Post-Christmas retrospect

The Alters, minus two, on the Plaza--sunny day

Back to blogging. My blog vacation was actually a Christmas vacation in Santa Fe with all of my family--16 of us in one large contemporary house within walking distance of the Plaza. It made for wild and noisy good times, a boisterous Christmas morning, and a generally wonderful experience. Years ago, when my children were in high school and college, we spent every Christmas vacation in Santa Fe, and it was a city where I felt completely at home, as though I'd lived there in another existence. It's now been ten years since I've been there and even longer for the children, but there was a lot of "Remember when..." as they reacquainted themselves.
Skiing was a major attraction for all but three of us, though it didn't happen until Dec. 26th. We arrived late Sunday, fiddled on Monday, and went to brunch and walked the Plaza on Tuesday. I found some trinkets for this one and that and a lovely wall cross for Lisa. Fun, but after one walk around the Plaza in my awkward boot, I'd had enough. Besides it was cold.
I also chickened out of caroling on Canyon Road, but everyone else had a great time.

Caroling on Canyon Road

For folks like me, who travel to Santa Fe on their stomachs, we ate at Gabriele's, new to me but delicious--can't beat crab enchiladas. One morning all sixteen of us had brunch at LaFonda--the kids and adults both loved it. They split us into tables of eight--so much more manageable. Another night, we thought we had reservations at Guadalupe Café, long a favorite of ours, but when Megan called to say we were running late, whoever answered said, "We're not open for dinner." Big problem, but it wasn't. The Pink Adobe has bought Guadalupe--the latter serves breakfast and lunch, and the Pink Adobe had a private room waiting for us. Expensive, but oh so good. Melanie, Jordan and I went to Chimayo one day--they had never been to the Sanctuario and brought back more than their share of holy dirt. I found a few quiet moments to sit in that wonderful chapel and talk go the Lord about 2014 and pray for the people on my prayer list. Lunch at Rancho Chimayo was as good as always. I get tired of spicy food and was happy with an avocado filled with chicken salad. And, finally, the three of us found ourselves on the next ski day with Maddie (14) and Jacob (7) for company, so we had lunch at Harry's Roadhouse, where I love the meatloaf. Very carefully saved and protected half my large sandwich for the drive back--sad story. Jordan though I packed it, and she thought I did. No meatloaf. I ate a cold cuts sandwich--good but inferior!

Lot of cooking went on; here, Mel and Eden make banana pudding

 

Full time life for a week with one teen and six children is interesting. We have a ten, nine, eight, two sevens and a six. The have incredible energy, even after a day on the slopes, and are incredibly noisy. I think we had never before been in as spacious a house where they could run and play. I learned to take my hearing aids out. For me, much of the week was quiet--reading and doing miscellaneous at my computer--but I liked that. And I liked knowing I was in Santa Fe and looking out over the lights of the city at night. I was glad to be back home, and I'm grateful for the privileges and opportunities and loving family that I have.

Some of the noisemakers

 

There were down moments of course--it's hard to be the matriarch, and it's hard to be in a house where no one is in charge and everyone has their own idea of how and what to do. And the trip ended badly with an emergency hospitalization of my oldest son. But more about those things later. Now I prefer to dwell on the pleasant memories--and they are many.

Goodbye until the next time

(photo courtesy Lisa Alter)

