Family days

Whew! Family days are wonderful, and I bask in having them all around me. But they are exhausting too. This afternoon I had three grandsons ages 5-7, and one wild excited puppy. Tonight we all went to Joe T.'s for dinner--six adults and five children--well, Maddie at twelve hardly counts as a child. But Joe T.'s is noisy, and though I turned my hearing aids on the setting that was most meant to block out extraneous noise, I could only catch words, not the thread of a conversation. Some folks find it fashionable to say  that the food at Joe T.'s is sub-par and its only attraction is habit and luxurious grounds. Not so--I think it's all good, and I sop up too much of it. Cheese enchiladas in a mild tomato sauce--I love to mush my refried beans into that sauce. Those wonderful cheese nachos--okay, I scrape the chillies off but I still love them. Great guac, and tonight I liked the tacos, though I often pass them by. They didn't seem as greasy tonight.  Somebody at our table ordered sopapillas, and I loved the sweet--the sopapillas weren't particularly crisp but the honey/cinnamon combination was great. All in all a good meal. The kids clustered around Jamie, as kids are wont to do, and it s a wonder he got any dinner. He was, as always, impeccably dressed, and I worried about about all those greasy young handprints on his jacket. But, hey, that was his problem.
It was a semi-lazy, semi-frantic day. Sawyer and Ford were around until about ten--into everthing, curious, questioning, full of it. They left about ten and I had about an hour of peace before i took Sophie to training class--always an anxious time for me. Lesson went well. In fact, I feel we made some progress. And then home to a blessedly empty house--lunch and a nice nap. And then it was time to go to dinner.
So it's been a very different day from my usual routine, and I'm grateful for the change, the confusion, the happy voices, the joy. Tonight I have Megan and her family in the guest house and Jordan and Jacob in the guest room--love to have some of my chickens under my roof at night.

Make My Day

It was a work day--morning staff meeting that lasted a little over 2-1/2 hours,then follow-up work at home this afternoon and just a bit of editing on my mystery. Jordan came to pick me up a little after five, and we went to get Jacob. I was taking the rest of the gorilla casserole to their house for supper, plus blue cheese for salad, and some wine for all of us. Jacob was obviously delighted to see me in the car and said, "Juju, you are my best friend!" Be still my heart!

Jacob--and no work done

Jacob is spending the night tonight, so needless to say I'm not getting any work done. By the time I got him to bed, writing was the farthest thing from my mind. Usually he is not allowed in my office, so tonight when I let him wander in there he acted like he was in foreign territory. But he was good--when I said no (knitting needles) he put them down. He found some sort of electronic part in my junk tray and tried to use it to put lipstick on. Oh, well. He's always tired when he comes from day care and today apparently the fire alarm went off--not a fire drill but something to do with turning on the heat--and scared him badly. So he was really cranky, wanted nothing to do with me, barely ate the exotic dinner I fixed him--roast chicken (from some leftover tenders I had cooked), peas and carrots from a can, hummus (which he purportedly loves but didn't eat) and apple crisp, which I kept trying to convince him was a cookie. Big mistake! All he could say then was "Cookie!" But shortly after the abortive supper, he brightened up, wanted to talk and play, and was going full steam by the time it was bedtime. But he's a sweet agreeable child and easy to put to bed. He had pulled a stepstool up next to his Pack-'n'Play so we made a game of seeing how close he could come to getting into it by himself. Needless to say, I removed the stool after that. But so far there's not a peep out of him. And Scooby who barked all evening to get in because he could see us in the family room is in and happily quiet. All is peaceful--knock on wood.

I am a budget manager because of my position as director of the press, but finances are not my talent. I have a rather simplistic attitude about money--hoard it until you're sure you have a really really cofortable cushion--and I don't understand accounting procedures, like inventory write-down and capitalization of expenses. So after a three-hour meeting with my boss, who has an MBA, and the university's controller, my eyes were glazed over and crossed. I went to lunch with Jeannie at one of our favorite spots--bratwurst, hot kraut, and sour potato salad--and that helped. But in the meeting I tried to make my point again that I repeat over and over--publishing, especially academic publishing, should not be a bottom-line business. We don't publish to make money; we publish for the public good, the intellectual good, the contribution to public knowledge, and prestige for our university. Business types do not understand this. They say, "I know, I know, but . . . ." It's a really hard argument in this time when private universities, like other institutions and individuals, are seeing doom and gloom ahead. I had a headache by the time the meeting ended, but thanks to Jeannie for cheering me up.

