An old friend visits

My old friend, anxiety, paid me a visit over the weekend. She doesn't come very often, and this time her visit was sort of like a whisper. First she descended on me when I was at the grocery, but I'm a good faker--I visited with friends I ran into and one of my favorite checkers and drove home without incident. After lunch and a nap, she was gone.
She came again Sunday and gave me shaky hands, which I so hoped Jordan wouldn't notice as we fixed poor boy sandwiches for lunch. But she said, "Why are you so shaky?" I didn't know, had no idea. I fiddled at my desk until about 10:30, then got up and did a bunch of housework in a hurry and suddenly was shaky. Of course when someone notices, then you become self-conscious about it and get shakier than ever. A good lunch, a little wine, and a nap fixed it.
But anxiety leaves a hangover behind her. I spent much of the morning being terribly introspective: How do I feel? Am I all right? Am I anxious? By noon I went to lunch with a good friend who happened to mention another friend who has such severe anxiety attacks that he calls in desperation for someone to sit with him. I realize the value of sitting is distraction, and lunch did that for me, got me "out of myself." But I also realize that I'm lucky that anxiety's visits to me are lighter and less frequent and that I am not the only one afflicted with these unwanted visits. Anxiety tends to isolate you--you think you're the only neurotic one who experiences these visits when, in fact, it's much more common than most people realize.
In retrospect, it was a good day. And tonight I'll get some reading done if not some writing. My neighbor--the good-looking one--came over to dislodge a dead fluorescent bulb (usually I can do that) and free a corkscrew from a cork I couldn't budge--he said he figured that would be an emergency. We had a nice, front-porch visit.
I can feel the lazies leaving my and my ambition returning. Feels good.


 

Nada. Zilch. Nothing. Orr maybe a lot.

I have been delinquent about blogging but mostly because I don't have much to say. There is so much in the world to be distressed about but most of it has been all over Facebook and some in the media. The missing schoolgirls in Nigeria for instance--finally the media has taken up the cause and now the horrifying mass kidnapping is getting plenty of international attention. But where was the outrage when it happened?
Or the House investigation of Benghazi. Really? Again? I thought that was a dead issue--the White House even admitted that security was lax. And nobody seems to realize there were something like eight raids on embassies during the Bush administration with sixty people killed. But now the House (Republicans) are alarmed because four people were killed in a raid on a consulate, where the ambassador just happened to be visiting. Could the House more profitably spend its money on climate research--which the President made into a big media deal today--and recovery efforts from the devastating winter we've had, with costs in the billions?
Meantime my little insular life seems to go along peacefully, and it almost makes me feel guilty. Life at my age seems to consist of a lot of doctor appointments, though I think I've gotten them over in a batch now--family practitioner, dermatologist. dentist, audiologist tomorrow. Today it was the vet for Sophie's annual checkup, and she was pronounced a healthy, happy dog. And lunch with friends takes a chunk of my days but I am so grateful for that--lunch today with a longtime good friend. Our paths have diverged--mine as much as hers--but it's good that we catch up every once in a while. And tomorrow my favorite colleague (and now good friend) from TCU Press is coming here for tuna salad. We have lots to catch up on.
Somewhere in all this I have a novel to write, blogs to write, and all the other stuff--and  a new life plan I may be ready to talk about soon. Meantime, my life is good--I wish I could say that for the world as we pray over wildfires in Okahoma, drought in Texas, and man-made disasters that threaten our world.
Be safe everyone.
 

New friends

It's always a good day when you make new friends, and I had that joy today. The story goes back a bit--I signed up for an online course on the history of the Scottish clans. Very excited about it, but the material was so detailed and dense I didn't have time to do more than read each lecture once. As for the exercises where we post bits from out novels in progress set in Scotland--I was really out of it. I don't have one, except floating in the back of my mind. So I wrote the instructor to say I was enjoying the lessons and explain why I wasn't more responsive. An exchange of emails followed, and I found out she lives in far north Fort Worth. So I suggested if she ever came to town we meet for lunch. Turns out she had a doctor appointment very near me for today, so I invited her and her husband for lunch, said I make killer tuna salad. She wrote back saying he wondered if I could make killer chicken salad--so I did. Chicken salad with a touch of curry topped with grated cheese and crushed potato chips that you run under the broiler just long enough to brown (recipe elsewhere--don't do this unless it's a refrigerator-to-oven dish). Sides were asparagus, fruit salad, and rolls. I liked it and they seemed enthusiastic.
We talked about Scotland, of course, though Cindy Vallar is also an expert on pirates and is making herself one on dragons. Her research is incredibly detailed and thorough. They brought scrapbooks of photos and souvenirs of their three trips to Scotland but I was able to hold my own in most of the conversation from my one trip. I could not think of one castle ruins that so intrigued me--the Scots blew it up rather than let their enemies captures it. Finally found tonight it was Urquhart on the banks of Loch Ness. Anyway, it was all fun, I enjoyed the talk and found them delightful people.
Topped off my day with dinner with two good friends at a restaurant new to me--Bird, downtown. They were both a bit alarmed that I ordered bone marrow--one horrified, one clinically inquisitive. I enjoyed it, along with some deviled eggs. A nice day and night.
Other big news looming in my family but it's all still in flux and will have to wait.

How did I do that?

