Grandmothering in full swing

Jacob is with me for most of the weekend, and so far my efforts to be a creative grandmother have failed for one reason or another. He played with his Legos and then watched a movie his dad got him but we had to quit in the middle and couldn't get the pause button to work--tried resetting the remote, new batteries, nothing. Now, much later, he says, "It just doesn't work on movies. Can't you understand that?" Hmmm--not feeling too bright when a seven-year-old has to explain something to me. So I asked how much more there is of the movie he's watching and he said he didn't know. What happened to those wizardry skills?
We ate dinner at the Old Neighborhood Grill, his choice, but when Jacob asked, "What do you want to talk about?" we both drew blanks. It was a quiet dinner--but no phones, thank you. Came home, and Sue, my Canadian Fort Worth daughter, came for a glass of wine. Jacob was distracted from his boredom and talked a blue streak, so we had a lively time on the deck. Then it turns out most of the movies Christian brought are Blue Tooth and won't play on my TV. Ah me!
Tomorrow will be better. I have promised him breakfast at the Grill; then we'll grocery shop, and he has a baseball game in the afternoon--the Lord willing and the creek don't rise. We still have to write his letter to Elizabeth and he has to read Boxcar Children to me.
I admit I keep sneaking off to do my own work, but I'm trying here.
Went to run the washing machine tonight, and the door won't close tightly enough to let the machine turn on. I'm stymied.
Bright note: I had a lovely visit with my younger son tonight--if I miss him when he calls on his way home, I miss my chance, but tonight we connected and talked about lots of things--but not cabbages and kings.
Must be time to go to bed. No more editing tonight. I don't think my brain is bright enough. I've exhausted it trying to open the mind of a right winter on Facebook. Don't tell me to save my breath--this is really a sweet, nice guy but he's so misguided. I have this compulsion to make him see the truth--like Wendy Davis' main goal in politics is not to kill hundreds, even thousands, of babies willy nilly.

Wild days, Wild days

Emily Dickinson may have written about "Wild Nights, Wild Nights," but I had no such luxury. Instead I had a wild day day. First of all, I can't go out my front door and lock it. I can go in and I can  lock it from the inside, but can't lock it from outside, so I go out the backdoor--a bit of a nuisance. Then we had driveway congestion this morning, and I had to wait for Jordan to get back from taking Jacob to school before I could leave for a dental appointment. Then I was 30 minutes early for my appointment--me, who has no patience for waiting in a doctor's office. And long story short, I was there two hours for a simple cleaning--their schedule and not my mouth was the problem but I was at the point I wanted to say, "I don't care what you do, just get me out of here!"
Then I realized I'd pulled my car up too close to the electric gate--when I left for lunch I wouldn't be able to get out the gate from the backyard. So I went to move the car, judged the distance, and thought it would probably be all right. It wasn't. The gate hit the car and stopped. I hit the opener again, thinking it would close. It didn't. It kept trying to open. and then it wouldn't do anything. So I had essentially broken the gate. I locked it manually. It will be fixed first thing in the morning but my contractor who keeps my house together essentially said, "Please don't try to do it yourself." I asked if that's because I screwed everything up and he said, "Well, partly." When I called him I said, "This is disaster-a-day-Alter." Not sure he was amused.
Then I ordered ebooks from Amazon and couldn't get my Kindle to work. Finally did work that one out all by myself tonight but the books haven't arrived yet.
Oh, and the accountant tells me I goofed by not sending my estimated return certified with return request, so now I have to call the IRS and ask why the check hasn't cleared the bank. He advises patience in making such calls. He's new, doesn't know me well, so I explained patience is not my long suit. I'll arm myself with a book and make the call.
Every day has its bright spots: enjoyable lunch with two friends, and I'll be eating with the neighbors at the Old Neighborhood Grill tonight. Then I'm going to pull the covers over my head and start over again tomorrow.

