Dogs on my mind

Sophie, my Bordoodle pup now almost a year old, has been a morning brat lately. She greets the day, full of energy, with lots of barking, and unfortunately she has the small-dog yippy bark. Mostly she barks at Scooby, to get him to play with her--and he barks back, the hoarse bark of an aging dog. But squirrels, a car in the driveway, the neighbors' dogs--anything can excite her. I'm grateful for tolerant neighbors. By mid-morning, she's calmed down, and we don't hear much out of her the rest of the day. Sometimes I want to say to her, "Look how lucky you are to have a good, loving home. Why can't  you act like you appreciate it?"
Those of you who know me know I'm a dog person. Oh, I had cats for the kids when they were growing up. Jamie in particular was a cat lover--he claims their last cat has cured him of that. But almost twenty years ago he brought home a gray kitten, part Maine Coon, one of the world's loveliest and sweetest cats. When Jamie left home, I insisted on keeping Wywy (don't ask), but we lost him to old age last fall.
Still its dogs that capture my heart.There's a difference between liking dogs and being a dog person, though the former don't always underestand that. I'll tread lightly here, so as not to step on toes, for I've had this discussion with one of my sons-in-law who indignantly protests that he likes dogs. A true dog person can't imagine living without a dog, regardless that, if well cared for, they're expensive and take a lot of time--probably more time than I give mine. I've had dogs, big dogs, all my life, except for a spell when I had Cairn terriers. I'm finding again with Sophie what I found with the Cairns--little dogs are stubborn. I'm sorry in some ways I let my brother convince me I don't need a big dog at my age. I admit, however, I don't walk either of mine for fear of being pulled down--Sophie has too much wild enthusiasm for the outside world, and Scooby never got over his instinct to herd buses, strollers, trucks, whatever moves. Both my sons are dog people; my daughters not so much, though Jordan and Sophie are crazy about each other. If I get hit by a truck tomorrow, Jordan will take her.
Don't get me wrong about Sophie: I love her. She is like the little girl with the curl--and when she's good and sweet, she's irresistible. And she's reliably housebroken--something I haven't always accomplished with dogs. She's probably got another year of growing up to do.
If you follow me on Facebook you may have noticed that I repost a lot of pictures of abandoned, endangered dogs, some on the EU list at varioius shelters. Breaks my heart, and I want to go rescue each of them--but I have my hands more than full, thank you. Confession: I'm sort of selective. I repost the collie, lab, shepherd, border collie mixes that appeal to me, some of them, like Sophie, the ragamuffins of the dog world. Not so much the pit bulls and similar breeds.
But I've noticed a high number of pit bull mixes on Facebook lately. I'm wondering if that's because people are breeding them for fighting or just why so many need loving homes. I know pit bull fanciers will jump all over this, but there are some breeds I'm leery of--pit bulls, Rottweilers (Colin had to give up one he could neither trust nor control) and, to a lesser extent, Dobermans.
Idle thoughts, but now that my mind is on dogs, watch for another post about some dogs I've known and loved. I think just as we're all meant to have one or two real loves in our lives, the same is true of dogs. We have one or two that are soulmates. I've been lucky with both kinds of loves, and I count my blessings. Sophie? She's an adorable, irresistible brat-child.

Heigh, ho, to the groomers we go!

Don't know that you can tell the difference--it's hard to photograph a black dog, but Sophie belatedly got a hair cut today. Above is fuzzy Sophie, and to the right is new Sophie. Her border collie/poodle coat was out of control--and smelly to boot in spite of baths. I labored under the delusion (I do that a lot) that God gave dogs their coats for a purpose, and I shouldn't mess with it. But I finally wrote the breeder, who said a wise thing to me, "Doodles are man-made mutations, not dogs as God created them." Short answer: 1" all around, 1-1/2 to 2 inches on the face." She sent me a picture, and this morning Sophie and I happily went off to the groomers--well, I was happy. Bad news: she was so matted all they could do was shave her. "One inch?" I asked hopefully. "Nope, shave. She won't look anything like she does now. Be prepared." I begged for saving as much face and tail hair as they could, so tonight I have this skinny small dog with a bushy face and bushy tail. She'll grow out to the right length in six weeks or so. Doesn't seem to have bothered her at all, and she's the same irrepressible personality.
Scooby missed her. He barked all day. Greg, the lawn guy, was here, and he said "Scooby's barking to find out where she is. He's gotten used to her." Scooby did give her a thorough sniff-check out when she came home.
Usually I have Scoob cut back to one-inch for summer. Not sure about it this summer, whether his disliking the trip to the groomer would balance out his discomfort. Got to think on that one. Owning dogs is not cheap!

