Writing again--and a puzzling dinner

Whoohoo! I'm a novelist again. I dug back into my work-in-progress today and actually wrote two new pages--not much, I know, but it's a toe in the water. Some time ago I read about the Snowflake method of writing a novel--like adding layers until you get the complex shape of a snowflake. The author recommended you write a description of your novel in one sentence, then one paragraph, and then one page. Then write a page about each of the main characters. When I went back to it today I realized that I'd done all that, and I do know my characters pretty well and I have the general plot in my mind. I had thought to read it all again--I'm at 47,000 words--but those notes convinced me that I should just plow ahead, finish the draft, and then go back for rewrites. I'm full of ideas and, now, enthusiasm. Once you move away from a novel in progress, it's hard to go back and pick up the threads, but those snowflake pieces made it much easier to step back into that world. I am anxious to write--but the world is too much with me (please forgive the cliche). I have a coffee date with my new neighbor in the morning and must fit in my bike ride; tomorrow night I teach; Friday I have to grocery shop and have a tentative lunch date. But Friday afternoon and evening are clear, and I know I'll begin to get back into it. Why did I move away from it? I can't even remember now, except that a lot of other small projects seemed to come my way.
Had lunch today with a friend who is worried about what she'll do in retirement. I was prepared to offer suggestions, but it turns out she gave herself a kick yesterday and shed her doldrums, began networking, and has some real ideas, any two of which will keep her more than busy. I predict she'll easily end up like me, wondering how I got so busy.
Tonight Betty and I went to a new bistro that I've been longing to try. She had lentil soup and Caesar salad, but I relished the appetizer plate of pate--three different pates, two smooth and sophisticated and one country, all delicious. The server put everything on one check, so we asked her to split it--and we each got identical checks that still had all the food and wine ordered on them. So we paid what we thought was the amount each owed, though I was amazed I could have pate for $4.45 and wine for $2.75--it was the house chardonnay and not very good. Well, of course, on the way home we figured out that the waitress had just split the bill in half, so we each paid half of what we should. She wasn't very attentive, I think because we were two older ladies not ordering entrees (we've run into that before), and though we wondered about the check, it had taken so long to get it we didn't want to wait around to question her. So we left, and on the way home figured out what happened. I called the restaurant and they said not to worry, the waitress would have to make it up. Well, I sort of hate that but as I said to whoever was on the phone, maybe it was a learning lesson for her. And she honestly hadn't paid much attention to us. But oh, those pates were good. I'm sure we'll go back, but I hope we get a different waitress.

Aging, uh, gracefully

I had dinner with two friends tonight to celebrate the 65th birthday of one of them. While she appreciated the attention, she isn't exactly celebrating. She moaned and groaned when she turned sixty, and now sixty-five seems even worse to her. Sometimes I feel a little offended, like she should think before she says that to me. But I did point out tonight that I am 72, don't feel it and don't think I look it. The third friend began to smirk, and I said, "What? You think I look 72?" She said that was not at all what she was thinking, and I believe her. I asked the birthday girl how old her husband is, and she replied, "Seventy-seven." So there! But she said she feels 34.
I've talked about this before--that there is an age you feel you are all your life, no matter your chronological age. At 34, my friend was in the depths of a bad place, a bad marriage. I too feel I'm in my mid-thirties and then didn't know that I was in a marriage that was about to turn bad. Then I had young children--one still to come--and thought life was pretty good. But if you ask me, I wouldn't go back to that age for anything, unless I could take with me the wisdom, knowledge, and world view I've gained over the years. Not that I am by any means an aged sage, but I look back at myself in my thirties and think how naive, how shallow, how innocent of the real world I was. And I find I like myself better these days--I'm more patient, less anxious (some won't believe that), not bothered by the demons of my thirties. And I'm probably happier than I've ever been in my life, more content with life and with myself. It's a great feeling. I hope my friend can reach it, though she's in the midst of a stressful work situation right now.
It was a great dinner--I had a chopped salad, huge, and the other ladies had pasta. We were at my current and longtime favorite restaurant, Patrizio's. It's just now finally come to Fort Worth from Dallas. They brought us complimentary spumoni because it was a birthday, and we all enjoyed.
Back to the real world tomorrow, and I will be confused all week about what day of the week it is. Now that I'm retired, I sometimes wake up wondering what day it is and what I am supposed to do that day. Somehow every morning seems like Saturday to me.