Enjoying wine and tapas with friends

 

I spent the morning answering that question to doctors, x-ray techs, and all sorts of people. My answer was always, "I haven't a clue." It seems I have broken the fifth metatarsal on my right foot--that's the long bone that leads to my little toe. I noticed Tuesday night that the side of my foot really hurt; the next day I thought I'd bruised it; the next day I thought it really looked funny, and I should check with the doctor's office. They said they wanted to see me right away, so this morning I went to the doctor's office, where they diagnosed a probable broken bone and sent me for x-rays. Off to the x-ray facility, some 20 minutes away. They confirmed the broken bone and sent me back to the doctor's office, where they sent me to the orthopod's office, only they sent me to the wrong one. A snippy young girl informed me I'd have to go to their other office. Of course, I got hopelessly lost, had to call for directions, and ended up driving on a major highway which I avoid if at all possible. The doctor was pleasant--knew my brother--and said, "How did you do this?" He fitted me with an orthopedic shoe for my right foot, which I am to wear for six weeks. Not a fashion statement, and I had just bought such cute snow boots. Actually though the foot feels better in the shoe, and it's not too hard to get around in. But I was gone from 8:45 until 1:00 and was hungry, tired and frustrated when I got home.
As for how I did it, I really don't know. It's entirely possible I bumped into something, stubbed my toe hard, twisted my foot wrong. I am not the world's most graceful person, but I don't remember anything specific that caused me instant pain. I suspect it may be a spontaneous or stress fracture--no, it has nothing to do with emotional stress.
Tonight all the trauma of my morning melted away with an evening with good friends at The Wine Haus--we chatted, drank wine, and ordered tapas. I was extravagant and ordered the lamb chop small plate--so good! Had a lovely time in an informal, lively atmosphere, with a gorgeous Great Dane wandering around.
I'm going on a blog vacation. With the craze for new words--like Icemageddon--I wonder if you'd call it a blogacation. At any rate, I probably won't post again until close to the New Year, unless something burns in my mind and has to be said. I'll have my whole family around me, which makes concentration hard, and I probably need to clear my brain by cooking and reading with grandchildren and doing all that kind of thing. Maybe I'll have fresh new thoughts when I start blogging again--we can all hope.
Meantime, to all of you who follow my blog, I wish you a blessed Christmas and a bountiful new year. I wish I could hug each and every one of you, but please let my very best wishes suffice.

Icemaggedon

Well, that's what daughter-in-law Melanie called it, though I may have the spelling wrong. But there's something about North Texas ice storms that leaves us in anticipatory tension long before they're due. Maybe it's modern forecasting techniques that warn us so far in advance. Or maybe it's just the bone-chilling cold outside. But I've already felt ice-bound today though the bad weather isn't supposed to hit until tomorrow night.
What I thought was to be a day at home alone, brightened by dinner guests, turned out to be quite a sociable day. Moksha, who has taken care of my pets for several years, came today to check out his key to the front door and get an update on Sophie's needs, and we talked for a long time about all kinds of issues, mostly political. And then neighbor Jill came to pick up packages UPS had left here--I gave her all the extra diapers I had left for her year-old son. And we visited briefly A nice conversation with my brother, and it was lunchtime before I knew it--or got any work done.
I mentally prepared for housebound days, so I slept late and lazed through the day. Ashamed that I served my guests prepared food--I always cook for company--but it turned out well. I did tiny bits of work but somehow things like emptying the dishwasher, setting the table, making ham salad for lunch took up most of the day.
Tonight, newly discovered good friends came for supper--I've known the husband for years in a professional relationship but we only recently discovered each other socially, and they are both a delight. Della, the wife, is a dog whisperer and Sophie was entranced. A fire in the fireplace to ward off the chill, talk of old times and people we'd known--he's a physician and she's in health care and we had lots of friends in common and lots of memories--made for a delightful evening. Watch for the dinner menu tomorrow night on Potluck with Judy.
Life is good, and I am blessed.

food and friends

Every once in a while a day away from our duties--for me, a day away from my desk--is good. I had such a day today, mixing food and friends. This morning I had breakfast with the Book Ladies, a group that meets once a month, sometimes talks about books, sometimes talks politics, too often talks about who is ill (the joys of getting older). I ate modestly as I usually do, because I knew I had a food day ahead of me.
This evening, I went to the weekly gathering of neighbors at the Old Neighborhood Grill. The cashier takes one look at me and says, "Meatloaf, green beans and wine?" and I say yes. Conversation is usually lively and fun, and tonight one couple's daughter and granddaughters--ages 3 and 4 months--were there which was fun.
But the highlight of my day was one of those memorable meals that you only have occasionally. Betty and I thought we should go see our longtime friend, Mary Lu, who has lived in assisted living in Dallas for several years. So we scooped up Mary Lu's brother and his wife, Alex and Virginia, and all went to Dallas. On the recommendation of a friend, we ate at Sevy's on Preston Road. Wonderful, interesting menu, but I had a meal I'll remember--lobster salad, which was really lobster bites on a crisp potato cake, with a creamy dill sauce, green beans and salad. I practically licked my plate, and when the waiter took it, he said, "You did very well."
The restaurant was, unfortunately, a bit loud, and with five people, we weren't seated really close. I probably have the worst hearing of the bunch, and I kept fiddling with my hearing aids, trying to make it better. But then I noticed others were saying,, "Pardon me?" and "What did you say?" and at one point Alex, seated on one side of me, said to his wife, seated on the other side of me, "I can't understand a word you just said. I didn't feel so bad. I sat next to Virginia, and since she was the person I could hear best, she was stuck with me. Never did get much of a visit with Mary Lu--the whole point of the trip--but had a good visit with Alex and Virginia and enjoyed it a great deal.
As good as the fellowship all day has been, that lobster plate will stand our in my memory. Wish I'd thought to take a picture of it.