Saving dogs

I have a new cause--relax those of you who know me well, it's not political. That would be an ongoing cause. My new one is not exactly new either. I'm reposting pictures of dogs about to be euthanized in hope that someone will say, "I have to have that dog!" A Facebook friend has been posting these for some time--when I said she was breaking my heart, she replied that she couldn't not post them. So now I'm re-posting, plus I've made another friend who is if anything deeper into the cause. Judy Obregon (don't even know where she lives!) posted today about a dog she followed, visited, even gave a collar to--he was euthanized today, and she's in agony over it. Kathy, my first "dog cause" friend has built a small kennel on their ranch so she can temporarily foster some animals.
My Aussie, now 11-1/2, is a rescue dog, from the Humane Society of Fort Worth. I got him at three and a half, and he brought many problems. He'd been a "back-yard' dog--ignored and abused, never given love nor trained properly. To this day, his house manners are not reliable, though he is obedient. He long ago got over snitching food that is not his or chewing--in fact, he's not much interested in toys. He'll come when I call, eagerly--once he got out on the street and I called to him. He came running happily home, with a look that said, "Did you want me?" He's a good dog, and when he looks at me soulfully with one blue and one brown eye, I melt. But he'll potty when my back is turned--and sometimes just because he's being stubborn.
I got a new puppy last summer--for several reasons. Jacob, then just barely five, was afraid of Scooby  because of his size; Scooby needed companionship--he was developing the old-age habit of sleeping all day, had given up chasing squirrels, a chore at which he used to be a master; and I wanted a puppy that I could train the way I wanted. The latter hasn't worked out so well, but I'm persevering. But still, last July Sophie came into our lives. She's a wild mix of border collie and poodle--coal black as a small puppy with just a bit of brown on her muzzle. Now she's getting some silver on her long bushy tail and on her ears.
Sophie is one wild bundle of energy. In fact, sometimes I think she's two dogs--the one that minds me so well and the one that gets frantic with excitement and throws all behavior rules out the window. On a leash, she will stop at the front door, look back at me, look out at the world, and sit patiently until I say "Okay." Off the leash? She's out the door and across the street in a heartbeat and all my cries fall on deaf ears, though a neighbor? A new person to love her? Of course she'll go, which is how I got her back when she escaped recently.
But I've had conscience pangs over buying a kennel dog instead of taking in a stray. When I look at the pictures on Facebook, I wish desperately that I could take in more animals. But I'm realistic and I know my limitations. So I'll keep posting those pictures and watching for people who need a dog. I have one friend who is sort of half-heartedly looking for a second dog, and I often post with her in mind.
My neighbors have strong feelings on the subject too. They own two rescue dogs. Jay said the other night, "I'm not much of a taxation guy"--understatement! he's so conservative he squeaks--"but I think there ought to be a heavy tax on peole who are not licensed breeders who let their dogs reproduce." Go, Jay!

Jacob now adores both dogs; here he loves on Scooby

This is a  plea for two things: give or find a rescue dog a home if you can; if you own non-show quality pets (how many of us have show quality?), have them neutered. It's the only human(e) thing to do.

Yoga--and me

Ten or more years ago a friend and I took a yoga class at TCU. Maybe 10-15 people in a big, bare room with one mirrored wall. I think it was the mirrors that did me in--even ten years ago I saw that when I leaned over, some things--like my face--didn't stay in place but sagged. Demoralizing. And I didn't particularly like anything about the class, could never stand the relaxation at the end. So I quit, and when all about me were raving about yoga, I resisted. It wasn't for me. I walked for exercise.
Several things happened to change that: both my daughter-in-law Melanie and my good friend Elizabeth began to study yoga and today they are both certified instructors. And I realized that I was no longer sure-footed and didn't have the self-confidence for my daily walk that I once had. It took a while but one day I announced to Elizabeth that I was ready for lessons. She, bless her, didn't gloat, just set up a businesslike arrangement for lessons at my home. I had to convince her I didn't want candles or mood music with the lesson, but gradually I mastered some poses and semi-learned the relaxation/meditaton at the end--the first time I tried that, Elizabeth said indignantly, "You're reading the titles in the bookcase, aren't you?" Relaxation has never been easy for me, but I got to where I did a half-hour workout and began alternating--yoga one day, indoor recumbent bike the next.
I was pretty faithful until I got Sophie last July, then a twelve-week old energetic Bordoodle (half Border Collie, half poodle) pup. Taking care of her wore me out and gave me plenty of exercise. I quit doing anything else. And once you quit, it's hard to return. I did some yoga sporadically but my muscles soon lost the pattern and my conscience kept nagging at me.
Like many people I made some 2012 resolutions, a return to yoga among them. I find I approach it far differently now--for one thing, since retiring two years ago, I am a much more relaxed person and the relaxation part is easier for me--it always turns into prayer (eyes closed, no reading titles) but I do a survey of my muscles, relaxing them body part by body part, and I try to clear my mind of anxiety, negative thoughts and the like. I am also much more focused on my breathing, so that I approach yoga poses with more concentration than I did before I see all this as part of real growth--physical improvement yes, but emotional or spiritual growth.
And my two role models? They're both so busy teaching--and Melanie has an  unrelated day job--that they complain they don't have time for their workouts!
My resolutions also included watching my weight go down, not up. I have a friend who says he lost 17 lbs. by portion control and omitting bread. That's what I'm trying, and I've lost two lbs. I figure slow and steady does it.

