter's writing pedestrian." Oh well, as one of our authors found out yesterday, you don't always get good reviews.

Our book, Literary Dallas, edited by my good friend Fran Vick, got a "mixed" review in the Dallas paper. Fran saw it as purely negative, bit it really wasn't. It did have an unfortunate headline, "Big Diss," but in spite of that I think it will sell the book, and the folks at A&M agree. But when a reviewer doesn't love your work, it's kind of like someone not thinking your grandchild isn't as beautiful as you do. But it's part of the writing world, and you have to stand up and take your licks. I've heard funny and horrifying stories about authors who complained about negative books.

One of my pet peeves is to wait for that repairman who's due between 8 and 10 and he hasn't come by noon. Today I was still "taking care of myself," getting rid of this tiny cold, so I called and cancelled the AT&T installation--I wanted a nap. It was a semi-lazy day; I dealt with business matters most of the morning, via email, but found time this afternoon to lay out dishes for my Saturday night tree trimming party. Ever since I've been entertaining, I've put out dishes way in advance, each with a slip of paper telling what goes into the dish. I look at my menu, make the slips, and choose the bowls, etc. accordingly. Jordan now does the same thing, and one night, when she was preparing her first Thanksgiving dinner, she had the table all set days before. Christian commented, "You and your mother have a screw loose."

After two and a half days at home, feeling sorry for myself because I was sniffling and coughing, I'm ready to get back into the world tomorrow. and believe me, I have a lot to do out there in the world. Today I did my yoga routine for the first time in almost a week. Felt good, and I did better than I expected.

No justice

viThere is no justice in this world, I decided tonight. After my traumatic experience at the dentist yesterday, tonight I pulled the temporary filling out (with a chocolate bar--okay I knew my addiction to chocolate would get me into trouble!). So I'll have to go back tomorrow. Hoping I can make a quick trip in the morning. Megan said tonight I should take someone with me, but I can't do that all the time. If I feel uncertain, I'll call and ask a receptionist to come get me. And I'll probably ask one to walk me out.
The uncertainty about my balance lingers after yesterday's experience, just when I was getting my confidence back. Today Melind and I had lunch with two promising potential authors to talk about their project, which is really a good one. They're wildly enthusiastic, which is good, and they have good material. Melinda joined me because she can advise them about number of images, length of text, etc. better than I can. Between the two of us, it went well, and they said over and over that we had given them good advice. But as lunch drew to a close, I was thinking, "Am I going to be able to walk out of here gracefully?" And sure enough when I got up to leave, my legs felt wooden. I did pretty well, but had to put my hand on Meoinda's shoulder a couple of times.
I've still been accepting deletions and insertions but am almost through. Still, nearing the end, I quit for the night. I want to read my mystery.
I don't know when I'll get back to my own mystery--maybe after the holidays? But Im reading interesting emails on Sisters in Crime, one of which suggested that too many wannabes (which I am in that genre)spend all their time on querying ad not enough on writing a quality book. Good advice. So even if I'm not working on it, I'm thinking about it.

Another lazy day--and a charming evening

Tonight my neighbor Sue and I went to Bass Hall (Fort Worth's big impressive musical hall) to hear Alan Alda. We even got to go to the VIP reception beforehand, where Sue bought a book and told Alda it was for her ex-husband. He laughed aloud and said Fort Worth was a very broad-minded town. The food at the reception was good, and it was fun to feel like we were VIPs, though I knew few people there, which tells me I'm not a real VIP. These programs usually consist of the former book editor of the paper interviewing the guest for about an hour, but Alda did a stand-alone monolog for 30 minutes. He was a great storyteller, charming, funny, self-deprecating, absolutely captivating. I finally had to excuse myself because my cell phone kept going off--I thought it was off but no such luck--and when I came back the books editor was interviewing him, which got a bit more serious but still interesting. And then the audience q&a which had really funny moments. Alda had said he didn't think about his legacy or how people would remember him--"When I'm gone, I'm gone"--so when one woman asked who he wanted to deliver his eulogy, he looked at her and said, "Are you available?" It was truly a captivating evening, and we were both glad we'd gone.
Earlier in the day Mary Lu came over with bags of books, and I pulled out the bags I was ready to discard. We sorted into what belonged to who, who hadn't read what, and, thank goodness, the bigget pile was sell at Jordan's upcoming garage sale. Still I have a huge stack of unread books that beckon to me. Then I took Mary Lu for brunch at a local bistro to celebrate her birthday. It was all fun--we talked politics a lot, although we're in accord about that, and as always we talked about aches and pains and aging. I hate it that so many of my conversations with friends turn to those topics.
The rest of the day was lazy--lingering over the paper, reading a novel, napping, trying to figure out how to buy a small screen HDTV which I have decided is impossible. Now I'm going back to that novel tht doesn't absolutely enthrall me but is to good to put down.