Post Thanksgiving doldrums--and recovery

Guess it was a hard day all around. Jacob and I did much better on homework today, but we took frequent breaks--I had until seven o'clock, so I could stretch it out. Got everything done except the third read-through of his book (you have to do three a day--yikes!). I went through the kitchen about six calling "Okay, pause the TV. We're going to read that book," and the above is what I found. I let him sleep until about 6:30 but, knowing he's an awful grump when he wakes up from an unexpected nap, I began to nudge him then. First he was almost crying because he was soooo tired; then he was starving and could not wait ten minutes until we went to the Old Neighborhood Grill. By the time we got there he was quiet but okay, ate his grilled cheese and seemed to brighten. Then neighbor Mary Dulle charmed him by getting him to talk about DisneyWorld and by the time we left he was as effervescent as usual.
It was that kind of day--up and down. I got a lot done but in retrospect couldn't tell you what. Still I swept a lot of small stuff--from paying my cousin's bills to personal notes of sympathy and thanks--off my desk. And I was much more patient with my friend above about spelling and reading. Got a few errands run--bank deposit, gas station, books delivered to a store--and a bunch of work landed on my desk in emails, so I'm busy. I'm always a happier camper when I've got work to do. So maybe we're all getting past the post-holiday doldrums.

Miss Sociability

That's me, today. Miss Sociability. I ate three meals out, with friends--and then I'm going to the doctor tomorrow where I'll have to step on the scale. I've tried to be good all day.

This morning, I met Mary Rogers for breakfast at the Old Neighborhood Grill (yes, that place in the Kelly O'Connell Mysteries). Mary is a writer, journalist, reader, and good friend.We talk books and writing--but grandchildren sometimes sneak into the conversation. She's just read a memoir she likes called Holy Ghost Girl and another book she didn't like as well, The Chemistry of Tears. I confessed that I'm stalled just barely into The Art Forger. It's my weekend project. I had one egg over easy, one piece of wheat toast, and one small pat of butter.

Good friend Jeannie and I went to The Lunch Box. We talk family, grandchildren, dogs, friends, health (ours and her husband's) and life in general. Today we talked a lot about retirement communities, which neither of us want to go to right now.I had tuna, cottage cheese, four thin slices each of avocado and orange.

Tonight was the killer. Betty and Carol Roark and I went to Babe's. Carol emailed some time ago to me and Kathie Allen, our usual occasional dinner threesome, that she wanted to go to Babe's and were we interested? I definitely was. Kathie definitely was not. Had been there recently and thought she paid too much for food she wouldn't normally eat and could have done better at home if she wanted to. Said even her husband didn't like it, though frankly I think he was being sweet. It's his kind of food. Anyway, scratch that idea.

So I enlisted Betty. Today when I told Jordan where I was going to dinner, she said, "Oh well, they have grilled chicken." I am NOT going to Babe's to eat grilled chicken or anything else except heavenly fried chicken. The only other time I was in the chain restaurant, my vegetarian granddaughter, Eden, only ate sides and I commented that I could do that and save eating fat. Jamie  pointed out that the vegetables--corn, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans--had so much butter in them I might as well eat the chicken.

Tonight, I’m proud to say, I was good. I ate one piece of chicken (they cut it up funny, and I have no idea what piece it was), modest helpings of each of the vegetables, one small second helping of potatoes with gravy, no biscuit, no salad. I felt full but not uncomfortably so. Very proud of myself. Had a good time, though the place was so noisy (hard surfaces all around) that conversation was difficult.

Amidst all of this sociability, not one word written. I’m at 60,000 words and holding!

 

The fun of book signings

This has been a weekend of book signings, and it carried over into Monday night. It began with the Mystery Month Event at Barnes & Noble Friday night and carried over into two signings at the Old Neighborhood Grill--a real neighborhood hangout with good food. Saturday morning Jordan and I were there at seven, and several friends were equally prompt, meeting for breakfast and to get signed books. I sold 24 books, which I think is a really respectable number, especially that early in the morning, and beyond that I had a good time visiting with friends. Most people who came to buy a book stayed to eat breakfast.
Not so tonight for another signing, back at the Grill. People who came to buy the book lingered and visited over a glass of wine, which was fun and pleasant. Tonight was not as busy as the Monday night signing for the first book, but I wonder if that isn't usual with the second in a series. People will read it but don't feel as obliged to be in on the "big" event. Several people have said to me that they're liking the second book even better than the first. And tonight I got some "walk up" traffic--people who came to the Grill for supper and stopped to chat. Several bought books, and one went away with a bookmark, saying she'd get it later--maybe she will and maybe she won't. One friend I hadn't seen in a long time said she's heard a lot about this book and wanted her book group to read it--great news!