The dilemma of Facebook

Every one pretty much agrees that Facebook is a time-suck. Once I get on it, I keep thinking “Oh, just a couple more posts.” Somehow I have this feeling I’m missing something world-shattering if I don’t see every post. Facebook itself saves me—at least on my computer. After so long it will freeze and send a message at the bottom of the screen, “Facebook stopped due to long-running script.” All I can do then is gracefully exit, so I know I do miss some posts.

Give it up entirely? Nope. Never. It’s fun to keep up with friends by commenting and hearing from them. Funny, but posts I think will elicit lot of comments, don’t; then I post something trivial and am flooded with responses. No telling. But I have made friends through Facebook and keep in closer touch with some old friends than I did before. Also it gives me a chance to reach out to acquaintances that I only see from time to time.

Sometimes Facebook is the first place I hear news of importance. The example that comes to mind today is Michele Bachmann’s decision to retire from Congress. But there have been other instances, from national news of significance to local storm warnings and notice of fires, bad wrecks, etc.

Another thing keeps me on Facebook: lost dogs, found strays, and particularly shelter dogs on the euthanasia list. It breaks my heart, and when I first saw them several years ago, I begged my friend to stop posting them. She said she couldn’t because each one broke her heart, and that was her way of helping. I’ve so come around to her way of thinking, and I post pictures of so many dogs I want to rush out and bring home. If I can save one, two or five, I’ve done better than none.

Finally, there’s my work as an author. These days authors are told Facebook is an essential part of their marketing program. But you have to walk a fine line—promote your books but post about other things too. If all you say boils down to “Buy my book” people will tune out quickly. I have a friend who is a political activist and posts a lot on Facebook about the causes she believes in. But she also posts about her grandsons, her yard, her cats and occasionally things she just finds funny. Her rationale: she wants people to know she’s a pretty nice, well-rounded person in addition to advocating the things she cares about—which sometimes includes my passion for helping desperate dogs and cats. I try to follow her example.

Give up Facebook? I don’t think so. Watch how much time I spend on it? For sure. If I spent all day I’d never get anything written. It’s a dilemma.

Family and friends and gratitude

Banner day--I got mail from two of my grandchildren--a sweet card from my oldest granddaughter sent from Hong Kong, where she's been with her dad while he had business. I gave her the National Geographic guide to Hong Kong and she wrote to thank me and say she'd seen places mentioned in the book. And, to balance it out, a sweet card from my youngest--six-year-old Kegan who wrote to thank me for his birthday present--a soccer jersey--and to say he misses me and loves me so much. Be still my heart!
This has been a week in which I think how blessed I am with friends. Lunch one day with a friend of 40 years, dinner the next night with a new friend who paid for my dinner before I got there--she knew what I'd order, lunch with another dear friend and happy hour the next day with my former neighbor who still calls me her Fort Worth mom, lunch again today and then I took dinner to a friend and her husband. She's just had a knee replacement and isn't getting around very well. Makes me think how blessed I am.
And I've thought about the blessings of friendship all week. I am surrounded by friends and family who know me well and care for me. If it weren't for that, I'd never know I had the TIA, but friend Jean who took me to lunch that day and on the way home said, "I want you to call your doctor. Something has happened to you." Then in came Elizabeth from the garage apt. saying, "Are you okay? You look really tired." What I didn't know was that there was a network of calls going on  behind my back. Jean called Elizabeth; Elizabeth called Jordan; Jordan called my brother and then came to take me to the ER; the next day, after the ER "trash" diagnosis, my brother called my doctor. And after I posted an incoherent blog I got days of messages of concern. My youngest son even came from Dallas to take me to lunch--a rare treat, but we had a good visit.
I'm not sure what I've done to merit all this concern, but I am so grateful--and so resolved now to pay it forward. I do think one thing is true: the more you reach out to others, the happier your life.
I'm now back to normal--what is that anyway?--feeling fine and almost free of the lingering fear or depression that followed the TIA. Nothing but good in the future.
 

People make a huge difference

Yesterday I was feeling a bit sorry for myself because a long day stretched before me without much if any human interaction. But Sophie and I were both overjoyed when Lewis Bundock, the man who keeps my house together, came to fix a balky door and visited. Today Greg, the man who makes my flowers and lawns look good, came and also stayed to visit--Sophie and I were again overjoyed.
Then I had lunch with good friend Jean at Tokyo Cafe--yakitori and a salad--and we went to get our flowers of the month (above). We had a great visit, catching up on everthing from my trip to Hawaii to her plans to go to Italy.
Tonight, good friend Kathie Lang Allen came from Arlington and we visited over a glass of wine and then went to Miso Fusion for supper. I had a plate of red, green, and white enchiladas--way too much for me to eat, but the spinach enchilada was the best I've ever had. And we too had a good visit.
I've long said that I feed on people. Being with others energizes me, and I am a much happier camper. Left alone, I tend to fall into introspection and the doldrums. So tonight I'm upbeat, happy with the world, and optimistic. Now if I could only settle down to work.
But I can't emphasize enough how important my friends are to me. I am blessed with many, and I hope each and every one realizes how much I value them.