A Disappointing Day

I had thought my two oldest granddaughters would come spend a couple of days with me. When asked, they both said they wanted to come, and Jamie said this week, when they're out of day camp but not back in school, would be ideal. But he didn't call, and when I finally got hold of him to ask today he said Edie, five, had decided she didn't want to. I wasn't surprised--her parents both travel on business but they make sure their trips don't concide. I don't know that she's ever spent the night without one or the other of them, and when they're at my house, she usually ends up in bed with them. But Maddie came before and declared it was the most fun weekend she could remember. Now, she said she didn't want to come without Edie. Yes, I'm disappointed. I had made some plans, made out a grocery list, all that. But I agree with Jamie, better not to push it. I just told him when they wanted to come, I'd welcome them. I will have Jacob Saturday night, so that will do for my grandmother streak.
And my children's half-sister, child of my ex's second marriage, was due to stay at Jordan's tonight, on her way from California back to D.C. and law school, so Jordan was going to fix dinner, and I was looking forward to seeing Dylan. No word from Dylan (I wonder if she'll just show up at ten) and Jordan slept all day, doing away with a stomach bug. So I fixed some leftover chicken with blue cheese sauce (yum!), stir fried zucchini and mushrooms, and cut up a fruit salad. Really good, and now I'm full.
I also finished reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peeling Pie Society, and you know that feeling when you finish a book you've really been drawn into--I didn't want it to end. I wanted to keep reading about those people, so that's yet another disappointment.
Now I'm going back to work on my own book. I surely hope that's not disappointing.

Reading

I hope it won't upset my brother, but I'm about to give up on the book he was good enough to send me, Broccoli and Other Tales of Love and Food. It's not about love and food--it's about non-love and strange memories of food. In one story, a man goes to see a woman for "servicing," is unable to perform, and ends up eating borscht with her. In another, a lover asks a Russian woman to recount her first sexual encounter and she does but then is overcome with remorse and remembers other incidents of her childhood in Russia--like what a treat puffed rice was and how a teacher used to give the narrator's leftover meatballs to the teacher's children. It's still a beautifully designed book, and I'll treasure it for that--and because John thought it would fit me.
On the other hand I am reading a book I really recommend, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. I read somewhere that Mary Ann Shaffer, who died before publication, spent 24 hours in Guernsey in difficult circumstances (I can't remember the story) and decided to write a novel about the Nazi occupation of the channel islands. Her niece, novelist Annie Barrows, helped her get it in shape for publication.
I knew, vaguely, in the back of my mind, that the Nazi's had occupied Guernsey--I think I even read another novel about it. But this book gives you a very human history lesson about how the people of the island were affected--it was pretty awful. It brought out the best in most islanders but the worst in a few. This is an epistolary novel, chronicling correspondence between a London jouranlist, writing a story abut the society, and society members--until she decides to go to Guernsey to visit. I would say its charming and quiet reading but its really not--it's about island customs and the rural life and loyalty but it's also about Nazi bullying and rudeness--and occasional kindnesses. Complex, and I'm not doing a good job of describing it. Try it for yourself. It's enough to make me think maybe I should go to Guernsey insead of Scotland--well, not really.
Potato peel pie? Well, with everything scarce, one of the men made a pie of mashed potatoes, with beets to sweeten it and potato peels for a crust. The Guernsey lady who described it said it was really good--hard to believe!

Food, Love, and the grocery store

My brother found a book that he thought sounded just right for me, so he and Cindy sent it to me for my birthday. It's titled Broccoli and Other Tales of Food and Love, only on the cover there's no word "Broccoli," just a drawing. It's a beautifully designed small book (when you publish you look for these things, and I really think small, off-size books are a new and cool thing). It's maybe 4-1/2 x 7 inches (most books are 6x9). It feels good in the hands.
The stories are about emigrants from Eastern Europe, stories in which so the flap tells us "food and love intersect." I've only read the first story, "A Bunch of Broccoli on the Third Shelf." It's one of those stories where I'm not sure I get the point, or maybe there is no point. It's a "slice of life story" that surely does not fit the standard formula I used to teach in creative writing classes--beginning, middle, and end. You know, rising action and denouement and all those things from the days we studied Shakespeare.
But I really identify with the main character. She shops every Saturday at a Russian grocery store and buys lots of vegetables that she never has time to cook during the week. Her husband pulls out soggy, drooping broccoli and asks why she buys it. But she tells the reader, she likes buying broccoli--and the end of the story involves a miraculously still-fresh bunch of broccoli that she and a new man cook together, but for my purposes that's neither here nor there.
I am that lady. I go to Central Market every Saturday, and I go wild in the produce department. Everything looks so delicious. Last week, I threw away a slimy bunch of green beans--I think they'd been in the back of the vegetale drawer for two weeks, three tomatoes (one really liquid and squishy and awful in the veggie tray on the counter) and two moldy nectarines. So what did I buy today? Nectarines and tomatoes. But I eat a lot of it--stir-fried veggies last night, broccoli with lemon butter tonight, blueberries with banana for lunch, raspberries after supper--the freshest, best of the season.
This morning I had a coupon that told me if I spent $40, I'd get $10 off on chicken breasts, which I can always keep in the freezer--I cryovac them--and pull out for sudden company, as I did last night. I thought I'd never spend $40 and almost didn't take the coupon; in fact I had to circle back to get it because I had left it at home. I spent $61, after the $10 discount. Most of it was produce. Well, there were also three chocolate bars--my newest passion is a milk chocolate bar flavored with peanuts and jalopenos. Now I would tell you that I do not much like peanuts and jalopenos not at all, but this is extraordinary.
It's close to 8 p.m., and since I've sworn off eating at night in my attempt to lose a few pounds, I need to stop writing about food! It's making me hungry, and that chocolate bar is right there in my desk drawer . . .