The Further Adventures of Sophie

This morning I was sitting at my desk when I heard purposeful strides on the front porch and a determined knocking at the door. I opened it to find neighbor Jay with his dog and Sophie prancing around them having the time of her life. Jay had to bring Pearl inside to get Sophie in. I slammed the door, grabbbed Sophie by her coat and then got her collar, and thanked them as they slipped out the door. Sophie seemed delighted with herself and her grand adventure. She's lucky Pearl is more friendly on a leash than she is through a locked gate or a screen door. Turns out someone had forgotten the special latch on the dog yard, both dogs got into the driveway, and Sophie merrily slipped under the electric gate. I fixed it and returned them to their yard. If I'd found her gone, I would have panicked--and called Jay!
Sophie is so smart--and sometimes so easily duped. She is definitely an independent wild one. When I call her to come, she looks at  me. We have a stare-down, and she looks like she's considering. But if I either start toward her or turn away, she bounds over to me. She has endless energy for jumping at Scooby andd running circles in the yard, and yet when I leave her alone in the office, she generally lies still and watches for me to return (okay, there have been a few destructive incidents, like the time she chewed a bunch of old family pictures or the time she got on my desk, all four feet, and scratched great lines in a picture of Morgan so that the poor child now looks like she's sprouting whiskers!). When she's in her crate, Sophie never makes a sound, though I can hear her move around in the early morning. Never whines or barks. And if I love on her, she'll sit at my feet all day. She is truly one bundle of love and mischief all wrapped up together.
Today is day 7 of watching my diet more carefully. I have not rejoined Weightwatchers, but I am trying to apply the general principles of one protein and lots of fruit and veggies. For lunch I had tuna salad made mostly with vinaigrette and a touch of mayo (lowfat) and mustard. Pretty good. Along with cherry tomatoes and a deviled egg--that may have stretched the point. But in the last week, I've had chocolate once--anchovies got to me last night and I had to balance the taste--and I've done yoga six days in a row. Color me smug. No, I haven't weighed to see how this is working out.

The gift of a day

This morning I worked myself up to go for a long overdue eye examination. I always hate going to the opthalmologist--don't get me wrong.  He's a good guy, a friend of many years. But reading those charts makes me feel like I'm failing a test, and when he tilts me back and uses those prisms to look deep into my eye I hold my breath lest he say, "Omigosh!" or something equally scary. (Actually a previous eye doctor did say, "I don't like what I'm seeing" which I thought was really poor handling of a patient, especially a nervous one, and I never went back to him.). Anyway, today I had gathered my courage and was changing clothes when the doctor's office called to say he was ill and cancelling appointments for the day. So I got a three-week reprieve for which I am only partly grateful--I'd just as soon get it over with. Actually I'd rather go to the dentist.
But there I was with the gift of a day. I worked at my desk all morning and finished final edits on No Neighborhood for Old Women which will be out in April. In the last read-through I found several small inconsistencies and things that needed explaining or clarifying. I'm sure there are more small points and lots of typos--someone pointed out the typos in Skeleton in a Dead Space to me and I replied honestly that there has never been a book published without a typo. But we all keep trying.
I piddled the rest of the day--groomed Sophie with Jacob's not-very-helpful help (she play bites), watered plants inside and out, did a good yoga workout, forced a stubborn Jacob to do his homework ("No,  you're not sick--don't try that"; next minute he was grinning and trying to play a joke on me.). His attention span is still pretty short, and he wants to be outside playing. But it was a lovely day, an unexpected gift.
Betty and I had supper at The Tavern, a great restaurant that I always want to call The Ranch for some reason. We split their huge BLT salad--good, but there are other things on the menu I like better. Like their deviled eggs and their black beans.
Tonight, though I have a list of things to be done, I'm going to start Julie Hyzy's new book, Affairs of Steak, in her series about a White House chef.
Isn't it nice every once in a while to be handed a free day?

Christmas is coming, fill the cookie jar

Jacob wanted to make cookies last night but I explained we were going to dinner and evening wasn't a good time. Then this morning he wanted to bake them right away so he could have cookies for breakfast. Instead I greeted him with "Put on your jacket--we're going to the hardware" at 8:15 this morning. We rushed to get floodlight bulbs before Lewis came to replace all the burned out ones--and we rushed without breakfast or coffee for me. Once he adjusted to the idea--a slight bribe was involved--Jacob was a good trooper. Then we made coal cookies--Jacob was enthusiastic about measuring and mixing and putting spoonfuls into mini muffin tins--what a great way to make cookies. But with the tin about 3/4 full he decided that was enoiugh--there was an entire second tin worth of dough left. I ended up finishing  the cookies. We're working hard on not double dipping--don't lick a spoon and put it back in the dough, don't dunk the beater back in the mixture because you like licking it, etc. I'm sure baking killed whataever germs were there, but it's the principle of the matter. He's gone off to McDonald's with his mom--a real treat.
Sophie does it again--I was using one of my cane-seat chairs to keep her off the duck upholstered chair in my office--she chewed a huge hole in the cane and gnawed away part of the seat. I had a dog die from a splinter in his lung once; Sophie has chewed on everything wooden she can find and survives quite nicely. This morning Lewis said, "She hadn't calmed down at all. We need puppy Prozac." I will have to get serious about this after the holiday. My plan to have a well-trained, companionable dog overlooked Sophie's high spirits. Not sure how long I can go on with the excuse that she's just a puppy! But I've had friends offer to take her for a run, which is probably just what she needs.
Lovely evening tonight at the home of my friend and former neighbor Sue. Her parents live in Ottawa, Ontario, and we get to talking about eastern Ontario where once upon a time I had lots of relatives. Also being of the same age and political opinions, we talk about a lot of things. I am always truly glad to see them. And truly glad to catch up with Sue and her two children Alex and Hunter, who are growing way too fast for me to keep up. I took them each a lump of coal (cookie) even though they both claimed they'd been nice for the year-and on the whole, I bet they had.
Came home, ate tuna, and tried to figure the loose ends I had to tie up. Why is there always something we forget? Tomorrow, the Christmas rush begins. Can't wait!