A Day at Home

This is Jacob with his pal, Clifford. Clifford's a stuffed cheetah, but Jacob thinks it's a "puppy" and spent much of the morning riding Clifford and falling off with great glee. Jacob spent the night last night, and we had fun though he was given to fits of occasional screaming for no reason. A long hug and a few loving words, and he was back to himself. But this morning, he woke up screaming again (luckily not till 7:30). We think it's two-year molars.
It was a great day to stay home. I was sleepy and draggy for no reason--slept as long as usual, my right foot really hurts (tendonitis I guess), and this morning my stomach was off. Besides that, it's at least 101 outside, and there's something psychological about it--but when they predict temperatures over 100, it gets hotter. It's very hot and very still tonight. After Jacob's parents collected him, I ran to Central Market and haven't been outside since except to feed the dog and water plants. A two-hour nap greatly helped my sleepiness, but I still feel very lazy. When I went out to feed Scooby and clean up his yard, he cringed when I picked up the scoopers. I guess he remembers my spectacular fall of a few days ago.
In Central Market, I ran into Fred Erisman who told me he'd read the first four chapter of the new mystery and liked it. He thought the characters were developing, the dialog was good, and, when asked, said he thought it wold be better than the first book in what I hope will be a series. I've noticed that some writers I read get better after their first books--maybe you sort of get into the characters. Anyway, when Fred said that, I told him I was going right home to work.
And I did. I reread the last chapter I've written and wrote about five pages on Chapter Six--wow, a long way to go! But the new material pleased me. The traditional wisdom is characters take over and tell an author where the story's going. That sure happened today--I had no idea Kelly was going to stubbornly pick a fight with Mike, but she did. I'll work more on it tonight.
Just cut back my basil--Jay next door told me to do that, but it was so lush and lovely I hated to. But I made fresh pesto that is delicious. Now I'm going to pan fry a trout fillet for supper--an experiment for me.

Jacob gets the idea

At twenty-two months, Jacob has the slightest inkling about the potty. He's obviously been watching his mama, not his father, because he backs up to it and wants to be lifted up to sit. He sits very seriously for several minutes and then raises his hand for you to lift him down. Of course, he's fully dressed the whole time--and I seriously doubt he's peeing in his diaper while he sits there. But, hey, it's progress!

Jacob and I were supposed to dine alone tonight, but Jordan's plans changed and she stayed for dinner. I defrosted a chicken breast, floured it, sauteed, then sauteed shallot, chive, parsley, and tarragon in butter and olive oil. Some chopped tomato went in, then white wine and chicken broth, and I let the the sauce thicken. Really good. We had broccoli, blue cheese salad, and baby artichokes. The latter were a bit of a disappointment. I've been wantingto try them for a while, but the leaves didn't have much meat on them and the hearts were tiny and hard to get to. I'll settle for an occasional splurge on a regular artichoke. I asked if I could give Jacob a Girl Scout thin mint cookie but Jordan pleaded exhaustion--she didn't want to stay up with a baby swinging from the ceiling at 10:30.

What a week! Starting with a stomach virus was probaby a bad sign. Then there was the grant proposal, some misunderstandings with the editors of the proposed series (thankfully, those were easily and pleasantly resolved and we ended up on the same page), then catalog copy came and had to be proofed instantly and prices finalized for the fall books--once you put it in a catalog, you can't change the price because . . . well, it just causes all kinds of you know what.

And then the dissatisfied author I thought I'd mollified came back to haunt me. He had written a nasty letter to the provost, saying that I ran off everyone--authors, editors, booksellers, even the garbage man I suppose--because I was so quick to offend. He contended that I was running the press like a fief (isn't the word fiefdom?) and ruining it and that many local historians were working on texts they wouldn't bring to TCU Press because of me. Since we publish a lot of local history, that came as great news, and in my anger I wanted to call and demand the names of those writers. I know he's misguided, distorting things, taking out his anger in an unprofessional way--but it's still worrisome. Knowing about the letter before I read it, I woke at 4 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep. I refuse to let someone like that rob me of my sleep, my peace of mind, or my sense of myself as a professional!

