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The rosy glow that lingered after tree trimming has been replaced by compulsiveness--I was up early this morning to put away clean dishes and generally recover the house from the party (I haven't run the vacuum yet, which was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.

In a rosy glow

I'm in a rosy glow of happiness tonight, because my annual Tree Trimming party was lovely. About 60 people, who lingered and talked. It's fun to have people meet at my house, because they always discover connections--and some come to me with the curous question, "How do you know so and so?" I thought I would have too much food, but it was just about right--brie with an apricot/red pepper topping disappeared, as did queso and almost but not quite every bit of a hot corn dip and a caviar spread. I've a few meatballs left, about half a cheeseball, and some artichoke dip. And a very few desserts. Everyone seemed to feel festive, and although I usually don't get to visit much, I did visit with a few people. Every year there are one or two new people, and that makes it fun. A good friend called this morning to say she couldn't be here and said sadly, "It's the first one I've missed in 42 years." Well, she exaggerates a bit.
My family was here: four of my children (well, actually two I raised and two who married into the clan but they are all my children), three of my seven grandchildren, my brother and sister-in-law, my niece and her three-month-old (dressed up in a plaid dress, she looked like a porcelain doll!) and my nephew and his wife and their baby, Kate, who is the age of of Jacob. There were other children--neighbors--and the playroom was busy and happy, though Jacob spent a lot of time plowing through the crowd, favoring people with his grins, and running his truck into their feet. By the time he went home, he was staggering with exhaustion, and when I asked for a goodnight kiss, he shook his head to say "no."
Now it's almost 9:30. The kitchen is clean, the dishes are clean and waiting to be put away in the morning, the cat has been released from captivity in the office bathroom, and I'm having a glass of wine and some of the food I didn't eat during the party. I'll read a little and then nod off, because tomorrow is a working day.
And it's also another cooking day. Tuesday night I'm having the neighbors in for a VERY casual supper to meet Sue's parents, who live in Canada but always summer in Rockport. There'll be eight adults and four kids, I think, and I've enough appetizers and desserts left over. I'll make a big Mexican casserole and a bean salad, and Jay next door said he'd bring guacamole. After that, I'm going to rest on my laurels until we go to Houston.

Lessons from Calvin Trillin

Well, Calvin Trillin stumped me. I'm reading his Messages from My Father, a charming book. But I came across the phrase "Schachtmanite deviation." Schachtman is not in my dictionary, let alone Schachtmanite. Google was not a lot more helpful--none of the sites that came up referred directly to it. I gathered--or guessed--that it has to do with communistic liberal leanings among some European immigrants in the early 20th century. Beyond that I'm stumped. Anybody know? I'm hoping Jim Lee will read this and tell me; and maybe I'll email Fred Erisman and ask him. Both of them always know that odd bit of information.
Trillin is a graceful writer. In this slim book, he tells the story of his father--and his relationship with his father--in just over a hundred pages. My own father was a pretty interesting and unusual man, but I doubt that I could write more than five pages about him that might hold anyone's attention. I read Trillin's book almost in one sitting.
Two favorite stories: Trillin once gave a speech entitled "Making Chopped Liver with Miracle Whip." Afterward, someone came up to him and said the title was an interesting metaphor. He replied that it wasn't a metaphor; that's how his mother made chopped liver. He supposed she thought schmaltz (rendered chicken fat) was declasse. (Well, Miracle Whip does less damage to your system than schmalz or so I would presume.) His father had been brought to this country as a very young child and had only one memory of Russia--of having his foot stuck in the mud. When Trillin's mother first began to suggest a trip to Europe his father, "speaking as one who had once got his foot stuck in the mud in Russia, said 'I've been.'"
As I predicted, I'm ready for Christmas way ahead of time. My party is tomorrow--everything is cooked that can be done ahead of time. Dishes are on the table with little pieces of paper telling what goes in each. I may have told this story before, but Jordan does the same thing, which once led Christian to say, "You and your mother have a screw loose." But he said it with affection.
But that's why I spent the afternoon reading Calvin Trillin and think now I'll start another of the many books Mary Lu has loaned me. It's bitter cold tonight--the chill factor to be down to 2 degrees, so Scooby is inside earlier than usual. The wine is out of my car, so it won't freeze, and the heat is turned up just a bit. I'll drip the faucets outside and leave the doors to the kitchen sink open. Tomorrow of course, this being Texas, it will be into the fifties and by Tuesday into the sixties.
A week from today we leave for Houston and Alter Family Christmas. Time flies, as they say--and, yeah, I'm having fun.

