The week in retrospect

It occurs to me that I haven't blogged much this week, partly because I didn't think I have much to say. I've been riveted by the controversy over the release of the POW from Afghanistan but don't want to get into that here, though I've entered the fray on Facebook. Most of you can guess my opinion anyway. I'm avoiding downtown Fort Worth like the plague this weekend--not because of the Republican convention but because of all those open-carry people parading around with their assault weapons. I'll be surprised if the weekend goes by without an accidental shooting. And I'm sure the Founding Fathers are rolling in their graves at this interpretation of a "well-disciplined militia." I am getting a bit of amusement out of the Republican platform--they abhor critical thinking (how are we ever going to progress?) and they voted for a conversion program for gays. Now that surely will win over the Log Cabin Republicans. Remind me again that I love living in Texas, and I just have to put up with the crazies.
But although I think it's been a quiet life in my own personal world, it really hasn't been. I'm as ready as the kids and other parents and grandparents for school to be out. Three is a bad combination, and yesterday I had three little boys. One went home and the other two quickly got into a fight. Monday is the last day and I was so looking forward to being able to nap on my own schedule...but I have to pick Jacob up at three, not handily across the street but about a mile away where he is going to TCU Baseball Camp--and very excited. The next week, it's swimming lessons from 10:45 to 11:15. Then after that maybe quiet for a while.
Meantime I really did finish a manuscript and turn it over to my beta reader, Fred. Saw him at the grocery store this morning but knew it was to soon for a comment--didn't expect him to rush home and read immediately. And I successfully posted my October self-published, stand-alone novel to Amazon which, to me, is a big, huge, out-of-my-realm accomplishment. Many thanks to Melinda Esco who did the cover mechanical for me. Now I'm waiting for proof copies, some of which I will send out as Advance Review Copies. Next chore: start my own editing of the untitled Kelly O'Connell manuscript I gave to Fred on Friday. And read a book I promised to review.
I don't like spending a whole day, from morning to bedtime, alone without company--one thing I'll miss with Jacob's summer schedule. But yesterday, his parents both came, at scattered times, for happy hour. Today I went to the grocery, and friends are coming by for a glass of wine on their way to dinner. I'll make a feta guacamole for them. My horoscope said I could expect a romantic interlude tonight, so I guess having these lovebirds (they're a fairly new couple) in my house fulfills that expectation. Am wondering if I should dress for the occasion. After they leave, I'm fixing myself seared scallops and a leek--I've never cooked a leek before, so this is a big experiment.
Tomorrow, I'll meet Jacob and family at church (we haven't darkened the door often enough lately) and then we'll have poor boy sandwiches for lunch--I discovered that Jacob loves them.
Meantime, there are plants to water, laundry to do, garbage to take out--how can I be bored over a long weekend?

Get off your duff!

I started out the day in an absolutely fruitless dilemma, debating about the many things I had to do and which should be done first. Seriously, that dilemma went round and round in my mind while I checked email, ate breakfast, read the paper and read Facebook. Then all of the sudden, I got up, decided to tackle one thing at a time, and I had a great burst of energy and well-bring. Everything I did went well (even yoga) and before lunch I had accomplished all the chores I'd allocated to this morning. Lesson learned: get off your duff and get to work. Some of it was housework, some of it was writing related--but the important thing is I got it done. And I felt so much better about myself and the world. I tried to explain this to that lump of a dog--you know, the one who was full of energy at four in the morning but absolutely tapped out in the chair in my office by ten. She was unimpressed until I finally decided, close to eleven that it was time for her to go out, whether she wanted to or not.
So tonight I'll write my thousand words--daily requirement. And I got the evening off to a good start by fixing tuna pasties--I had a tube of biscuits left from Easter, pulled them into bigger sizes, added tuna mixture, and baked. So good! Watch for the recipe one Sunday soon on Potluck with Judy.

Another book signing--and a weary lady

my support crew at the Saturday signing

 

