Dinner at the Star--a trip back in time

Jacob and I had dinner at the Star Café on West Exchange last night, in the heart of Fort Worth's National Historic Stockyards District, better known as Cowtown. It's the oldest continuously operating restaurant/bar in Fort Worth. Best way I can describe it is "western funk." The ceiling is stamped tin, with a swing and other things hanging from it. The walls are covered with photographs (a few signed), signs ("Eat here. Get gas."), and everything from hats to crosses. Checkered tablecloths, mismatched wooden chairs, neon signs. It's a step back in time.
My friends Don and Betty Boles own the Star--no they haven't owned it since it opened! But they've had it about twenty years now, with an earlier stint in the eighties. Last night we went to meet Betty, since she and I have a weekly dinner. Because I had Jacob we knew he'd like it--he had grilled cheese, his usual diet.
The Star proudly brags about it's steak cuts, chicken-fried steak (hand-floured and deep-fried--none of this frozen pre-done stuff), and it's hamburgers. It's all delicious. The ranch dressing, made from scratch, may just be the best I've ever had. My family has celebrated birthdays and weddings there. It's home to us.
About fifteen years ago I was bored with my academic life, and I began to work at the Star on Saturday nights. First I seated guests, but then my routine post became the cash register. In between customers I rolled flatware, an endless job. I met fascinating people--and some unpleasant ones. But I loved it--such a break from my usual atmosphere. A majority of the people who came in wore western clothing--but not all. TCU people came often; so did people from University Christian Church, in the days before Betty retired as organist (after 40-plus years of service). It was  real mix of people...and it was almost always fun.
My favorite part of the evening was about 8:30 or 9:00 when I'd see Betty get herself a glass of wine. It was the signal the evening was over, and we could have wine and supper. I used to choose chicken fingers, or sometimes I'd bring a jar of kraut and Betty and I would share a Polish sausage plate. Or she and Don would share a steak, and I'd take half of mine home. Much as I love the chicken-fried steak, I rarely ordered it--it's a huge helping, and I'm always weight conscious.

There are daily specials at lunch, and friend Jeannie and I used to go on Wednesday (when we were both still working) for meatloaf and banana  pudding. In fact, I looked forward to Wednesdays in those good old days gone by because there was a hefty food section in the newspaper, it was meatloaf day, and "West Wing" was on at night. Days long gone now with a meager restaurant section and no "West Wing." The meatloaf is still there but we never go for lunch anymore.
So last night was a chance to visit with a good friend, a trip in nostalgia, and some good food.
Go for the atmosphere, and go for the food.
(Photos by Betty Boles)

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?

A day of oops moments

Whoosh, what a day. I served eggs, bacon and biscuits to my Canterbury guests at eight this morning--the  time I'm usually just barely getting organized for the day. Was supposed to have them at the church by 9:30, but first they got locked out of the apartment, a problem complicated by muddy dogs--I thought I would have to change clothes to deal with it. We got that bit of excitement solved, but they dawdled and it was 9:50 before I got them to the church. Rushed home to read emails and do whatever. At  eleven, Jeannie and I went up to the Star--our friends' restaurant where the choir was to lunch--to see if we could be helpful. We sat around, alphabetized name placards, then decided to put them out on the tables--lots of waiting for the choir people to arrive. But boy oh boy when they did! We ran food from the kitchen to the dining area (down three steps, thank you) more times than I can count. Finally it all settled down and we had lunch. I probably had the shortest nap on record before I had to get Jacob.
I've been losing things lately and today was no exception. I've lost a full set of sheets--no idea where they could be, and I've looked. Today at the Star I thought I lost my walking stick--then found it. Got home and couldn't find my phone--decided I must have left it at the Star but calls to the restaurant and to Betty indicated it wasn't there. I cancelled service. Then I found it in my car and remembered I was checking it when my guests came out to the car this morning. I reached for it at the Star but never got that far because Betty wanted help with something. So once I had the phone in hand, I had to reactivate it, which proved to be complicated with the automated system--finally ended up on chat with two customer reps. Took maybe 30 minutes but I got it reactivated.
Didn't know if Linda was coming for dinner or not before class, as she usually does. Finally caught her, and she wasn't. With a sigh of relief I snuck back into a second nap, ate a leftover hamburger for dinner, and wished I could go straight to bed.
Class tonight was good--such a nice night we met on the porch--there was enough light to read until almost the end of the class. Bugs were a problem, but otherwise a pleasant and interesting evening. Sometimes I feel so inadequate to steer and guide these women, and sometimes one or the other of them is so much better at putting into words what I'm trying to say. Why am I teaching? Because I edit afterwards? Is that enough?
Shooed them out the door, did a couple of things, and went off to pick up my guests at the church. Chris, the adult with my two boys, came in for a beer and we sat on the porch and had a great discussion about his fascination with America, his interest in the American experience and the West, and what he's sensed about Texas since he's been here. Such fun to share ideas with someone you don't know well. I think when we are so familiar with people the exchange of ideas sometimes pales, but a new perspective makes things interesting.
To repeat myself: Whoosh! I'm tired.