Roses to brighten a dull day

It's been wet, dreary, and bone-chilling cold today. I know, if I lived in Bismarck I would think 47 degrees was spring, but I don't--I live in Texas, and I'm spoiled by the warm days we've had. Today was the first day all winter that I've gotten out my warm winter coat. And it felt good.
A good friend and I exchange "Flowers of the Month" gifts at Christmas--it's a program sponsored by the local AAUW I believe whereby we go to the designated florist and show our certificate each month and get a small bouquet or plant. It also gives us a good chance for lunch and a catch-up visit. Today, to our delight, the flowers were the small roses pictured above. The florist said they were the last shipment of their Valentine's order, though I think--and hope--she said they had just come in. We'll see how long they last, but they are nice tight buds today. We also used the occasion to have hearty bowls of soup at the local deli--Jean had split pea and I had bean and barley. And catch up we did.
Then this evening Betty, my weekly dinner pal, and I ate at the Cat City Grill--I had lobster bites and she had blackened scallops and shrimp in a cherry sauce. We split tempura asparagus. Lot of batter but it was all soooo good. We considered dessert but discarded the idea. And once again, we had a good visit and lots of laughs.
Tonight they say we're supposed to have fierce storms in the early morning--just about the time Jacob goes to school--but I don't think it will be so cold. That's the thing about Texas weather--you can stand it because it rarely lasts long. And friends and flowers can help you through the dreariest of days.

RIP and the military way

A good friend left us early last week. For a bit, when someone asked about the memorial service I was going to today I said, "The husband of a friend of mine." But I realized that was so wrong--Rick Allen was a friend of mine too, someone I liked a lot and cared deeply about. In the twenty years since he's been with Kathie, I've come to know and treasure this gentle man who always had a hug and a warm smile. He was, in the true sense of the word, a gentleman. There was lots I didn't know about him and learned from his obituary--beyond military service, a meeting with Henry Kissinger at the White House because he was an expert on Laotian troop movements, an expert also at poker though I doubt he and Kissinger got into that. Oh, I knew about the fishing and the baseball, integral parts of his life in the years I knew him. He visited all the standing old classic baseball fields, and he caught award-winning Northern Pike in Canada. For a farm boy from Iowa, as he always described himself, he'd come a long way and seen and done a lot of things. They had a Power Point display of pictures at the reception, and one picture of him and Kathie on camels made me wondere who would have expected an Iowa farm boy to have all these experiences. I remember one time recently when I was leading a discussion of memoir at the local Alzheimer's center, and Rick said, "I can smell the barnyard to this day." He never lost track of his Iowa farm-boy roots. I'm sure in Rick's past there are things I am glad I didn't know, but I loved the man I knew in recent years.
The ceremony today was at the National Military Cemetery in Grand Prairie, only the second time I've been there--and too soon upon the heels of the first. Kathie lost her father last May and the service for him was my first introduction to almost  anything military . Kathie grew up with it; it's foreign to me. The rigid ceremony of folding the flag given to the widow is impressive beyond belief, as is the firearms salute and the playing of taps--which always makes me cry becuse it always made my mom cry. The setting is impressive, and the cemetery beautiful, if you can call rows and rows of headstones beautiful. But it's Texas rolling prairie, dotted with trees, and the services are held in tasteful stone lodges. The cemetery runs so many of these ceremonies a day that there are tight time schedules--if you're late, forget it--and the service is brief. But visitors look at a tree-covered hill as they hear the gun salute and taps. Today a minister gave a brief but moving eulogy, and I'd like to hug her and say, "Well done, my friend." She offered comforting words from the Bible, and she suggested, even more important, that we should all bear Rick's legacy of being kind to people, expecting the best of them, waiting for tomorrow to bring out something better. I had to wipe tears from my eyes more than once.
The reception was at the local AA facility, something Rick had been deeply involved in. He was 35 proud years sober, and it was a perfect place for the reception. There were of course many more people that I didn't know than the few good friends I saw, and I soon tired of standing--though I loved the Power Point program a close mutual friend had put together. Still, I was glad to come home, have a glass of wine, and take a deep nap.
RIP Richard Charles Allen. You truly were one of the good guys, and I will miss you. But I will do what I can to look after your Kathie.

Herding cats

Lots of pictures, but this is part of my wonderful family.

I've just spent twenty-four hours with my two sons and their families. Colin and all drove up from Houston to see Jamie's new house in Frisco, and good friends Elizabeth and Weldon drove me to Frisco (gave my little car a much-needed road trip) and stayed for several hours to visit. My sons are men I'm proud of and their families are wonderful--wives are busy career women, terrific moms, fun to be with, and the children are all happy, enthusiastic,  well-mannered and, above all, loving.
Last night we were headed out for dinner at six. It was seven before we got everyone together and out the door. Herding cats! We went to a sushi restaurant in The Shops at Legacy (Plano, TX), a place I'd heard about but never been. Charming restaurant/shopping area. But the sushi place was crowded by 7:30 on a Saturday night--an hour and a half wait to eat inside, half an hour outside. We opted for outside but waited inside where the noise level was deafening. When we finally were seated, there was a bit of a breeze and it wasn't bad at all. Hard to converse with nine at a long table, but  I had Jamie and Mel on either side of me and we talked some. Salmon sashimi was good, and I had a great salad with a soy/ginger vinaigrette.
This morning Mel announced she was going to take the kids to the park while it was cool--this was about nine. I declined to go. By the time they left, with a cooler full of water bottles, it was almost eleven--herding cats again. Jamie came in from his run and also declined to go, so he and I had a good visit. But he began to worry that he hadn't heard from Mel--turns out Maddie (thirteen) had heat exhuastion. Mel took her to the ER clinic while Colin brought everyone else home. The patient is fine--had an IV and was ordered to stay out of the heat and sun for at least 24 hours. No basketball, no swimming, nada. But a bit scary for us.
Colin intended to leave at 1:00--we left at 2:15. Herding cats again. But the Houston Alters were so good to bring me home on their way to Houston--way out of the way, but otherwise I wouldn't have gotten to spend the night there and see them.
Got home to a peaceful, quiet house. Moksha, who looks after my animals, had the dogs in their beds so they'd be out of the afternoon heat. Scoob got really excited by the children but settled down. I realized that even a one-night respite from caring for him was great. I slept nine hours last night. Woke at 7:45 without hearing a dog snort and lick and whine. I'll always take good care of him--but the vacation was nice.
Even nicer was being with my family. Such a blessing.