Matchmaker, Make Me a Match

Now I'm a matchmaker. One night at a TCU dinner, my neighbor and a prof from school crossed paths and later expressed interest. I didn't know he was single and was a bit alarmed until he told he he's recently divorced. Then they crossed paths--from a distance--at a bar or music club or something. So I decided it was time to get them together and invited both to wine and cheese on the porch tonight. It was funny to me to watch two people in their early forties both nervous, but they were. Still, it was a pleasant amiable evening. I have no idea what if anything will come of it.
At the last minute I'm adding two chefs to my book, because otherwise we'll have extra pages which would look awful. And in the process I learned a new word: minardise. It's the funny little something sweet that a chef serves at the end of a multi-course meal--maybe a mini tart shell filled with choclate mousse or something like that.
And my Scottish Texans project got new energy the other day when I had lunch with an English faculty member. Someone had told me she grew up in a Scottish community--her name's Blackwell--and I envisioned a small town where most everyone was Scottish. Maybe I was thinking of Brigadoon? She grew up in Amarillo, but she said there was a community of Scots, several organizations, etc., and they followed some but not all of the old customs, ate some of the food, etc. She remember some songs and having to recite Robert Burns, but she didn't remember much of the language. The funniest thing she said was that the Scots were lumped with the Mexicans, because they were the only ones who ate organ meat--she solved that by becoming a vegetarian! She drew me a careful genealogy of her family. I've tucked my notes away and will call her to repeat and enlarge when I get back to that project, but she gave me hope I really can find the stories of everyday people, not just the heroes of Alamo.
Started reading a new book, The Red Leather Diary. A young, maybe apprentice reporter for the New York Times found in a dumpster an old red leather diary that chronicled five years in a young girls life, beginning in 1929 I think--from the ages of 14 to 19. Then she found the owner of the diary, now in her nineties and living in Florida. With a diary as her guide, the editor/author reconstructed not only the life but the ambience and atmosphere of the times. It's really good reading, and I'm enjoying it, but I'm surprised at the sophistication of this fourteen-year-old who wanders about Manhatter by herself, talks about literature (Dorian Gray among others), attends the theater, and refers to necking and open-mouthed kisses. It would seem unduly sophisticated, to me, in a girl that age today, but maybe it's true that I'm a dinosaur

Life is Good

I'm almost afraid to say it, but I'm on a roll. This morning I gathered my courage and called the publisher who is supposed to do my cookbook. They'd had a change in personnel and a couple of months ago when I inquired I was asked to please let them sort things out. So today I half expected to hear they couldn't publish it--they don't have any new books for the fall season. But the director apologized for not getting back to me, asked if Iliked the cover, the illustrations, etc., and by afternoon I had an email detailing who was to edit, who was to supervise production, what I was to do. The ball is rolling.

And then, just before I left for lunch, we got a shipment of what happens to be my newest book but is also the first of our Texas Small Books that I'm so excited about. It looks wonderful! Feels good in the hand, is just a beautiful book. Betty and I went to dinner tonight, and when I showed her she said, "That's the most beautiful book I've ever seen!" She said she wants to buy several, and when I took lunch to Jeannie and Jim, she said they were perfect gifts for her daughters. I have a feeling these will be good. There are 505 backorders for Extraordinary Texas Women, which is really good for us.

I've been really afraid to talk about this, but with so much good happening, why not? When I turned on my computer yesterday morning, there was an email from an agent I queried. He said he'd read the entire manuscript of my mystery, and I emailed it promptly. Of course, today he wrote and said it sounded familiar and had I queried him before. I assured him I hadn't. Cross your fingers, please, that it doesn't read just like someone else's book.

