Not a Lot . . .

or, as my brother says when he asks what's new, "I don't know it." I think I've spent the last couple of days having a pity party because of my foot/ankle/whatever it is, though it's much better tonight. It twinges, but I am mostly walking without a limp. I also spent the last two intensive mornings trying to reconcile accounting for each book published during our last fiscal year. I hate it, though I did find today when I went back, the work I had done yesterday put me solidly on the way to making most accounts work out perfectly. This was a year of transition--from my hand-written list of expenses for each book to a database, but I hadn't made clear to either Melinda or Susan what information I needed. To my great frustration today, they handed me lists and printed out databases, and I tried to explain the need for a paper trail that indicated what had been submitted for payment. I'm afraid I lost patience and so did they, but I think we're all on the same page now. I once told a former boss that God did not mean me to read greenbar sheets, and he said, "Oh, yes, she did." I don't believe it. Susan watched me yesterday and said, "You're creative. You shouldn't be doing that kind of stuff." Amen!
Nice visit last night with Dana, Colin's high-school girlfriend. When she walked in and we got past, "You look just the same," and "you look better," I confessed that I had ruined the asparagus--put it on to steam and forgot it. She looked at the sodden mess on the cutting board and said, "You sure did, girl!" And we were off to an evening of exploring where each of us is now while reminiscing about the past--some 20+ years ago. It was fun to hear her take on the family back then. She said when I finished dinner dishes and walked down the long hall to my bedroom, everyone knew that I was done, checking out, kitchen was closed. But she talked about the conversations at my dinner table--I guess I didn't realize they had some depth and complexity to them. We talked about ideas back then--and Lord, did all of us talk!
I'm still deep in Sara Paretky's Bleeding Kansas, and I may take back what I said about stereotypes--as I've read on, I've realized that she uses them deliberately, ironically, to make a point--yes, she exaggerates and hits us over the head but it's because she's writing about topics she cares deeply about: the folly of the war in Iraq and its consequences to American families, the dangers of extreme right-wing Christianity and its righteousness. Her work in this novel reminds me of Robert Flynn's work--he's a TCU Press author and one of my favorites. My hat's off to her, but I wish I could finish the book so I'd quit sneaking to read it and get back to my own novel. Tonight I plan to work on both. I'm close to finishing the Paretsky novel, and I have a lot of ideas bouncing in my head about my novel--and fortunately also captured on paper.

Courage, Longevity, and the end of the rosy glow

I was late for work today. It's because I was watching the TODAY show, and Ann Curry was about to take a 120-ft. bungee leap off a 170-ft. bridge, and I wanted to see her do it. Partly this is because Colin once did a bungee jump off a bridge--I didn't know about it until afterward, for which I remain eternally grateful. But there was more than that. During the first hour, Curry was interviewed several times--getting ready, up on the bridge, being put into the necessary safety equipment. She never missed a beat. She was calm, clever, laughing, and yet serious about thanking the people who'd donated to this jump--proceeds would go to United Way. She also admitted to a little apprehension when she approached the edge off which she'd jump. Apprehension? I'd have been terrified out of my mind. I admit I'm phobic about heights, but the sight of her up that high, making jokes, knowing she was about to take a swan dive--literally, that's what she did--off the open end of a walkway really made me think about courage. I've always admired Curry--she seems to have a sense of adventure and daring that carries her through some wild assignments, like a trip to the South Pole or I think I remember her in a high-speed jet and other things (okay, Meredith Viera does some brave things, like rolling around in that plastic ball, and Matt Lauer takes real risks, but, hey, he's a guy!). Somehow I am drawn to Curry's sense of herself and her ease in the face of challenge. She did the jump with what was called "beautiful form"--a real swan dive, and then they left her hanging upside down for so long I would have been screaming, "Get me out of here," but she was laughing and talking into the mike she had on. And when she was finally in the rescue boat, she was completely together albeit a little windblown. I'd like to think I have some kinds of bravery--maybe emotional, maybe moral--but I sure don't have physical bravery, and I truly admire it when I see it. Ann Curry is one of my heroes.
Susan reminded me today that 2007 marks my 20th year as director of the press, and I added that it is also then my 25th year with the press. That got me to thinking about my salad days in publishing. If you want to read my thoughts, please go to http://www.bookishfrog.blogspot.com/.
The rosy glow that lingered after tree trimming has been replaced by compulsiveness--I was up early this morning to put away clean dishes and generally recover the house from the party (I haven't run the vacuum yet, which was one of Jordan's instructions, but maybe I'll get to it tomorrow). I spent three hours today getting ready to entertain my near neighbors tomorrow--made a huge Mexican casserole, something I used to make when I regularly cooked Sunday dinner for 10-15 people--and a bean salad, which I'm terrified won't be enough. I'll fluff it out with lettuce, even though the lettuce gets soggy in leftovers. I have several friends--most of them single women--who have said to me that they have no energy, can't do this or that because they can't work up the energy; they blame it on the season, and I want to shake them. Somehow the Christmas season seems to fill me with energy--my theory is the more I do, the more I enjoy it. (I may collapse tomorrow, but so far that's a viable theory). Tomorrow night's dinner will be so casual as to be almost embarrassing--leftover appetizers and desserts. My neighbor, Jay, thought that was all I was going to serve and said helpfully, "I make a terrific lasagne." But I really do have a plan. It's just not very fancy.
I hope you all are enjoying the season as much as I am.