LIsten to your body--or your muse?

A lot of writers will tell you the way to write a novel is simply to plant your butt in the chair and write. I remember once being awed to meet J. A. Jance, one of my personal heroines at the time, and when I said I was trying to write mysteries, she said dismissively, "We all know how you do that. You plant your bottom in the chair and write." At the time I was offended by her abrupt, uncaring manner because we didn't all know--I could sit in a chair all day and have no idea what I was doing. I thought if I had her success and met a wannabe, I'd be more encouraging, probe a little about interests, etc. I later heard however that she was in the midst of a family crisis far away--and she was in my city because of a commitment to speak that evening. She carried the evening off with panache and you'd have never known that someone she cared about was dying.
But I kept that  line in my mind. It's not an unusual or particularly original piece of advice. Some writers set daily goals--hours at the computer, number of pages or scenes or words written. I can't do that because my schedule varies wildly. But so, I find, does my muse. When do you keep your butt in the chair and when do you simply walk away?
This morning, my house was a zoo. Jacob and I went out early to his house to feed Fishy, water the plants, look for his favorite sleeping shirt (he couldn't find it) and get his bike-riding helmet (it was in the locked garage). When we came home, Socorro was cleaning, Greg was mowing, and the serviceman from I&E was working on the sprinkler system. Jacob said, "There are a lot of people at your house, Juju," and I was tempted to tell him it takes a village to keep my house running. His grandfather came to pick him up, amid much excitement on Jacob's part--a trip to Legoland, a water park adventure, and a movie. Jacob told me they were taking him to see a movie with lots of violence, and I said I doubted his other grandmother would tolerate that. "Just kidding," he said. "We're going to see Diary of a Wimpy Kid."
Greg finished the yard, Socorro finished the house, and everyone was gone. I fixed lunch and settled down to write. Some really constructive time. I did write 900 words, a scene that I had planned out. I knew where it was going from there, but  I'm not sure if it was my body or my brain or both that didn't want to work. Each word was painful, and I quit. Be it physical or mental, the muse wasn't there. Took a good two-hour nap, fixed a light summer supper--cold salmon platter with avocado, deviled eggs, cherry tomatoes, cucumber--for a friend and had a lazy evening visiting. She's someone who also lives alone, is as devoted to her cats as I am to my dogs.  We have great conversations, and I feel I'm lucky to have found another new but good friend in recent years.
The news on the dog front is good. Scooby has suddenly turned a corner. Greg said he ran to him this morning, and at noon he went up the steps himself--his back legs don't quite make it, and he needs help. I have given up the towel/sling because it seems to hinder more than it helps. Yes, he still falls but not nearly as often--and he's not as nervous and anxious about it. I am encouraged for the first time in almost two weeks.
Life is good, and I remind myself daily to be grateful.

Yoga and writing

Yesterday I woke up in a funk. The prospect of lunch with one good friend and supper with two others didn't jolt me out of my blues. It took me a while--and a yoga session--to figure out what was bothering me. The novel I'm working on wasn't going well; in fact it wasn't going. I'd been reading a wonderful mystery mentioned in a previous blog--Mr. Churchill's Secretary. I got so thoroughly engrossed in it that it's been hard for me to start another novel, though my iPad is loaded with two new ones by authors whose work I usually enjoy. What set Mr. Churchill's Secretary apart was partly the significance of the backdrop--Hitler's march across Europe, the Luftwaffe bombings of London. But more than that, it was the unexpected. No one was who you thought they were, and good guys turned out to be villains, and those you had pegged as villains were good guys--or at least had a soft streak. My novel, on the other hand, was predictable--at least in my mind.
I figured all this out while stretching and pushing and doing all those yoga things--and counting to ten seconds for many poses. But I truly went back to work with renewed enthusiasm and have since written about 3500 words--okay, I know some authors write ten hours and 10,000 words a day--not me. But I finally feel that I'm headed in a better direction, and that's exciting.
I have enjoyed my social life--lunch with Melinda who, apart from having been my favorite employee at TCU Press, remains a good friend now that I'm not at the press; supper with Carol and Kathie, two book cronies I've known for years. We share each others triumphs, tragedies, and small concerns. Today I had lunch with several members of a book group I've spoken to three times--discovered one of them is a "field editor" for a cooking magazine--right up my alley, and I may have more to say about her later. But she gave me sample copies of Taste of Home and I had fun learing through them this afternoon. My favorite find: strawberries stuffied with a mix of cream cheese and blue cheese, and topped with a bit of balsamic vinaigrette (I'd leave out the chopped pecans). Would that be salad or dessert? It was a real boost to my ego to hear these ladies say again how much they liked my books, and one had read one of my historical novels and ordered another.
An aside; we deliberatel went to the Frank Kent Honda dealership for lunch. Good friend David Rotman who used to own Cafe Aspen now works there, and they asked him to spiff up their food service for customers and employees. He's brought some of the old Aspen recipes, and you can have a great lunch in the attractive chrome setting of a new car dealership. David wasn't there today, but we had a good lunch and good time. One salesman told us lunch was free if we bought a car; he told one of the other ladies if she paid his price for lunch, she'd get a free car.
Tonight was neighbors' night at the Old Neighborhood Grill and I had my meatloaf fix--the cashier looks at me and asks, "The usual?" When I nod, she pours a generous glass of Kendall Jackson chardonnay and orders up a piece of meat loaf and a side of green beans. I don't know--is it good to be that predictable? As we were leaving, one neighbor asked, "Are you going home to write?" I said I was, and she said, "Good. I need another mystery to read."
So all in all, writing is looking pretty good to me--and when I reread what I had done on that novel, it really wasn't all that bad. I think I'll run it by my mentor/beta reader/whatever next week and maybe get a critique partner through Sisters in Crime's Guppy program. Funk gone at least for now. Oh, and I've done my yoga faithfully. I think it helps both mind and body--and that funky right hip that's been bothering me.

