What is happening to our country?

No lighthearted blog tonight about my grandson, my dog, my peaceful and happy life, not even a subtle bit of marketing for my books. I am too deeply saddened and troubled by the attack on our embassy at Benghazi, the death of an apparently sterling young diplomat and three of his colleagues, and by the bitterness it has brought out in our nation. It's no secret to those who know me that I admire President Obama as a person--I think he is thoughtful, caring, and no more ambitious than anyone would have to be to be in public office. I saw him, today, stepping forward with dignity and courage to reaffirm the defense of our nation and the importance of its values. Yet I also have seen him misquoted, bitterly attacked, with quotes from several years ago taken out of context and made to seem that he made them today. What has happened to our nation in eleven years?
The tragedy of 9/11 brought us together, albeit under a leader I did not particularly admire. But we united. We recognized that what happens to even one of our people--or several thousand--happens to us, touches us. Today, we have lost that. Politicians have used the embassy tragedy for  political advantage; individuals have used it to buttress their hatred and--let's be honest--prejudice. I am saddened.  I think of civilizations that collapsed and disappeared. Is that what's happening to America? Have we had our run and grown so big in our hubris that we've lost sight of who we are, who we started out to be--one people, united.
Strangely, the country of Libya comforts me. I don't think this was an act by the Libyan people. It was an act by a small terrorist group, and I am heartened to see Libyans holding signs of sympathy and rallying in support of America. And I am comforted that, contrary to rumors about dragging Ambassador Stevens body through the streets, Libyans were actually rushing him to a hospital in an attempt to save him. I applaud President Obama's heightened security for embassies in questionable countries, but I cannot applaud any condemnation of the Libyan people. I suspect most of them are as devastated as we are--or should be.
Pray for our country and our people.

Chronicle of Sophie

Youd be tuckered too if you had all of Sophie's responsibilities.This morning she had to clean out my closet--shred one cork heel lift, scatter various tissue paper bits around the bedroom, destroy one unidentifiable plastic object, and flatten an empty small jewelry box that had fallen on the floor. Then she had to go outside for a while and patrol for those pesky squirrels that have the nerve to invade her domain. This afternoon Jordan and Jacob took her for a long walk at a fairly rapid pace. She thinks she wore them out.
A friend is staying temporarily in my guest house, which only adds to Sophie's responsilities. She's taken to lying in the corner of the yard by the apt., but periodically she jumps up to peer in the window and check on things.She went inside once but seemed pretty uncertain about those strange surroundings. Her guarding is best done outside.
Pretty much she's adjusting to being an only dog. It does have its upside--she gets a lot more inside time, a lot more love and attention, and a lot more snacks and treats. She doesn't seem to mope around as much, although she still sometimes lies on  Scooby's bed--that's where she went to shred the heel lift. I'm sure Scooby would have disapproved, and he never would have helped her.
I suppose, someday, if a rescue dog's picture jumps out at me and says "I was meant for you," I'll get a second dog. But for the time being I too am comfortable with our arrangement. At sixteen months, Sophie has calmed down a lot, but she still has a way to go.
When strangers come in, she manages to sit and contain her excitement if someone reminds her in a stern voice but you can see her little body quiver with excitement. When Jordan comes in, she has long, howling conversations with her, and when she and I play tug over a toy, or toss and fetch (usually late at night), she growls at me fiercely. Sometimes in the house, she likes to play "Catch me if you can"--I can't, so she still wears a leash around. There was that embarrassing time I couldn't open the door to discuss a disputed water meter reading because I couldn't catch the dog. The meter reader and I had to yell at each other through the thick beveled glass of the door.
Sophie sleeps in her crate at night without a peep, and in the morning when I open the door she immediately comes for a long loving session, looking soulfully at me with those little brown eyes that almost get lost in her fuzzy face. Definitely a lover not a fighter.