Both signings were family affairs. Jordan has appointed herself my goodwill ambassador, cashier, and, most recently, publicist, though she did ask "As your publicist, what would I do?" Hmmm. Stumped us both. Jacob was a willing salesman and, if nothing else, charmed people. He tallied a long list of figures that, far as I could tell, had nothing to do with anything and announced I could give him either $1, $100 or $1,000--which would I choose? Hmm, life's hard decisions.
Christian arrived, and we stayed for supper. Even sold a book unexpectedly as we were about to leave.
The third book is written, and I have about 2500 words on the fourth--though it went in a totally unexpected direction this morning. Now what do I do with that, other than bask in the glow of these good signings?

A bit in the doldrums

It may have been the stormy weather--and falling barometer--but I was a bit in the doldrums today. Maybe it was too much of my own company. Who knows? But I looked it up on the web--it means, as you might suspect, a period of inactivity, stagnation, listlessness. The phrase is thought to come from an archaic word dol meaning "stupid" with the suffix of "rum" as in "tantrum." Oh, good!
The doldrums has a maritime meaning--it's an area in both the Pacific and Atlantic oceans near the equator where the winds are so high in the atmosphere that the water is perfectly still--reflecting the sky. Think of "The Ancient Mariner": "As idle as a painted ship/Upon a painted sea."
That was me, hanging on a painted sea. However, I'm a firm believer that you have to get yourself out of the doldrums or you'll malinger there forever--don't think I can carrythe maritime analogy any further, though there was something about the horse latitudes. But, after retreating to my bed for a bit, I got myself together, did some chores that needed doing such as feeding the dogs, and went to dinner at the Old Neighborhood Grill. Our neighborhood evening was three ladies for most of the time and girl talk, until one husband joined us. He had just come from a church meeting, and since we all go to the same church, talk turned to church affairs. All interesting, and got me out of myself.
Tomorrow will be brighter, though I understand there are showers in the future. At least not downpours!

A food day

Seems like the major thing I did today was eat. Betty, Jordan, Jacob and I went to the Frank Kent Honda dealership for lunch--lunch in a car dealership? Yep. It was great. Good friend David Rottman, who once owned and ran Cafe Aspen, has gone to work there, and they asked him to spiff up their on-site cafe. He's brought back a lot of his classic Cafe Aspen items--the chicken salad, those delicious hamburgers, coriander chicken salad, turkey club, fish of the day, soup of the day--all wonderful stuff in a much more casual atmosphere--you order at the counter and eat at shiny new chrome tables with banquette backs snaking through the space. And you don't have to buy a car. My sense is that it's a serivce to customers while they wait for repairs and to employees but anyone can wander in and have lunch--and an early supper. I think they close at six. We visited with David only briefly, but it was really a reunion. Great experience.
By serendippity, a friend from church was there waiting for her car and she joined us, so it was a lively and interesting lunch time--two hours, thanks very much.
Tonight was neighbors night at the Old Neighborhood Grill, and I had an unexpected date--Jacob. He was the star of the party--kept everyone entertained. He'd start a story with "Hey, guys!" and I frequently had to remind him not to interrupt when others were talking. Aftr all, they did want a bit of adult conversation. But they all seemed charmed with him and his stories. He had corn fritters and alternated between ketchup and syrup on them.
Both our lunch and dinner companions said Jacob really ought to be having a career as a child actor or model--which his dad did. They were struck with his outgoing personality and charming happy face. At one point at lunch he was behind me, and I said, "Jacob Burton, you come give me a hug." I'd turn one way and he'd dart the other; we kept it up for a while, and Genie, who had joined us, said "I'm sure my day is going to be lot better just from seeing his face behind you."
Mr. Charming just tried to convince me he had two broken legs and couldn't get up to go potty and brush his teeth. I told him to crawl, which he did a bit until he bounced to his feet and said, "Fooled you!" He's right now watching the Food Network and appears to be quite engaged in it. Maybe he caught on that this was a food day too.
Glad to report that although I've not found any of my lost items, they've given me a new idea for another Kelly O'Connell novel. And my electronic problems--email on laptop and phone, plus sending pictures on the phone--all seem to be solved. Things are moving in the right direction.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Are book signings dead?