Superfluous

For six years, give or take a bit, I went every Saturday night to run the cash register at the Star Cafe, a steak, hamburger, and chicken-fried place owned by my good friends Betty and Don. I rolled silverware, seated people, poured water and tea, and generally made myself helpful. At the end of the evening I enjoyed a quiet glass of wine and dinner with Betty and Don. When there was talk of selling the restaurant, I almost panicked--what would I do with my Saturday nights? And then a couple of years ago, almost suddenly, I'd had enough. I had plenty to do at home, friends to go to dinner with, etc., and I was tired of it, which makes me sound frivolous or something, but . . . . Tonight I went back. Don has been bitten by the fly-fishing bug and is in Oklahoma for a class. Betty was afraid they'd be busy and overwhelmed and asked me to go, which of course I willingly did. She called about 5 p.m. and said she was coming to get me earlier because they were slammed and just seated a party of 30. So I jumped into jeans and tenners and was ready and waiting when she pulled up. But the Star had calmed down. I poured some tea and water, sold two beers (and earned a dollar, which come to think of it is still in my jeans), and rolled one tray of silverware. But mostly I sat around staring into space while Betty seated people and visited with guests. I talked a bit with a couple of the wait staff and greeted a guest I used to visit with, but bottom line is I was bored. Betty asked jokingly, "Do you feel superflous?" and I did. I couldn't remember how to run the cash register--it's a new one since my days, wasn't sure which beer was where, couldn't find the right glasses for sweetened tea and plain tea. In short I was a fish out of water. About 7:15 Betty asked if I wanted her to run me home, and I said yes, if she could spare me. She could. So I took a half order of chicken fingers and a bit of mashed potatoes and came home--gratefully. I think part of it was that I have been sort of out of sorts all day--one of those days when you don't feel wrapped right. Nothing in particular, just didn't have that sense of well being. But part of it was that I was superfluous.
Sometimes communication with grandchildren is difficult. When I called Houston tonight, two-year-old Morgan answered with "Hi, Juju!"
Me: Hi, Morgan. How are you?
Morgan: I have a rash, Juju.
Me: That's nice, darlin'. What did you do today?
Morgan: It's ringworm.
Me: Oh, you did? Was it fun?
Her mother was laughing a lot when she got on the phone, but in my own defense, it's only partly my hearing. Morgan is a precocious child but she doesn't exactly speak clearly on the phone.
Jacob and his dad came for dinner last night, and I splurged and got a gorgeous ribeye steak from Central Market, along with two twice-baked potatoes. Jacob, the little glutton, ate a whole lot of mine. We had green beans with bacon (Christian's favorite) and a blue cheese salad. Jacob managed to say Juju once. But when he was told, "No, Jacob, don't throw your food on the floor," he took the next bite, held it in the air away from his chair, and studied me to see how serious I was abut this. Of course, he had a huge grin on his face. Jordan and Christian have interesting times ahead with that child!
Jordan is back tonight from a four-day "fam" trip (familiarizing travel agents with resort properties in Mexico) and she reports that Jacob was very glad to see her, and it was most mutual!
I started the new Dick Francis novel last night, and now it's calling to me.