Some authors go on two-week book signings or even longer. I have no idea how they do it--I've done two signings in three days, and I'm exhausted. Of course, in between I had a houseful of family, went to the stock show and Joe T. Garcia's for dinner, and cooked breakfast for eleven people. Then came dishes and laundry. And I've sent off a guest blog, drafted another one, sent off a book review, gone to have blood drawn at the doctor's and gone shopping at Central Market. I don't think I need to feel too guilty that I haven't gotten back to my exercise program--there's no time in the day.
Tonight Jordan and I repeated Saturday's signing, and I have to say Peter Schroeder's wisdom about the best time to sign was borne out--we sold about four times more books Sat. morning than we did tonight. But there were compensations--good friends came and stayed for dinner. We visited with Lon Burnam and Carol Roark, sort of watching hungrily while they ate. And then in-laws Patty and Ralph came in, and we ended up having dinner together and a wonderful, long visit--probably longer than we've ever sat and talked to them at one stretch. I sold a respectable number of books, got some new names for my mailing list, and generally spread the good will, which is what I think book
 signings are in large part about.
Jordan as usual was organized to the nth degree--books in stacks, each with a price tag (from which she sold), books on display holders (we call them zogs for what reason I don't know) on the signing tale, mailing list sign-up sheets and a plethora of pens. She took cash and checks, made change when necessary, and chatted with everyone. Such a good pr person. Poor Christian had lots of chores tonight--he went clear out to their house to play with their dogs for a bit, then came by my house to get the hearing aids I'd forgotten and to let in Sophie, who had also been forgotten outside. She doesn't seem to hold a grudge about it however.
I finished the rather long book I was reading for review and sent off the review, so tomorrow, when I take a friend for a colonoscopy, I'm going to sink into the pleasure of a good, light-hearted mystery. But after that my list of errands is long. I discovered this weekend when sons come to visit, they can find a list of problems--a filthy car, a broken vacuum (perhaps beyond repair, he tells me) and evidence of possible foundation problems in my house. It will take me till his next visit to get done the things he pointed out.

A happy sad day

Elizabeth is gone. She left about two to spend the night with her family and will fly out to Pennsylvania quite early tomorrow morning. I laughed when she said she was having trouble packing--she usually takes a carry-on suitcase and some kind of purple bag into which she stuffs her purse. But this time, there was too much in the purple bag for her purse to fit. She will have to check one bag. Who flies across the country to a new home with only carry-on luggage?
When Jacob came home from school I told him she was gone, but he wanted to check for himself. He reported that the apartment is very empty, and tonight the blinds are drawn and it is dark out there. Jacob said, "It's a sad happy day. We had to many happy times with Elizabeth but now we're sad, except we're happy because she's happy."
We've had a week of farewells as various people took her to lunch or dinner or came by to raise a toast and say goodbye  My farewell with her was a bit teary and filled with hugs. Elizabeth has always been part of my extended family but this year she became much more tightly woven into the fabric of our daily lives--particularly with Jacob and his mom and dad, my neighbors Jay and Susan. At my birthday dinner in July she had her first chance in years to connect with my other kids. As we hugged today, she repeated what she's said before that this has been the best year of her life and she doesn't think it would have been if she landed anywhere else. If I was able to do that for her, I'm humbly grateful. But it has been a two-way street--besides companionship and a sense of not being alone on the property, she has helped me in countless little ways: doing the climbing and reaching chores my kids now forbid me to do, taking extra-heavy garbage carts to the street, even picking up and disposing of a dead rat. Today she got the crockpot down so I can use it Sunday, carried in a bulky comforter from the car (it had been to the cleaners) and solved a Facebook problem for me.
She goes to an exciting new life, filled with enthusiasm for what lies ahead of her; I have the weird feeling something new will come into my life to fill the void she's left, though I have no idea what. We're both moving forward but we forged a bond this year that is stronger and tighter than the one that has held us together since that day, now twenty-one years ago, when she walked into my office as a new work-study student and said, "Hi, I'm Elizabeth Knudson." I learned later that most of the world calls her Beth, but to me she will always be Elizabeth.
May the road rise to meet you, my friend.

Back to work

Today was the day I marked to get back to work on my novel-in-progress, No Neighborhood for Old Women. I started the day with wonderful intentions, got up early, had a blank calendar. By the time I answered emails, read Facebook and Twitter and the newspaper, made the bed, did a laundry, watered the plants, did my yoga and showered, the morning was gone.
After lunch, I went through the entire manuscript and keyed in answers to the questions that a critique partner asked. I figure if they stumped or bothered her as a reader, they would bother others. It wasn't too much work, except that I'd get mixed up between the copy with her questions and my own working copy and have to back up. But her suggestions were most helpful, so a big shout out to Mary Haywood, who has a good novel of her own under way. I also read back through my folder of notes--it's not one-fourth as thick as my folder on the first novel. I'm not sure if that's a bad sign or good. But I found a couple of early ideas that I'd had and discarded--and now I'm cogitating on them again.
But the big thing to me was that it felt like coming home. I was among familiar people that I knew and liked and cared about. Yeah, I know--they're my creation. But they really have taken on a life of their own, and I think that's a good sign. Once started, I am to keep at it as much as possible. But of course tomorrow the post office and the grocery store beckon, and I have a class at night.
Betty and I ate at Uncle Julio's tonight--I love their crispy beef tacos and guacamole. The restaurant has a sentimental charm for me. Colin tended bar there for so long I feared he would make it his profession (he's now an accoutant for five upscale golf courses). I clearly remember one night when Megan, Brandon, and I sat at the far side of the waiting area. Suddenly an ice cube landed in my glass of wine. I looked at the bar to see Colin grinning. He had thrown it quite a distance with unerring accuracy. I was impressed. I was also impressed always by the fact that since my son worked there, I had to tip generously. Since all my kids worked their way through school in restaurants, that was the case in a lot of places I ate. I haven't eaten in Julio's in a while, and it was good to be back there. I resisted but Betty succumbed to the chicken enchiladas with sour cream sauce.
I have to go back to my friends in No Neighborhood now. G'night.