A luncheon talk and some spiffy bling

Yesterday it was my great privilage to speak to the opening luncheon of the Women's Ministries at my church--about 80 women. They are embarking on a mystery reading program this fall and thought it would be fun to begin with one of their own. I felt honored. Given free rein to talk about anything I wanted, with books as the theme, I talked about my writing from the age of ten on. As all writers can imagine there were lots of trials and tribulations and a lot of funny things that happened along the way--like the time I won the best juvenile novel of the year award from the Texas Institute of Letters and the woman presenting said, "Good old so-and-so (I have no idea of his name) who usually wins this award didn't enter this year, so it  goes to Judy Alter." There was laughter at that and a lot of other stories I worked in along the way.
Speaking doesn't come easily to me, though everyone says I do it well. They just don't know the agony I go through beforehand. I made my friend Betty listen to this one in the car Friday on the way to Granbury, and she pronounced it interesting and funny, so I was somewhat reassured. She said she'd listen on Sunday to see if I forgot anything I'd said on Friday--guess not since she didn't complain.
Afterward several women said they thought they knew me before, but now they knew a lot more about me. Hmmm--didn't think I revealed any secrets. What Betty said was, "I never knew you went through all that." I think readers don't recognize how much rejection and discourgement writers face on the way to a career. I hope I was able to present it with humor and optimism.
My daughter Jordan was there as moral support and a help when I was signing books. I know most of these ladies, but the best of us can have memory lapses while signing--I was grateful the church plastered big name tags on everyone.
About a week before this a close friend called to say I needed to look spiffy for the luncheon. "Spiffy?" I asked. She explained she didn't exactly know what she meant. Maybe Jordan would know. Jordan decided the only seasonal spiffy in my closet was the bright purple I'd worn to church the week before, so I bought spiffy in Granbury. If  you read the previous blog, you know about my buying an aubergine (okay, eggplant) top with a ruffle and a bit of bling--a lilac and silver long but skinny kind of thing you can fling around your neck in various ways. I'm never good at that flinging stuff nor am I really the ruffle kind--my retirement wardrobe consists mostly of jeans, capris, and big shirts. Spiffy with bling were the subject of much discussion at the luncheon...and even at a lunch table today where one of the ladies had read the earlier blog.
The chuch has a WILD Women book club. That name always threw me--I don't quite associate Wild Women with a church--but it turns out that's an acronym. The group raises money for the Heifer Interntional project, so WILD stands forWomen in Livestock Development. They'll discuss Skeleton in a Dead Space on the 18th, and I'll go back for that discussion.Then they'll move on to Julia Spencer-Fleming so I'm in good company.

The Wild Kingdom

When was the last time you did a jigsaw puzzle? I haven't done them in years, though I remember a time when friends used to come for Christmas dinner and stay until two in the morning putting together intricate jigsaw puzzles. We especially prized those mystery puzzles where the picture on the box didn't give a clue to what the finished puzzle should look like.
I'm into much simpler puzzles these days, because I'm doing them with six-year-old Jacob. I've discovered that 100-piece XXL puzzles are what we need. In a flurry of economy I bought a 500-piece puzzle at the Dollar Store--the pieces were so small that I was totally discouraged and Jacob was uninterested. Then I bought a puzzle that changed in various lights, like a holograph or something. It was Darth Vader, and I thought Jacob would love it--but all the pieces were so dark neither of us knew where to begin. Besides, Sophie chewed two of the pieces.
Tonight we did our second 100-piece puzzle. The first was a majestic lion and it took us three afternoons after school, but tonight he would not quit until we finished and this was a more complicated one. I've taught him about straight edge pieces, but then he tries to put them together without matching the edges. It's also hard to get him to look at the picture on the box to see where the pieces go, but he's getting better. He's fitting more pieces together himself, and he's so delighted when he does that he high fives me. He learned tonight to look for the blue butterfly and then the baby cheetah and then the stripes of the zebra and the different size spots of the two cheetahs, and he kept saying two things: "This is so much fun" and "This is really hard, but we're good at it." Be still, my heart--what better way is there to spend a Saturday evening than doing a jigsaw puzzle with your grandson! Above is our masterpiece. He kept wanting to hold it up--I told him it would fall apart. Then he wanted to tear it apart, but I said after we'd worked so hard on it, we had to leave it for a day or two. And I will admit the evening, in which I had planned to get some work done, flew by. Yes, Jacob, this is so fun!