Rainy weather

I have two cases of wine in the trunk of my car, plus a case that has soft drinks, plastic plates, napkins--all for my Christmas party Sunday. But it's been so rainy, and my yard guy hasn't come to get rid of leaves for three weeks, so the path from the car to the front door is strewn with slickery wet leaves, and I'm not about to carry wine in. Yesterday I ran into my neighbor at the local barbecue place and--never one to miss an opportunity--I asked if he'd help me. He treats me like a sweet little old lady (in some ways I love it) and he said of course, he'd be by later in the day. But he apparently forgot. And today, he appears to be out of town--he travels for business a lot, and his wife is also out of town right now. So I'm driving around with all this wine in my trunk. I really don't want to carry it in a bottle at a time, and when I told Jay that was how I'd have to do it, he said, 'Yeah, and the last bottle would never make it!"
Somehow my anxiety has been a little higher the last few days--not unbearable but enough that among other things I'm not sure of my footing. Maybe it's the rain and those slickery leaves; maybe the antibiotics--I just took the last one today. I worry about walking, though I do fine when I actually do it. Okay, I needed a hand up a curb today but that was all.
Tonight I'm feeling really good--I'd ignored the passenger ships manuscript for a week or more and sort of totally lost my place in it, but today I got back to it and have a complete rough draft, have proofed it once, and feel pretty good about it. If I can get it sent off, I can turn my attention to the book on Texas chefs.
But Christmas, always Christmas--my packages are wrapped, my party pretty much in order (but I do have to cook in the next few days). But it's hard to think about writing books in the holiday season. My house is festive--with lights on the mantel and buffet, a small live tree on the coffee table, and a wonderful huge poinsettia, present from my beloved Uncle Charles, on the library table. I've started lighting a fire in the fireplace at night because it's soooo cold outside, and the fire is cheering. I love this season.

Egg-less meals and Christmas trees

My egg-less meal turned out to be just fine and my guest less allergic than I had thought. He said eggs cooked into things don't seem to bother him, but since he mentioned mayonnaise I thought it was best not to use egg nooodles. Here's how I amended the recipe.
I cooked a cup of raw rice in 2-1/2 cups chicken bouillion with a pat of butter and put that in the bottom of a 9x13 casserole. Then I cooked 16 oz. chopped broccoli and layered it next. I baked five chicken breast halves--I always put them in a roasting pan, sprinkle salt and pepper and sliced onion rings, cover the whole thing with foil, and bake at 350 for about an hour. Cubed, the chicken made the next layer. The sauce consisted of 8 oz. Velveeta, 1 can cream of mushroom soup, and 1/2 cup white wine--cooked in a double boiler until smooth and poured evenly over the layers. Then I topped it with grated Parmigiano Reggio and baked for 1/2 hour at 350. It was really good if I do say so. And my guests liked it.
I planned this meeting for home because it was a more relaxed and congenial atmosphere, we could all hear each other without worrying about restaurant noise, and we could linger at the table--which we did. Plus my guests were so pleased to come into a warm house, brightly decorated for Christmas and with a fire in the fireplace, on a cold and wintry day. As they left, I said I thought it worked out better than a restaurant, and one said, "Yeah, and we ate a lot better."
For years I used to have a tree trimming party. It's an old tradition that goes back to the fact that trimming the tree in my family was no fun. We all went to buy it, my father and brother put up the lights and disappeared, and mom and I decorated. It was not the festive togetherness time that I thought putting up a tree should be. So when I had my own home I decided to make it fesetive--and guests did pretty much decorate the tree. But as my kids married and moved away the party became Judy Alter's almost-annual sometimes-there's-a-tree party. And there never was a tree because Christmas Day always found me in someone else's home. But this year I have a live tree! Okay, it's only two feet tall, and it came pre-decorated from Harry & David--with Santas with plaid trim and tiny reindeer and plaid-wrapped packages--appropriate for my year of Scotland. It's really cute. It's also pre-decorated with lights, but I have it on the coffee table and may forget the lights rather than tape an extensio cord down--haven't decided that yet.
After Christmas, the tree can be planted, so I planned to give it to a friend who has a huge and beautiful garden. Jordan said, "Oh, good, we can plant it." My worries about that are that they aren't gardeners and they won't live in their current house forever. The gardening friend was here today when I unwrapped it, and I kept referring to it as her tree. We'll see.