Frittering away the day

Several years ago Texas Coop Power published an essay I wrote "On Learning to Putter." I originally called it "Learning to Putz," but the editors were afraid of the Yiddish implications of that word. Anyway, it's an art I never perfected. Today I think I came close. I really need to finish reading my mystery manuscript for the final time, but I found a thousand other things to do, some of them quite frivolous.
One that wasn't frivolous was taking the dog for his annual checkup. At almost eleven and an old man, he's still a handful in the car and on the leash. When I get there, I call and a technician comes out to get him--I simply don't need a broken hip! But he was pronounced in fine health, and when I reported my 19-year-old cat was also doing well, the lady vet said she thought she'd send her kids to my house--I must be doing things right. I'm always  relieved to have annual vet visits behind me.
Had an egg salad sandwich at Carshon's with a friend where we talked about everything but our books--proud of us--and had a good visit. The rest of the day went in straightening out phone bills--haven't quite gotten the cell phone one fixed yet, checking with the bank, calling Jordan about a menu for her porch party Sunday night, reading that new food magazine that came, paying some of my cousin's bills, reading emails--I'm on way too many lists. A biggie today though has been playing with Twitter. It always confused me, and I tended to post once every two weeks and then ignore it. But I'm following an on-line learning group and amazed at what I find. You can follow me at @JudyAlter. A big hurdle was changing my name from @JudyTexas--Krista Davis, the group leader, convinced me that if I want to be known as an author by my name, that's how I have to appear on Twitter. So far, I've made the change but left behind the hundred or so people who were following @JudyTexas. I've lined up a bunch of people to follow but don't know what to do about the followers--I suppose that's a lesson on down the road. I keep emailing the Twitter learning group and feel I'm probably the dunce of the class. (Special note to Brandon: I'm not following you because I can't understand your tweets and they show up on Facebook anyway--feel free to follow me:-)
Tonight I still want to go through that food magazine one more time, make a shopping list for Jordan's party, work some more on following people on Twitter--I think the truth is I've read that mystery so many times I'm burned out. Don't get me wrong--Skeleton in a Dead Space is a great story and you should all buy it when it launches August 29. It's just that I know it by heart now.
Sorry, I have to go tweet now.

The difference in authors

Nice dinner visit with a TCU faculty member who publishes in the academic world--that world I used to be part of. It's fun to compare notes about the very different worlds we operate in. She's waiting for a report on a second review of her political science manuscript from a major, large academic publisher--expects to hear in two months, which is a fast turnaround to me. When she asked, I tried to explain Smashwords to her but not sure I even understand it enough to do a good explanation. But she's kind to ask about my mysteries and my progress.
Writers' days are, I find, often eaten up by chores--cooking, folding that laundry that's been in the dryer for two days, doing your daily workout, watering plants--and the endless e-mails. But an email forwarded  David Wisehart's blog with helpful suggestions for those who want to promote online books. Find it at http://kindle-author.blogspot.com/2010/11/top-10-tips-for-promoting-your-book.html.
The internet is agog tonight at the Amazon posting of a "how to" book for pedolphiles, although the authors claims it's about loving children and not sexual abuse. Not many, including me, believe that. It's a can of worms--where does free speech end and decency take over. And who decides? I know what I think, but I wonder about others. One author on a mystery listserv suggested that by ordering the book, a person was open to investigation, even if the records had to be subpoened. As for the idea that folks boycott Amazon because of this, he wrote that instead he'd ask for a list of those who ordered. Someone asked if the book was available to registered sex offenders--I don't see how it could not be.