A Granbury Day

I am not by nature one of those women who can spend a day shopping. I don't browse or linger gracefully. Pausing over this thing or that bores me, and I get cranky. When I go to the grocery store I have a list and I stick to it. So, today, when I went shopping on the square in Granbury, I had a plan. My longtime good friend Linda and her husband Rodger own a classy store called Almost Heaven, but after 33  years Linda's ready to give it up. They're having a "going out of business sale," so Betty and I went, Christmas gift list in hand. And I got lots of little things that I hope friends and family will appreciate. If small, they were gifts chosen with love and care.
One problem about this is that last year about this time Linda had a sale--not a going-out-of-business one (she doesn't pull that kind of trick)--and I bought several presents, mostly for family, forgot I had them, and bought other things for the people they were intended for. So this year, I have much of my shopping already done. And now I've added these finishing touches. It's fun to wander the store and talk to Linda about the various items.
I had another thing on my shopping list. My friend Jean said I need to wear something "spiffy" to talk to the Women's Ministries luncheon Sunday, but she couldn't define spiffy. We decided Jordan would know. Jordan's verdict was I don't have much spiffy in my closet, except the colorful top I wore to church last week--people would remember. (Come on, do you think people pay that much attention to what I wear to church?). So while in Granbury I browsed in some rather high-priced stores. Found a top (to be worn over tights) that I liked a lot but it was one price and the ruffle that went with it was the same price. I couldn't see paying $58 for a ruffle, so Betty found me a piece of "bling" that went perfectly. I bought it, and then the store owner (I presume she was) said, "But you didn't take the ruffle." I explained I didn't want to pay that much for a ruffle, and she said, "Oh, no it goes with it. It's part of the purchase." So now I have a top, a ruffle, and some bling. I'll be a spiffy knockout  on Sunday.
We had lunch at a quiet, classy place called 1890 upstairs over some of the shops, quiet enough that we could visit. I had a filet sandwich--superb; Betty had salmon fettucine (her husband doesn't like her to cook salmon in the house); Linda had the grilled chicken spinach salad, and we all raved. Another friend joined us who had just been to Scotland, so she and I had a high old time talking about places we'd been and the like.
All in all, a good day, the kind of shopping I tolerate (actually we got there at 10:30, left a little after one and at least an hour of that was lunch). Maybe one hour shopping. Home in time to pick up Jacob.
Tuckered. After Jacob's mom came for him, I had a cozy nap.
 

JFK assassination

A friend in Fort Worth started a Facebook thread by asking,"Where were you when you learned that JFK had been killed?" In Fort Worth, that question has particular poignancy because Kennedy's last speech, last public appearance was here. The response has amazed me in its sheer numbers but also by the similarity of so many answers. With few exceptions, respondees were in school, from elementary to high school. Some had been to the Hotel Texas with their classes to see Kennedy or stood on the highway to watch the motorcade. Most can remember what teacher's classroom and what subject. A very few seemed out of school, and a similar low number were either infants or not yet born.There are whole generations that didn't respond to this, and I'm curious about why one age group--granted wih a twenty-year span or so, answered in such heavy numbers.
I was twenty-five years old, living and going to school in a small town in Missouri. I was also working for an osteopathic medical school, and one of my jobs was to do a 15-minute radio show once a week at the local station interviewing physicians on problems of interest to the general patient. Sort of, "Tell me, doctor. If I have a pain in my side, is it appendicitis?" The station was, well, casual in its organization. So on November 22 I was driving through town in my old VW with the local station on when the announcers seemed to lose it--there was obviously confusion, an utter inability to know what to do. I heard mumbles and mutters, the shuffling of  papers and incoherent phrases. And I laughed to myself. "Those guys can't ever get it together." Of course in a minute, they did get it togther, and I hard the awful news. I remember going back to the office and saying to my boss--not my favorite of men--that the president had been killed."President?" he said sharply. "What president?" Did he think it was the president of the school?
The friend who originally posted the question was right. Those of us who lived through that day will never forget where we were when we heard the news. Nor will we forget that riveting weekend when we all stared at the TV without break. I remember I had stepped away on Sunday just long enough to miss Jack Ruby shooting Oswald. My brother called and said, "You better turn that TV back on." Of course, we saw re-enactment after re-enactment.
This struck me as strange timing, since the thread appeared during the Democratic National Convention, the first at which the Kennedy legacy wasn't a large presence, principally because of the death of Ted Kennedy. Yes, there were tributes, and we saw Patrick Kennedy and Caroline, but it wasn't the same electric presence we'd come to expect. I missed it, and I feel lucky to have lived through the Kennedy era and on to treasure the legacy, no matter how tarnished. Camelot existed, however briefly.
No I won't ask where you were. I don't want to answer that many memories. But do think about it

