Friends, after a bad week

It's amazing how friends can raise your spirits--as can good food. Last night Betty and I had dinner at a new Mediterranean restaurant which shall go unnamed because we weren't much impressed--hummus was bland, not enough garlic, dolma with lamb didn't have much flavor (I couldn't taste lamb at all!), and Betty said her Greek salad didn't have much character. So, even in spite of a good review in the paper and one friend's opinon that the hummus was the best in town, we won't be going back. Still we had a good visit and laughed a lot.
Tonight Jordan, Christian, Jacob and I met friends Elizabeth and Weldon at Chadra, a Lebanese/Italian restaurant down the street from me (the hummus is wonderful), and had a great dinner and lots of fun. Jacob was in an awful mood before we got there, but he decided he liked Elizabeth and Weldon a lot and was charming during dinner. Christian had never eaten at Chadra and was curious, so he had the buffet and loved it--this from the picky eater. I've had the buffet and eaten way too much, so now I'm cautious, but I love some of their lamb dishes. Tonight I split a kid's order of spahettini marinara with Jacob, and we were both more than satisfied.
Besides that, it was fun. Elizabeth is someone I brag about--she was a student worker in our office for about two and a half years some sixteen years ago or more, and we've stayed close. Family and friends were cautious about Weldon at first but have now heartily welcomed him into the family--an evening spent with them is always a delight to me.
It was good to have such an evening, after a week that has been awful. I went to the dentist, gynecologist, and haircut person--who told me I had lice eggs (fortunately not hatched) in the back of my hair, we had a major crisis at TCU Press, and I gained quite a bit of weight last week. So today I felt down and out, ready for the boost of an evening with family and friends. I did buy the special shampoo, wash all the sheets, the dog's bed, etc., and spray everything that couldn't be washed. We inspected Jacob's hair but he is not guilty. Don't know where I picked the critters up, but Rosa, who cuts my hair, said lice love a clean head. Some small comfort.
Sometimes you're just down, when a series of not-so-pleasant things happen.To me, that's the time to draw back, reassess, and not push yourself. I didn't do anything constructive at all today--just read a mystery. I have an essay to write, a class to plan, and a mystery to write. I blew it all off. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Dogs, weight, and my hero of the day

I took my dog to the vet today for his annual check-up. This is not as easy as it sounds. Scooby is a ten-year-old Australian shepherd who still thinks he's two and has the energy and enthusiasm to go with the age of his imagination. Getting him into the car is no problem--getting the collar around his neck is more so, and keeping him in the back seat is a major undertaking. Last night on the phone Colin said to me, "Be very careful," worried about Scoob interfering with my driving. This morning the dog was absolutely beside himself because we saw bicyclists and another dog--he knew he had to get out there and herd them! When I got to the vet's office (on a very busy street corner), I simply called and asked if someone would come get him, which they most obligingly did. Then mid-morning the vet called to say he needed his teeth cleaned, which always scares me. I once lost a dog to cardiac arrest after he had his teeth cleaned (he had other health issues, although he was a young dog), but then I also once lost my mom's old dog to systemic infection which came from infected teeth. So I now grit my own teeth and go ahead with it. After lunch, however, I had a moment of panic and called to tell them he'd eaten this morning. He'd already had his teeth cleaned and was waking up, so tonight I have a healthy, shots-up-to-date dog and a much lighter wallet.
I asked about Scooby's weight, because he looks so much heavier to me, but it's just his winter coat which needs to come off. With the weather we've had, I'm afraid to have his summer haircut yet. I had hoped he'd gained a bit so that I could say, "Well, that makes two of us." But he hasn't. I have. I was appalled when I stepped on the scale yesterday--after losing the week before, I had gained almost two pounds. And I thought I was doing so well. I've gone back to watching my points according to the Weight Watchers system and fear it will be a lifelong process. The minute I step off I gain a pound or two. After that strict vow, a friend talked me into Chadra for lunch today, and I had the kids' portion of spaghettini with meat sauce--huge! I ate half, feeling guilty but managed to stay under my points for the day. And, darn, that spaghetti was good.
My hero of the day (really yesterday) is former Dallas mayor Ron Kirk, now a trade ambassador or something for the Federal government. At a news luncheon with reporters, he was asked about Governor Perry's comments about secession, and his answer was spot on about the poor state of Texas, the lack of money allocated to education and health care for kids, and a lot of other concerns for human beings that are lacking in our state. And he concluded by saying he'd grown up under Jim Crow, and he didn't want to go back to that. He was so lucid and clear about what he was saying that I cheered silently at my computer while reading. I really really hope he campaigns for Bill White, though some say he's positioning himself for a run for senator if Kay Bailey Hutchison steps down (which I don't think she'll do). But Kirk is a voice to listen to, and like most Texans I know, I'm ready to get rid of Governor Good-Hair and his macho two-faced talk about how good things are in Texas.

