My green world and other thoughts

In the spring my porch feels lik a tree house, surrounded by all the lovely light green of new leaves. I often take a book and a glass of wine out there but forget the book in enjoying the surroundings--except for the occasional noisy car that goes way too fast down our street. This weekend I'll make my annual purchase of fountain grass for a large pot in on corner of the porch and sweet potato vines to replace the pansies. I have one pot that doesn't get sun and have to figure out what to do with it, but the herbs are doing well. Oregano, left on its own, will take over. Today I transplanted the basil a friend brought me some time ago from the greenhouse window to a larger pot on the porch. And my chives, still growing from a plant purchased years ago, are flourishing. Wondering what other herbs I want.
Today was a productive day. I've been saying all along that the fourth Kelly O'Connell Mystery will be out in 2013 but is not written, barely imagined, and has no title. The managing editor at Turquoise Morning Press reminded me I had to submit a proposal--or at least a synopsis--so I could get a slot and a contract. Went back to my notes, and oh joy! Found two different plot lines using the device I knew the book would center around. One sounded much better to me, and I wrote a 750-word proposal and got it off to my editor.
Then Christian and I had a brief email exchange about marketing the books to realtors, since Kelly O'Connell is a realtor. He said hed been talking to an agent friend about that, and maybe a news release. so I wrote a release directed at realtors. May do some blatant promotion along that line on Facebook. Cleaned odds and ends off my desk and am ready to get back to the chili book. I feel like I'm always "getting back" to the chili book.
I got to thinking about pleasure reading. It used to be that if a mystery grabbed me, I could read it in two days. Now it takes me two weeks, beause so much else seems to distract me. Yes, writing--but Facebook, Pinterest, cooking magazines, dogs, children, friends. I am so fortunate.
Jacob and I did home work, as we do almost every afternoon. The line that rings in my ears: "Juju, you don't understand." Right, Jacob, I don't understand kindergarten home work--do you?

Searching for your roots

My friend Jeannie and my daughter-in-law Mel have both been tracing their family history on Ancestry.com. They are, to put it frankly, hooked. Mel suggested a couple of weeks ago I should hurry and do it so I'd have some knowledge before I go to Scotland, but I said I simply don't have time. Today though Jeannie said she could spend a couple of hours helping me search and find out if anyone had done the research before--if so, it would be there. Then tonight, I watched Rosie O'Donnell on "Who Do You Think You Are?" as she traced her roots back to a work house in Ireland during the potato famine. OK, now I want to know too. I have booklets on the MacBains, and I know we're descended from Gillies McBean who fought valiantly--and died--for Bonnie Prince Charlie at Culloden. Since I'm sort of between projects--two manuscripts off to publishers with more work to come, I know, but for now a breathing space--I guess I'll make that my project. I already know that the McBeans owned land near Inverness (tales vary but I gather it was a good bit of land) but lost it and were land-less or homeless for nearly two centuries. For a clan to be without land is a great disgrace and bans it from recognition by the Society of Clans. In the mid-twentieth century Hughston McBain of Chicago bought a small piece of the old family land, not nearly as much as he would have liked, but he allowed the clan members to once again hold up their heads. The McBain Memorial Park is on my must-see list in Scotland. And I know the homestead--sorry, no castle--is right there too. But I'm anxious to find out more. Jeannie has found she is descended from Robert the Bruce, and I told her that probably made us cousins but realized I was thinking of Gillies McBean, so I have to do some research. I've asked Jeannie to help me get started, but I'll pull out my dad's old files and see what I can find. I think most of the information I have is about the McBains (we spelled it MacBain) after they came to Canada. I'm intrigued. I remember writing a paper in, oh, maybe sixth grade, on how we are descended from MacBeth, a dubious honor that.
Had lunch with Jeannie today in a charming church converted to a bakery/restaurant. It was small but lovely and sort of soothing to eat in that atmosphere. We asked and found it had been a Christian Scientist church.
Spring is definitely here, though I doubt we'll continue to have today's temperatures in the mid-80s. I was actually a bit hot in the car with the top down. But this evening I spent some time planting two new herbs I bought--lavender for its smell and sage because it's pretty and does flavor dishes nicely--and scrubbing the first layer of winter grime off the porch. I'll go after it again tomorrow, in preparation for a porch party Sunday night for Jordan's birthday. Jordan manages to stretch a birthday out for a week, but she is my St. Patrick's baby without, as far as I know, a drop of Irish in her. The redbud is blooming, and the trees have that lovely light green of new growth, though I am still picking dead fall leaves out of the planter boxes. My fig tree hasn't come back but botanist Greg tells me I'm too impatient and it will come back when we have enough warmer weather. He trimmed some of the overgrown herbs and ivy that had survived the winter in pots on the porch, but I need new fountain grass. And a new spray nozzle--somehow winter always kills them, even with the water cut off.
Enjoy spring, everyone, and pray for a mild summer.