And, I made an appointment with a designer who will come to the office to discuss web pages--we need to revamp our press webpage and add some sites, and I want my own web page to promote the mystery that isn't published yet but in which I have growing faith (hope I don't crash and burn tomorrow!). All this activity about the mystery is really generated by my having joined Sisters in Crime and signed up for two blogs or discussion groups or whatever. There's never an "aha!" moment but I've picked up lots of tidbits here and there, the names of agents, etc. I'm sort of a hesitant part of a community--not contributing often yet, but listening and learning.

And the final bit of the new me is that I had my first yoga lesson. Elizabeth, who worked in our office for three years as a non-traditional student at TCU, now gives private lessons in your home. She has remained a friend long after she was out of school--maybe ten years?--so I feel very comfortable with her, and she moved me into yoga slowly and with much encouragement. We had a hour-long session in which I did some things I told her I positively couldn't do. I've never been flexible, so I thought she would say I was beyond hope, but she said, "You're not a pretzel, but you're pretty flexible," and she praises me for taking good care of myself, etc. The boost in ego probably did as much for me as the yoga, but I did find it relaxing and tried a few poses myself tonight. Another lesson Saturday. I think it's like joining Sisters in Crime--no "aha!" moment but one day I'll discover I feel different--and better.

Yeah, life is good.

Cookbooks, Retirement or not, and Babysitting

This is Morgan (three in August) in a picture that her folks captioned "Who needs a bunny if you've got a garden hose?"

The Grace & Gumption ladies are going to do a cookbook--and then Grace & Gumption II. That book may have become a cottage industry, all its own. The contributors met tonight--on my porch, of course, with wine--and someone said they were told it should be called Grace & Consumption, and I suggested Grace & Conspicious Consumption with a nod to Thorstein Veblen about whom the main thing I remember is he thought sheep should be grazing on the White House lawn. Not a bad idea. Sheep on a cowboy's lawn--makes me giggle.
I sort of engineered the cookbook, because I'm so interested in cooking and cookbooks, but what fun to find the recipes and kitchen habits of the women we wrote about. We figure we can write about household hints--adoption agency founder Edna Gladney had a lot of them, and Ninnie Baird of Mrs. Baird's Bakery has some too, like putting out cucumber peel to get rid of ants, which I recently tried and reported on. Electra Waggoner Wharton, the heiress who entertained lavishly in her mansion in the first decades of the 19th century, probably didn't cook much, but she sure decorated with smilax. And I found a recipe for Hollandaise by a more recent woman in my chapter--she made it with mayonnaise, mustard, soy and one other ingredient. It's not like any Hollandaise I ever heard of! So the cookbook project will be fun.

And then there's Grace & Gumption II: The Unsung Heroines. That's just my working title, but we had a brief article in the newspaper asking people to send stories of their female relatives. I haven't gotten much response, but I intend to pursue it and the ladies tonight were generally interested. G&G takes a lot of our time and lives, but it's fun--and we're such a good group.

Book projects like that are the reason I don't retire. I have so much fun doing what I do, working on these projects--and I can't imagine waking up and wondering what I was going to do that day. I hope, of course, to interest someone in that first mystery, but I think I'll go ahead and work on the second one. And I've been reading a lot about "boomer lit" and older heroines, and I have a start on a novel about a 70-something amateur sleuth. So many project, so little time.

Of course today I had another project and that was Jacob. His mom had a telephone interview, so I kept him while Jordan locked herself in the study and talked on the phone--for a loooong time. Of course this was at the time I was trying to get ready for the ladies--so I was half in the playroom, half in the kitchen. But I didn't want Jacob to wander to the front and scream for his mama, so every time he came into the kitchen, I took his hand and steered him back to the playroom. Pretty soon, he was coming to me, holding out his hand, and walking me back there. Then he'd pat the chair or daybed or wherever he wanted me to sit--when he patted the dollhouse floor I tried to explain that I really couldn't do that! In between I did make a good spread of blue cheese, cream cheese, onion, lemon juice and lemon zest. The lemon somehow softened the blue cheese, and one friend who said she didn't like blue cheese really liked it.

Now it's blessedly quiet, and the kitchen is clean. Scooby and Wywy and I are settled for the evening, and I'm going back to the last part of Eat, Pray, Love.