My own joy of cooking

Nice, lazy evening tonight browsing through the new issue of Food & Wine, a magazine that's often a bit esoteric for me. But tonight, because I didn't feel my usual sense of rushing, I lingered over travel articles and other pieces. Found in one a description of a tart made of fresh (just from the earth) lettuce, herbs and oil topped with anchovies and baked--sounds heavenly. The writer wasn't sure how she'd feel about cooked lettuce but praised it. Here are the recipes I cut out to cook: trout schnitzel with lemon-chile butter; crispy potato galette with smoked fish and dill creme; open-face sardine sandwiches with tangy aioli; pork-and-cheese arepas with tangy cabbage slaw. I may have to find adventurous eaters to share these meals with me--I can't see Jordan and Christian waxing enthusiastic about open-faced sardine sandwiches. Jeannie? Jay? Rodger?
I didn't know what an arepa is, so I went to my trusted Food Lover's Companion--only to be disappointed. Found the following on Wikipedia: An arepa is a dish made of ground corn dough or cooked flour, popular in Colombia, Venezuela and other Spanish-speaking countries. It is similar in shape to the Salvadoran pupusa. Arepas can also be found in Panama, Puerto Rico and the Canary Islands. My daughter says she doesn't need the Food Lovers Companion because she has a computer, and I told her she was wrong. Maybe I'm wrong..
I've been cooking today. I"m having a group in for cocktails (read wine) and snacks tomorrow, and on the menu, among other things, is a liver pate that a friend told me about. She swears even non-liver eaters will go back time and again for this.  So I think I'll keep count of how many non-liver eaters will overcome their prejudice and try Sally's recipe which has madeira, allspice, thyme, and too much butter. It needs to sit overnight, but I tasted it--rich but oh so delicious.
I'm also making the caviar dish that Jamie loves--caviar on a base of cream cheese seasoned with onion, mayonnaise, and lemon. Jordan is upset that I didn't make the sausage balls that you make with Bisquick. You can't please all of the people all of the time.
I'm watching an episode of Guy Fieri's "Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives"--much of that food is way too far into the category of "fat food" for me, but it sure looks good. Right now, it's fried chicken. Fieri doesn't feature the food I cook, but I do like that show. There's been a flurry on Facebook because Fieri's show has been filming in the area--but not in Fort Worth, in spite of the fact that we all have suggestions for him.
I love writing, reading, especially mysteries, but cooking holds a special place in my soul. When I get to heaven, I'm asking for an apron.
Sophie just drew blood again--she paws at my arm for attention, and we're fighting the"Off!" battle. I say "Off" in my sternest tone and turn my back on her--she refuses to accept that command, and a few minutes later a sneak attack I'm not expecting bloodies my arm.. As a consequence lots of my T-shirts are blood-stained--on the left sleeve. She's also alienated at least one person who was prepared to adore her--8-year-old Edie, a real softie for animals, was so excited about seeing her again (she was with me the day I got her) but lost interest because Sophie jumps so much. Jacob roughhouses and wrestles with her and never seems bothered by her wildness--six months ago he was afraid of dogs. Now, he comes in after school and wants to play with the dogs right away. He sits on the roof of the porch to the doghouse and sometimes hoists Sophie up there with him.
Right now, Sophie has gotten the message, belatedly, and is sleeping at my feet. Puppy, puppy, puppy.

The puppy chronicles continue

 Jacob in the doghouse.

Sophie in a quiet moment--don't be misled!

