A birthday tribute to my dad

Above is the MacBain Clan Crest, with the words "Touch not the cat but a targe (glove--be wary when dealing with MacBains) and the clan crest and a bit of the everyday plaid.

My mother hooked the wall hanging; my oldest son and daughter-in-law put together the plaid-and-grey quilt with the crest in the center.

 

 

Today is my dad's birthday. Richard Norman MacBain was born in 1897 in Ontario, the son of a minister in the church of England. He served in the British Army in WWI and then came to the States to study osteopathic medicine. Eventually he became president of his osteopathic college, administrator of the associated hospital and, during my early years, maintained a part-time private practice. He shaped me, and I took away many things from him.
He was a Scot and proud of it, rarely mentioning that his mom was Irish. I too am a proud Scot, a member of Clan MacBain. Dad became interested in genealogy late in life, even visited the MacBain Memorial Garden outside Inverness. I've been there too and nearly wept at the Culloden Battlefield. Someday I'd love to write a novel incorporating Scottish history.
Dad's Anglophile tendencies led him to be proper and dignified, and he used to say you always used  your best manners on your family. He was a stickler about table manners, and my brother and I have inherited that and put it into effect with our children and now the grandchildren. No elbows on the table, use the right utensil, don't butter your bread in the air (that one used to get me). But I truly appreciate good manners and a certain grace about dining, though I'm mostly given to casual entertaining. I didn't come away with his Anglophile food tastes--meat and potatoes (we ate a lot of lamb as I grew up and I loved it). Mom loved fish and seafood and when they visited Boston she'd drag him to seafood restaurant and then hide her face when he ordered roast beef.
I also got a strong work ethic from my father. He worked hard, believed in treating all people fairly and doing the best honest job he could. I went to work in his office at fourteen and by the time I moved away at twenty-one, I was his executive secretary (not a pc term today). I'd still make a damn good executive secretary. Before anyone thinks cushy job working for your father, you'd have to know Dad. He was harder on me than any other employee (except maybe my brother who briefly worked in maintenance), and he's the reason that I am today, in retirement, compulsively at work on lots of projects.
I can remember in the evenings that Mom and Dad sat in their chairs by the fireplace and read, each with a book, but they kept interrupting each other to read an irresistible passage aloud. They took turns reading the works of Will and Ariel Durant aloud. No wonder I have a houseful of books.
Like my dad, I am most comfortable if church is a regular part of my life--there have been periods I let it slip away, and I was sorry. Dad and I used to sing hymns, loudly and off key, and I love the hymns, the ritual of the Methodist or Christian church. On Sunday evenings, Dad would play the piano, and we'd sing together--sometimes Scottish songs, though his specialty was "Redwing" and I still hear that melody going through my head.
There are things I didn't take from Dad, one being his love of gardening. It was his avocation, and he spent weekends on his knees, in disreputable clothes, digging in the dirt. We owned the lot next to our house, and it was Dad's garden, beautiful to behold. Then in the summer evenings, he and Mom would sit out there and have a drink. Today I like a lovely garden, but I don't like doing the work...and these days my aging back won't let me.
There are of course facets to me that come from my mom and some that sprang up to surprise them and me. But so much of me is my dad come to life again--I even look like a MacBain. So, thanks, Dad,and Happy Birthday.