Canterbury Boys Choir comes to town

Tonight and tomorrow night I am hosting two boys from the Canterbury Boys Choir and one of their adult chapterones. I was to pick them up at ten tonight at the church, but I had one of those three-o'clock thoughts: I can fit three people, two boys and an adult, in my car, but not with the luggage that must accompany a tour in the U.S. Another church member will deliver them, and I'll have to find someone to take them back to the church Friday morning for their flight to San Diego.
The two boys are both gluten free, so I've loaded the apartment with fruit, plain potato and corn chips, gluten-free crackers, peanut butter, and gluten-free chocolate brownie cookies. My good friend Weldon, himself gluten free, came over tonight to make gluten-free cheese-bacon biscuits--from a Bisquick mix oddly enough. They smell heavenly! Jeannie scrambled up on the top of the double bunk bed today to make it. I'm not that agile and would get too easily frustrated, but Jeannie said, "It's kind of cool up here. I like it."
I only feed them breakfast, so tomorrow it's eggs, bacon, biscuits, o.j.and milk--tea or coffee for the adult. Friday, when we'll be in more of a hurry, it's gluten-free oatmeal. I have this vision of ending up with a lot of gluten-free food that I guess I'll eat. Weldon assures me the biscuits aren't too fattening. But then, I'd slather butter on them.
Tomorrow the boys all tour the Fort Worth Historical Stockyards District and then eat lunch at The Star Cafe, owned by good friends Betty and Don Boles. Jeannie and I are going up to have lunch, just to be there. Should be fun. (Retirement is a lot of work, but it doesn't have to be all the time!)
Tomorrow night the boys' choir gives a concert at my church, co-sponsored by Trinity Episcopal, but I can't go. It's my class, and they've missed three weeks. I don't dare cancel on them, but I will kick them out the door fairly rapidly, so I can go collect my charges.
I'm looking forward to this experience. Should get me out of my rut--if indeed I'm in one.

Front porches and a bit of trivia

Brrrr! It was cold in North Texas this morning. We've been spoiled by days in the upper 80s, after a real cold spell. Last night guests and I ate on the porch and enjoyed the balmy temperatures. Gale-force winds (well, almost) were blowing but the porch is open to a breeze but sheltered from the strong winds by the house next door. I love the openness of the porch, the chance to stare at all the old trees that line my street, and the opportunity to exchange greetings with neighbors.
When I was a kid on the South Side of Chicago we had a screened-in porch. It was wooden, an obvious addition to the house, in contrast to my concrete-and-brick porch that was clearly built as part of the house. But we lived on that screened-in porch all summer--ate three meals a day there (as I recall on a card table--fancy we weren't). On hot nights, Mom and I slept out there, she on the porch swing and me on a cot. She had  rigged a waist-high curtain so that no one would know I was sleeping practically on the sidewalk, and I was always cautioned not to talk when we heard people go by. After all this was Hyde Park on the South Side--in the 1950s a changing neighborhood. My aunt who lived two doors down had her purse snatched as she got out of the car one night--laugh was the robber got her Bible. She always said she hoped he read it. But caution was warranted, and we were cautious. That's another nice thing about my porch here in Fort Worth--I feel safe openly entertaining guests and eating out there. No, I'm not about to sleep there, but I have fond memories of those hot sticky nights in Chicago (before a/c) when we took advantage of every breeze.
Milestone day: I got a check from Amazon for sales of the books I've posted. Not a big check, mind you--it might buy me a fancier lunch than I usually get but that's all. But still it was a nice surprise and spurs me on to pursue the rights to some of the rest of my novels so I can post them. They say the more books you have on Amazon and Smashwords, the more your sales increase. And "they" say you make more money selling a novel at 99 cents than at $2.99, though I haven't yet figured out how to get Kindle to accept that lower price.
And an adventure I'm proud of: I went to the Star Cafe tonight, by myself, to a political fund-raiser. I don't much like to drive to the North Side alone, and I sure don't like to go to cocktail parties where I don't know anybody. But I wanted to support Betty and Don who were giving this fund-raiser, so I geared myself up, went, found people I knew, had some wine, and talked politics--came away with new knowledge and a new idea about who to vote for as mayor. Former mayor Ken Barr was there, and he seconded Jim Lane's words that the city doesn't need a mayor who needs "on-the-job training." A bonus: I came home with dinner rolls and tenderloin in my purse. So I feel good that I supported Betty and Don, I stretched the edges of my circle, and I had a good dinner. Win, win!