The difference in grilled cheese sandwiches

Lesson learned. Never take a picky child to an even semi-sophisticated restaurant. Tonight friend Carol and I took Jacob to the Magnolia Cheese Company for supper. I had called ahead to be sure they could do a plain grilled cheese, since that's one thing Jacob will eat--usually. Turns out there's grilled cheese and then there's, "I don't like it." When he made that pronouncement, I tasted it--and darned if it wasn't the best grilled cheese I've had in a while. Of course, he wouldn't touch the kale chips that came with it--don't think the child has ever met kale in his life.
Recently my brother pulled into the parking lot of our local deli, Carshon's, and Jacob announced that he didn't like their grilled cheese. I shushed him and said Uncle John wanted lox and cream cheese and the rest of us liked Carshon's a lot. Jacob apparently only likes the cheese sandwiches at the Old Neighborhood Grill and The Star Café. When I told him earlier this week we were going to The Star with Aunt Betty, he said, "Oh, good. I like their grilled cheese."
To me, a grilled cheese is a grilled cheese, maybe with some rare exceptions. I wouldn't call myself a gourmand, but I know good food from ordinary. I can distinguish between say bottled pasta sauce and the real, homemade thing, or between bottled salad dressing and a good vinaigrette. And I relish the occasional fancy dish, such as brie with jalapeno salsa or those rare lamb chops the other night.  But grilled cheese?
When Jacob asked what dessert they had I told him cheesecake and bread pudding. "I think I'll try cheesecake," he said. "Have you ever had it?" The answer was no. I wasn't about to give him a dessert of any kind if he didn't eat his supper, let alone something he probably wouldn't eat. Carol's comment that it was chevre cheesecake (she said goat) squelched any argument on his part.
We came home and I fixed a peanut butter and honey sandwich and followed it with a bit of vanilla ice cream. Can he go through life eating grilled cheese and hot dogs at the Grill or The Star?

What are your dream goals?

Today, "Writing Well is the Best Revenge," one of my favorite blogs, was about unreachable goals, inspired by Diana Nyad's failed attempt to swim from Cuba to Florida without a shark cage. When she had to give up, she said, "I was the best I could be." Each of the eight or nine bloggers talked about their goals and, of course, for many of these multi-published authors, publication of that first book was the primary goal. Others confessed to goals that involved physical risk, while still others shunned such an idea. I commented that, although well published, I always wanted to publish a mystery. With that goal in sight with the forthcoming publication of Skeleton in a Dead Space, I guessed that my goals are to turn that one book into a series and then move on to a really significant book, not that I know how to judge "significant."
On the blog Hallie Ephron's goals particularly struck me. She confessed to wanting to make a quilt; she started the project and ended with a handbag. But most of her goals had to do with cooking, and the one, so far unreachable, is to make an eight-layer dobos torte (she's made a five-layer one). I noted that I shared her cooking goals, but after I posted my comment I got to thinking that I don't really know what my cooking goals are. There's no one dish I want to make--I did think of turducken--not even a complicated Julia Child's recipe I want to master. There are however lots of recipes in my file that I want to try--Southern Living came yesterday and I cut out several recipes.
It dawned on me that my one unreachable goal is to be a chef. I suspect at my age I lack the energy, and I know my feet and back couldn't take the long hours on hard floors. But I would love to have a small tea shop-kind of restaurant where I would have people to eat the things that strike me, by whim and fancy, that I want to cook. It's an impractical goal for many reasons, and I know it--the failure rate of restaurants is astronomical and at this advanced point in life I'm not risking my finances. I once took an informal course in restaurant management that convinced me I know nothing about managing a restaurant. I just know the cooking. Several years ago when I was working full time but dissatisfied with life--okay, bored--I decided I would go to culinary school, until a friend reminded me of the high cost, long hours, small reward.
So my reachable goals have to do with writing. There's already a sequel to Skeleton waiting for the publisher's approval. It's called at this point No Neighborhood for Old Women. And I have the first chapter of a third book in the series--as yet untitled. I've been dragging my heels on that, waiting to hear about the second book, but I do believe it's important to have series titles come out in fairly rapid succession. Don't give readers time to go off in other directions and forget your work.
As for cooking, Jordan tells me she and her family will eat with me at least once a week when school is in session and I keep Jacob in the afternoons. So next Tuesday, I'll fix Salisury steak, oven-fried potatoes with rosemary, and a salad. And I've got a dinner party in my head. I told Gayland Poole last night if he'd make thje chili biscuits, as he was promising, I'd cook the dinner. Yep, my mind is never far from food. Maybe it should stay closer to my writing.