This week I applied the word "fractious" to Sophie. I think the cold weather makes her frisky, but she's ended up spending way too much time inside to work off her energy and probably too much of it in her crate, especially yeserday when the plumber was installing a new hot water heater. But it began the night before--I came home late from a book club meeting, tried to take her out, and she balked, didn't want to go. So I thought she didn't need to go and left her in the study, while I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. She peed and pooped. Next morning, I put her out for a good bit, she came in and peed and pooped.  She was out of control when one of the men went out to wrap the outdoor faucet in the back yard and he, usually a gentle soul, lost patience with her. In the afternoon I knew I was going out for supper, so I fed both dogs early--Scooby outside and Sophie in the study, our usual pattern. Instead of eating her supper, she ate a basket I had put on the floor. I thought with company coming this weekend it would be neat to collect all her toys in the basket. Yes, she'd scatter them but I could just throw them back in half a second. I scolded, put her out and cleaned up the mess. When I came home I put her out and she tore all the rags off the faucet that Jim had carefully wrapped in the morning. I put her in the study and cleaned up the rags. Fed her (she hadn't eaten earlier) and thought I had her settled when I looked down and she was chewing a book--one that I'd written, no less. Scolded, re-shelved the book, and she got a picture of one set of my grandchildren down.  She's spirited, delightful, and sweet--but I sure will be glad when she grows up. She's seven months now. Today she seems much better and now is playing contentedly with her toys--I know by saying that I'll jinx it.
Christmas dinners with two different sets of friends the last two nights--I'm feeling like an overfed social butterfly. Last night Kathie, Carol and I went to Winslow's, where Carol and I had roasted chicken with sage gravy, scalloped potatoes with gruyere, and a mix of spinach, asparagus and cherry tomatoes. Absolutely wonderful Tonight Betty, Jeannie and I went to Lightcatcher Winery and Bistro in Lakeside, about 30 minutes from here.It's a working winery and we dined surrounded by oak barrels with other winery equipment all around. They have an excellent chef--we began with lobster ravioli with a rich, creamy wine sauce; each of us ordered Celtic Lamb Shepherd's Pie, which was wonderful, and we shared a chocolate tart with red wine/raspberry sorbet and red wine ganache. All delicious. Lightcatcher serves only their own wines, and we ordered a bottle of chardonnay but uniformly agreed it was too sweet. Still, we soldiered on and drank it--well, most of it. The gift shop is intrigiuing, with many items related to wine, some not, and of course the ubiquitous T-shirt.
I spent two mornings doing grocery shopping and guess where I'm going tomorrow--the grocery. Forgot the extra cup of sharp cheese I need and parsley to put around a cheese ring. It's that time of year!

Oh what a beautiful weekend!

Yes, the play on the song from Oklahoma! is deliberate. I have just had the most wonderful weekend. I went with Melinda, TCU Press production manager and my good friend, to Austin for the Texas Book Festival. My weekend was divided between family and the festival, so tonight's post is about family. Tomorrow I'll talk about the festival.
The last few years Melinda and I have developed a routine for our annual trip to Austin. We leave about ten, stop for lunch--for a couple of years we stopped at West and went into the authentic Czech restaurants in town, but now our destination is Heritage Homestead, a 500-acre community on the Brazos, outside the town of Elm Mott, where people have chosen to return to the earlier days of craftsmanship. They create pottery, wooden objects from furniture to cutting boards and canes, homemade soaps, weavings, all sorts of things. You can visit their gift shop or tour the actual workshops. For us, the destination is the cafe--homemade food, including wonderful bread. The members of the community all dress simply, no make-up for the women, plain hairstyles pulled away from their faces and caught in a chignon or braid. But they are most gracious and welcoming. After lunch, we browse the shop and then head for Austin, where we pick up Melinda's good friend KK (by now my friend too) and head for Z Tejas for happy hour. This year author Marcia Daudistel and her sisters met us, plus Dan, TCU Press director, and my kids, Megan and Brandon. The group split up--Melinda, KK, and Dan went to set up the display, and I went home with Megan and Brandon to greet my grandsons Sawyer (7) and Ford (turned 5 today).
They took me to Vespaio, an upscale Italian restaurant that is my absolute favorite in Austin. The last time I was there they took me to tell me they were expecting Sawyer, so it's been a long time, and I have longed to go back. I feasted on white anchovies and veal-filled ravioli. Brandon ordered the mixed grill and gave me one of his marrow bones--generous beyond belief, but I was grateful. Haven't had marrow in a long time and love it. The boys really behaved well--it was a noisy restaurant--and the evening will remain a remarkable memory.
Halloween birthday party: Sawyer is the one in the tri-cornered hat and red coat--he was a Revolutionary general though in spite of the red coat he insisted he was on the American side. Ford was a ninja turtle but he's barely visible--and don't miss the spider pinata.

I spent some of the next day at the book festival, but Ford's b'day party was in the afternoon--twelve or so kids in costume whacking away at a spider pinata and sitting spellbound for a magician, then eating pizza and the richest chocolate cake I've had in eons.
Sunday was a lazy day--I slept until 8:30! Unheard of! Megan fixed a late breakfast, and then I was off to the festival for a couple of hours. Came back about two, napped, we went to Central Market and then I fixed oven-fried potatoes topped by cod fillets--thanks to Krista Davis for the recipe. I haven't watched a baseball game in forever, but I was being sociable and reading while the grownups watched the game. I got hooked, mostly by the intense concentration of the players and the pressure they were under. Like the rest of the nation I watched Hollander pitch with awe and was sorry they pulled him for the last inning--I can see why, but I also saw him beg the manager to let him stay in. Even so, what a coup for a 25-year-old, so yes now I'm watching again tonight.
Melinda and I usually have breakfast with an old friend on Monday before heading home but Melinda was running late, we got lost, and by the time we got there, she had left. I'm hoping for a Christmas visit. Meantime we had a good breakfast--I ate maybe 2/3 of a baked potato omelet, sinful! And then we were on our way. Home by one o'clock and glad to be here.
But I have a weekend of memories.

Sophie spent the weekend with Jacob and Jordan, and I'm afraid she's spoiled rotten, but they all had a good time. Jordan said to me today, "Sweet baby is a lot of work!" Amen! I have titled the first photo "Spoiled rotten"--Sophie is soon going to be way too big to be a lap dog!

A normal day?