Restaurant Impossible

I'm hooked on the Food Network, though I usualy watch and listen with one eye and one ear while doing something else. Last night I put aside everything for another episode of Restaurant Impossible, Robert Irvine's show in which he takes a failing restaurant and turns it around in 48 hours with $10,000. Irvine goes in and assesses food, ambiance, and service. At last night's restaurant, the cook ("I'm not a chef but I'm a good cook") used canned green beans, instant grits and frozen shelfish among other "garbage," as Irvine called it. He tossed it all out, gave cooking lessons, and a cooking test that resulted in a switch where a younger man became head cook and the original one, a line cook. He also demonstrated that where they were spending $10 on a large can of gravy, he could make it from scratch for $1 and it tasted much better.With the help of a design crew, he tore out an old red bar-top and replaced it with a wooden bar, painted over a huge mural, brought in new chairs and chair covers for existing chairs. Then he created a new menu and sent the wait staff home to study it. Next day they were tested on it; if they passed, they got a T-shirt and worked that night; one girl failed and was sent home to study. Questions such as "Describe the fried green tomatoes" needed a fuller answer than "They're fried green tomatoes." They were served with feta on a bed of--I forget what (guess I too need more study). As his last act, Irvine carefully targets a community segment--college students last night--and passes out samples. By the time the restaurant opens--and those last minutes are hectic--there is a long line waiting outside.
At the end of the show, there's an update on how the restaurant is doing: of the few I've watched, at least one closed in six months, but most were doing alright. Last night's restaurant, owned by two young novices, three months later, was on the right track but not doing gangbusters. This must be a humiliating experience for the owner and exsting staff, but it surely works miracles.
I've always had a bit of a restaurant itch, I suppose because I like to feed people. I could see myself serving the tea-room or deli food that I love--chicken and tuna salads, Cobb salad, maybe some things with smoked salmon and anchovies. But I well know the failure rate of restaurants, and I know I have no experience, so I scratched my itch for several years by working at The Star, a cafe on the North Side owned by my good friends Betty and Don Boles. They specialize in steak, chicken-fried steak, and burgers. Best chicken-fried steak I've ever eaten--burgers and steaks are good too. I really did love talking to the customers, but I tired of rolling silverware and eventually decided that restaurant work, like anything else, had its ups and downs. So I'm back to cooking at home.
Right now I'm baking chicken that I found on one of my favorite blogs--Mystery Lovers Kitchen. I seasoned two chicken thighs with cumin, salt, rosemary, and oregano. My house smells divine. After they're cooked I'll roll them in Parmesan, olive oil, salt and garlic salt and pop them back into the oven for a minute. I promise--I'll only eat one and save the other for tomorrow night. I love cold chicken!

An adventure with Jacob

Jacob and I went to Fort Worth's National Historic Stockyards District for supper tonight at the Star Cafe, owned by Betty and Don Boles. Jacob noticed the western look of the buildings and loved the men on horseback who passed us on the streets. We were both amazed at the crowds--spring has brought out not only tourists (we saw some of those) but natives to explore the offerings of the area. He did not want the top down on the car (I don't think he much likes that) but we drove with all the windows down, and it was lovely.
Betty visited with us as she could, between seating guests. When I told Jacob I used to work at the cafe, he looked long and hard at me and then said, "I don't believe that." I forgot to ask Betty to verify it when she came back, but the cafe soon got busy, and we left our table to the next customers.
Jacob wasn't hungry when we got there, but I said I'd order a cheeseburger, and we could split. As we waited he got hungrier and was a bit indignant when I cut the burger in half. I gave him a good portion of the fries, but he grabbed more. Upshot was he ate lots of fries and about three cups of ketchup, didn't touch his half of the burger. They boxed it for us, and, of course, we forgot it. I told him there went lunch tomorrow; he'd have to have pbj. He did however leave with a Star Cafe T-shirt that says on the back, "For the best steak in Dallas, eat at the Star Cafe in Fort Worth." It's true!
As soon as we got home he wanted pbj, which I didn't think was quite right since he refused to eat his burger. He had a banana; then about nine he had the pbj. I think the child is in a growth spurt. He  seems to be hungry all day.
Earlier in the afternoon, he played with three-year-old Abby next door until we decided it was time for everyone to have a nap. Jacob is beyond napping, but he fell sound asleep. Tonight as we drove in the driveway, he said philosophically, "I hope Abby had a good nap."
Fun day, except I worked hard too--laundry, making dips for tomorrow night's b'day party for Jacob's mom, scrubbing off the deeper layer of dirt on the porch--it's almost clean, but  I suspect Jordan will want to sweep it tomorrow. A few stray leaves have blown in since Greg blew it clean the other day. Sweeping is hard on my low back, and I'll let her do it.