Anticipating what you already know

Do you ever read a book or see a movie for the second or third time and still find yourself getting anxious as the scary, climactic, whatever part of it approaches? That's what's happened to me tonight--I'm doing the absolute last read-through on my mystery, and as that climactic scene approaches, I'm distracting myself, turning to other things, etc. I don't know if it's because the scene always scares me a bit--it really does--or because I'm afraid I'll see the flaws in it. As I've read through, at this late stage, I've thought of totally different ways the plot could go, pieces that I didn't think worked, etc. I guess I'm at the point of chewing it to death and I best get it done and back to the editor. But the part about reliving the tension of the scene holds true too. Years ago I wrote a short story, "The Art of Candle Dipping" (now free for download on Smashwords) that affected me that way. The story garnered some acclaim, and I found myself reading it aloud to an audience on more than one occasion. And darned if I didn't cry each time. Other people's books do that to me but I'm not sure what it means when your own writing makes you emotional--is it ego, a sign that you like your writing, or, praise be, a sign that it's pretty good? I have no idea, but I'll have to wait for reaction to this particular ending. Meantime I'm almost through with that final edit . . . and itching to lose myself in reading something by someone else.
My big accomplishment for the day: I hydrated the cat. Gave Wywy 2 cc. of Ringer's solution subcutaneously. Moksha, the wonderfully kind and gentle petsitter, came to watch and help--and he actually got the needle onto the tube, so I have to learn to do that before next week when I do it alone. It went pretty well, except early on in the procedure Wywy decided he'd had enough and bolted from my lap, a move I wasn't expecting. In the flurry of the moment I didn't think it through and thought he'd go running off still attached to the tubing and bag of solution. I bolted after him, and nearly tripped over the tubing. Moksha meanwhile, had a much calmer head--after saving me from tripping, he turned off the drip. The needle, of course, had slipped out of Wywy's back when he ran. I retrieved a now-angry cat, Moksha put a new needle in place, and we proceeded. I was ready for the tensing of muscles that would indicate a break for freedom and kept a firm hold, all the while talking softly and encouraging. We finally got the 2 cc. into him, and then I fed him--showing him I wasn't mean.
Betty and I went exploring tonight and split a really good deli sandwich and each had cole slaw. Really reasonable meal, although the wine was pretty weak. Decor meant for a motorcyle gang--I swear the waiter looked at us as if to say, "What are you two ladies doing here?" I was glad when another older couple came in. Not a place we'll go back to, but we drove by a place I've wondered about for a long time. I came home, looked it up on the web, and decided it must be our next dining adventure.
Colin called tonight and we talked a bit but then I said, "Oops, Betty's here. We're going out to dinner." His response was, "You have a much busier social life than I do." I do hope he's glad his aged mother isn't sitting home withering.

Are you addicted to eating out?

Today, our boss was taking the TCU Press staff (three of us) to a celebration lunch, celebrating a triumph that had to do with a troublesome publishing project. There was great angst about choosing a restaurant. I suggested an Italian/Lebanese place that I really like, because today they had a vegetarian buffet, and Melinda eats no red meat whilie Susan claims to be "not much of a meat person." They both said vehemently that they didn't like that restaurant, though I've seen them eat there with apparent enjoyment. And then they said not to take them to the local Jewish deli--it was too meat-driven for either of them (there are lots of chicken, etc., items on the men and it's my absolute favorite lunch spot). Besides, I remember when Susan used to love to eat there.  As we waited for June to pick us up, I suggested a local Japanese restaurant, and they both said they didn't like it much--again, I've seen them eat there with pleasure, or else they're really good at covering up. Then these picky restaurant people jumped me because I don't like Thai food, never have, never will. They often go for Thai at lunch, and I politely decline. But that's a three-to-one ratio--I really think I'm the cosmopolitan one here.
We ended up at Lili's Bistro, one of my favorites, but I gave way to impulse and ordered the gorgonzola burger on a sourdough bun--it's huge and comes with bacon, tomato, gorgonzola, and salad dressing--very messy. I ate half and sent the other half to Jordan for her supper. She called tonight to thank me for ruining her diet, and I know if I'd eaten in I wouldn't have absorbed that many calories.
I have the solution for fussy eaters and dieters. Next week, Feb. 22-28, is the Week of Eating In challenge, sponsored by Huffington Post Green. The challenge is to eat in (or bring a sack lunch to work) for a week--no restaurants, no take-out, no street-food (well, that's not a problem in Fort Worth but I imagine it would be in New York City). I could easily do the evenings, but lunch is my social hour--and at this point I think I have lunch dates all five days next week. But I may try that challenge on my own sometime. I'd probably invite a lot of people over to eat various meals, but I'd enjoy all that cooking.
The challenge week is an outgrowth of Cathy Erway's blog, "Not Eating Out in New York." She devoted two years to the experiment, years during which she proved to herself she could do it and created some interesting recipes, which she posts on the blog. She also posts reasons to eat in, such as the hair in your food is your own. The main reasons, however, are that you know what goes into what you're eating and you save unbelievable amounts of money.
Five bloggers with active food blogs are participating in the challenge, and as I prowled around on the web today I realized that "eating in" is one of the new food movements in this country. With even Wal-Mart beginning to go green, maybe it all signifies a trend. (See http://repletelife.blogspot.com/) I like the idea. I just don't want to eat all my meals alone.
The results of Cathy's experiment will be published in The Art of Eating In, due out tomorrow, February 18. It is not, she promises, a rehash of her blog. I plan to read it and will report back when I've finished it.