Lessons in Humility on a rainy day

Yesterday as I went down the drive to cross the street and pick up Jacob at school, there was a car parked diretly across my driveway. My one peeve about living across from a school, and it's a big one, is that parents are rude. So as I skirted the car and headed across the street, I was in high dudgeon. My friend Booker, the crossing guard, must have guessed my mood because he came over to me and just as I was saying, "Now that's rude in the extreme," he said, "She's handicapped. I told her you don't go anywhere this time of day." Not the first time he's made me see things in a different perspective.
And another lesson: last week when friends were here, Jordan came by and we were talking about an acquaintance whose behavior we didn't exactly like. Jordan said, "She's ... wait I have to think how to say this." Five-year-old Jacob piped up, "Yeah, because there's a child in the room." It made me realize we were being petty to talk about anybody in terms we couldn't say in front of him. Was it Mother Teresa who said if you judge others you don't have time to love them?
Seems to me I get a lot of similar lessons in humility but I'm a slow learner. I look at others who are dealing with illness or unhappiness or aging parents or other family problems, and I'm grateful for my healthy, happy family, my satisfying life as a writer, my house, animals and garden. But I still need to learn to translate that deliberate thanksfulness to automatic response to other people. Hard to do. Don't get me started on some politicians--I may draw the line there:-)
Lunch today with Melinda at our favorite Italian place, Patrizio's. We each had a half grilled chicken salad--their salads are huge and half is just right. As we always do we laughed and hooted and had fun. It was a sunny, pleasant day. By three, when I got Jacob it was gray, and we felt the first few drops.  Tonight it's outright raining, and I'm going to forego my weekly Tuesday night meatloaf fix. Maybe I'll sneak down to the Grill Thursday night and get take-out before my class. This is a good night to stay home, warm and dry.

A book signing and a cooking/holiday day

Eleven of the contributors signed Grace & Gumption: The Cookbook at a local Barnes & Noble today and sold a respectable number of copies, plus three copies of the original book, Grace & Gumption: Stories of Fort Worth Women, which is hardback and much more expensive. I think, however, with the exception of one man, we got no takers from drop-in buyers. We tried to talk to several who passed by, but those encounters only end with making you look a bit foolish--at least to me. Those who bought were friends of one or more of the contributors. Still, it was a jolly get-together--those women are so much fun.
Otherwise this was a domestic day: a load of wash, run the dishwasher (I only have to do that every five or six days), and cook. I baked the gingersnaps from the dough I made yesterday--if the dough is any indication, they'll be delicious. But the recipe says roll into walnut-size balls. Mine were too big, because they spread and ran into each other, and I ended up with the weirdest shaped cookies. Then I made a small squash casserole, and cooked fresh asparagus and Dover sole for my dinner.
Tonight I'm off to wrap a few more presents. The holidays are firmly planted in my mind.
It's cold in North Texas tonight, with a threat of frost in outlying areas, though I doubt we'll get it in the city. Still my sweet potato plants are looking pretty pitiful. My neighbors put up a g-normous metal trellis between our houses (at some points, they are very close together, and they've been training ivy up the hurricane fence, so now they twisted some of the ivy on to the trellis). It's pretty, but I'm not sure how I feel about it--I'll wait to see how much ivy grows on it. I know that tiny strip on my side is ugly--a bunch of volunteer trees, but as Greg the botanist says, "They're trees, aren't they?" I figure they cool the house in summer. Beyond that, nothing will grow because no sun ever penetrates back there. I do keep that area cleaned up after the dog--it seems to be one of his favorite places.
You'll note I've ignored internet fame and fortume for the day.

Busy day and a pleasant evening

It wasn't the lazy day I imagined. I did linger over the paper--disturbed by the news that the UNT Board (is that Bored?) of Regents voted unanimously to approve an MD school at the UNT Health Sciences Center--oh, wait, that was yesterday. Still disturbed. Then I made myself barely presentable and jumped into the car to buy more apricots to replace those I scorched yesterday. Came home, prepared to soak them in boiling water, and discovered they were dark brown, a yucky scary color. So back to the store tomorrow. I think my prune bread plan is jinxed. But I made some really great pesto, did a lot on decorating the house for Christmas (why am I so obsessed this year? maybe because I'll be gone on Thanksgiving weekend, which is when I usually decorate), planted pansies in my planter boxes (and dug up an amazingly large potato from my sweet potato vines), and pulled out the basil roots. Wow! I felt I'd done a great day's work.
After lunch and reading some, I had a nap. Then I began making finger sandwiches to take to Sue's six-o'clock-happy hour. Only she called about 5:05 and apparently it was at 5, not six. So I rushed, left the kitchen in a mess, the animals unfed, but arrived with my finger sandwiches and bottle of wine. And had a most pleasant evening--her parents, of whom I'm very fond, are here from Canada for the winter--they'll go to Rockport but be here occsionally. Visited with them and neighbors, and it was most enjoyable.
My finger sandwiches used most of the leftover bread in my freezer--a real bonus. Since I've been on Weight Watchers I haven't been eating bread. I made an ersatz pimiento cheese spread--it had smoky Gouda, smoky cheddar, sun-dried tomatoes (the kind in oil, drained and chopped) and paprika. I added a bit of cayenne which was just right.
A nice day.

