Oh, my, what a wonderful day

I had a rare treat today. I fixed lunch for the girl I grew up next door to. I thought I hadn't seen her in fifty years but she says she remembers coming to visit once--there's so much of my past I've forgotten. But when she walked into my house she said no, she hadn't been here before. Her husband, a retired Episcopalian priest and a wonderful man with a wry sense of humor, was with her, and we were joined by good friends of mine who are active in the Episcopalian church--they know each other from national church meetings. So there was much talk of Episcopalian politics (they are convoluted) but Judy and I found some time for reminiscing--and we need more time to do it again. We talked about her family and mine and incidents from childhood and books we read as youngsters--Albert Payson Terhune and Walter Farley--and we talked about going back to visit as adults. I truly wish we could spend two days, because already I've thought of so many things I didn't say, ask, whatever.
We sat on the porch for an hour, with hummus and crackers and then went inside for lunch. Fixing lunch for these people was a big deal for me, though I usually entertain easily. But I wanted this to be just right. I set a spring-like table with my mom's Susie Cooper china--a light turquoise border around a flowered center. The menu was curried chicken salad, fruit salad, bread, (I experimented with butter and used one that has olive oil and sea salt--couldn't tell the difference). Dessert was small mint chocolates. I think--hope--it was the perfect menu. I had thought to make a layered sandwich--slicing a round parmesan loaf into three layers and filling them with chicken salad, pimiento cheese and egg salad--but when I was at low ebb last week that seemed like way too much trouble and I changed the menu. I may still do that sandwich loaf sometime.
It's so lovely to call up past memories with someone who shared them with me...and we had little, odd moments to share: a Congo line for Dewey which led my dad to call me inside (he was a huge Democrat  and Judy's family was Republican), the time I had whooping cough and we finally talked over the fence, her grandmother who spent every day in a chair by the window that looked out on our house but assured my mom it was friendly interest. Wonderful stuff. The stuff memoirs are made of.
Then tonight Melinda from TCU Press picked me up for the annual dinner for Friends of the TCU Library. I saw people I was glad to see but a lot of people I didn't know and I missed a lot of faces I thought I'd see. Good dinner, generous happy hour, long acceptance speech (read from his book) from Rick Bass, winner of the TCU Texas Book Award. I'm not sure how long I'll keep attending such events but I was glad for a visit with Melinda and for a few people I saw and value--Paul Boller, Susan Hotard, Susan and Jim Smith, Sue and Alan Winter. I'm sure I've left some out.
A good day and I'm tired. 'Night all.

A long lazy day--not!

For the first time all week, today I didn't feel rushed. Went about my morning routine, went to the grocery and hardware and was home by 9:30. The whole day stretched before me, and I intended to get some writing done. But first there was a kitchen laundry to do--I do napkins dishrags, kitchen towels, etc. in a separate load, an inheritance from my father's strict sanitation rules. And then there were some other things to do--and it was eleven when I got back to my computer. I bought some really good egg salad at the store and anticipated a light lunch of egg salad, hummus, and sliced cucumber.
All my plans went out the window when I looked at my computer and noticed that the next thing on my calendar was a lunch a week from today--a whole week empty? Surely not, much as I would like it. A second look showed me that the luncheon was today in forty-five minutes. I made it, with barely time to spare. It was the Friends of the Library past presidents luncheon, and I am included as sort of an honorary gesture, which I much appreciate. Saw people I don't see often enough, heard interesting reports from the dean of the library (once my boss)--she is really thinking outside the box and coming up with creative ideas for marketing--and I ate enough for two people. So good. As I was leaving, the dean (June Koelker) called me back. She and a board member wanted to know more about my new book, and pretty soon I was giving a pitch to a room of 35 people! I was already glad I went to the luncheon but that doubled my pleasure.
Hurried home for a quick nap--there went the long leisurely nap I'd antcipated--and then went to get Jacob, who announced he had a party at Legoland this evening. "Who's giving the party?"
"I am."
"Did you discuss it with Mommy?"
"Yes. She said, 'No, no, no.' So see, we discussed it." He was adamant and quite crushed when she arrived and put the damper on things, plus did not approve of the way he'd done his homework. He dashes through it--"Draw a banana like the one in the picture, Jacob"--he drew a straight  line and said, "I don't know how to draw a banana." Poor kid was so downcast when he left it wore me out all over again and I took a second, unheard-of nap.Got up in time to eat meatloaf and spinach with Linda before class.
As always, memoir class was stimulating. Class members are branching out into fiction, and one gave a thorough report on the historical incident behind the novel she plans to write. Another recalled four incidents from her young  years that indicated inappropriate behavior on the part of men, though she was too naive at the time to recognize it. And a third, our queen of short fiction, created a short story about a woman who was convinced David Koresh, having survived Waco, lived in the apartment below her. This woman has a gift for creating eccentric narrators and for reading her fiction aloud, so we ended the evening with lots of laughter.
But my lazy day wasn't.

Are We at War?

I've heard the words "We are at war" too many times in my lifetime, and last Friday I heard them in my head when word came that French planes and then ours were over Libya. I was too little to remember Pearl Harbor but I've heard the story many times of how I was playing on the kitchen floor while my mom cooked dinner, and Dad stuck his head in to say, "We are at war."
In 1950 cousins were in town for a family wedding and it had rained heavily. One cousin and I had been plopping around in the mud in the park across the street (at twelve, we were too old to do that, but I remember it distinctly) when Dad came home and said, "We are at war." The Korean War.
I don't remember the start of the Vietnam war as clearly--it seemed to creep up on us as an ever-increasing threat and soon I, newly maried and a mother, was worrying about my husband being drafted. An osteopathic physician, he would not have gone in as a doc at that time but as a private--and he'd have made a lousy soldier (he'll admit that himself).
I remember the start of the Afghan war. I had just gotten in my car after church on a beautiful Sunday morning. Turned on the radio and there it was, and I thought it was so incongruous on the holy day of the week when everything around me was so pretty. And then of course it was that over-televised conquest and premature victory declaration in Iraq. When others were glued to it, I turned off the TV. And we all know it kept getting worse and worse.
I'm of a mixed mind about Libya, fully sympathizing with the people who want reform and recognizing that Khadafi  (however you spell his name) is a cruel dictator; I also recognize that if the UN approves, the US must support allies and go along. I wish it could be our mission to stop pain, suffering and cruelty throughout the world; I don't know that it is or should be our mission to democratize the Middle East where culture and customs are so different. It reminds me of the misdirected efforts of missionaries to convert Native Americans and natives of Hawaii in the 19th century.
When I think on it, there haven't been many long periods in my lifetime when this country wasn't at war somewhere in the world--maybe ten years at the most. This point was driven home tonight when I attended the Annual Friends of the TCU Library Banquet where the TCU Texas Book Award went to Sam Gwynne for Empire of the Summer Moon, fiction about the Comanches in their last years of glory, during and just after the Civil War. The books has gotten excellent reviews, and the author was an entertaining speaker, but the book, like the real life events it depicts, is about war and violence and torture.
I'm not sure I'm completely a pacifist; nor am I sure I sanction intervention. But I know I hate war and violence, and I hope we'll be spared another prolonged conflict in Libya. I'll be relieved if we don't put troops on the ground. How many wars can we fight at once?