A lesson in allergies, parties, Santa, and a dog's close call

I'm having a business lunch at my houses tomorrow--originally six people, but now only five can make it. I decided to do this at home instead of a restaurant for two reasons--I figure it's easier on the press budget, and we can talk more easily and not feel pressured to "turn the table" the minute we finished. I decided on a beef noodle casserole that my family has always loved--oops, Melinda, production manager, is coming, and she doesn't eat red meat. So chicken it would be--I found a recipe that I'd never tried but sounded good. The out-of-town important person visiting wrote that it was kind of me to offer to cook but I should know that he had a severe allergy to eggs, including mayonnaise. Oops again--the recipe had mayonnaise. So I found another recipe. I was telling Jordan last night she could expect leftovers and reciting the ingredients when I said noodles, and she said, 'You know I can't eat that on my diet," and I said, "Oops. They're egg noodles." So I went to the store this morning looking for whole wheat noodles. None. I read the label on garden twists--no eggs, but a little box that said "allergy information" and warned that this product contains wheat and was cooked in a facility that uses egg products. Shades of my mother, who used to grind her own hamburger, because she knew butchers used the same grinders on pork and beef. She liked her beef rare but not her pork. Egg residue, I figured, could linger in equipment and this sounds like a severe allergy--the kind that causes immediate anaphylactic shock or whatever. So I'm using rice in the casserole. At this point, I've got the rice and chopped broccoli in the casserole dish--and it's full! No room for the chicken and sauce. Once again, I have to rethink--but I'm taking time off from it.
Jamie and Mel's dessert party last night was lovely and creative--they had cards with recipes for various champagne drinks and all the makings lined up; one called for stout and champagne in equal parts, which sounded pretty wild to me. I stuck to chardonnay. For dessert, they had a decadent cake, a chocolate bundt cake, cream puffs, cheesecake squares--all delish, as Megan would say.
The Santa Claus trip wasn't quite so satisfactory. Jacob, like most babies his age, wanted nothing to do with that old man with the white beard, cried piteously and held out his arms to be rescued. A priceless picture resulted from his discomfort, poor darling. But we all enjoyed a huge breakfast, and he perked up enough to mug for the camera.
Before I got back to my chicken casserole, my neighbors were at the door. Truth be told, they woke me from a sound nap, so I was a little stunned by what they said. Yesterday they told me they'd had rats in the bird feeder and had put out poison. "Can Scooby get it?" I asked. "Aboslutely not," Jay said. Today they said they were fairly sure he'd gotten a small piece within the hour--they'd been watching--so they were taking him to the vet ER. I was so stunned I just watched them go. They called and reported, but Scooby didn' get home for about 4 hours--the vet made him vomit and sure enough, there was the rat poison. So they gave him vitamin K, and I have to give him a pill twice a day for two or three weeks. But he shows no ill effects and is going to be fine. Jay and Susan are much more upset than I am--because I was still sort of stunned by the whole thing.
Tonight my casserole is done, greens for a salad are washed, all is ready. And my dog is healthy and happy.

Tis the season

So many of you have left comments or spoken to me personally about anxiety, that I am really comforted. Tonight, at a major event, I said to no one in particular, "I'm nervous that the cheese trays haven't gotten here." A friend standing nearby said, "Don't be anxioius." I guess I looked at her quizically, because she explained, "I read your blog." My anxiety is better, but I'm still fighting with my incision--it's puffy and red, and yesterday the nurse practitioner declined to take out the stitches--said they weren't ready. And I can tell they aren't. I'm hoping and praying that the new antibiotic makes things better.
Tonight was the TCU Press Annual Autograph Extravaganza--every year I worry about this event, feeling sure I've forgotten to do something. And every year it's fine. There are always glitches--like the authors who didn't get nametags--but everyone has a good time, and it all seems to go well. This morning I was sure it would be a disaster, mostly because it was one of those mornings when I had to drag myself out of bed and felt lethargic (a mild description) most of the morning. Maybe it was the muggy weather. But once I got to the event and involved myself in it--distributing nametags, welcoming people, worrying about those cheese trays--I was just fine and enjoyed myself. The program was a real hit--five contributors to our book, Grace & Gumption: Stories of Fort Worth Women, portrayed characters from their chapters, and the audience laughed a lot and clapped. They were, as one of our guests said, "five hamettees." Then the provost, Nowell Donovan, presented a certificate of appreciation to Elmer Kelton, one of our longstanding and best-selling authors. Everyone commented on what a successful event it was, and I went home to a tunafish supper feeling very content. The campus bookstore, which handled sales, was ecstatic--sold more books than in two or three previous years put together!
Tomorrow is a Christmas-y day. I'm going to a pancake breakfast at the Fort Worth Club so Jacob can tell Santa Claus his wish list--of course Santa won't understand, but Jacob will no doubt talk a lot. He is very conversational, his voice full of inflection--but it's just not a language any of us understand. He is getting more and more words into his vocabulary--including, to my delight, "Juju."
Then tomorrow night Jordan, Jacob and I (Christian has to work unfortunatley) are going to Jamie and Mel's Christmas party. They have always given a Chinese New Year's party but decided to change it this year. It's a dessert and champagne party, and we're much looking forward to it. My neighbor Sue and her children, good friends of Jamie's daughters, are also going, so it will be fun. Over the years I've met several of Jamie and Mel's neighbors, and I look forward to seeing them.
Passenger ships? I've put that off my list for a while. But I did finish the new Dick Francis novel I was reading tonight. I hate to finish a novel I'm enjoying--it's like leaving a world in which I've immersed myself and characters who've become so familiar. Of course, with Dick Francis, the exit is always so nail-biting that I sometimes skip a few paragraphs. Now I'm going to read a paper by one of the three middle-school children I'm tutoring, including a young boy from London.