Book signing

Random images from a book signing that Jordan gave for her friends tonight at my house. Jacob spent the evening in a Spiderman costume (and often with a mask) running around yelling "Yaaah!" at people, after he got over about an hour of shyness. And then he couldn't decide if he wanted to go home or stay with Juju--I'm now listening to him on the monitor. He is not asleep. I think, from the sound, he's playing with his cars.

The party was lots of fun because all the young people were friends of mine too. One, who works with Jamie, brought his wife and came from Dallas--he and Jordan had been high school buddies. Jordan's boss was here, mostly because her daughter and Jordan were friends as very young children and Tori, the daughter, is in one of the pictures in the book. And the lady above is the mother of one of Jordan's friends--she bought the book to encourage her daughter to cook. Several people bought more than one copy, which was encouraging. I have published enough books that it surprises me when people says, "It's not everyday you know someone who has written a book" and similar things. But I admit I have more of myself invested in the cookbook memoir than many of the books I've done.

Tomorrow night--porch party to eat the leftover dips. I asked Jordan what she was doing and she said, "Well, nothing, until Jay invited me to a party on your porch!"

My neighbor, Greg, whom I just met but who is now doing my garden for me, turns out to be lots of fun and very knowledgeable about plants, particularly the native plants that I love. He did a wonderful job of cleaning out beds today, and I think after he's had the garden for a season, it will really show a big change, so I'm excited. I'm going to call tomorrow and ask him and his wife to join us for a porch party.

All is quiet from Jacob and it's probably time for me to go to bed too.

Broomsticks

I bought a new broomstick today. Not a broom, just the stick. This may not sound like a big deal to many people, but it is to me. I had the stick to an old mop that had come apart. I kept that stick on the porch, and it was my gardening stick--it gave me balance when I went into the yard. Last weekend, it disappeared, and I accused Jordan and Christian of pirating it away so Jacob wouldn't get it. They deny it vehemently, but I don't know who would take an old plastic stick with a broken and sharp end. But now, for a mere $4, I have a neat new wooden "garden stick." I am completely happy--and have little excuse for not doing my ten minutes of gardening a day. That's the kind of gardener I am, mostly because the bending and stooping makes my back hurt. Fortuntely mine is a small yard.
Had my third yoga lesson today and did things I didn't think I could. Elizabeth says I did very well, and I sure felt a lot of those postures pull at my muscles--in a good way. As everyone has always told me, yoga is hard work. In several poses, such as down dog, my muscles quiver from the exertion. But I feel a real sense of accomplishment from it and intend to keep at it. It was a great lift to have Elizabeth say that my confidence and balance are better than three weeks ago when I started.
I've had mysteries rattling around in my brain again today. I thought maybe if I hadn't heard from that agent, I should a) send a proposal to more agents, and b) start work on a new book. The latter puzzles me. I think, Okay, I'll write about a senior sleuth. But I like the two little girls in the book that's out and hate to abandon them. And there's that ditzy old aunt from another manuscript--could I incorporate her? This morning I resolved that you had to have the murder first--people kill for love or money. Which would it be? I know it's good that these ideas are floating around in my brain. Some day I'll have an "Aha!" moment. Hope it's soon.