I managed to write 3,000 words today--2,000 in the morning and another 1,000 in the evening. I have no idea how many words other authors accumulate in a day's time, but I was pretty darn proud of this. Whereas a week or so ago I was in the broken middle, I seem to have found a plot line to carry the story forward. I am actually full of ideas for tomorrow's writing, but  I think I'll quit for tonight. Running out of gas for one thing, and I want to start a cozy that I'm going to review in hopes of winning a contest--grand prize is some sort of digital fancy kitchen equipment that I probably don't undertand but it sounds wonderful. The book is Liz Lipperman's Liver Let Die about a non-cook who ends up being food critic for a small paper.She also ends up in the middle of a murder--my kind of book.
Not that I've cooked in the past two days. Yesterday I had lunch and dinner out but managed to eat modestly. Okay, I ate chopped liver for lunch--but only a small scoop and I didn't have it in a sandwich. Last night I had a salad. Today I ate all three meals out and once again really tried to be modest--one scrambled egg and a half piece of toast for breakfast, one brat, potato salad and kraut for lunch (doesn't sound like diet food, does it?) and half a serving of meatloaf, black-eyed peas and green beans for supper (the other half of the meatloaf is in the fridge calling my name for lunch soon). If my social life doesn't slow down, I will be a) late with my manuscript, and b) fat as a pig.
Tomorrow, I speak at a monthly book luncheon at TCU for staff and then will fix a chopped steak dish for the Burtons. But Thursday, aah, I get to eat the meatloaf for lunch and Linda will come for supper before the memoir class. I think she'll get creamed tuna, but shhh! don't tell her.
Right now the weather in North Texas is beautiful. Great top down days, and I love the freedom of driving with the wind blowing my hair in my eyes so I can't see--a visor cap helps with that. By 12:30, the sun was almost too hot to have the top down but I soldiered on. By the time I got Jacob, it was too hot for the shirt I'd started the day in. He managed to create a mud puddle in the back yard--the puppy, thinking she's a pig, wallowed in it. I have laid down the law about turning on the water. Hope it works.
Life is good.

Back to work

A fuzzy picture of Sophie patiently waiting for her morning hug from Jacob as he goes to school. She devils me to take her outside when she realizes it's about time. When Jacob hugs her, he gets the most blissful look on his face. Tonight he and I had a theological discussion. I told him Wywy had died and he asked if she (he, it) was in heaven. I said, "Well, cat heaven." He launched into an explanation of how God is invisible to us but in heaven you can see him so Wywy can see him and then he decided that she's up there playing with Pecos, the dog my neighbors Jay and Susan lost a few months ago. The simple faith of a child is a most comforting thing.
Today I got the tentative (I guess it's tentative--it's a bit scary) publication schedule for my next novels. Skeleton in a Dead Space is the first Kelly O'Connell mystery; the second, No Neighborhood for Old Women, is written, under contract, and as of tonight, in the hands of the editor. It will be released in April. The third novel, however, is untitled and essentially unwritten--I have about 5,000 words which only leaves me at least 65,000 to go. It's scheduled for release in August, which means I have to put my shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone, and all those other cliches. Life keeps getting in the way but I really have to buckle down now, and I couldn't be happier about it. I went back to the third novel this morning and did get caught up in it. I'm working on carving myself big blocks of time to work. All of this is pretty exciting for me, and I feel fortunate.
Megan read Skeleton and I asked if she recognized her nieces. She said, "Oh, I recognized a whole lot of stuff." When my mentor Fred first read it, I said something about it being in some ways autobiographical, and he said he would never have asked but he wondered. So there, dear reader, it's for you to figure out what came from my life and what didn't. By the second novel, Kelly has definitely established her own life and there's no autobiography--except my two darling granddaughters.
Feels good to have goals and deadlines and be working.

The Magic of a Mentor

I've written 3000 words on a new novel--barely a drop in the bucket--but I felt that I was wandering around in the story. Yesterday, at lunch, I handed the pages to Fred, my mentor, and then I put it aside from my mind. I'm reading galleys on the first novel, due out August 29, and I need to concentrate on that. But I'm a great believer in the "back burner"--I think things simmer in the back of your mind when you're not consciously thinking about them. If I sit myself down and say, "Now I'm going to plot this novel," I come up with zip. But if I wait and let it come when I'm at the keyboard, ideas flow.
Late last night I wrote Fred an email that simply said, "There has to be a murder." I am what they call a pantser--I write by the seat of my pants and not with an outline, though I have a general idea of what's in a story.
Today I got Fred's  response--as always, he told me to slow down, write in more backstory. This time he said I had packed so much emotional intensity into six pages that it threatened to wear a reader out--spread it out (another version of slow down). He suggested some possible plot scenarios--I think I'll take some, omit others. Even as I proof another book I can feel ideas for this new one simmering in my mind, and I itch to get back to that manuscript--a good and positive feeling. I think that's why I keep writing, since I'll obviously never become rich. I have long said working things out in words is for me like the satisfaction a mathematician gets from working out a complex problem.
110 officially today--and it makes me feel 110. Picked up Jacob at 4:30--the hottest place I ever go is the side of that gymnasium as I walk to get him. Home to juggle a five-year-old boy, two dogs who had to pee but couldn't stay out in the heat, dinner, then feed the animals, take the garbage carts down and, in a fit of compulsion, bathe the puppy. It was Sophie's first bath and she didn't enjoy it much but I guess it wore her out as much as me. She's sleeping at my feet right now. Of course, after bathing her, I had to shower to get rid of eau d' puppy.
Supposed to be even hotter tomorrow. I think I'll stay in all day--no errands, no lunch out, just me and the animal kingdom.