All for the sake of research

Betty and I had one of our culinary adventures today--and one of the best ever. We went to check out Tolbert's Restaurant in Grapevine for my book on chili. For those who don't know, historian and journalist Frank X. Tolbert was the guru of Texas chili and a cofounder of the annual Terlingua International Chili Championship Cookoff. If anybody's chili is authentic, it should be Tolbert's. The restaurant is owned and managed by the late Tolbert's daughter, Kathleen Tolbert Ryan. We met years ago, at a strange dinner party, but I was delighted when I called her that she remembered me and was anxious to work with me on my chili book.
So today, she met us at the restaurant with a fabulous collection of pictures and posters for the book. And we had lunch. Now I'd been a bit worried--Tolbert was a chili purist (no beans, for one thing) and I worried that his chili would be too hot--after all, years ago I was a Yankee and my palate has never adjusted to really spicy food. And then of course I worried about eating too much fattening food. Not at all! Lunch was a delightful experience. We had donkeys' tails.
Puzzled? Well, it's a Tolbert invention--a pure beef hot dog, wrapped in a tortilla and deep fried. I'd seen this when I googled the menu, and of course I pictured sort of a greasy quesadilla with a hot dog in it. Forget that. The tortilla was wrapped tightly around the hot dog--we still haven't figured out how they do that--and not the least bit greasy, just crisp and good, a perfect contrast  to the texture of the hot dog. It's served with a mustard sauce that Kathleen told us is a mix of mustard and their salsa (a combination I'd never thought of but it was great) and a taster's cup of chili. We figured out later maybe you're supposed to pour the mustard and chili over the donkey tail and eat it with a fork. We treated it as finger food, dunking the tail into mustard and eating the chili separately, which I was glad I did so I got a taste of it. It was so good we each asked for one more small cup--and this time they came with spoons. We each ordered a side of cole slaw--it was clearly made on site, fresh and crisp and no preservative taste. Betty and I agreed that we each could have eaten another hot dog (we split one order) but prudence kept us from it.
We watched a bowl of red being delivered to an adjacent table, and I wished I had my camera out. It  looks like a bowl of small chips with a gorgeous, perfect green chile perched on top of it. Eye appeal was great, and by then I was sort of wishing I'd ordered a bowl of chili--except I wouldn't have wanted to miss the donkey tails.
Kathleen toured us around the restaurant, pointing out various pictures, lots of her dad and one wonderful one of her mom at Terlingua. She even took us back in the kitchen and Betty toured the walk-in. Betty and her husband own the Star Cafe in Fort Worth, and those two restaurant gals had a good time comparing war stories.
All in all, it was a great adventure--and I came away with a lot of illustrations and some new knowledge for my book. Plus a friend I can call on when I have questions. Kathleen is still chair or co-chair of the Terlingua Festival. Sometimes the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I guess she's been around chili most of her life.