Saturdays

Sometimes Saturday seems long and dull to me, but not today. I thought most of the day that by now I would have a sleeping (well, I hoped he woudl be) two-year-old in the portacrib, but the babysitter surfaced late in the day, and I am relieved. That's somewhat of a disappointment. I love having him in the evening and don't have a problem putting him to bed. But in the morning, he's like the dog and cat--wakes me early and wants to pee and be fed. I am able to take care of the animals needs rather quickly and go back to bed for another hour or so. But with Jacob, there's no back to bed.
This morning I ran errands all over the place. Sometimes I'm sort of intimidated by doing that. My anxiety makes me afraid I'll encounter steps I can't handle or whatever. But I took myself in hand, told me I could do this in good spirits, and did it (actually Eat, Pray, Love gave me some helpful thought patterns). But I got a long overdue present for my new great-nephew, a hook to hold my new bird feeder, browsed the show warehouse but found nothing I wanted that wouldn't hurt my toe, got some b'day presents (which involved walking all around a huge shopping center), and went to the grocery. Pretty proud of myself.
Ever have a hungry day? I'm having one, maybe because I didn't eat much lunch--but I had two scrambled eggs with salmon for breakfast. Tonight I fixed halibut on roasted beets and greens with an orange/dill gremolata. Took most of it to Jeannie and Jim but kept a helping for myself. It never occurred to me that once Jeannie got Jim home she would be tired to the point of exhaustion and no cooking, but she is--Jim needs medication and help around the clock, and she was most grateful when I offered dinner. I ate my portion and was still hungry--so I heated half the twice-baked potato I got with a coupon at Central Market (I got two for Jeannie and Jim too). And after a bit I was still hungry, so I had ice cream with chocolate sauce. I am going to weigh 200 lbs. if I don't watch out! I did exercise today so that makes so far a steady week. I'm still not doing the arm stretches because my shoulder hurts--sometimes it feels almost okay but then, last night, trimming green beans hurt. Go figure!
Tonight I've sent queries to two agents about my mystery and done some research on a company that publishes for the library market and reads unagented material--with some pretty stringent guidelines, like no sexual tension. Not sure I'm ready to try that. I'll try agents first. Having joined Sisters in Crime and then signed up for the Senior Sleuths Forum (refers to the age of the protagonist and not the author, though I find most of them are senior like me), I find they're lots of help.
But now I'm going to take a vacation from Liz and Eat, Pray, Love--she just left India and arrived in Indonesia, with no contacts, no idea where she was going, etc.--aiyee! a sense of adventure that I both admire and am scared by. But anyway, a friend sent me her latest mystery and that's my book for the evening. A nice, cozy Saturday night with a cozy.

Belief, devotion, things spiritual

I'm still reading Eat, Pray, Love. Truth is it's not a book you can read in big gulps, and I'm sometimes tempted to take a break and go back to a mystery, but I'm drawn to this and yet, ambivalent about it. Sometimes I applaud Liz Gilbert and sometimes I not sure I even like her--but so much of what she says hits home, like the section about belief being a leap of faith. To be truly devout, you have to take that leap of faith. You have to believe that you can feel God in you, a step way beyond talking to God in prayer. I liked her definition that prayer is talking to God, while meditation is listening to God. But last night instead of praying I tried meditation--of course I fell asleep and then didn't sleep well all night.
But then I'm impressed at her perseverance. Life in an ashram is not easy, and there are times she hates it or hates specific practices or songs or whatever. But she stuck with it, and eventually she saw the difference in herself. It really was like an enlightenment, and it makes me jealous.
There's the business about devotion requiring sacrifice and discipline, which she surely showed at the ashram. True devotees, she claims, get up early to get at their devotions--and I can't even drag myself out of bed to exercise. I wonder if that's the point where she stuck with it, and I don't. She also says to be truly spiritual we have to conquer our cravings. Tonight I couldn't help myself--I wanted chocolate, so I had the ice cream with chocolate sauce on it that I really want every night (okay, it's only a small helping). Am I to be kept from the ranks of the truly spiritual because I can't resist chocolate and white wine? I did compensate with a delicious but healthy dinner--stir-fried a bit of leftover roast pork tenderloin, haricot verts, broccoli, mushrooms, and onion. Tried to add a half a zucchini, but it turned out to be half a cucumber which I didn't think would stir-fry well. Maybe I'm too rooted in foot to ever be truly spiritual.
And there's this question--does God want us to be truly spiritual and meditate or go out in the world and do good works.
Okay, I've gone on too long, but it's really neat to find a book that makes you think. Mysteries, I'm the first to admit, rarely do that.

