A day at the lake

Today, with my manuscript crying out to be revised, I went off to spend several hours with friends Pat and Hal Normand at their Lake Worth house. I'm ashamed to say it's been over three  years since they tore down the cabin they'd had there and built a new house. Pat tells me it's built on a plan from Coastal Magazine, and though she described it as modified Craftsman, I'd describe it as modified Cape Cod, maybe because of the partial shingles of the outside and the narrow, tall construction.. Either way, it's lovely but unpretentious. Inside the main living area is all one open space--kitchen, living room, dining to the side, screened-in-porch off the living room, all with a direct and uncluttered view of the lake. To the side, out the dining room windows is a view of a small cove, and behind the house is undeveloped wild land. They have deer and other wild animals--in fact a deer jumped the fence and landed in their yard recently.
Hal tells me he loves to sit and watch the lake because something is always happening. I couldn't see that, but I have always loved a view of water since my childhood days spent at the Indiana Dunes, and I confess to a bit of jealousy. There is one room downstairs, just off the front door, that is used for an office but could be a third bedroom; upstairs there's a spacious landing that Pat has filled with her mom's Victorian furniture and two bedrooms. The master has that magnificent view of the lake again with a small porch which they never use because they love the screened-in-porch (especially important in these summer of West Nile virius). The guest room upstairs looks out on the woods, which once again reminds me of the Dunes where we had water in front and woods in back. A special place: what they call the atrium, a courtyard between the house and the garage that has a table and chairs and is absolutely overflowing with plants. Hal paved it with flagstones himself, one by one. It's spectacular. I want to transport this house--and the lake--to my beloved inner city neighborhood. I guess you can't have everything, but in a big way I envy them. On the other hand, I'm glad they're so happy there. I wish of course that I'd taken pictures, but I didn't--kept thinking about it.
After a big brunch of flat enchiladas and a good catch-up visit, I came home to work on my manuscript and made good progress. Then I had a long, great nap, and got up and cooked vegetables--a cauliflower salad (actually it was broccoflower but I couldn't taste broccoli), beets and greens, and an ear of corn that needed to be used. Elizabeth and I feasted on that and the roast chicken she had brought, though she won't eat my beets! Drat!
 

Books, taxes, and naps

I finished the new P.D.James novel, The Private Patient, and while I know James is THE mistress of the British detective story, all I can say is it sure did end far away from where it began, although James connected it all neatly in the end. The first 40 or so pages, as I've mentioned, were devoted to exploring the character of the victim. But after she died, she became almost a minor player and we readers became enmshed in the lives of other characters. By the last third of the novel, it was fairly clear who was the murderer (although there was one other possibly credible suspect), but the way it worked out was a surprise. Would I recommend the novel? I don't know. I'm not a fan of British mysteries, and as Mary Lu said, it's not a book you can't put down. On the other hand, it wasn't a book I wanted to leave before finishing it (I have a real thing against doing that and only succumb on rare occasionas!).
I have started work on my 2008 taxes and separated everthing into categories, etc. Have done all my accounts, except my everyday checking account and, sorry, I just can't face that tonight. Another time, another day. After all, all those 1099s or whatever won't come in before the end of the month. And I've also made great progress on preparing to query a small press about my mystery--but I need some files from my office computer to do that and didn't want to go up there today.
I spent the morning finishing up taking down Christmas decorations, packaging them, etc. In the process I found tax stuff for '01, '04, '05, and '06. I can only hope '02, '03, and '07 are already in the attic where they belong. And of course I can never remember where I hid all the non-Christmas objects or where they go. Am still missing one black stoneware pitcher that has sentimental value. And I was afraid to take my grandmother's tureen down from the top of the wardrobe where I'd hidden it. Will wait for someone more sure of foot and hand to do that for me.
Charles and I had lunch at the Black-Eyed Pea--I love their veggie plates, though I think he cheated. He had baked potato (think of all the calories in the bacon and sour cream) and turnip greens, which I really don't like. I had carrots, corn, squash casserole, and green beans. I thought you had to choose five but when I hesitated over the fifth, the waitress said, "Seniors only have to order four!" I demanded indignantly how she knew I was a senior, and Charles laughed and said, "Because you are with one!" Then we went to Central Market, which always interests him though he doesn't buy anything.
And then I came home and had what I felt was a much-deserved nap. When I woke up I couldn't remember if it was Sunday morning or not and I'd just had my last sleep-in morning. Then I realized it was afternoon. I was so deliciously comfortable, with my feet wrapped around the very warm cat who was curled at the foot of the bed, that I hated to get up. But I did, fed the dog, and rode my bike. Fixed one of the dinners that makes Christian say I have odd tastes--pickled herring for appetizer, followed by braseola (the Italian beef version of prosciutto) dressed with lemon and olive oil, shaved parmesan, and watercross. Sooo good.
Which reminds me of a recipe Lisa taught me and I've been meaning to share: enchilada casserole that's the easiest I've ever heard of. For each person, take a corn tortilla and cover one side with green enchilada sauce (okay, you could use red), put it sauce side down in a casserole, top with cubed chicken, green chillies, and more enchilada sauce. Add a second tortilla, covered with more enchilada sauce and grated cheese. Bake until heated and cheese is melted. I can't eat a whole one--still have half in the fridge.
Gotta go. Sleepless in Seattle is on the TV.

Loss

My friend Andy died two days ago, but I just learned of it today. The world looks a little different to me, because I had thought until this week that he would always be in Santa Fe and we'd have a grand visit next time I could get there. I've thought about him and Tina all day, and more than sadness I feel a deep admiration. When I think about it, I doubt any who knew Andy--family, kids, friends--ever thought his chances for a long life into old age were good. Because he was a realist, Andy must have known that too. But he and Tina acted as though recovery was the next step, around the corner. They lived each day, at least as far as I could see, with that attitude, and it's a great lesson for all of us. Andy leaves me with the feeling that I've been privileged to know someone special.
It's been a day of small disappointments, but, hey, they aren't worth talking about. The weekend looms, and I'm going to fill it with things I enjoy--mostly cooking. Tomorrow night I'm taking a friend to dinner for her b'day; Saturday I'm going to cook myself a really good dinner--I think fish almondine and greens with anchovies--a recipe I just found. It calls for collards, which I hate, but I'll use spinach, and I love anchovy. Sunday night Jordan and Christian are coming for dinner, and I'll make Norwegian hamburgers and Christians' favorite green beans--canned green beans, cooked with a bit of bacon grease and vinegar. But I have a surprise for them about the hamburgers--I'll share it after the event.
I have been working on my cookbook. Tomorrow I'll print out the revised version so I can read, proof and edit over the weekend. And I began tonight to write a column on Robert E. Howard, the creator of Conan the Barbarian. I'm sure many will be surprised that he's a Texas writer, one who deserves more recognition that he gets. He lived in the little town of Cross Plains, Texas, all his life and wrote over 800 stories, poems, and novels--amazingly prolific in a 12-year career (he committed suicide at the age of 30). It's all hard to put into 800 words, but I'm working on it.
It's still summer hot, and I wish for cool weather every morning. What do you wear to work in late September when it's still in the 90s? Flowery pastel clothes are inappropriate, fall clothes are too heavy. But Melinda brought me a bag of tomatoes and said as long as it stays hot, she'll have tomatoes. Maybe that's a compensation for the continuing hot weather, because the tomatoes sure are good.