A Cooking Failure

Well, everyone has them. Today I had this elaborate chili recipe, including black coffee and Dr. Pepper (I used beer) that I thought sounded really good. I worked on it this morning, carefully following the recipe, though I admit I doctored it a bit, in ways I thought would be an improvement. Somehow the house wasn't flooded with wafts of chili cooking, which I thought was strange. I let it simmer, put it in the fridge, and tasted just a bit tonight. It was bland, though it had an afterbite. I guess I'll have to "doctor" it further tomorrow--more spices, more tomato sauce, definitely more salt. Meantime for dinner I had the last half of yesterday's trout, salad, sauteed zucchini, and those delicious fresh raspberries on which I'd splurged.
This morning, so confident of my new recipe, I was lingering over the paper, coffee, and my favorite weekend breakfast--eggs soft-scrambled with diced tomato, sliced scallions, and diced smoked salmon. So good. But the TODAY show had a Superbowl cookoff--weekend host Lester Holt and one of his co-hosts had three minutes to prepare competing dishes. She prepared a dip, but I didn't pay much attention, because I was appalled by Holt's version of chili--it had kidney beans and tomato soup! He needs to come to Texas, and I emailed to tell him so. I got a standard email response that held out the possibility of a personal response, but I doubt it.
It was a beautiful day for February--in the 70s and sunny. I got my gardening stool and cut back those blasted Mexican petunias that grow everywhere. A landscape gardener put them in a few years ago when she redid my garden--and I wish she hadn't. They do have pale purple blooms that are pretty, but they pop up everywhere, and when they freeze back they look awful. I also got most of the dead leaves out of the lambs ear. I'll probably leave the rest of the clean-up to Jim Sharratt, who keeps my yard in good shape.
It's been a weekend of my own company, and I'm ready to go back to work in the morning. But I've also done some good things--finished reading the cookbook one more time and after I clear up the truth about one recipe, given me by a friend, I'll send it off. I'm plowing through that P. D. James novel, though tempted to give it up. I'm just reluctant to quit a book midway through. Next on my desk--do something about that mystery. Then I'll have to look for a new project.
A friend recently said she thought I had a bit of ADD. Astounded I asked why. "Because you rush through everything," replied she, who can happily watch paint dry. Actually, I thought my energy was one of my good points.

Back aches and Scotland

Two posts in one day! It's because that Spam one was written a long time ago, and I just got around to emailing it to myself at work so I could post it--maybe I could do that at home, but if so, I haven't figured it out Next experiment.
But back aches and Scotland are on my mind. Sunday I did some weeding--not all that much, not like I worked for two hours or something. Probably ten minutes. But Monday morning my back ached a bit. I decided to work out anyway, which made my back ache more--but I remembered that old training thing about "work through the pain" and I persevered--up to a point. I didn't do as many toe touches--because they really made my back hurt--and I didn't ride the bike for as long. But I was in real pain all morning--getting up from my desk and that first step were really awful. After I got going it wasn't so bad. Much better today, and I have decided two things: "work through the pain" is a bunch of hooey, at least at my age, and I'm going to hire someone to do my weeding. Actually I have a good yard man--he just doesn't know what's a wildflower and a weed, so now I'm on a mission to teach him. But the thing about having a back ache that severe--or any other ailment that makes you think a lot about how you feel--is that you think of yourself as fragile. And that's a mentality to be defeated.
My Scotland explorations continue. Fred Erisman saw me through graduate school and a dissertation as my major professor, and he remains both good friend and mentor. When I told him about my insight into the similarities between the Scottish Highlands and the American Old West, he reminded me that Mark Twain blamed Sir Walter Scott for the American Civil War. Twain thought Scott's romanticization of chivalry and the code of honor and fighting inspired the South, which was, of course, mostly inhabited by people of Celtic descent. Makes sense to me.
Then today a new friend, a successful author of mysteries set in England, wrote me. She travels to England frequently and was once married to a Scotsman. She directed me to a book, some b&bs and the Braes. I finally had to write back, somewhat shamefacedly, and ask what the Braes are. But since I found it on google--a remote and wild area in the north of the Isle of Skye. I told Jeannie we have to go there and suggested instead of two weeks we should be spending three months in Scotland. Earlier that suggestion led Jeannie to offer to fly over with me, leave me, and come back three months later to get me. But I think I'd like to go to Skye and the Braes. There's just so much in Scotland that sounds intriguing!
Susan in my office responded to my tuna post with two recipes, one for creamed tuna on toast. I tried creamed chicken last night--didn't have milk but made a sauce of chicken broth (that good organic kind that comes in a box) and white wine, added green peas and a bit of thyme. Put it on sourdough toast, and it made a tasty dinner. Tonight, because it had thickened, I added some sour cream--still very good.
Got to get to work on revising the cookbook.