Writing memoir, the Chilean rescue, and changing weather

My evening memoir writing class met tonight. There are a couple of basic differences between it and the daytime class on campus: in the evening, we're in the casual setting of a home, and we have snacks and wine (the latter making the real difference). The lunchtime group brownbags it but I notice not many eat--I always have a tuna sandwich.
Tonight was a great time of sharing--two people presented stories from their childhood, both with perception and honesty and, afterward, open, honest responses to questions. Some brought laughter, some brought moments of silence. Mostly though we're a laughing, happy group. I shared my story of adoption, and once you get me started on that, I'm hard to shut up, but they were most responsive. My friend Linda is now among the group, and of course she was around when my babies were children, so she knows these stories. "I loved hearing them again, in your voice," she said. Linda came for supper, and I fixed a one-dish meal of chicken, pasta, two cheeses (cheddar and cream) and green peas. It was supposed to have broccoli, but I forgot to go back by the frozen section when I went to the store this morning. Darn! I substituted a small can of green peas.
I am still watching whatever's on TV about the Chilean miners. I hear two books have been proposed in New York, one of them already under contract in the UK.  NYpublishers are hesitant because they fear the heartwarming story has gotten so much instant coverage no one will want a book about it. I think, as a publisher, I'd jump at such a book, but then I was never a big-time publisher dealing with thousand-copy print runs. Jean Walbridge said today that it just shows what people can do when a country pulls together and determines to accomplish something. The Chilean president (who has been a strong and admirable figure throughout this ordeal) said they just decided everything else went on the back burner--they were going to get these miners out. And they did, with help, both technical and emotional support and I suppose financial, from all over the world. A book about that cooperative effort would be excellent, if only to make it required reading for all members of our Federal congress.Apparently a few miners suffer health problems--from pneumonia to skin and dental problems--but most are hale and hearty. It will be interesting to see how they handle the future, though they've been quoted as saying they don't want fame and fortune--they want to go back to their lives. I wonder how many will want to go underground again. A trivial thought that came to me today: they had to fit themselves into a cylinder that was 23 inches--how did they do it? That's a lot less than my waist. I have a vision of people poking and pushing to get my stomach into that tiny cylinder. But, hey, these were mostly pretty big guys.
Chilly morning today--first turtleneck day of the fall season. And gosh it gets dark early. I think my sweet potato plants have had it for the year, and I must soon harvest my basil if I don't want to lose it. I foresee a lot of pesto in the future. Next year I'm going to be more judicious about planting herbs--no dill, because the caterpillars eat it, no summer savory because I didn't use it once and Greg says it's just a tasteless version of oregano. No tansy because it crowds everything else out. Don't have to think about that right now.

Quotes, cousins, and a quandry

A quote I like: Rosemary grows in the garden of a strong woman. I want to believe it's true, because I have two huge rosemary bushes in my front flower beds. The neighbors come and help themselves often, though I always tell them to take sprigs from the top just in case a stray dog has been by. My oregano is growing out of hand, and cutting it back may be a project for the weekend. The basil is thriving and growing large, and I still have pesto in the freezer from last year! But my cilantro has done a funny thing--it was a small, not tiny, normal looking cilantro when I got it but now all the cilantro leaves have fallen off and it has sprouted all these tall stems with fernlike leaves and tiny white flowers. Jay keeps telling me not to cut them back because they are seeding themselves. Meanwhile, it looks half pretty, half weird, and I buy cilantro when I want need to use it.

Wednesday a friend gave me flowers cut from her magnolia bush--I didn't know they were anything but trees, but Greg, my great yard man, said he wanted to look at them and see what kind of magnolia they are (I didn't know there were different kinds either). I keep wanting to plant something along the hurricane fence of the dog yard, where it will get plenty of sun. But I know better than to let honeysuckle get a hold.

My cousin in Canada, for whom I am the only living relative and hold power of attorney, was moved today from a private retirement home to a provincial nursing home. She is apparently difficult and had gotten too hard for the retirement folks to handle, plus this will slow the drain on her resources--she is now living off the principal and not the income of her trust, though she doesn't understand this and keeps writing checks, some good sized, to animal welfare groups. I am hoping this will be a move for the better, but I know it will be difficult--she won't understand and will be angry. The people at the new home that I've talked to are lovely and friendly but amazed when they ask when I last saw Jenny and I say I was about 14. Jenny's been bipolar--I don't know the specific diagnosis--since her late teens (she's just that much older than I). She hasn't had a happy life, and it makes me sad. But without me, she would have no one looking after her welfare or finances, and I remember my dad when I was a teenager saying, "You will look after Jenny, won't you?" So I'm fulfilling the promise as best I can long distance. I cannot understand Jenny on the phone, but I will call the nurses' station tonight and ask how the transfer went. And I asked everyone to assure her that I thought this was for the best.

My quandry: a man called me today who had been referred by one of the writers for Fort Worth's Star-Telegram. He has written a book about the rush to produce nuclear weapons during the Cold War and its effect on the people who worked to make them. My understanding was that he wanted me to edit and write a blurb, so I asked if he objected to $20 an hour, which is less than I would normally charge. He said "Just to read it?" But it's 650 pages about a subject on which I have no expertise. I think that will be one of the perils of retirement--people will think I have all that free time and won't mind reading their manuscripts, etc. But careful reading of 650 pages would take a big chunk out of my time. And I do want to free lance, not give away whatever talents I have. But the man sounded so astounded that I am feeling a bit guilty--or greedy.

It's Friday night, which usually means Jacob is here. I can hear him playing in his bed though he's not singing tonight. We had hot dogs for dinner--chicken for him and lowfat Hebrew National for me, but he had a small new potato with nonfat yogurt, which I didn't have, and when he didn't eat it, I found myself taking bites. Surely I don't have to count those on Weight Watchers! I also snatched some blueberries off his plate because he didn't seem interested. The last few days, after the debacle of the cooking class, I have done really well on my Weight Watchers points. Monday will tell if I've lost weight or gained--oh my! You're only supposed to weigh once a week. Sometimes the suspense is too much.