Mondays

Somehow, Mondays are catch-up days. This morning I discovered I was almost out of coffee, so I rushed to shower, get dressed, and go buy coffee plus pick up a book at Barnes & Noble that I had ordered. Came home to unload the dishwsher, fold the towels for the apt., and do chores like that. Of course, tonight, when I looked in that cabinet that I had thoroughly scoured this morning, I found a new container of coffee. Always the way.
Taught my memoir class at TCU at noon. It's a hard one. The ladies are really nice and sharing, but they are in the midst of their workday--on Monday, of all days, as one of them said. This is just an hour out of work, and their heads may have a hard time adjusting. We did share some great stories today--one woman wrote a prose poem about the women in her life and demonstated the legacy of strong women she's come from. Her own life made her sound really strong, and I much admired  her writing. She early on tried to drop out of the class because she didn't think her writing would hold up. I encouraged her, and now she's come up with one of the best pieces of the whole session. Today, the women shared stories happily and laughed a lot, though many agreed that most of what they recall about their lives is sad. I asked them to each write six sentences--or bullets--that sum up their life, trying to get them to put the odd bits and pieces  they've been writing into the perspective of a memoir. I think they see this as a writing class in which they should write an entertaining piece, without thought of how it fits into the overall picture of their lives. I stressed again that writing a memoir is about figuring out how you got where you are today, how you became the person you are.
It's amazing how busy I can keep with nothing the rest of the day--e-mails, answering questions for an online interview that I don't know when will appear, figuring out my Christmas list, cleaning off a huge pile on the corner of my desk--sorting pieces of paper and putting them where they belong, many in the trash. It's a good feeling.
Tomorrow is election day. I'll go to the White campaign office and make last-minute phone calls. I remain a bit optimistic in the face of negative polls. White had a good explanation that those are target polls, and in recent weeks I've surely talked to a lot more people who planned to vote for White than Perry.. I think the media gets hold of the polls and makes Perry's re-election a self-fulfilling prophecy. Can you imagine a United States with Rick Perry as president? God help us all. Please vote for Bill White tomorrow--it's important for Texas and for your future and mine.
The promised pictures of the weekend have not appeared. Maybe tomorrow.

From Down to Up

Today is a much better day and I regret the whiny post of yesterday. Biggest thing of the day is that about 3:30 p.m. I got advance copies of my cookbook/memoir. It looks good. (I tried twice to upload the cover and couldn't--maybe tomorrow the whims of the internet will be different.) I've thumbed through it, with some nostalgia, but not looked too closely. There has never ever been a book published without errors, and I don't want to find them in this one. But the pictures all seem to be there, and I'm excited about it. It should be in Barnes & Noble and other stores in a couple of weeks, but--blatant advertising--you can order it from 1-800-826-8911. $18.95 plus shipping and tax. I'm hoping the TCU B&N can sell copies Sunday at Books & Music in the Garden, and I'm trying to be creative about publicizing and marketing this one. Obviously State House Press is not sending me on even a Texas tour, but I hope to use the web (my attempt just now to post on Facebook was a bust!), emails etc. to get the word out. Some critics said only my good friends would buy it, and I'm hoping that's wrong--but, hey, I have a lot of good friends. And the recipes really are pretty good.
If the approach of rain makes you blue, as it did me last night, I think the actual arrival somehow clears the air, though it sure isn't cheering. We need the rain desperately, and it was gratefully received this morning, but I had to remind myself of that as I darted from car to door and back again several times. It never rained hard enough and I never went far enough to put up the umbrella, but I did get chilled and wet. First thing this morning I went for a haircut, and as she combed it Rosa said, "It will just fall anyway today." It held up pretty well through noon but then I developed that wet puppy look.
Charles and I had lunch at the Black-Eyed Pea today--a real treat for me, but I found he eats there often (all the waitresses greet him enthusiastically). Charles has a whole life I don't realize, mostly through his Unitarian Church, and it really is a blessing for him. We had a good visit, but he turned down my invitation to go to Central Market with me, said he gets too tired. I hate to see these signs in him. He's on oxygen now and carries a small tank with him wherever he goes--but go he does, and more power to him!
By the time we left the restaurant, it had stopped raining. I dropped him off, doubled back to Central Market, and hurried home to hibernate.
Overnight I made a decision about what I'm going to do about my novel, and then today got an email from an author who I promised I would blog about her book. So I have chores I'm looking forward to.
I was tempted to run out to Jordan's tonight to show off the cookbook, but once home I was too cozy to go out again (I did ride my bike four miles!). I'll go tomorrow night for happy hour.
Reservations are a bit up for Books & Music in the Garden, it's supposed to be a beautiful day, and I'm feeling more optimistic about it.