Putzing and Reading

Some time ago I wrote a piece I titled "On Learning to Putz." (When it was published, it ws "On Learning to Putter" because of the anatomical implications of the "other" meaning of the Yiddish word "putz.") It was essentially on learning to do nothing and enjoy it, an art that's very hard for me to master. But today I putzed or puttered, whichever word you prefer. I slept really late, read the paper in a leisurely way, scrambled some eggs, watched "Meet the Press" (okay, so some people are convinced it will be Obama and others are just as sure it will be Hillary--when will this end?), made a cheese dip that ultimately I didn't like much--it called for ricotta which is too sweet, read through some notes (which thoroughly confused me about any project on Scots in Texas), and read. A lot of reading.
I'm reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert--I think every second woman in this country has read it before I got around to it. It's about the author's quest for spirituality, for wholeness in her life, for meaning, a quest that she decides will take her to Italy (to eat), to an ashram in India (I presume to pray), and to Indonesia (where she must learn about love--I'm not that far into the book). I like Gilbert--she's honest about her fears and failings, her dreams and fantasies. But a part of me is hesitant, The book begins as she is leaving a marriage that no longer makes her happy. In part, from what I read, I thought she just didn't want to grow up and have a baby. Not wanting to have children is an individual choice, but growing up isn't, in my mind. And once you've committed to a relationship, I truly believe you should work to find happiness (and maturity, if need be) within the space of that relationship before severing it. Perhaps that's a reminder of my own marriage, when my husband said he was tired of taking care of others and wanted to take care of himself, a peculiar thought from the mouth of a man with four young children, the youngest of them barely six.
I also got the feeling that Gilbert sees herself as set apart, privileged somehow, maybe just a little bit cute. I thought probably this was my age showing, but my young neighbor just echoed those thoughts to me and said, "You know, if she can afford to go off like that for a year, good for her, but most of us can't." And a friend my age expressed the same reservations. Yet both of them, like me, say they enjoyed the book.
And I do like it. Her adventures in Italy are intriguing, and I truly admire a woman who will set off for Italy, Indian, and Indonesia alone. Especially since I'm the one deemed not capable of traveling alone overseas, which I am the first to admit is true. And I like her quest--like many of us of all ages, I yearn for certainty in my faith but it always alludes me. I am learning, much later than Elizabeth Gilbert, that I may have to look for it outside the church.
Linda came from Granbury for dinner, and I roasted a pork tenderloin, did some oven roasted rosemary potatoes, and a salad. It's good to visit with an old friend (almost 40 years, I suspect) in a leisurely manner--another form of putzing.
I've conducted a scientific experiment, almost accidentally. Ninnie Baird, founder of Mrs. Baird's Bakeries, had a book of household hints, among which was the fact that cucumber peel will get rid of those tiny tiny sugar ants. When I came home from Austin, I found those ants in the kitchen, so I put out some peel. I thought they would run fleeing in the other direction, but the next time I looked they were swarming all over the peel. So much for that, I thought. But the next morning, the peel was thick with very still ants. And today the ants were all gone, so I threw the peel away. Experimental success, though I'm not sure why.
No puttering tomorrow. It's a work day, and I have a long "to do" list.

Books are like Children

Texas novelist Bob Flynn, a good friend of mine, says that if someone asks you which is the favorite of your books, it's like asking you which is your favorite child (that's a big bone of contention among my children since they all claim to be the favorite and of course they are!). Which of mine (books, not children)? Various books for various reasons. After Pa Was Shot because I suddenly learned I can write fiction; Luke and the Van Zandt County War because I think it's the best y-a novel I ever wrote; probably Libbie because it was the most complicated story I tried to tell in adult fiction and it broke me into a new field of writing.
But two books have a special place in my heart. One is Sue Ellen Learns to Dance, my collection of short stories. It's special because it's darn hard these days to get anyone to publish short stories, and yet I really like those stories (okay, egotistcal, but I do!). They're stories of women in the American West, both of the past and a few contemporary. They're women who love and lose, women on the frontier, women during the Depression, women being women no matter the circumstances. I sent the collecition to two university presses. The reader at the first press said they should all be novels. Wrong! They are what they are--stories with one twist and, according to Poet's theory, suitable for reading at one sitting. The second press was very enthusiastic about them but then after a year or so decided they could no longer afford to publish short stores. I understand that. We don't publish them at TCU because they don't sell enough to justify the cost of publication.
But I wasn't ready to give up. An agent once told me never to publish a short story collection unless with a university press, because the next time a book of mine was presented to a New York publisher, they'd check sales numbers and shake their heads. But I'm past courting a New York publisher or two, so I sent it to a tiny tiny press in the Houston area--and they liked it. I will always be grateful to Guida Jackson and her Spring Creek Publishing for putting my stories into print--and using the cover art I wanted, a Dorothea Lange photo taken in 1936 of what appears to be a sharecropper's wife standing by an old Ford truck inside which her children sit. They are all worn down--by poverty, by dust, by despair. To me, she is Sue Ellen and she needs to learn to dance. "Sue Ellean Learns to Dance" is the story of mine that has been the most anthologized, even on audio tape.
The other book? It's not published yet, but it's the cookbook I've referred to from time to time in this column. (See how subtle I was in leading up to this?) It now has a title--Cooking My Way through Life: Kids and Books in the Kitchen--and it has a cover. (I hope tomorrow, at the office, I can insert the cover here--another learning lesson!) I sent the publisher all kinds of adorable pictures of my kids and pictures of family birthday parties, etc., because I thought they showed what a good time we had. None of them worked for her, and she came up with this burned mitt, which led each of my children to ask, "Is it yours?" and one to say, "We have some of those at our house." I love it.
Speaking of cooking, which I often do, I cooked a rib-eye tonight for Christian and Jordan--mostly for Christian because he loves his steak and he's so busy these days I rarely get to see him. It was a pound and a half, a good-sized steak to feed the three of us. I put the iron skillet in a 500-degree oven and got it really hot. Then, carefully, I took it from oven to stovetop, where the electric burner was set on high (how I long for a gas stove!). I had rubbed the steak with vegetable oil (maybe I should have used olive oil?) and sprinkled it with Kosher salt and pepper. I plopped that steak into a dry, sizzling hot pan and cooked it for 30 seconds (I made Christian time it), turned it with tongs (not a fork which breaks the skin and releases juices) and cooked it for another 30 seconds. Then the whole thing went back into that hot oven for 3 minutes on each side. The result was a wonderful medium rare steak. When I did it on the stovetop it turned gray, not brown, and I despaired, but in the oven it got a nice brown crust.
I love my iron skillet. Let me count the ways that I can cook with it . . . .