Oil spills and ended marriages

I don't often comment on current events in this blog--and knowing that many disagree with my liberal politics, I try to avoid that topic too. But the catastrophic oil spill in the Gulf (spill seems like a dimunitive word in the face of the enormity of the disaster) is on all our minds. Sometimes, I admit, I mute the TV when they talk about longterm consequences, because it's just too much too comprehend, too awful to believe. I do think BP is trying everything they know, but they doing no more than guessing and grabbing at straws, while the situation grows ever worse. Meantime, there are constant cries for President Obama to "take charge"--what is he to do? Dive down there and put his finger in the hole, like the legendary boy in Holland? What the president should have done, but none of us knew it, was to uncover the corruption, the faked inspections, the greed that led to this disaster. I read a column the other day (sorry I can't remember the columnist's name) that suggested that if technology doesn't know how to stop leaks at that depth, we should be drilling that deep. I'm a little afraid the situation may prove analagous to the Barnett Shales drillingsin Fort Worth, with reports of increased levels of benzene in the air. And now, after the oil is out of the pipe (well, I didn't want to mix my metaphors and talk about horses out of the barn), he's doing what's apropriate--he's taken the blame, he's called for a criminal investigation. But I doubt the government has people with any more expertise than BP at stopping this awful thing. I read somewhere that BP will survive this disaster, even though it's costing them billions a day--I hope not. I hope they pay, financially and in terms of criminal indictments, along with inspectors who overlooked violations and all others culpable. This was a preventable disaster. But let's not expect the president to be the boy at the dike, and let's not blame him for every disaster, every little thing that goes wrong. And let's recognize that our dependency on oil and our insistence on our individual comfort are ruining the planet. Read Garrison Keillor's commentary in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram today, June 2.
The other item on my mind is the dissolution of the Gore marraige. I admire them and have great respect. I suspect it's really true that they've grown apart, and I hope, really hope, that they mean it when they say this is a mutual and mutually supportive decision. If so, it's a brave one. It's not easy to strike off on your own, especially at their ages. Thirty years ago, if I'd had the nerve, I'd have left a marriage that I knew was dying, but my excuse was I had four young children and didn't know I could support them. As it turns out, I did nicely, and we were all the happier after my husband left--it was the nicest thing he ever did for us. From the pespective of age and increased wisdom, I'd have left two years earlier. So I admire the Gores, wish each of them well. As someone said on TV this morning, forty years of marriage is a success. This sepraration can't be looked at as the "failure" of a marriage. But if we learn that either one has someone waiting in the wings, I will once again be Pollyanna in disappointment.
Enough of current events. I've had a good day. 11:15 this morning before I settled down to serious work--I'm loving my mornings of piddling and will resent the few mornings I have to get up earlier than eight o'clock. But I've written between 1100 and 1200 words today on my novel and will write more tonight. Plus I've done some serious thinking and defining on my nonfiction project. Retirement is looking pretty good.
Jacob is supposed to come tonight so his parents can dig a huge hole in the yard and explore their sprinkler system's leak, but it looks like rain, and I don't know if he'll come after all. Meantime, I'm going to heat myself some defrosted, home-made chicken pot pie.

Retirement the way it ought to be

My pictures didn't come out quite as I intended--the plumbago in the second one doesn't show off its glorious blue color, and in the third the coneflowers that are thick in the front yard don't really show unless you look in the foreground. But the whole garden and porch are so pretty that I just delight in them. Tonight I sat out on the porch--there was a slight breeze, for a change--read a book, and thought a bit smugly how good my life is. (I hope it's not a case where smug goes before a fall!)

This morning it was 10:45 before I was dressed and ready for the day--I am learning to putter. I read my emails, read the newspaper online (how I hate that!), did my yoga, straightened the house a bit, and showered--and there went the morning. More emails, and it was time for lunch with an old friend.

After a good visit over a delicious lunch--I had lox and cream cheese, and he had smoked trout and cream cheese--as I was gettingout of the car, he said, "You're doing everything I hope to do in retirement." And a friend from Omaha emailed me to say she thought I was handling retirement with grace. I do hope so.

This afternoon I actually did some work on the proposal for a nonfiction book that I am trying to put together and ran into that bugaboo for which I'm always on to authors--inadequate documentation. I can't believe I cut out newspaper clippings without the date and page # attached, but I did. All I know is they were published in 2008 in the local paper. A hunt will ensue.

Last night, it seemed hot in the house, and I discovered that though the a/c was laboring, it was almost 80, when I had the thermostat set at 73. My a/c guru told me to turn off the a/c and turn on the fan--the unit had frozen (the filter was wet on one side). It worked, but someone from the company came to check it all out late this afternoon, and all is well, though his ominous words were "It will probably make it through the summer." It was nice tonight to hear the unit kick off--which it hadn't done for over 24 hours. My mind runs to the electric bill.

Betty and I had an adventure tonight--we went exploring in a new upscale condo/restaurant/you name it district. We had eaten at a Mediterranean restaurant there that we didn't really like, so tonight we ate at Bailey's Prime Rib--I had misgivings because it sounded pricey and like heavy food. My misgivings grew when we got inside--most elegant, one of those places with with menus that are as heavy as most books. I whispered that we might have to eat pbj sandwiches for the rest of the month, but we split a fried avocado stuffed with a lobster mixture and each had a small salad, plus a glass of wine. With tip, it was under $30 apiece, though I always feel that people in such places are looking askance at us, as though we've wandered out of our proper milieu. Only when we got up to leave did I realize that Betty was wearing jeans! It was fun, the food was good, but we won't go back. I prefer a more casual atmosphere.

Yesterday I spent the whole day reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo--I had read a lot about it some time ago when it received high critical praise, so I bought it for Megan for Christmas 2008. She took a long time before she got around to reading it, so I thought it was a bust as a gift, but when she finally got to it, she absolutely loved it. I asked her to bring it when she came up a couple of weeks ago, and I too loved it, couldn't put it down. It's suspense, intrigue, with a couple of gory scenes, but it's so well done, so well written--and the characters are amazing. Because I read the book trade publications, I keep thinking everyone knows the story but apparently not. Swedish author and magazine editor Stieg Larsson turned in three novel manuscripts and then died of a massive heart attack at a young age and before the novels were published. I am now reading The Girl Who Played with Fire, the second one. I can't remember the exact title of the third (The Girl Who . . . Hornet's Nest). The first is definitely set in Sweden, and I imagine the others are too though the second opens in the Caribbean. After publication in Swedish, they were translated into English. I recommend them heartily. You get lost in the fictional world (the best kind of reading), but it's also a little like reading To Kill a Mockingbird or The Angle of Repose. I know I'll never write anything that good--but I can read and enjoy.

A funny day

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