No Neighborhood for Old Women

Yes, that's the title of my work-in-progress, in which a serial killer is stalking old women in an inner city "transitional" neighborhood. Its a cozy, so it's not gruesome like a lot of serial killer fiction, and, yes, the title is a clear play on Cormac McCarthy's most recent, award-winning novel--but it fits the story. I'm excited about this story, more so by the day, so I decided to ask my blog readers for their opinion on the opening. Would you buy it or not? (Be honest!)
Of course, I couldn't figure out how to cut and paste--I know there's a way--so here goes a labor of love: retryping the first page:

Florence Dodson was murdered the same night that Claire Guthrie shot her husband. For me, the story began with Claire, and I put Mrs. Dodson on the back burner in my mind. That turned out to be a mistake--sort of.
I answered the doorbell about 8:30 that July night only to find Claire standing there, holding a gun. Luckily, she didn't have it pointed at me. No, Claire held the gun limply at her side. I really only saw it because the light from our front porch glinted off it.
"Claire?" My voice was tentative.
She didn't answer, didn't move. She seemed almost in a trance.
"Claire?" I repeated.
She stared at me, and yet I felt invisible. "I just shot Jim," she said.
"Shot him? "Is he dead" For a moment I was paralyzed. I knew I should do something, anything, but what, call 911? Rush to Jim's aide? The irreverent thought flitted through my mind that nobody deserved shooting more than Jim Guthrie, to whom I'd taken an instant dislike on our first meeting. I'm sure it was mutual.
"Claire?" I spoke sharply. "Answer me! Does he need help?" Please, God, let her have shot him in the foot or something!
She just stared at me. Finally, slowly, she said, "No. Someone told me I should shoot his sorry ass. And that's what I did. I shot him in the butt."

Let me know what you think. Meantime I've been thinking about the different ways writers approach mystery. On my opening page you can see the two major threads of the novel--an old woman dies, and a woman shoots her husband. There's more of course--Kelly's growing involvement with Mike Shandy, her mom's move to Texas from Illinois, the ongoing antics of her daughters--but there you have the basics.
In the opening of the Mary Higgins Clark novel I'm reading even in the first chapters, the action jumps from scene to unrelated scene, some of them less than a page long. It's like holding a fistful of threads in your hand and wondering how they'll come together. Yet you know Clark will tie them all together. I wonder how she works--does she plot it all out beforehand? It seems to me she'd have to, just to be sure those threads would come together.
I recently had an inquiry from an author who said he preferred to do his own cover art (a big no-no for our production manager) but he knew that comparing his work to professional artists was like telling a chef he worked at McDonald's. I feel the same way in triplicate about even mentioning my writing in the same breath as Clark's, but I could never start out with that many threads, because as I write I have only the vaguest outline of how things are going to happen. After my recent lunch with mentor Fred and a long talk about the possibilities of this novel, I suddenly figured out how some of the pieces are going to fall into place. Still haven't got the big, climactic ending in my mind--and almost 3/4 way through the manuscript. But I sure am having fun.
Still doing chores today--three loads of laundry, watering plants, a yoga workout, company tonight for a simple supper. I don't have time for work some days!

What a day!