Often I dread slow weekends, but I'm looking forward to this one. I'm finishing that coffee house novel that I like, and then I have two Robert Parker novels. One of our fall authors is Parker's publicist and offered today to send me anything I wanted to read--wow! Tomorrow I'll shop, Sunday I probably go to church, and that evening Sue is coming for a glass of wine and I promised appetizers. Hmmm, deviled eggs with smoked salmon sounds like a place to start. Usually when I'm home alone on Saturday I cook something wonderful, but I have so much in the icebox--half a hamburger from today's lunch at a bistro, pieces of my chicken and Jordan's from tonight, my ever-present smoked salmon. I'll have to think of something to make me feel creative.

Or maybe I'll get to work on the Scots in Texas again.

Old friends

What's the saying? "Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver, the other gold"? Some old friends stopped for lunch today on their way through town--and I do mean old. They've been among my closest friends for forty years, and while we've shared many low points, from marriage troubles to serious illness, we've shared a lot more good times and some downright silly ones. We talked of our children and grandchildren, we talked a bit about the past and who was left in Fort Worth that they knew, we talked politics--we pretty much agree--and we talked about our lives today. They expressed what I feel--life at this age is good. Oh yes, the seventies bring aches and pains, but as Ray said, you just ignore them and go on. It was a real joy to see them and brightened me for days to come but especially on this rainy and cold day. (I was not brightened that they said "This is just what Scotland will be like in April!")
By serendippity, a local friend had sent me one of those emails that makes the rounds--you may have seen it--about the great freedom that comes with aging. The writer said that she (I'm just presuming it was a she) was for the first time in her life the person she always wanted to be--not the body of course, with it wrinkles and sags and scattered pains, but the person who is more kind and forgiving of herself. "I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant. . . . I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day (if I feel like it)." I like the philosophy!
Anticipation is high here tonight--not for weather as it was last night (turns out we didn't have much bad weather, but it was sure rainy, cold, and miserable today). Tonight it's the primary tomorrow. Jordan just called and I almost didn't answer because I've gotten so many political recorded messages. But the Democratic primary is so close that its nail-biting, and I feel the tension. I will be glued to the TV tomorrow night.
Just had a nice conversation with Jacob. On his part, it consisted mostly of "Juju" and "cook-y" (his mother had just given him a cookie). But it's fun to be able to talk to him.

Reitrement and Longevity

My friend Betty is retiring as Minister of Music at our church. She's been playing the organ there for over forty years, and the music program, which is absolultely glorious, is of her doing. But Betty's had lots of administrative duties, and even when we go out for an easy evening of drinks and tapas, there's an edge of harried to her--or was. With retirement just over a month away, she's begun to relax, and I see a whole new person emerging. She said tonight one of the church ladies had gathered a small group of retirees for lunch to give her advice on retirement, and she in turn let loose with some of her dreams--like owning a Hummer (they were horrified at the gas consumption, and she assured them she wasn't going to buy one, she was just feeling free to dream about it!).
I'm happy for Betty--she always said she'd know when it was time, and she says now she knows that time has come and feels good about the decision. But when people ask me, sometimes impatiently, when I'm going to retire, I simply say, "I'm not ready." I still can't imagine at this point being ready. I'm busier than ever and probably happier than ever. I don't know how many years that will last, but I'm going to take it a day--well, maybe a week--at a time.
I've been proofing a forthcoming TCU Press title, Grace & Gumption: Stories of Fort Worth Women. Fourteen writers each contributed a chapter on women important to the city's history--chapters divided according to categories and not individual women, so there were a lot of women covered. What struck me is that I kept reading that this one died at 95 and that one at 90 and another one at 93. These women, each accomplished and passionate about something in life, lived to ripe old ages. I am convinced there's a connection. No, Betty, I don't think you're dooming yourself just because you're retiring. You'll stay busy. I suspect music is like writing--you never walk totally away from it.
Jacob brought his parents to supper last night, and I had a wonderful visit with his father, who I never see now that he's working two jobs. But I realized something really fun about Jacob--he talks gibberish, with his little fist in his mouth. If I answer him in kind, with my fist across my mouth, he responds, and we have this "conversation," with him looking so delighted and pleased with himself. He'll say something and look at me as though to demand, "Okay, it's your turn!" It's like watching the beginning of communication, because he truly is communicating with me.