You hear a lot of people, including booksellers, say that the traditional signing is dead, unless maybe you're Jimmy Carter or someone equally famous. I remember when he signed in Fort Worth and there were crowds around the block waiting in line. But like all authors I've had plenty of experience sitting at a table watching people walk by while studiously avoiding eye contact. I remember once sharing a signing table with a western writer who would shout out to people, "Hey, you there, you're wearing blue jeans. I bet you read westerns." I considered crawling under the table.
But let me tell you about a couple of wildly successful (in my terms) signings I had this weekend. My mystery, Skeleton in a Dead Space, hot off the press, is set in a well-known neighborhood in Fort Worth. Many residents of Fairmount patronize the Old Neighborhood Grill frequently, as do I, and the Grill is mentioned often in the novel.One press considering my novel said I had to get written permission from the owner of any business mentioned--gosh, glad I didn't end up there--but I mentioned that to Peter, owner of the Grill, and he jokingly signed his name in the air. But when I told him that the novel really was going to be published, by Turquoise Morning Press, he said, "You know, we've had some successful signings here." And so it was a done deal. Peter would provide the space; everything else was up to me. Since I'm with a small publisher, I had to buy the books (at discount, of course). I sent email invitations to a long list of people, I got a cash bank, and I prepared to handle the sales--actually my granddaughter and daughter did that for me.
I had a most unusual signing Saturday: seven o'clock in the morning. But Peter said  he had a lot of readers who come in early on Saturday morning with their books. So at seven my oldest son, two of my granddaughers, and I were at the Grill. Colin had gone out really early that morning and bought a beautiful bouquet, which drew attention to the table. A bit later my other son, my daughter and her husband, and two more grandchildren drifted in. It became a family party, which was great--the kids greeted some people they'd known all their lives and I got to introduce them to some who'd heard me talk about them a lot but never met them.
It's hard to get book publicity in the local paper, but that morning they published a nice feature on the bottom of the front page of the Living & Lifestyle section. Several people came because they had read the paper; some regulars at the grill bought books to take home to their wives; some people I'd never seen bought books because they saw the display. And many of my friends came. By ten o'clock, I had sold twenty-five books, and we wrapped it up.
Peter and I agreed that two signings would be good, the second Monday evening at 5:30. I didn't expect it to be as busy as Saturday morning but Jordan hustled me out the door to get there early--and there was a crowd waiting. For almost an hour, I signed books frantically, people stood in line--lots of friends, several people I'd never met before, a few from groups I'm scheduled to speak to. It was absolutely amazing. By a little before 8:00 I sold the last book I had--holding one back for myself. Between the two signings and a few independent sales, I sold 75 books if my math adds up right, and I think it does.
The Grill was a perfect place--people could come, get their book, and leave, or, as many did, come and stay to order a meal. Some were Grill regulars but others were new to the place I'm sure. So it benefited Peter--he picked up some new customers, drew some people in for meals--and it certainly benefited me.  Not every author may be so lucky as to have a good relationship with a local cafe, but this worked for me.
And it didn't turn off the local booksellers. I talked to the CMR at our nearby Barnes & Noble today, and he confessed he forgot about our conversation until he saw a small ad I took in the neighborhood newspaper about the signings at the Grill. Now he's looking into a signing at B&N. And tonight one woman said her book group in the Fairmount neighborhood is interested in reading it. I asked if they'd like me to come talk, and she was amazed. "Would you?" I assured her I'd love to and she took down my contact information. It's all like ripples spreading in a pond.