And the day is only half over. I've had the blahs the last couple of days--accompanied by a stuffy nose that made me think okay, I wasn't being blah, I have a cold. But that's sort of negative thinking. And to my mind, one way to get over the blahs, is to get a lot of things done, especially things you don't want to do. Now this may not sound like a big deal to many of you, but here's my list: go to the cleaners, drop off used clothing at the Women's Center used clothing store (all those curtains that I replaced with plantation blinds plus a whole bag of shoes that now kill my hammer toe and gnarly old feet), turn on the front porch hose since no freeze is coming for a while (this is not as easy as it sounds--it involves crawling under the railing on the porch steps to get to the spigot; getting there is not bad, getting up is a lot harder, in spite of all that "core strength" Elizbeth says I have). But the biggie--taking Scooby to the vet (twice) wreaked havoc on the back seat of my car. I took it to the car wash Saturday, and they didn't touch the back seat. So today as soon as I got home about noon, I put the top down, put on old clothes, and climbed in and scrubbed. Took two washings and still isn't perfect, but when I went to put the top up, it wouldn't go. I've had this problem before--it doesn't quite go all the way down, so naturally it won't go all the way back up. So tomorrow I'm headed for Volkswagen service as early as possible.
I fixed myself creamed tuna for lunch--one of my comfort foods, and then, settled at my desk, I called Dell support because the screen on my laptop is dark. The external monitor works fine, and I can carry on, but that dark screen makes me nervous. Every time I waken the computer, I'm afraid it won't wake up. Brandon is off skiing and no help, so I tried the online rememdies--didn't work. Then I called the support number where they told me that my computer is out of warranty but they could help me for a fee. I spent a long time on the phone with a woman whose first language is definitely not English--comined with my hearing that's sort of a recipe for disaster. And guess what? The laptop screen is still dark. I think she told me that the screen was dark because the picture is going to the external monitor, but I tried gently to remind her that it hasn't been that way for four years. I hope it all works until late March when I'll be in Austin and can ask Brandon to look at it.
I've been piddling ever since. I think I'll have a nap and see if I don't get enough wind back to go to the Fat Tuesday pancake supper at church with Jean and Jim, who kindly offered to come get me. I always worry about the idea of pancakes for supper--so sweet--but they do have luscious toppings and sausage patties. Got to be home by 8 though to hear the president's speech.
I have actually been moving ahead (sometimes blindly) on my second mystery and beginning to think of what project I want to take on after I finish that. I'm not one to have six or eight unpublished mystery manuscripts in my closet. So I think I want to do something more semi-academic. But I'd also like to do more food writing. Silly to be thinking about when I'm only two-thirds through the work-in-progress.
Family story of the week: Colin took Kegan, almost two, to California to meet his grandfather. They flew out Friday and back Sunday, which is a lot of travel for a little kid in a very short time. He was apparently good up until they had to leave at 3 a.m. to come home Sunday. Then he pitched a fit because he didn't want to get in the car--he wanted the golf cart. Rest of the trip went fairly well, I guess, with a change of planes in Salt Lake City. But the last 45 minutes to an hour out of Houston, Kegan, that sweet, calm, quiet little boy, pitched a fit of unknown quality and quantity. He didn't just cry--he screamed, he kicked, he thrashed about. Colin had to clutch him to his chest so he wouldn't kick the seat in front of him, and people of course gave him dirty looks. One man asked, "Don't you have a pacifier?" Someone suggested it was his ears, and Colin said, "No, he's just done." The woman next to Colin had a two-year-old at home and was sympathetic, but Kegan topped the whole thing off by throwing up all over himself, Colin, the woman next to Colin, and the seat back in front of them. Colin, who is really an excellent father, coped as best he could, but when he got off one woman said to him, "I can't believe you're traveling alone with that child." Lisa said the Lord knew what he was doing by putting Colin there and not her--she's have had a meltdown too. Apparently, now, all is well, and Kegan is back to his sweet, charming self.

A Jacob evening

Jacob is spending the night tonight, and oh boy, was he in high spirits. He wanted to get into everything. He'd pick up knitting needles and look at me to see my reaction. I said, "Not for Jacob." Then he'd try something else and watch my reaction. But he's good about amusing himself and played endlessly with the dollhouse in the playroom, the stick horse, the trike (which he can't quite master). Only occasoinally he'd settle onto the bed to watch his DVD. When I told him to get the stool so he could climb into his pack-and-play, he made no objection, but then with my back turned he crawled into it by himself. Almost fell, but I caught him. At least he can't get out of it unassisted--at least I don't think he can.
The evening made me think about the issue of playing with children. A recent Ann Landers column (okay, I read them in the morning paper) dealt with mothers who complained they were tired to death of "playing" with their children, much as they loved them. The two--playing and loving--aren't necessarily the same. I don't remember actually playing with my children a lot--for most of the time there were four and they played with each other. But I clearly remember one morning when Maddie (then about two and now almost ten) said, "Come on, Juju, play with me!" I was a bit at a loss. And I don't really play with Jacob, as in getting down on the floor and moving his trucks or the dollhouse people or whatever. But we've worked out a routine that is comfortable for both of us--I sit with a book, and he plays, and I sometimes tease him about what he's doing or talk about it, and he grins. He had a smelly diaper tonight and that became a great game--he hid behind the hobby horse and anywhere else he thought I couldn't get him, so I finally ignored him and he emerged. Diaper changed and pajamas on, but not without a struggle. When he announced he'd go home now, I said no, he was spending the night with Juju and his mommy and dada would come in the morning. He seemed quite philosophical about it.
Because I was watching Jacob, I let myself get distracted from my chores. Started a J. A. Jance novel I'd just ordred for my Kindle and now of course I'll spend the rest of the evening on it instead of reading my own second mystery, reading the proposed manuscript I brought home, finishing my taxes--all those chores that loom. I have a long weekend to do them--our office is closed Monday for Martin Luther King Day.