On (not) living alone, or my (not) lonely life

In the days after my ex-husband's death, I heard from many old friends, some of whom I'd lost contact with over the years, several of whom I am still close to. Without exception, they remembered our house as a party house with good times for all. One wrote that it was a "beacon of hospitality" and recalled Joel cooking, while I ran around barefoot (and ruined my feet). Another said she as always so pleased to be invited because she knew it would be an exhilarating evening. It was a rare evening that there wasn't at least one extra for supper. I remember one man who batched it for a year before his wife decided to move to Texas and join him--he sat in the dining room and moaned that the only responsibility he'd had for months was to show up at our house on time for dinner, and he wasn't sure he couldn't handle more. A single pediatrician drove in the driveway so often that one night the teenage daughter of friends who lived with  us (another long story) fumed, "Why does he always come when we're having salmon croquettes."
The partying didn't stop when Joel left--but it changed and wasn't as frequent or as frenetic. Some friends drifted away, but many remained, and new people joined their ranks. I remember one friend at a party saying she didn't know anyone and then telling herself, "Of course, Judy has made new friends."
I was busy, working during the day, taking kids to this lesson and that and scout meetings in the evening and often not putting the car in the garage until nine-thirty or so. And then suddenly (so it seemed) I had four teenagers, and the house was full of young people coming and going. Plus there was family and a few who were extended family. It wasn't unusual to have fifteen or twenty at the Sunday dinner table.
As my chickens began to leave the nest, many friends worried how I, used to such a crowd around me, would survive living alone. The answer is "Very well, thank you." Oh sure, there were nights I stared at the TV but I was never pitifully lonely. And now the tide has turned. I love my life but sometimes I want long stretches of aloneness. This afternoon, from 12:30 until 5:00 I had no obligations--got a lot of work done and had a nap.
I have Jacob a lot;I have lunch dates, errands to run, an occasional meeting, classes to teach; I'm giving a fundraiser for one of my favorite local politicins, and I invite people to dinner frequently because I enjoy entertaining and cooking. I wouldn't give up any of this, but I do long for stretches of time when I can get something done. How will I write those next two books, for which I'm obligated?
Lonely? Not at all. Sometimes I think it's a sign of growing up, but these days I always have things waiting to be done, never succumb to "what shall I do tonight?" or watching TV out of boredom. There's too much to be done, and I love all of it.
So tomorrow morning I'll throw together a vegetable soup in the crockpot, go to church, bring Jacob home and fix lunch for two dear friends. Then tomorrow night I'll fix scallop cakes with lime/cilantro mayonnaise for Jordan. Think I'll get a handle on the Great American Novel? Not likely. I'll be lucky to keep up with email, Facebook, and my nap.