The Old Neighborhood Grill

Somehow I ate two meals at the Old Neighborhood Grill today. The Grill is about two blocks from my house, a concrete block building that years ago was Rick's Locker Room which always looked dark and smoky to me and I avoided it. For several years now it's been the Grill under Peter's ownership--in the mornings and at noon he is there to greet everyone personally, and he seems to know a lot of us.
This morning I went for breakfast with the Book Ladies, a group of women whose careers have involved books--authors, librarians, booksellers, and a few readers. We've been meeting for probably twenty years now, and our numbers are dwindling--people retiring and moving away, we've lost a few to death including one of my dearest friends, and then there are some who don't want to get up that early or come that far. But we still have a core--six of us this morning, one out because of illness. Sometimes we talk books, a lot of the time we talk politics--we are all liberals and without meaning to drove off the one conservative who used to join us. And sometime we talk about aging, health, grandchildren, traffic, what have you, and books never come up. Peter knows we meet on the second Tuesday of the month at 8 a.m., and he always has a big table waiting for us. Breakfasts at the grill are wonderful, particularly the hash browns if you ask for them extra crispy. But I confine myself to one egg over easy and a piece of wheat toast. The oatmeal is pretty good too. A nice way to start the day even if a bit early for me.
On Tuesdy nights some of my Berkeley neighbors gather at the Grill for dinner, and Joe and Mary Dulle have been kind enough to pick me up a couple of nights to join them. Tonight my mind was on a turkey burger--and it was as good as I anticipated. I had no sides with it--no fries or beans or whatever. Conversation ranged from family get-togethers to cooking--Mary's nephew who is in training at Central Market, a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, joined us, so it was fun to hear his tales of food. I didn't catch much of the neighborhood news from the other end of the table, but it was fine to enjoy a good dinner and visit with people, both some I knew and some I didn't. I do live in a great neighborhood--wait! Have I said that before?
Tomorrow, ice and snow and probably a housebound day again. Sunday, when I went out for the first time in six days, I realized that I felt like an invalid emerging from a long seclusion--a bit tentative about being out in the world. By yesterday and today I was scooting around the streets and in and out of stores like always. Now we have to start all over again. It's supposed to be horrendously cold tomorrow and Thursday, but  sunny on Thursday, and thaw Friday. Good thing, because all my chickens are coming home again Sat. Meantime I have lots of work on my desk, and a day at home will be good for me.

Friends

Sometimes I get wrapped up in what I'm doing at my desk--trying to write mysteries (more about  that another day because I'm feeling optimistic) and now writing a book on chili, tentatively titled Texas Chili, Beans, and Beer (I actually do have a publisher working with me on this). I run the risk of being a recluse, though I know I need the company of others to keep me grounded. Sunday and Monday, with the unpleasant weather, I stayed in and worked--and, yes, it made Judy a dull girl.
But today I ws reminded of the value of friendship, not once but twice. Friends in the sense of people I've known and enjoyed a long time but not those who are part of my close circle of friends that I see frequently. This morning the Book Ladies met at Audi Vanderhoof's house for breakfast--the Book Ladies are a group of aging (we weren't when we started) women whose careers have had to do with books--there are librarians, two writers (including me), an editor and teacher, and booksellers. We didn't start out conscioiusly to be a women's group but that's how it happened and grew--probably over close to twenty years now. We've lost members who've moved, who've dropped out for no reason, and, with regret, several to death, including my dear friend Bobbie.
But we met in high spirits today in Audi's warm and inviting home with its many Pennsylvania Dutch touches, and she served a wonderful breakfast--fruit salad, egg and sausage casserole, crisp bacon, and all kinds of homemade rolls. Laughter dominated the table, and I was reminded that it's worth getting up early to meet this group once a month--I usually don't see any of them between meetings. Yet they have been a part of the fabric of my book life for so long.
Tonight I went to the Old Neighborhood Grill down the street from my house with neighbors Joe and Mary Dulle, again longtime friends I don't see often but like a lot. I saw people from the Berkeley neighborhood I knew and met a couple I didn't--though I was flattered that Karen had my cookbook and had fixed Doris' Casserole. Again, there was lots of laughter, some talk of city politics, some talk of aging--well, that's where we are. It was a nice way to spend an evening. Apparently this group--or whoever shows up--meets every Tuesday night. I'll go again.
That sense of friendship inspired me to come home and email two friends I don't see often enough. I'm a firm believer that you have to work at friendship, but it's so worth the effort that you put into it. So what if I didn't get any desk work done today? I'm retired. What I do, I do because I want to. And sometimes visiting with friends is more important.