Mothering, cooking, and books--the essence of Judy's Stew

A friend sent me one of those ubiquitous emails, this about a woman who felt she was invisible as a mother and bemoaned the days when she had read books, studied, had a future other than laundry, cooking, chaffeuring, etc. Then a traveler returning from Europe gave her a book on cathedrals, inscribed something to the effect of "in honor of what you're silently building." It seems no one knows who built the great cathedrals--the workers who labored for years never got credit. The mother saw the analogy to her own situation and realized she was quietly building lives.
It resonated with me though not quite in the way intended. People often say to me, in somewhat awed tones of amazement, that they don't know how, as a single, working mother, I raised four children to be such really good people who live really good lives and are raising their own good people I'm stumped for an answer. I did what most mothers do, and in fact, I was often deficient. I sometimes think of things I didn't do or did do and shouldn't have, and I think they raised themselves in spite of me. Was I too strict? Not strict enough? Did I read to them enough? Did I monitor their homework? The only thing I can be sure of is I fed them regular good healthy meals. And yet they don't seem to see it that way. Megan once said something that indicated that even in tumultous times--and there were those!--they knew they had me. When I told her how much that moved me, she said, "Oh, Mom, we've all talked about it." Makes me humble and grateful for my wonderful family.
Today I'm cooking for company. I was going to cook what I call the $8,000 leg of lamb. I once fixed it for my friend Sheila, who emailed the next day to say she'd pay me $8,000 for the recipe. What makes it good is that you make a gratin of sliced potatoes, onions and tomatoes. Then put a cake rack over that, and the lamb on the rack, so that it's juices drip down into the vegetables. It was pretty wonderful, but one of my guests tonight doesn't eat lamb. So I'm doing a good but plebian meatloaf and experimenting on an Italian vegetable dish, plus a Toll House pie that is sinfully good. But this morning, making the meatloaf mixture (which has everything but the kitchen sink in it), I watched "Simply Ming," one of my favorite cooking shows on PBS. Ming was cooking steak and potatoes with a side dish of haricots vert with lemon butter and scallions or some such. But he said he hates to let a steak rest on a cutting board because all the juices go into the board, so he rests it on the potatoes. He took what looked like quartered, boiled regular Idaho potatoes, sort of mushed them a little, and set the steak on top. Great idea! For the next dish, he heated a skillet to very hot and sauteed cubed zucchini, scallops, and chopped scallions. I missed what he added for seasoning, beyond salt and pepper, but I bet soy sauce would be good. He served it with rice, but I'm not much of a rice person. I'd eat it plain.
I'm reading a book called A Charmed Life: Growing Up in MacBeth's Castle--it's both dark and funny, though one guesses that the Scots can be pretty dark sometimes. It's part, though, of my stocking up on Scotland. We plan to visit Cawdor Castle, known as MacBeth's Castle because of Shakepseare rather than history, I gather. Than I'm going on to investigate how to publish my languishing novel on Kindle.