Debt deal and staying optimistic

If Facebook is any gauge, a lot of liberals are not happy about the debt deal. I suppose a lot of conservatives aren't either, but I think in the long run both parties compromised, did what they had to, and the president, out of necessity, accepted something that was far less than he wanted. To him, I say job well done; to Congress, I say quit your blustering and posturing (that phrase started on FB and I think it's perfect).
But when it looked like we weren't going to get a deal--and I might go a few months without social security--I began to think about the way I live and what I could cut down on. Entertaining for one. I told Jordan if they planned to eat at my house a couple of nights a week--when Jacob is in school across the street--it would have to be potluck, and she snippily replied, "And you'll have to stop feeding all your friends." Too true. And all those lunches and occasional dinners out. As I put on make-up yesterday, I realized that I use really expensive make-up and cleanser, not what you get in the drugstore. Special cream to keep wrinkles away from my eyes (me, vain?). I've started buying house brands in the grocery for some things but for others I insist on top of the line--and I buy that expensive tuna canned in Oregon (just ordered another case to split with friends--Jordan nearly fainted when I told her the per can cost). I do drink cheap wine, but that's not much of a savings. I drive a gas-efficient car, though I've never measured just how efficient it is. In short there are a lot of ways I could live more cheaply--clean my own house, mow my own lawn (I really think I'm too old for that), stop updating the house--but that's self defeating. Someday I don't want it to look like a house an old lady lived in for forty years and never did a thing to. When reality comes up front and close, as it did with this debt debate, it makes you take a long, hard look a your priorities. And I realize for a single, retired woman of "a certain age" I live pretty well.
I work hard but for not much if any income--I got a little over $11 from Amazon the other day but the same mail brought a $315 electric bill, which actually isn't too bad with this heat. But I am working--got galleys to read on the novel, compiled a list of possible review outlets for the review coordinator, and proofed my new web page today, all the while keeping one eye on Sophie and moving more things from her reach. I used duct tape to keep her from the phone jack--she actually disconnected me during a call today.
Sophie takes a lot of my time--she needs to go out every two hours. Training her at this point is mostly training myself to take her out in a timely fashion. Right now she's sleeping peacefully at my feet--one of the nicest times of the day.
I tell my self over and over that the heat will break and the puppy will grow up. How soon, Lord, how soon?
I'm rambling. Over and out.

Kidz Can Make a Difference

I am so proud of Morgan Alter, my granddaughter who is about to turn seven (she's the one in the green tank and white cap). She came up with the idea and organized, with her mom's help, a Kidz Clean Up day in their Kingwood neighborhood (north of Houston). Morgan decided that kids--and parents--could band together early on a Saturday morning and walk along the streets picking up trash. She posted a large sign, and her mom sent out an email to the neighbors. Last Sunday seventeen volunteers turned out to collect twenty pounds of trash. Morgan was the crew leader--that's her brother, Kegan, standing in front of her. Mom Lisa figured it was good not only for the kids to get a spirit of pitching in and being a part of the neighborhood, but it was good for the entire neighborhood to come together. As she wrote me, "Kids can make a difference." I am proud of the whole family and the difference they've made in their neighborhood.
Sophie had a busy day today--an eleven-year-old boy came to play with her all morning, which was like a vacation for me--I gave the cat an infusion, ran some errands, and got some work done. Then tonight a friend came to bring her a "dental bone" and played with her. She's tapped out at my feet right now. And I'm ready for bed. Such tiring days we have!
Warning: I may break all my self-imposed rules, which are silly anyway, and do a political blog. I am outraged by the Republican refusal to cut taxes and tax shelters on big corporations and wealthy citizens but ther willingness to cut  benefits to the middle class and those with even lower income.

What a lovely birthday

Sophie and Jacob enjoying my birthday party.

Many thanks to my Facebook friends and others who've sent me birthday greetings today. I feel like Cinderella, and I've had a lovely day. The morning got off with a predictable scramble--feed each animal but keep them separate, catch up on emails, etc. and then to the grocery.
But then came the nice treat of lunch with Jordan and her friend/colleague Susan--many thanks to Susan for hosting and to both of them for a lovely arrangement of flowers. We went to one of my favorite places, and I had the club sandwich I always crave. Then home for a bit of work, and a bit of frustrating computer work, and a nice nap. Then up, too quickly, to prepare for dinner tonight. Jordan and Jacob arrived about 4:15, and we were at it, with Jordan saying, "Go get dressed, Mom." We had 12 adults and two kids--Jacob's friend Eva was absolutely terrified of the puppy--for supper. Lots of appetizers--an artichoke heart dip, hummus, onion soup/sour cream (that old standby), and my pickled radishes which a few people tried and raved about but they generally weren't eaten. Jay, my handsome neighbor, barbecued brats and turkey burgers, and I provided potato salad and baked beans. A hearty meal and a good time enjoyed by all.
The guest list was mixed--some of Jordan's friends, who are also my friends, and I'm flattered that these young people care enough about me to come to my party, bring me cards and wine, and spend much of the evening hanging out.. I'm really blessed. Then there was the older  crowd--friends of mine, though some not even as much as ten years older than Jordan's friends. Jay and Susan--with Jay as the chef for the evening, Mark and Melinda (she's from my office and a good friend), and Elizabeth, though without Weldon who was in California. It was really a jolly evening.
Sophie was the hit of the party--everyone took turns carrying her, playing with her, and loving on her, and she never seemed to tire though now she's lying peacefully at my feet.
Jordan did a yeoman's job tonight--putting dishes out, cleaning up the kitchen, taking Sophie out periodically. She is such a help, and I am so grateful--I hope she reads this and knows how much I appreciate all she does for me. And how happy she made my birthday.
OK, I don't mind getting older, though I resist Jacob's comments that when I die he'll take care of Sophie. He makes it sound like it will be next year. I am so blessed with family and friends and work I love to do and all the things that keep me  young--including right now Sophie who may keep me from exercising but does keep me on my toes.
So, again, thanks to all of you who joined in to make this a special day.