Anxiety and Other Facts of Life

A quote I found that I really like: "Things may come to those who wait, but only things left by those who hustle."--A. Lincoln.
Anxiety, which I had pretty much conquered, came back to hit me full force yesterday and today. I started out each day feeling great, crashed about noon. I think it's because I'm on antibiotics--I had a skin cancer removed from my arm last week, and the incision looked red and angry, so the doctor prescribed a sulfa antibiotic. I intend to call first thing in the morning and ask if I can quit taking it. Today at lunch with two of my best friends--people with whom I should feel totally relaxed--I could hardly function, hardly walk or sign my name. I had to hold on to Jeannie, and when I did she said, "Your hand is shaking." An absolutely rotten feeling not to be able to control your body. I came home and did what the doctor dislikes--drank a glass of wine. Hey, it works! Tomorrow I'll call the office again and take an anti-anxiety pill. But the whole thing did put a damper on my lunch out--we went to a fancy new restaurant none of us had been to, and it was really good. Betty and Jeannie had shrimp and grits, and I, being allergic to shrimp, had a smoked trout Cobb salad. I enjoyed it, but the whole time I was thinking, "Can I walk out of this restaurant?"
Tonight I'm being extra good to myself. Fixed really good creamed tuna (okay, I know that doesn't appeal to a lot of people, but it was delish, as Megan would say) and will probably let myself read that Dick Francis novel instead of plowing ahead with passenger ships. And I may wrap a couple of Christmas gifts that I got today. I'm almost in danger of being smug about the good handle I have on Christmas.
All the bags and boxes that decorations were in have been piled in the hall, to go back up to the attic until time to repack things. Christian suggested that we put them in the garage apt.--easier than getting them up to the attic. Then Jordan suggested I could do that without them. So tonight, in sort of defiant anger, I put most but not all in the apartment. I'll do the rest night by night, have them gone before I have a business lunch here next Monday.

A Learning Experience

One of the joys of writing nonfiction for third- and fourth-graders is that I learn a lot about subjects I would otherwise never explore. My current project is to write 3500 words on passenger ships. My first few forays into the library catalog online and google convinced me that I would never find enough matieral (I almost always start out that way, convinced I won't have enough to say and I'll have to pad with fluff; then I overwrite and am reluctant to cut any golden word; somehow I usually end up on target). One requirement of the series for this book is to do brief biographies of influential people who made difference in whatever area--for vaccines, I did Dr. Edward Jenner, first to vaccinate someone for smallpox, Dr. Louis Pasteur, first to vaccinate anyone for rabies, and Drs. Jonas Salk and Albert Sabin, co-inventors of the polio vaccine. But ships and people? I emailed the editor plaintively: couldn't I do important ships, like the Titanic, instead of people? The answer was negative: the goal of the series is to teach kids about creative and innovative thinking. I despaired. I would never get this book written.
Yesterday I got a book from interlibrary loan (minimally helpful, but it started me on a web search), did a lot of web exploring (being careful of the sites I used), and suddenly I had handle on passenger ships. A wonderful feeling. There's Robert Fulton, who didn't really invent the steamboat, as most people think, but made it a successful commercial venture, and Sir Samuel Cunard, founder of the line that bears his name, and J. Bruce Ismay, owner of the Titanic. And suddenly the linear history of passenger ships began to take shape in my mind--particularly at 4:30 this morning. So now I've written 650 words--a great beginning. And I sure know a lot more about shps than I did a week ago when I was stumbling in the darkness.
A story to demonstrate the perils--and funny mistakes--of multi-tasking. In the mornings I often take a swig of mouthwash, and while swishing it aound in my mouth (who wants to stand still for 40 seconds without doing anything?) I go get a cup of dry food for the cat, fill her bowl, spit out the mouthwash, and return the extra cat food to the container. Only this morning, I filled the bowl, stood over the sink, and instead of spitting mouthwash into it, I dumped in the cat food!

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.