Chilean rescue and chicken fried steak

Like many of us, I stayed up too late last night and spent much of today riveted to the TV watching rescuers pull he Chilean miners out of the earth. It's an incredible story of humanity, compassion and determination--I admire those miners more than I can say, but I also admire the six rescuers who went underground to help them out (as I write three of the rescuers are out). The reunion scenes have brought tears to the eyes but also joy in seeing how vital and enthusiastic these men are. They've all come out making thumbs-up signs or more, hugging everyone--it's just a joy to watch. As for the man whose mistress met him while his wife stayed away--well, let's hope there's not a different story of heartbreak there. I predict someone--or several someones--will get best-selling books out of this. It may be one of those rush-to-print cases, to see who can be the first with an authoritative story. On the other hand, I much admire the Chilean government's obvious tight control on this story--I heard this morning that the rescues were only broadcast on the government station with a 30-second delay in case of unforeseen circumstances. Thankfully, there have been none so far. But the government may also control access to the miners and their stories. One thing for sure: life will never be the same for any of them. I'm just now seeing how much they're being offered for interviews, etc.--probably more money than any of them dreamed of. It will be interesting to see how the individual men handle this sudden fame and heroic status. Life may never be the same for the rest of us, now we can see what a world community can do with joint effort. It makes wars fade into the background, even if only briefly.
On a much lighter note, I had a self-indulgent dinner of chicken-fried steak at the Star Cafe tonight. I split one order with Cara Gilger, who several years ago was a TCU student, active in our church, and a waitress--ooops, wait person--at the Star. She wormed her way into our hearts, and Betty and I were both delighted to see her tonight. She's grown up, married, a minister, and an expectant mother--all the things we could wish for our protege. And she's still her iconoclastic self--a devout person with a sharp tongue. What a great combination.
Other than that, it's been one of those days that makes me wonder how I can be so busy in retirement that I have no time to write and barely fit in exercise. Went to a luncheon today to hear Karla Morton, poet laureate of the State of Texas. Karla, a delightful, energetic person with wonderful stage presentation, is a dedicated Texan and a cancer survivor, and she writes mind-boggling accessible poetry about those subjects and others. For her latest book go to http://www.prs.tcu.edu/. I'm at the point with TCU Press that they're still pubishing books that I acquired, and it makes me proud to see them come into print.

Chronicles of Jacob--and a new idea for guacamole

I'm thinking of writing a book titled Chronicles of Jacob. Tonight we had another adventure. He arrived quite somber and declared he did not want to go out for dinner. We watched "Who Let the Dogs Out" for the  umpteenth time, and I saw that there is a parody called "Who Let the Frogs Out?" So I told him we could watch it after we came home from dinner. WE went to the Star, a North Side steak/hamburger/chicken fried place owned by my friends Betty and Don. Betty had put parking cones out in front to save us a place, which was really wonderful--and there she stood on the street waitingfor us. Jacob was quite solemn at first, but he livened up. He wanted to know why the men were wearing hats--North Side is full of cowboys, and Don even came in wearing a Stetson. I think maybe Jacob needs one for his birthday.
Betty and I visited, and Jacob toyed with his chicken tenders--they were not like the bland frozen chicken nuggets he's used to, but he ate a lot of fries. Then he played with stuffed toys from the display counter and became a bundle of energy. On the way home he chattered all the time and demanded, "Juju, why aren't you talking to me?" He had so much energy that I called Jay to come have a drink on the porch--which translates to help me watch Jacob. It was hot but pleasant, and Jacob ran and played but always where we had him in sight. So much in sight that we were well aware when he pulled down his pants and peed in the monkey grass. Jay shrugged and said, "He's a boy." But then he called out, "You're supposed to go behind a tree!"
Now he's talking to his toys, though for a minute I thought he'd gone right asleep. Wishful thinking on my part! But a plus: we haven't had the TV on since he got here, and he hasn't asked for it.
Me? I'm tired--and before Jacob arrived, I really didn't do much. Mostly I read The Girl Who Played with Fire-I'm hooked, I must admit. It's pretty intense, though, and I may take a break before reading the third Stieg Larsson book, though I read an interview with him today (made shortly before his sudden death) in which he indicated the story all comes together in the third book.
Found a recipe today on the Web site "Mystery Lovers Kitchen" that suggested mixing an avocado, lime juice, and about 2 oz. of feta for guacamole to spread on a toasted pita, top with cherry tomatoes halved and whatever else you want. I'm big into using pita toasts for dip these days (much better than chips) so I think it sounds good just as a dip. May try it soon. Credit for the recipe goes to Cleo Coyle, author of the Coffeehouse Mysteries and one of my favorite authors.