Cat in a closet

Last week I was convinced my 19-year-old cat, Wywy, was trying to die. He ate little on Wednesday; Thursday he disappeared and ate nothing, though I put food, water, even milk out. Thursday night I was convinced I would wake up in the morning and find him dead somewhere. I woke up early worrying about it--and there he was sitting in the doorway to my bedroom. But he still wouldn't eat. I discovered his hiding place--a closet where I store extra blankets on the floor. He's burrowed himself a nest. I emailed Jamie, whose cat he once was, and we decided to make him comfortable and assure him he was loved. By Saturday noon I was sure he was on his last legs--he has major health problems--and I geared myself up for the inevitable call to the vet Monday morning. Saturday afternoon, for no reason, he came out of hiding and began to eat voraciiously. He went back to sleeping on my bed, even walking on me when he thought it was time to eat; if I got up in the night, so did he, asking for food. He began to sleep on my bed in the daytime. I'm not sure if this was a fit of pique over the puppy, his way of protesting, or if he perhaps used up one of his nine lives. He did this once before, after he was flea dipped which he considered a huge insult. Today he's still himself, though not eating quite as much. But he sleeps on my bed and greets visitors, so I guess for a while all is well.
Meantime, Sophie the puppy has discovered how to climb out of her playpen. The only place I can confine her is her crate and I hate to do that too much. But this morning when I cooked, this afternoon when I napped, and tonight when I needed some Scooby time, she was crated. She had a high old time when two friends came for dinner and spent much of the evening playing with her, but she's always ready for more. I may grow old before this is over, but we really had a better day today. Our best times are when I work in my office, and she can play or lie at my feet. When she's sure of company, she settles down and lies quietly--so lovely. I hope it's a forerunner of times to come.
Scooby has made no progress in getting used to her and seems to look grayer, but maybe that's the contrast to a black puppy. Or maybe he needs another summer haircut.
More from the animal kingdom later.

The naming of puppies

It may not be as difficult as the naming of cats, but naming puppies presents problems. I named my new Bordoodle Sheba, because I'd once had a farm collie (sort of, to me, a mutt Border Collie) named Sheba, short for Bathsheba Finkelstein (that is another long story not for here). But this pup looks nothing like my Sheba of forty-five years ago. Nor does she looke like a Sheba of any kind. Lots of names were put on the family table today--I discarded Roxie, although Mel, Maddie and Jamie voted for it, because I once knew a wonderful woman named Roxie who died tragically. Chloe and Zoe were considered, but I have a friend named Chloe. I discovered in the pup's papers that  though the breeder just called her Pink, her kennel name was Matilda Pink. Matilda might be shortened to Maddie (my granddaughter) but Tillie or Tillie Mae offered possibilities. Edie held out for Sophie, and that's beginning to sound good to me. In fact, I've been trying it out tonight.
I'm deep in the throes of introducing a new pup into an established household structure. When I got home this afternoon, all three animals needed attention at once--Scooby to come in out of the heat, Wywy to be fed, and Sophie to explore the house. Scooby lifted his leg on the pup (fortunately poor aim) as if to say, "Just want to be sure you understand whose house this is," and Wywy had one of his hissing fits--good thing he has no claws. I just now picked the puppy up which immediately made Wywy demand food. The pup escaped her playpen, but I have since connected the loose corners the right way and think all is well. She is happy as a lark with people around, but she whines like a Banshee if left alone in her crate or playpen. Last night, with the crate on my bed, she slept all night with one break to eat, potty, etc. And she let us all nap for an hour this afternoon--that's a habit for Scooby, Wywy, and me. We'll see what happens tonight, but I think for the first half day we've settled into a fairly good routine. Right now both dogs are lying at my feet, peaceful as can be. I'm trying to share the love.
A confession: I'm exhausted.
Many thanks to Jordan for making the trip to Frisco, to Jamie and Mel for being so hospitable to a new puppy in their two-dog, one-cat household and for treating us to delicious meals, to my granddaughters for absolutely loving Sophie and carrying her around, and to Jacob for wanting so badly to be part of holding her, training her, caring for her. It will be hard for him to learn, a bit at a time, that she is my dog, I will share, but he must accept what he can and can't do. I have a great family.