An ordinary day and some thoughts on TV

No miracles today. It was the kind of day I went to the drugstore, the grocery store, the hardware. I folded the laundry that had been in the dryer for two days and ran the dishwasher--finally. I replaced the light bulb that has been out in the panel in the bathroom forever--very embarrassing when I had company, but I didn't notice it until that day. It was a globe light in a panel of them over the long mirror and built-in cabinets that Jamie thinks I should take out and I refuse because they're so characteristic of a 1920s house. I napped, I read a manuscript, I wrapped Christmas presents and answered e-mails. Ho, hum!
You know how when you have a cold no food really appeals? That's how I felt all day, so I thought I'd do a grilled cheese for lunch. Burned it again! This time so badly it couldn't be scraped and saved, so I ended with a sort of open-faced melted cheese and cooked tomato sandwich. Not my idea of comfort food. Besides, I've heard once you burn a pan, it will always burn in the same spot--I hope not because this was a severe burn in my iron skillet. I cooked chopped sirloin in it tonight and it seemed okay.
Last night I said I was going to watch junk TV while wrapping presents. Even junk TV is so worthless I'm better off with my own thoughts. There was football, the Simpsons (which I despise) and I can't remember what else, but Desperate Housewives seemed the best choice and it was so awful I turned it off. Tonight I was going to wrap again and remembered that I used to watch Two-and-a-Half Men, but even the thought seemed so silly I wrapped packages in silence. Have I suddenly grown up at the age of 70 or has my taste matured? I love watching news programs, documentaries, etc., but the rest of it is not worth the money I spent having AT&T wire the house. Oh, well, there's the food channel, but still, give me a good book any time.

The day after a storm

Don't tell me weather and the barometer don't affect moods. I woke up this morning feeling more energetic and optimistic than I have in weeks. Perhaps it was relief that Colin and his family are okay, perhaps it was relief that the storm bypassed us (we could have used more rain), but I think it was just this it was a bright and sunny cool, breezy morning, the kind of fresh day you get after a rain. As usual I lingered over the paper and coffee but then I rushed around opening windows (no small trick at my house where security is a big concern), watering plants, stripping beds (including the guest apt.), filling the bird feedeer, cleaning up after the dog--in short doing all those chores I had avoided in my lethargy yesterday. Then I made a casserole to take to Jordan's tonight, rode my exercise bike, and--okay, it's barely noon, and I'm tried. But I feel good about all of it.
Later Had my nap and took my casserole out to Jordan and Christian and Jacob--who ate a surprise amount of it and said, "Thank you dinner, Juju." It was Doris' casserole, a family classic that a friend calls American lasagne. Everyone who tries it loves it--a meat and tomato layer (I used ground bison), a noodle, sour cream, cream cheese layer, topped with grated cheese and baked until hot and the cheese melts. It was a lovely evening to drive over there and back with the top down. I went back streets and by the park where there are lots of trees.
Lisa left a message while I was out that they had borrowed a generator and should be okay tonight. This morning Colin said they were fine and happy but it wasn't a great way to live. He hoped he could find out how long they would be without power and was investigating finding one online. I was afraid they were pretty scarce, so this is a good solution. Anxious to hear tomorrow how they did.