A publishing summit--sort of

No Judy's Stew last night because I could not get Gayla Christiansen and Fran Vick to stop chatting; if I left the room, they'd chat about me, so I was stuck. Gayla is director of marketing for Texas A&M Press; Fran is the retired director of the University of North Texas Press, and I am, of course, retired as director of TCU Press. We call ourselves the Front Porch Wine Drinking, World Problem Solving Three Ladies of Publishing. Our sleepovers are hard to schedule and therefore don't happen as often as we'd like, but the ladies do like to come here and let me cook for them. Each has her own bed--Jacob gave permission to Gayla to sleep in his bed, but she'd been sleeping in it long before he ever did. Kathie Lang Allen (retired senior editor from SMU Press) and Carol Roark (retired curator of the Texas Collection at the Dallas Public Library) joined us for dinner and talk ranged from personal to professional and back again, with lots of laughter. I have beene threatened with bodily harm if I share the sources of the laughter but as Gayla said this morning, the comfort level was high. It is good to have old, comfortable friends--and I mean that in the best way. And there are some ex-husbands and husbands whose ears should be burning this morning.
Gayla and I share dog history--I "interviewed" her first dog, Eppi, for her and she loved that dog beyond measure. Eppi died this fall, and Gayla has Jake, sort of a border collie mix. I have been actively watching for a second dog for her--Jake is lonely without Eppi. But both ladies needed to meet Sophie. Late in the evening Gayla sat on the floor and I brought Sophie in, having warned Gayla that once you're on the floor you're a toy and all rules are off. Sophie jumped and licked but soon lay quietly (all adjectives are relative) in Gayla's lap with an occasional venture to let Fran pet her. So nice to know she can do that. I wish I'd gotten pictures--I tried but neither the dog nor the woman were still long enough.
I often surprise the ladies with a gourmet meal, usualy something I've never cooked before. Last night, it was a beet/orange/avocado salad with vinaigrette and a pot of chili. We've decided it must be the "Chili that is not chili." It contained along with all the tomatoes and hamburger orange juice, cinnamon, and cocoa powder in it in addition to coriander and chili powder--no onions. Garlic yes but not discernible. But yes, beans (black). (I can hear chiliheads exclaiming in horror.) I thought there was too much tomato puree and added a can of beer to thin it. And I'd doubled the recipe. You can imagine the result: I have half a pot of chili left over. Sent two ladle-fulls (ladlesfull?) home with each of them, plan to give some to my neighbor, and will serve some to Jordan and Christian and myself tonight.
Dessert? What else after the week's headlines? I served a basket of Twinkies. Not as good as I remember from childhood. I'll see how Jacob likes them this afternoon.
At 11:30 I finally announced I was going to bed (ever the good hostess) and they followed with suitable warnings about alarm systems, coffee pot, front door locks and the newspaper. They probably took half an hour to settle down; at 4:30 Fran's light was on and she was reading in bed. When I got up at 7:00 they were drinking coffee, fully dressed, in the family room. We greeted Jacob on his way to school, which they thought was great fun, and went down the street to the Neighborhood Grill for breakfast about nine. Stayed there an hour, more talking and laughing.
I saw them off with mixed feelings--so much fun, such good friends--but so much to do on my desk. Such breaks are a wonderful change in routine, and I'm lucky to have them happen so often in my life. It isn't always Gayla and Fran, but there's always something around the next corner to look forward to.

Other people's houses

The latest Southern Living arrived a few days ago, an event I always look forward to. I generally thumb right to the recipes--they have some wonderful ideas, and I've cut out and saved lots of recipes in my appalling collection. But this time I looked at some of the houses--a summer cottage that someone enlarged and turned into a permanent home on retirement, an indoor/outdoor dining space added on to an existing structure. I drooled over these picture-perfect settings, barely able evene to imagine myself owning such gorgeous property and living in it.
Then today I went for a tour of the two-bedroom 1920 house, carefuly redone, that a friend of my daughter's has just bought, and I drooled again. A perfectly landscaped backyard with an outdoor bar and no grass--rocks and flagstone. Built in sub-zero refrigerator, built-in gas stove, lovely granite counters, a butler's pantry, and even a fireplace at eye level in the master bedroom (if you were lying in the bed). Final touch, for me, was lovely roofed porch. While I was happy for the new owner, I felt a pang of envy and wondered if I would have fallen in love with the house and bought it--which is what she said happ ned to her. But I came home to my comfortable red brick, with its welcoming porch, and was glad to be here.
Truth is that I'd like to live near water and I don't--not for water sports but to sit and stare at it. And another part of me would love to live in Santa Fe. But I live in Texas, which right now is damned hot, but I love it. My house is comfortable--folks usually rave about it when they come in, though to me it's time for a thorough redo that I can't afford. But it has a good kitchen--not counting the fact that I can't have a gas stove. It has plenty of space for kids and grandkids, and it has a grand front porch on which I entertain--though not this summer with our never-ending heat wave.
I don't really want to move by a big body of water, even in the cool North though that's tempting, and I don't really want to live in Santa Fe. My children and grandchildren are in Texas, and in Fort Worth I have a great network of friends. I used to think about moving to Santa Fe, but I knew deep down I'd be lonely and bored. In Texas I have connections I've built over forty-five years. You don't walk away from such a life easily--or at least I don't. I don't have that much adventure in my soul.
Maybe other people's houses always look better to us, and we should--brace for a cliche--learn to bloom where we're planted.