Eating my way through the day

That's literally what I did--food was the highlight of my day, and yet I'm proud to say I stayed under my allotted 19 points by Weight Watchers (okay, I didn't know how to figure the pecan crust on the halibut).
Jeannie and I had lunch at Nonna Tata, where I had braseola, which I love. It's the beef version of prosciutto and comes dressed in olve oil and lemon with shaved grana cheese--and a good vinegar-based potato salad on the side. Jeannie had spaghetti puttanesca, which I like a lot but is too spicy there for me--I have to make my own. It was a combination thank you for my party and happy birthday luncheon for Jeannie.
Tonight Betty and I went to Ellerbe's, a new restaurant attractively carved out of an old gas station. The patio seating is under the roof of the old drive-through part where gas pumps once were and is beautifully landscaped. Although it looked like it could rain, it didn't, and it was a pleasant patio evening. The restaurant has only been open three days, but they already have repeat customers. We split an entree as we often do--pecan-crusted halibut with greens (maybe collard?) and risotto, and it was wonderful, the fish moist and yet flaky, the crust thin and just enough to be pleasant, the risotto creamy and delicious. I often skip risotto because of the clories but this was a small helping by the time we split and irresisitibly good. Passed on appetizers and dessert. Ellerbe's should do well in our neighborhood which sprouts new and exciting restaurants all the time, but it is pricey. Lunch entrees range around ten dollars; tonight we had the cheapest chardonnay on the menu, Wild Horse at nine dollars a glass. The fish was twenty-six dollars. I really wanted the lamb chops but Betty didn't want to split that, and I didn't want to pay thirty-one dollars for an entree, even though it would feed me for two nights. We won't go back too often, but we'll go back!
So now I'm going to spend my evening reading The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry, about a young woman's experience at Le Cordon Bleu.

A cool birthday

Today is Christian's birthday, and maybe the weather turned cool to honor him. When I left home to go to his birthday dinner, about 5:30, it was 89--what a blessing. And when I drove home tonight, I put the top down and sailed along in the twilight--somehow I love coming home from their house at dusk (I always want to be home by dark) with the top down. I can go back ways through tall tress and alongside creeks and parks, past some lovely homes. Jordan and Christian and two other couples are going to the Gulf Coast tomorrow for a few days. The trip, she says, is all about Jacob's first beach trip. I hope they love it.
I got some more things off my "recalled" list today. Earlier I took my hearing aids to the audiologist--they hadn't really been recalled, but he sent them off for a factory check-up, saying cheerily to me, "You won't miss them. You never wear them anyway." Today I took the car in to have the air bag sensor replaced and also confirmed an appointment for a consultation with the colonoscopy doctor. I'm slowly working my way down the list, though, of course, the biggie is what I am referring to as an "informational interiew" with the shoulder surgeon.
I'm on hold with the mystery again, telling myself I'm waiting to hear from the editor, which is, of course, fooling myself. I need to proceed, no matter what he says. Other things--bits and pieces--have kept me busy at my desk, but this should be a long weekend--Jordan and Christian gone, my neighbors on both sides, gone--I should get lots of work done.
I am editing a novel for the office that has completely charmed me, and I love working on it. So I'm not exactly idle. I am a much happier person when I am busy. As Jordan once tried to explain to Christian, "Mom doesn't hang out well." Tonight I got to their house at 6, and we "hung out" until 8, by which time I bolted my dinner down and rushed to get home before dark--but that was only part of the reason I rush. Jordan understands and loves me anyway, so it's okay.
For Christian's birthday, I gave him an IOU to a new wine cafe in town. Betty and I ate there last night and thoroughly enjoyed it, though much of the wine is pricey and the menu is limited--lots of designer pizza. Still, as Sue said to me, "It's a place where grownups go" as opposed to the singles bars frequented by the thirties crowd.
Got to go change some dinner reservations--my schedule next week is getting all mixed up.