Classy ladies

Michelle Obama's speech last night was a class act--there's simply no other way to describe it. I heard a commentator on TV this morning say one thing that was striking was the contrast with Michelle four years ago when entering the presidential race, let alone the White House, was a new and scary experience for her, when she worried abut the effect on her daughters and, probably, on her relationship with her husband. She was a professional woman, experienced, but not used to being thrust into the national spotlight, and there she was. Last night she demonstrated that she was used to that spotlight,  used to the White House, and comfortable with all of it. Her passion and sincerity were evident not only in her words but in the way in which she carried herself. I thought she had an inner glow that made her truly charming and beautiful.
It reminded me of Laura Bush, whose ascent to the pubic spotlight I watched more than eight years ago. As the governor's wife, she kept a low profile at first; when she made an appearance once at a dinner I attended she seemed just a bit shy. I met her once, for a handshake, in the foyer of the Governor's Mansion and thought her crisply efficient. Her husband, on the other hand, seemed like a bashful teddy bear who had just pulled that wrinkled shirt out of the dryer.
But because I attended the Texas Book Fair, I got to watch her a bit more than usual. By the time she left the Governor's Mansion, she had gained a great deal of self-confidence and poise, and as the First Lady she continued to grow.  I greatly admired the way she handled herself on television  and in public appearances, although her style is far different, more formal and reserved, than Michelle Obama's.
They say what doesn't kill you helps you grow--and maybe that's true of the public spotlight. Presidential wives have not always fared well--Mrs. Lincoln comes to mind. But then, there's Eleanor Roosevelt, perhaps so independent that she alienated her husband but a woman of great compassion, intellect and good deeds. Want to know more? Read Presidential Wives by Paul Boller, an informative, informal and entertaining book.
This isn't a political statement but one on women. I'm ready and willing to admire women who achieve and grow, no matter their political affiliation, but I don't see in Ann Romney the comfort in the spotlight, even the comfort in her own skin, that Michelle Obama has achieved. Mrs. Romney looks pinched, even angry. The most telling Facebook post I saw was that Ann Romney talked to us; Michelle Obama talked for us.
Then again, there was some discussion on TV this morning (the TODAY show) about the relevance of a politician's wife. Does her character (or charisma or lack thereof) have anything to do with governing the nation? Yes, I think it does. As one person said on the show, who you choose to live with says something about you.
Hats off to Michelle and Laura--ladies with class, ladies who took experience and grew with it.

Jacob learns to read

I have been the proverbial, over-worrying grandmother, afraid beyond belief that Jacob was not learning to read. To me, an English major, an author, and a reader who never goes anywhere without a book or a book on the iPhone or iPad, reading is the key that opens the whole world. Without it you're forever limited. Jacob's good at spatial and math problems, but reading made him throw up his hands and say, "You know I can't read." No, I refused to accept that, and I probably made it worse by trying to make him sound out words. He'd say, "I'm so tired. Just tell me what it is." Last week, I promised to back off, after his teacher told his parents that a booklet I tried to get him to read was a math exercise and not to worry about reading.So I backed off and worried in private.
Today, he was so excited when he unpacked his backpack--honestly, it's the biggest backpack for a six-year-old! "I'm learning to read," he shouted. And indeed I think this is the beginning of the formal teaching of reading. He had a baggie labeled "Jacob's Book Bag." In it were a letter to his parents outlining the program, a sheet they have to sign that says he read his assignment to an adult at least three times--"we can read it more," he assured us--and a small booklet. Granted, it was pretty simple: "Mom is cooking," "Mom is digging," "Mom is running," and, after all that activity, "Mom is sleeping." But he was so proud he read it to me twice, and then read it again when his dad came to get him.
I am excited by his excitement. Excuse me, now, but I have to go read the mystery novel I'm in the middle of.