Of chefs and restaurants

I always used to laugh that Cafe Aspen, a bistro-type restaurant, was our family restaurant. Colin and Jordan each worked there briefly but Jamie worked there most of his way through college. The owner, David Rotman, became a friend who would do lovely things like take one look at me and say, "Sorry, we're full." I was always glad to go there because I got a nice welcome and the food was good. Betty and I used to go for appetizers and wine in the evenings some.
David took a management position at a local country club and entered into an arrangement with a chef and his wife to run the restaurant. I went there a few times, found the food innovative and good, if expensive, and the chef's wife really friendly. One night she stopped to talk several times, explained terms we didn't know. But this week the chef and his wife walked away from it, leaving David with an empty restaurant that he'd run for twenty years. I called him to say I was sorry, and he sounded down. But interestingly he talked about a chef-driven kitchen. I'd never thought about the difference. David is a manager, not a cook, though I think he did a cooking demonstration for one of our church groups several years ago. But he ran a business and ran it well, leaving the cooking to his staff, though he was knowledgeable about food. With a chef, cooking is an art, the menu changes--they kept none of the recipes longtime customers were used to (I loved the spinach-stuffed baked potato and included the recipe in Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books, after I had to call David to decipher his handwriting). The new recipes were good, no doubt about it, and the emphasis on fresh, local foods was welcome, but the prices went up--and I never did see many people in there. I think the big thing that was missing was David's personality--he table-hopped, greeting customers and making each feel like his favorite. He's hoping, and I am too, that someone will come along and want to revitalize what was a going business.
I always wanted to own a restaurant but got over the bug by running the cash register at The Star Cafe, owned by Betty and her husband, on Saturday nights for several years. Now, with David's example, I'm glad I never got the chance. I'd have lost the family fortune, such as it is.

I've apprently gotten over my lazy fit, at least temporarily. Yesterday I wrote another TIP sheet that includes the synopsis of an unwritten novel that has only the barest shape in my mind. Writing the synopsis made it clearer and brought some new ideas to the surface. Then I wrote about a 1,000 words on the work-in-progress, finally got through the scene I had in mind and a new one popped along. So it was a profitable day. Betty and I went to dinner and I celebrated with lobster roll--really good. Today has been a dreary dull day, the kind that makes you feel cold even though it wasn't actually that bad in temperature. I stayed in all day and got a really good start on an editing project for another press. The book is interesting, and I moved right along, enjoying the text. Braved the weather to see a hospitalized friend, came home for supper,and will get back to my editing. The novel I was reading is on the back burner for now.
A plea: did I loan The School of Essential Ingredients to anyone reading this blog? If so and if you'd just tell mewhere it is, I'd be happy. I read  it on Kindle, liked it so much I bought a copy, now can't find it.

Trivial dumbness, a rant, and

My day started with trivial stupidity on my part and didn't get better until evening. For some unknown reason, I poured coffee grounds into the part of the one-cup coffee maker that holds the water. So I had to pour all that out, clean and rinse it, and start over again. Then putting away groceries, I started to put dog bones in the fridge and tuna in the cupboard where the treats are kept. Went by the office, only to get home and discover I'd left the two files I wanted to bring home, plus I'd forgotten to check my mail. So I asked Melinda if she'd run them out if I called when I got there and she willingly agreed. My phone was out of charge, so there I went into the office in clothes that are patched. Jacob would have said, "You have your jammies on?" It's two in the afternoon now and I hope things will improve.
My big rant for the day: I just learned that some conservative web sites are selling T-shirts that say "Pray for Obama" and then cite Psalms 109.8 which goes on to say "Let his days be few, and let another follow him into office." Are they talking about the days of his term or the days of his life? Seems like the latter, for the Biblical verse says, "Let his children be fatherless, and his wife a widow." There's been a lot of sniping at Obama lately--for bowing to the Emperor of Japan, for lingering at the Great Wall of China, for visiting Dover--but such "prayers" are beyond crudity and should not be tolerated in a civilized country. I'm can't be sure what God those people are praying to--surely not the one I pray to--but I'm sure that God is saddened and discouraged. I think it's purely outrageous. And it worries me that some nut-job will decide it's his holy mission to take Obama out. That has worried friends of mine ever since he was elected. I wrote the other day about the decline in civility, but this is surely a new low. I can fathom really really disliking someone (I try to avoid the word hate), but I cannot ever imagine wishing for their death. What is this country coming to?
Lovely evening tonight--Jordan, Christian, Jacob, Susan and Jay and I went to the Star Cafe, where I used to run the cash register on Saturday nights and where my good friends Don and Betty Boles are the owners. We were treated like royalty, and Ireally blew my daily points, eating half a chicken fried steak serving and half of the mashed potatoes, with cream gravy of course. But it was oh so good. We laughed, played with Jacob--who had said he would not be shy and wasn't--and had a terrific time. When we came home, Christian and Jordan helped bring Christmas decorations down from the attic, and then Jay and Susan came back and we all sat around and watched Jacob. OK, what else do you do when a charming three-year-old has center stage? I'm a happy camper tonight--and I have good news to share tomorrow.