Oh-Oh! Another Day at Home

I've stayed in again all day. Yes, it's beastly hot outside, but that's not the reason. Every bit of me feels much, much better than yesterday, which must have just been an off day--every bit of me, that is, except my right foot, which hurts like *&%$#. It dawned on me this morning, after I put a chicken in to roast and settled at my desk to read the newspaper, that it really hurt, and I wasn't going to a luncheon today, even though it was in honor of Betty. I called Betty, who was sad that neither Jeannie nor I could make it; I called the hostess who suggested someone would pick me up, but I knew I should just stay off it; I called my brother who prescribed aspirin every four hours and hot soaks; I called Jeannie, who is so down in her back she couldn't go to the luncheon, and she suggested we'd make a great team. Then I settled in for a long day at home--sometimes I don't handle them gracefully, but I actually enjoyed this one.
I wrote more on my novel, and it seemed to flow--maybe I wrote five pages. But I got hoooked on Bleeding Kansas, a contemporary anti-war novel that draws on "Bleeding Kansas'" Civil War history. Written by Sara Parestsky, it's set outside Lawrence, where history-minded folk still know all about Quantrill's Raiders. Paretsky is known for V. I. Warshawski novels, about a female private eye in Chicago, and she wrote one recent nonfiction book, Writing in an Age of Silence, that I liked a lot because it dwells on writing, the state of publishing in today's world, and strongly echoes my own liberal views. In fact, I e-mailed her after reading that book and received a lovely, gracious reply. I'm not liking this one as well--she's better at mysteries--but I agree with the sentiments she's trying to get across, and I find myself drawn to the book, picking it up again and again (okay, picking up the Kindle) when I should be writing my own book. I'm such a Paretsky fan that I hate to criticize but I do find some of the characters stereotypical and too broadly drawn, especially the redneck family who are high on born-again Christianity and patriotism.
I've tried to stay off my feet today, but it's amazing on a quiet day at home how much walking you do--laundry in the dryer had to be folded, clean dishes unloaded from the dishwasher, plants inside and out watered, the bed made, animals fed, and on and on. Tonight I've done it all, I think, and I'm about to go soak my feet and then go next door to Sue's house for supper--she starts a new job tomorrow, a big jump in her career, and wants a cheering team of one tonight.

Lame Mondays

You know people who party too hard on weekend and have a headache (read hangover) on Monday? Well, I have a limp on Mondays. I had noticed in the past that my right foot was occasionally really painful to walk on, but a little clinical observation has proved to me that it's always on Mondays after I've had a cooking weekend. This morning, after fixing two large dinners over the weekend, plus tending to a houseful of kids and grandkids, I could barely walk on that foot--and truth to tell, I felt achy and bruised all over. By mid-day I felt better, and by tonight I'm back to normal. But that soreness and limp are things about aging that I don't like to confront.

As a result, it was a quiet day. I came home a little before noon and did all kinds of household chores--laundry, emptied the dishwasher, put away dishes from dinner last night, etc. And took a long nap. Tonight I had dinner with good friends at a lovely small Italian restaurant, relaxing and fun, though I meant to have a salad and ended up with lasagne.

Now it's time to explore Scottish history some more. I've decided if I'm going to do a book on Scots in Texas I have to really grasp Scottish history, including the difference between Scots who came to America and Ulster-Scots, those who had migrated to northern Ireland or whose families had--it's a complicated story that I'm trying hard to understand.

Meanwhile, here's another grandkids picture. I can't resist!

Getting Things Done at Home

Today was one of those days that knock away several small chores and problems that niggle at you. I took the dog to the vet for his annual check-up and dental cleaning (there goes my life savings!). Since Scooby is a rambunctious Australian shepherd who doesn't realize he's aging, I don't try to handle him on the leash--I park outside, call, and someone from the vet's office comes to get him. Then when I go back, they put him in the car. I love it. Scooby pulled me down twice several years ago and I figure I'm too close to osteoporosis for that, so he gets his exercise chasing squirrels in the back yard. Now, glad to be home, he's sleeping at my feet.
The exterminator came. The house is rat free, and all those flies had nothing to do with a dead rat. They're just a seasonl phenomenon. He offered to spray--it's kind of embarrassing to tell an exterminator that I don't like sprays and I'd just as soon going on swatting flies like Jack the Giant Killer. Besides, their life span is waning, and they're "dying like flies." (Oooh, sorry, couldn't resist!)
And Jim Sharratt, who watches over my lawn and garden and, most of all, sprinkler system came to work on the sprinkler system. He can't get one head to work (right by the redbud tree that looks puny last fall and now I guess we know why). But he's got eveything else about my yard in great shape. And he's calling in reinforcements for that stubborn head. He thinks the roots of a tree we just cut down had grown into the pipe.
I put away laundry and groceries, hung up clothes, unloaded the dishwasher, all those tiny chores that if you don't do them daily pile up into a mess. I kind of came home and dumped things because I was determined to ride the exercise bike. So then I had to clean up behind myself.
A new book arrived today--one that I wrote. The author's copies of Women's Rights in the Global Perspectives Series from Cherry Lake Publishing were by the front door as I left for supper. It's always fun to see the book that was, to me, just typed pages, turn into something with colorful pictures, fancy design, etc. This one was really hard to write--they are issues in international women's rights that are not appropriate for discussion with fourth graders--and I am pleased with the way it came out. I got six copies--shall have to hoard the two I have left after giving one to each child. It pleases me that each of my children has a library of my work, although I suspect many of those libraries are incomplete.
It was almost balmy today but by Friday it will be cold, and I find myself dreading that. Even went to the grocery just in case it snows or ices or something. Ah, Texas!