Comments, comedy, and grocery shopping

I was thrilled today to receive notice that Darren Fleming, public speaking coach of Australia, had posted a comment on my blog. Imagine that! Someone in Australia is reading what I write. Thanks, Darren. And it's comforting to know that people who are good at public speaking are often nervous about it. I don't think I've overcome the nervousness, but I've shown myself I can rise above it--and that's a great thing.
A bit of comedy from tha speech. I was telling the women about Miriam "Ma" Ferguson, the first woman elected governor in the United States. (She wasn't the first in office because Nellie Ross of Wyoming beat her to it when her husband died and she was appointed in his place.) Miriam wanted nothing more than to stay home, raise her daughters, and work in her garden. But Ma (her daughter says they would never have dared call her that!) ran at her husband's request, because he had been impeached, and she needed to restore the family honor. I told the ladies if that reminded them of Hillary and Bill . . . . and then, knowing I was in Republican country, I let the comment trail off. They laughed heartily.
But the next day, by serendippity, someone forwarded me a column from the Washington Post that compared Hillay and Bill to the Fergusons, named me as a Fort Worth writer and winner of the 2005 Owen Wister Award for Lifetime Achievement (still a biggie for me, and I love to see it in print), and quoted from the book. Needless to say, I got the big head, and my publisher was ecstatic.
It's been very cold here, and today was better but still cold. Still it was sunny and bright and a happy kind of day. I picked up my friend Charles--he's 91, and I don't like to let him drive--and we went for spinach enchiladas. Then I dragged him to Central Market, which he called an "interesting experience" and said he was "learning the ropes" (it is different than shopping in most markets--you package vegetables in a plastic bag, weigh them after punching in a code, and slap on a sticker with the price). Charles called me the queen of scratch--I asked him what he meant, and he said it was because I only bought things to cook from scratch! Of course. No TV meals for me.
Tonight is predicted to be very cold again, but I am tucked in for the evening. I've done some good work today--drafted a white paper (I really don't understand that term, but I wrote something about the women's writing series we propose for a support grant), wrote up some notes for a cookbook, and keyed in some recipes for the Great Chefs of Texas book. Think I'll quit and go back to reading Writing in an Age of Silence by Sara Paretsky. From the little I've read, I find that's she's more militant, angrier than I expected--but that's not a fair judgement because I haven't read enough yet.
My long weekend will be pleasant. Good friends are coming for soup and salad tomorrow night, and Monday I'll meet old friends for lunch and then cook a new (and experimental) pasta recipe for two good women friends. We meet occasionally on Monday nights and call it "Girls Night Out."

Keeping Busy Going Nowhere

What I thought would be another divorcees damn dull weekend turned out to be lovely, busy, and yet lazy. Friday night I took my friend Mary Lu to dinner for her birthday, and we had a good time, though as old ladies do, we talked a lot about health--she will have knee surgery this week. Saturday I ran all over town--groceries (two of them), clothing store (I got bargains plus a Christmas gift), bookstore, cosmetic store, hardware--yes, I was tired when I got home. But I fixed my supper--Dover sole almondine (without the almonds but with the crumb topping) and spinach with olive oil and a bit of anchovy, because I was going to babysit Jacob and knew I couldn't easily cook and watch him. At his house, the kitchen and family room are one open space, and his mom can do both, but it's not that way at my house. He and I had fun that evening. I swear he said, "All done," when he was through eating--ok, a pigeon English version. And he loved tapioca, which I bought specially to see if he liked it. He ate all of his serving again tonight after determinedly throwing his chicken, green beans, and potato on the floor, in spite of repeated stern warnings of, "Jacob, no! We do not throw out food on the floor." That, of course, makes him smile charmingly. But when he was put down out of his high chair, he kept wandering back to me for spoonfuls of tapioca.
This morning I went to church and came home and made a ground bison meatloaf--it was really good, though the thing that kept it moist was a lot of chopped mushrooms (buffalo tends to be dry). Christian thought he was saving fat, until I pointed out that the green beans with bacon more than made up for the cholesterol saving with the bison loaf. I also did oven roasted potatoes, which were delicious. Down home cooking, not too bad for you, and soooo good.
All weekend I've been reading a Catherine Coulter mystery--Double Take. Megan said Brandon told 3-year-old Sawyer he would take him to buy whatever he wanted for his mom for her b'day. Sawyer wanted a digger, so they headed for the toy store. But then Sawyer changed and said he wanted to buy her a book--so they bought a Catherine Coulter mystery that Sawyer liked because it had a boat on the cover. Meg asked if I read Coulter, and I said yes, I enjoyed her. I took this one--the newest--out of the library, and I hate to tell Sawyer this but that's not a boat on the cover. It's Alcatraz. Yes, surrounded by water. But the novel kept me absorbed all weekend, and I didn't do a thing constructive. But, hey, I don't have to. I've met my deadlines, and the things on my desk now are without deadline--better I should have a time to finish them. Tonight I'm watching the mesmerizing PBS Ken Burns special on WWII. I don't remember that war, though I've been told so many stories--my first real "public" memory is FDR's death. My dad fought in WWI and was too old for that one, and yet WWII seems so real to me, because of stories about where we were when Pearl Harbor was bombed and the like. The series is fascinating--and horrifying.