More on creativity

Elizabeth read my blog about creativity and send me a video clip by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love. Speaking to a good-sized audience, Gilbert said the "freakish success" of her most recent book had caused others to regard her as doomed, because they doubted she could ever match the success of that book. At 30, with at least 40 productive years ahead of her as a writer, that's a pretty daunting thought. But it is, she seemed to say, part of the tension or anxiety of being creative. And then she discussed various theories of creativity through the ages--Greek and Roman eras when creativity did not reside in the soul but came as a message from an outside source. Hence the artist, writer, whatever, was not responsible--that outside source was. Today, if I was hearing Gilbert correctly, she believes that artists are indeed inspired by a muse or whatever you care to call it. We, as writers for instance, have to show up to do our daily work, but the muse has to contribute too. She cited the instance of a well-known song writer who had an inspiraton for a song as he was driving on a freeway--he looked up at the heavens and said, "Can you not see that I'm driving and can't do anything with this? Could you come back at a more convenient time?" And she had an imaginary conversation with a muse of her own, saying in effect, "I'm here, doing my part. I'm working, slaving away at the manuscript. I've shown up. Could you at least do the same?" An artistic creation, as I heard her words, is a collaboration between the artist and the muse.
It's a fascinating theory but not one new to me. Elmer Kelton talked about characters who took hold of stories, like a horse with a bit in its mouth, and took them places he never dreamed. And Dorothy Johnson (author of "A Man Called Horse," "The Hanging Tree," and "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance,") once wrote me that she'd had a terrible shock: the man she thought was going to be the hero of her WWII novel about New York, "The Unbombed," (never published) was going to be killed in the war. I've even known that kind of insight myself, when suddenly I knew the main male character was going to ride off and leave the protagonist behind. It's almost a cliche for writers that your characters tell you where the story is going, but I did hear one rather successful novelist once say that's balderdash--they were his characters, he created them, and he was going to by damn tell them what to do. I felt sorry he didn't have a muse.
On a much more mundane note, Jeannie and I went to the church bazaar today. When I was a kid, I loved those Christmas bazaars, with pomander balls and all sorts of homemade items. Today was a disappointment--the bazaar has gotten increasingly sophisticated, and some of the vendors whose work we liked best weren't there, like the woman who had creative, instructional, hand-made toys for children. Or the scrapbook expert, though I'll never be into the current craze of scrapbooking. Jeannie, who's much more of a shopper than I am, breezed through quickly, and we left for lunch. She and my good friends Betty and Jean went shopping in Waxahachie earlier in the week, and I excused myself due to work obligations--Jeannie and Betty both told me they all talked about how I would have hated it, not being a shopper by nature.
Betty and I had dinner at Chadra tonight--I had a kids' portion of spaghetti marinara, which was still a lot, and a small salad. Came enough in under points I could eat a bit of choolate!
A pleasant day but like all those of this week, so crowded with things. I am busy all the time but Lord knows with what!