Whoosh, what a day!

I decided tonight blogging is a great thing when you live alone--since you don't have someone to talk about your day with (okay, I could call my kids, but . . . ) you can blog. I remember the night after Jordan's wedding--we'd had four days of extended family (including the New York Alters whom we all love), wonderful fun and fellowship. The morning after the wedding I served breakfast to about twenty people (not the bride and groom!) and then, suddenly, everyone was gone. I wasn't blogging then, so didn't have that, but I told my friend Jeannie the next day that it was one of the few times I wished I was married, because I wanted someone to relive it all with. She, happily married, said, "You could have called me. It would have been easier than having a man around!"
Today is another such day though far less momentous than Jordan's wedding. But I got so much done that I feel so good about that I want to tell someone. Went to the grocery store and then the nursery--only going to buy cyclamen and fountain grass, I told myself. Too early for herbs--but the fountain grass isn't in yet, and there was a lovely array of herbs. So I came home with bright red cyclamen (it looks great in the planter boxes on either side of my front steps that my brother made for me), cilantro, basil, Italian parsley, and sage. Didn't buy oregano, thyme or chives, because those wintered over. Planted the new stuff, trimmed back the old, and scrubbed the winter dirt off the front porch--even washed a cushion cover and then struggled the cushion back into it. Of course tonight they're saying severe storms, so I had to put all the delicate new plants under the roofed part of the porch.
Then I came inside and worked on the chicken/tomatillo enchilada casserole I'll serve to guests tomorrow night, made a fruit salad for that meal, and cooked myself a "faux gourmet" meal--sauteed chicken breast with a sauce of chicken broth (I always buy the free range organic in a box, rarely use cubes anymore), red wine, and goat cheese. I had bought some baby beets with wonderful fresh greens attached, so I roasted the beets and cooked the greens. Megan keeps telling me that the way to avoid senility (do you suppose she's already worried?) is to eat dark, leafy greens. I love spinach, but I don't much like turnip greens or collards. Beet greens are good though. My mom used to serve them with vinegar, and as a child Jamie always ate them that way. I fixed them for him a few years ago, and he said, "I don't much like beets, Mom." How they change!
Did a little bit of writing on the Texas women this afternoon--Emily Morgan, the "Yellow Rose of Texas"--that story is a wonderful example of how Texans twist the truth the make a better story. The myth about her distracting Santa Anna at San Jacinto is just that--myth. But you'll have to read the book to find out the truth (or google her). Think next I'll do Adina de Zavala and Clara Driscoll, the two women who saved the Alamo and ended up at real odds over it. But tonight I have a new J. A. Jance novel, and I intend to spend the evening with it.
It's the night before the new, early daylight savings change--can't decide if I want to go to bed an hour earlier, sleep an hour later--or maybe both. I can tell it's spring because in the morning my nose is so stuffy I have to get up, even if I could sleep late!