More about mysteries

Mary Higgins Clark is still scaring me. I think what's frightening about her novels is that she makes you face the possibility of the existence of pure evil in human beings. I remember writing a college paper on Iago, the villain from;Othello. The moral dilemma was whether or not Iago was purely evil or was driven to evil by circumstances and those who conspisred against him. I have always chosen to believe that pure evil does not exist in human beings, but Clark makes me doubt that long-held opinon.
Recently one of the Sisters in Crime lists or sub-lists has had a discussion on meaningful deaths. If you're writing about murder, the victim cannot, should not be a throw-away character. Whoever he or she was, they were (ok, pronoun mix--I recognize it and don't know how to get around it) were meaningful people with lives and hopes and dreams and fears. Someone has to feel the impact of their deaths. In Pretend You Don't See Her, the first victim dies six months or so before the novel opens; the second, in the opening pages but almost off-screen as it were. The reader hasn't had any time to build up identification or sympathy or compassion for that person. On the other hand, through the course of the novel, the reader  comes to know--and at least for me, to like very much--Lacy Farrell who is being stalked and hunted. If she dies, the impact on the reader will be overwhelming. In my Skeleton in a Dead Space, the first victim is, obviously, a skeleton. Hard to work up much sympathy for an unknown person who has been dead for many years, and yet so that the death has some impact, I have had Kelly O'Connell, the main character, create almost a fantasy life for the skeleton, so great is her need to know who that body is. In another novel I'm working on (and have put aside for a long time) the first victim (off-screen) is the central figure's grandmother who raised her--the impact of that is easily portrayed. But there are other deaths--of  scoundrels, each in their own way. How do you work up reader sympathy for that? I think it must come from the impact on the central figure who never expected to come close to murder.
Last night, in editing Skeleton, I had an "aha" moment. One of the things we're told about writing any kind of story is that you have to create characters the reader will care about. But another maxim, for mysteries, is start the suspense right away and keep it going. I realized I'd been so occupied with characters--Kelly O'Connell and her two daughters--that I'd spent lots of time on Kelly picking the girls up from school, what they ate for dinner, homework in the evenings and getting them to bed but I'd left the mystery in the background. I'm working on remedying that. And though I've read that manuscript carefully a least a dozen times, I'm all of a sudden seeing lots of extra words--"I seemed to feel" could be "I felt," and that kind of thing. I wonder how many times one can rewrite and revise. No, I don't want an answer.
Nice day. I had lunch with my friend Charles' daughter, Marsha. It was the first time we visited since his death, and we both talked about him a lot. Marsha is blind, and she has taught me about helping a non-sighted person and, I suspect, about helping people in general. We were going to the Flying Fish which she said she liked a lot but when I mentioned Carshon's she said she really liked that, so there we went, which always suits me fine.
Tonight I was expecting Sue and her parents for cocktail hour. What I wasn't expecting was Jacob, but his mom brought him about 4:45. He settled in to watch TV minus a shirt, and I told him he'd have to put it on when company came. When they arrived, he promptly appeared in the kitchen with his shirt. We got it buttoned and then he was off to watch TV--we didn't see another thing of him, so the shirt didn't really matter. Sue's parents are from Canada but they winter in south Texas, and I do enjoy visiting with them. So it was a pleasant evening. More of the holidy spirit, which I feel strongly this year. I'm convinced 2011 is going to be a good year!

A funny day

Tonight Betty and I went to Sapristi's for dinner and had our favorite--the tapas platter for two. It had  spicy quail with a something-tomato sauce (not spicy and absolutely delicious), beef skewers, bacon-wrapped scallops, feta bruschetta, and a tart with peppers and onions. Since I hadn't been out of the house in three days I felt downrightcelebratory. I had a chocolate mousse dessert and reveled in stories of Betty's trip to Paris and Germany (which she loved, though it was rainy and cold most of the time). We had a good visit,and I was so glad to be out in the world. After I got home I called Jay and Susan to come get the strawberries I had left over from the weekend, and we had a visit on the porch, so I feel I've had some sociability for the evening.
Day three of my new life didn't go as well as the previous two. I piddled and did small things to pass the time, although not all of them were useless. Doing yoga on a floor mat in the family room can sure make you realize that you haven't vacummed since the grandkids were here, so I vacummed, scrubbed up the sticky tape from the living room floor (it used to anchor the rug but was now just a sticky mess), showered, read a bit, played on the web, but put off working. Finally in the afternoon I wrote 1,000 words on my mystery and felt pretty good about them. I had a couple of scenes in my head that had to be written, so I finished one partially--still have to complete it and move on to the next. But I'm feeling optimistic. And since I finished reading the mystery that had me riveted, maybe I'll be more likely to concentrate on writing. Anyway, I'm hopeful. I think my new life will take some adjusting. But I'm working at it with a cheerful heart.

Diets and other things

This is Jacob, hard at work in my study, one of his favorite places to be. He knows where "his" paper is (old copy only blank on one side--sometimes he draws on the printed side, makes no matter to him), though he often tries to take my good pens. He wants a Spiderman pen and I'll have to work on that.

As usual I went overboard in the produce department at Central Market, but when Linda from Granbury called to say her husband is in the hospital close to my house and could she drop by, I realized I'd bought all single servings--except one medium large baked potato to share with Jacob tonight (no butter, nonfat yogurt instead of sour cream). All those single servings for healthy, low-point meals. If Linda can leave Rodger, she'll bring her half sandwich left from lunch. I'll assure her that by tomorrow night I can cook her a much better meal if he's still there--and I think he will be.

A diet lunch today was so good I could do this all the time--tuna salad (ok, that counts some points), grape tomatoes (which I can eat like other people eat popcorn), hearts of palm (pricey but I've started splurging on them since I started the diet), and fresh raspberries--all zero points (if you don't eat too much!). I keep ruining by point total by drinking a little wine at lunch and a little more in the evening. Tonight though I had a fine meal and made it under my point limit for the day--a half a baked potato with nonfat yogurt (delicious) and plain cooked broccoli. Jacob was apparently too shy around Linda--didn't eat, except for one bit of broccoli. I'm going to give him his strawberries and blueberries for breakfast and send his half of the potato and broccoli home for his lunch. Other than that, he was charming. When he arrived we sat on the porch and looked for rolypolys again--well, he did. When I declined, he decided it was time to go in. Then of course he came alive about 8:30 tonight when 9:00 is bedtime. I can hear him on the monitor, playing with his toys.

I've had a good day, distracted by reading yet another mystery, Cleo Coyle's Latte Trouble. Not much to do with food but more than I need to know about espresso and likeable characters and a good plot. Work on my own writing? Nope, didn't do any!