Retirement gets even better--and a tribute to Walter Cronkite

Last night after I posted my blog I was captivated by a special on public television about Walter Cronkite--there were all the milestones of public life that I remember--man landing on the moon, the JFK assassination, Vietnam, the Democratic convention in Chicago with its riots, the shootings at Kent State University, Nixon's resignation, LBJ's statement that he would not run again, and many others. And through it all was Walter Cronkite, broadcasting in his matter of fact tone and then in other segments commenting on events and news coverage. It was really late twentieth-century history captured on film, and I treasured it, wished that my children knew the importance of those events to us. But that's my generation--they have their own milestones, and sometimes I wonder what they are. My oldest, Colin, remembers Nixon getting on the heliocopter after he resigned, and I remember Colin solemnly watching, while I wondered how much he understood. I'm an admirer of Tom Brokaw and Brian Williams, but I don't think we'll see the likes of Walter Cronkite again soon.
Another good day. Got up a little early--7:24 when Mary Rogers called to ask if we were still on for breakfast at 8:30. I assured her we were, and got busy. Mary and her husband have just opened a car wash--it's certified green by two agencies, which means it's as green as car washes can be today, and she had on her green shirt. I should be a better friend and remember the name so I could plug it, but it's in North Richland Hills. They're thinking of adding wine to their retail space which I think is a really fun combination--get your car detailed and buy a bottle of wine. Mary, formerly a writer for the Star-Telegram and author of Dancing Naked: Unforgettable Stories of Memorable Texans (TCU Press), has an uncanny knack for finding the stories in people and situations and retelling them in a captivating way. She kept me giggling at her stories of life in a car wash, like the woman with a ragtop with a large hole in the plastic rear window. The top also didn't quite meet the windshield, so they knew water would pour in, but no attempt could persuade her to have it hand-washed. So she drove through the wash and left, in Mary's words, "happy as a clam."
Then home to work. I've developed an amazing ability to piddle since I've retired--I played with emails and Facebook, got up to do various household chores that I randomly remembered. Around noon a contributor to the cookbook came by with pictures, captions, etc. and we had a good visit. Then a lunch of smoked salmon, hearts of palm, and tomatoes, and I really did some work--a contributor's bibliographic essay, editing a partly done chapter which I'm going to have to finish, etc. But I really did accomplish something and moved a step ahead on the cookbook and in furthering my free-lance work.
Then dinner with three very interesting women, two of whom I knew slightly and one I'd never met. The relationships are too complicated to explain, but we had a good time, talking about everything from food to politics. It's fun to make new friends. We went to Chadra, the Italian/Lebanese restaurant down the street, and they three shared a maza platter while I had spaghetti and meat sauce--took half of it home and came in under my Weight Watchers points for the day.
Now I'm piddling again--catching up on emails, reading Facebook, reading my favorite blogs. Tomorrow I have to actually go into the office all morning and then talk about three books at a luncheon at TCU. Busier day than usual. It's the getting up part I hate--Scooby doesn't like it either. He must have had a nightmare about 6:30 this morning because he jumped up, looked around in confusion, and then lay back down. I know how he feels, though I had only pleasant dreams.

Mysteries and food, Jacob

With my ongoing interest in food and mysteries or the use of food in mysteries, I'm reading Virginia Rich's The Cooking School Murders, which is said to be one of the pioneers in this particular sub-genre (of course, Nero Wolfe precedes her, but . . .) It's a good, if slow paced novel, perhaps reflecting its 1982 pub date. After the first night of a cooking school class, three people die--one by obvious murder, a brutal stabbing; the second of carbon monoxide poisoining in his garage with his car running, and everyone assumes it's suicide; the third of drunkenly plunging into a lake and drowning. Mrs. Potter, the amateur sleuth, sometimes called 'Genia,' doesn't believe either of the last two deaths were suicide or accidental. But what I find most interesting is that she writes up scenarios of what she thinks could have happened if various people, some lifelong friends, were the culprits, including her own nephew who is living with her. I can't tell you what happens--and wouldn't--because I haven't quite finished the book. But the cooking school disappears after one session--cancelled because of the deaths. And food appears throughout--the menus people eat, etc., but it it used to create atmosphere, not as an essential part of the mystery. I'm learning that's the difference in many food-related myseries, but I still have a lot of mysteries to read. Not a chore I mind at all.

I did work today on editing Grace & Gumption: The Cookbook. I am hampered by not having electronic files at home, although I should soon have access to the press files. Meantime I think I'll ask them to send me the individual files Monday. But one of the hazards of retirement hit me Friday when a woman called and wanted me to come help edit a book that either she or her husband had written--I couldn't understand her clearly but it was about Shakespeare, perhaps local productions of the plays. When I said I was retired, she replied, "All the more reason for you to come help me," as if I didn't have a desk full of work in front of me--the cookbook, and three books to review for a presentation August 5, plus planning a recipe for a cable TV live demonstration on July 31. No, folks, so far I'm not finding retirement boring.

Jacob is here tonight, having arrived in tears because his arm hurt--we had no clue what was wrong with it, and it was soon better. Then as Jordan left, her friend Addie came in, and Jacob once again dissolved in tears because he wanted Mama and Addie. After a bit, he deicded Juju was okay. It took him a long time to get to his dinner and he ate, I think, one piece of a chicken hot dog (the cat got two pieces), and a quarter of a banana. I ate his blueberries (no points on Weight Watchers if you eat a small amount). I was a softie and gave him strawberry ice cream even though he hadn't eaten much dinner (he really wanted a waffle but I knew he'd get that in the morning). He was cheerful and funny the rest of the evening, and we're making progress on potty training. Now at 10:15, I can still hear him moving about in his crib.

Last night I had a lovely dinner with Jay and Susan, my neighbors, at Chadra a local Lebanese-Italian resturant we all like. Susan says they only eat there occasionally, but the staff all greet Jay like a long-lost friend, with hugs, etc. It's his salesman's personality, the same thing I see in Jamie. Anyway, it was a pleasant evening and a good dinner, and I am feeling spoiled--my birthday lasted for an entire enjoyable week. Today is Susan's birthday, so it was a double celebration.