Stuff

I'm always sending friends and family emails with the subject line, "Stuff." I suppose it's frustrating but I so often have a potpourri of things to say, and tonight's that way.
First food: I was watching Paula Deen while I rode my stationary recumbent bicycle this afternoon. Now I'm a fan of hers, but good heavens! The amount of butter and sugar that woman uses! And she made coconut cookies, iced with white chocolate, and sprinkled with toasted coconut--does she realize what that does to your cholesterol? Okay, I'm particularly conscious of it because I'm really trying to watch what I eat (and drink) and today my lab work came back with an "Excellent" written in next to the cholesterol number.
Betty and I ate at the nearby Lebanese Restaurant, Chadra, again tonight, and I had spaghettini with meat sauce--really good but a serving for three people. They don't have a big menu, but we really like the food--and Betty loves the dense bread garlic knots they serve. I had the front matter and first pages of my Great Texas Chefs and showed it to her--of course she skimmed right over the dedication, which is what I wanted her to see because it's dededicated to "Betty, who explores restaurants with me."
I've been reading novels for the press, and I've found two or three that I think have real promise. This is a problem for us, because we barely break even publishing them--and sometimes don't, if the author isn't VERY energetic about promotion. So I'm thinking we should do them paper print-to-order. I'd love some opinions--would you buy a paperback novel as quickly as a hardback?
Meantime I'm also trying hard to study the market and discover what to do with my mystery, Dead Space. One of the things all the books say is that you have to demonstrate you're a professional writer. Surely, I can do that. And I have confidence in both the book I've written and my ability to craft and tell a story. So I guess now it's a matter of perserverance--and I intend to hang in there. And I might just show that confidence by starting on the second novel in my proposed series--that's another selling point, a series.
Nice weekend ahead. Tomorrow night I'll take my friend Charles to a local restaurant where they serve mussels, which he loves. Saturday I'll cook dinner for Jeannie and Jim--he's home from the hospital but needs so much care that she's exhausted and cooking is the last thing she wants to do. I'm waiting for her to tell me what's on his diet. Sunday, a few of the Grace & Gumption ladies are giving a program at my church and then I'm hosting a potluck supper for the neighbors and Jordan, Christian, and Jacob. I'm only making the appetizer, and I can set the table Saturday morning. Eating outside while trying to corral Jacob is too much trouble!

You're only as old as you feel

Feeling old? Let me tell you about the speaker we had at a book luncheon at TCU today. When Mary Penson arrived at my office, I told her I was going to introduce her and asked, "May I say how old you are?" Her reply was, "Of course." She's 91, and she wrote her first novel at 70. TCU Press has published three young-adult historicals by Mary. Today at the luncheon she was a delightful speaker. To a roomful of women, with one lone man, she talked about how 19th century women were chattel and had two responsiblities--to marry and "pop babies" (I swear, that's what she said). When the gentleman in our midst said, "Sounds good to me," she threatened to see him outside after the lunch. And later something else she said prompted her to turn to him and ask if he was still with her. Then she said, "I'm really glad you came today." She talked about writing historicals so that she doesn't have to deal with the lingo of today's children, and she talked about her absorption in history. She said she felt her newest book, Martha Mary Overestreet, M.D., was her best to date (she's not through writing), and I agreed. It's the story of a young girl, eighth grade, in a small North Texas town in the late 19th century, who is determined to control her own destiny and not to marry and "pop babies." I've never asked Mary, but I'm sure her formula for living a long life is to keep busy and involved--and it sure works for her.
A friend I met for breakfast this morning gave me another clue for living a long life. She said her doctor had advised her to eat steel cut oatmeal (as opposed to rolled, which are cut into pieces and then rolled to make them thin). Steel cut oats are not rolled, and they take longer to cook and are chewy. But Mary said she feels the difference since she's been eating them with a bit of brown sugar, cinnamon, some dried apricots, and milk. It's on my shopping list for Saturday!
Tonight Betty and I tried a new restaurant--new to us and in a new location for the restaraunt. Called Chadra's, it's a Middle Eastern, maybe Lebanese restaurant. I had eggplant with ground sirloin and tomatoes--delish! And the small dinner salad was very lemony and good. A successful adventure!
I'm reading a mystery that started out slow, then seemed to diverge into two separate plots--one involving the husband and the other the wife--but now, two-thirds of the way through, the plots are coming together, and I'm finally hooked. I chose it because I read that this author wrote Santa Fe based mysteries but so far they have been only passing references to Santa Fe and no action there. I'm ready for a novel that sweeps me up and carries my away! But it strikes me as funny that I can so clearly see structural problems in other people's work, even published work in an established series, but I can get my own mystery published (and it of course has no structural problems--well, okay, not that I see!)