Labor Day

Hot and humid, but we celebrated Labor Day with a porch party tonight--my local children and grandchild and neighbors. I created a hot dog bar with little cards detailing the toppings for different kinds of dogs--Mexican, Chicago, German, Franks and Beans, Coney Dogs. Watch Potluck with Judy next week for more details. But hot as it was, it was pleasant to sit on the porch and trade banter. Jacob was bored beause there were no other kids and finally retreated to the TV--he'd had a long day and played hard with his cousins in Coppell. The rest of us were lazy and tired, full and content. Wine was drunk, beer was sipped, and too much food eaten.
But I am struck with the fragility of life tonight. My friend who's in the midst of a life change is staying in my garage apartment. I am so glad I can offer this help and a place of refuge, and I'm grateful for the company, but I grieve for the changes she's going through. No matter how the current crisis comes out, her life will never again be the same. She's strong, and she'll be fine--but I feel like this is happening to one of my own children. My neighbor Jay is just back from Vermont where he went for a family conference about his father's health--apparently all seven children met. His dad knows he has problems, knows therapy and rehab work will prolong his life, but won't do it. He goes home today or tomorrow with full-time medical care--a good situation but one with an inevitable outcome. A neighbor who was supposed to join us tonight couldn't because of health. And Christian's grandmother died last night in a rehab facility, two days shy of her 95th birthday. I hope her family can take comfort in the fact that she was probably just done, just tired. A lifelong friend is close to marking the one-year anniversay of the death of her husband--a true love match if I ever saw one, and he was too young to leave us. So much sadness.
I sense that change and a certain inevitability are all around us. I'm not depressed by it in the way of thinking that my turn is next, but I am saddened by what happens to people. Not sure how to say this, but some people obsess over the smallest changes in their lives. Sort of "Don't park in my parking space" when there are such larger life changes all around us. Seeing those larger changes makes you--or should make you--put life in perspective.
I guess I pray for all of us tonight a sense of life's beauty...and its fragility. My hope, for myself and others, is to learn to treasure the glory of the moment, the day, and give thanks. I always liked the saying, "Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first." Maybe that sums up what I'm thinking.
Awk! I'm no good at philosphizing, but there's a certain blue mood around me tonight, in spite of the pleasant time and good company.

One of those miscellaneous posts

A good friend of mine is in crisis tonight, and it's hit me hard. In fact, sometimes I think she's calmer about it than I am. But I take life changes in those I care about seriously. Maybe it's the mother hen in me, the natural instinct to nurture. If I ever again take one of those personality profiles, I'm sure it will show that I'm a nurturer--from emotional support to feeding people. So tonight I'm doing both, but the pain of people I care about is weighing heavily on me. Then again, that's what you do for friends.
I frittered the day away--took me three hours this morning to run errands that should not have taken that long. Two grocery stores, the post office--okay, that always takes a while and I had to buy mailers and address them, then wait in line. The Dollar Store where I bought some kind of weird Star Wars puzzle for Jacob--it's called a lenticular puzzle. Close as I can figure it looks like a hologram--if you turn the box one way it's one thing, turn it another and the picture changes. Its virtue is that it's a 12x9 puzzle with 100 pieces which means to me that the pieces are bigger. The bargain $1.00 puzzle I bought had 500 teeniny pieces--both Jacob and I were overwhelemed. I think he'll like this better.
We are inundated with statistics, warnings, and advice about mosquitoes and West Nile viirus. Mosquitoes don't seem to bite me much if at all, but they love Jacob, so I keep spray with Deet on hand, much as I hate it. I also have one bit of standing water--an air conditioner drip line or something--that I can't do away with, so I bought some Bti that was harmless to dogs. Put a little bit in the water and now I can't find the rest of the package. So I went to the hardware to get more; they were out and offered an alternative but it said not for drinking water. Didn't want to take a chance. Sometimes it's hard to be a good citizen!
After all that I spent most if not all of the afternoon reading and napping. Tonight I finished No Way to Kill a Lady by Nancy Martin--latest in a series I thoroughly enjoy. But without that to tempt me, perhaps I'll get back to the chili manuscript tomorrow. Though I do have to make potato salad for Monday night and probably will go to church. And my next reading venture will be a contemporary mystery that spins off Jane Austen's work. I've wondered about the various contemporary adaptations of Austen, so I'm glad for a chance to read and review one.
And that's my day. Lazy, comfortable, with a constant twinge of grief...and my ever-present conscience is telling me it wasn't productive. Oh, I did finish one guest blog and send it off. A small whittle-down in my stack of things I must do.