Restaurant choices, candidates, a funny day, and Scotland

Betty and I had our weekly dinner tonight and once again--second time in two weeks--I chose Pappadeaux, which was mistake. Last week, the stock show was still in town and there was a wait. Tonight there were even more cars in the parking lot, and we couldn't figure out what was going on. Duh! Mardi gras. We stood and waited for about 30 minutes--and all I wanted was a baked potato! My stomach was a little off today--I think it was that blasted chili. I'm too Scottish to throw it out, so I froze it, will probably throw it out later. We had a good visit and enjoyed supper--for a seafood place they serve huge and fluffy baked potatoes, which was exactly what my stomach felt like.
I came home to a veritble flock of flies in the kitchen. Got in a couple of good air shots and probably killed three or four but they seemed to multiply before my eyes. Good news of the day is that I found my sunglasses--in the rosemary bush! I had them on Sunday when I was weeding and come Monday morning I went all over the house wondering where I had absent-mindedly set them down. Finally today, I took a broomstick out to the rosemary bushes, and there they were! So I was one for one on good/bad news but then tonight I missed a phone call I was expecting because dinner took longer than I thought. And then in the flurry of trying to juggle two lines, I accidently erased the message. Nolanda, apologies and please do try again. I think this just wasn't my day.
Like a lot of the country I'm watching election returns, though it's often hard to decipher what's really happening from a string of seemingly disconnected numbers. The general impression I'm getting is that McCain will win for the Republicans but not enough to declare victory and Mike Huckabee is doing better than anyone expected. Not sure, but it looks to me like Hillary is doing better than Obama. (Is it a holdover from earlier days that everyone calls her Hillary but him by his last name, Obama? I wonder if feminists are upset about that?) I guess I'll wait till morning to have my guesses confirmed. If I'm right, our Texas primary will have some significance. I've already voted--one of the advantages of growing older is that you can now vote by mail.
Scotland plans are proceeding. We picked a London hotel today and asked Jordan to find out about the cost of first class railway reservations. We'll go directly from London to Inverness in the heart of the Highlands. I've had only one answer from the B&Bs I emailed, so I tried again tonight. On another front, I've arranged to board my animals. Wynona will go to the cat room at the vet's--she won't be confined to a cage all the time, and she'll have people to love her (plus figure out her new weird eating habits). But Scooby is going to Granbury (about 30 miles away) to Canine Fitness Camp--they pick up and deliver. What a deal. I doubt he'll want to come home.
I've also begun a list (I'm a chronic list-maker) of things to be sure I have enough of for the trip--medications, makeup, etc. And a list of questions for Jeannie--what clothes should I really take, what do we do about currency, etc. I'm thinking ahead about comfortable shoes and am relucantly getting into buying "old lady" shoes that will protect my hammer toe. Clothes are a big concern to me because everyone talks about how cold it will be but it's hard to pack many warm clothes in a suitcase! And a biggie--I who never go anywhere these days without my walking stick have ordered a collapsible wallking stick (it's really a cane but I hate that word). This one has dogwood blossoms on it--none of that black-and-aluminum stuff for me! This trip is really becoming a reality, and I'm terribly excited--and a wee bit trepidatious. (is that a word?)