Grandmothering #2

Jacob and Sophie

going to sleep

 

I knew today would be a better day because while Jacob and the dog were still asleep I weighed and found I'd lost three pounds in a week. Paying attention to what I eat really makes a difference for me, and I thought the weight loss was an omen of a good day. And it was indeed a better day, with much less electronics. We ate breakfast at the Grill--Jacob allowed later that maybe two pancakes are too much, and he should stick to one; I also felt over-served--asked for one egg soft scrambled but am quite sure I got two, and I ordered crispy hash browns. Too much for one used to eating cottage cheese for breakfast, and I came near having a sinking spell in the grocery store. But we did our shopping--and Jacob didn't beg for one thing! When I announced we had to stop at the liquor store, he said, "Oh, good, I love licorice." I had to explain the difference, and then he said "That's a yucky store. The last time, there was a barefoot man in there." When we got in, he said, loudly, "Look, there's that barefoot man again." I shushed him.
When I had the groceries unpacked and put away, he dictated his letter to Elizabeth--my goal of course is to get him to write it himself, but I complied again. Then he was off to lunch and a baseball game with his dad, and I worked a bit and napped a lot. Jacob's dad took him to the Old Neighborhood Grill, so that makes three meals in a row he's had there. Tonight we had dinner at home--but I let myself get talked into buying Spaghetti-Os.
This evening we've read--I think his parents settle for letting him read books that are too easy, so I made him read to me from The Boxcar Children and helped him sound out words he didn't know. Then I read some to revive his interest in the story. Now I have his promise that he'll shower in ten minutes. When we three--Jacob, me and the dog--sat together on the bed, I knew someone needed a bath. Sophie gets one Monday, and I'm not about to undertake that at this hour of the night, but I will stick Jacob in the shower. He loves my shower head on a flexible cord.
Big debate: are we going to church tomorrow? Jacob says no, but I pointed out we should go and tell God how grateful we are for all his blessings to us. Jacob answered, "I'll say a prayer tonight and tell him." I asked if he didn't pray every night, and he said, "No. My mom doesn't tell me to." Told him he's old enough not to have to be told. I think we'll go to church tomorrow, and then I'll fix grilled sandwiches of gruyere, carmelized onions, and sliced apples for his mom and me. He gets peanut butter. All in all, a nice weekend so far.
And, I've finished first edits on my novel. Will give it to my beta reader Monday at lunch and settle down to reading the last novel I have to for my class. Life is good.

Grandmothering in full swing

Jacob is with me for most of the weekend, and so far my efforts to be a creative grandmother have failed for one reason or another. He played with his Legos and then watched a movie his dad got him but we had to quit in the middle and couldn't get the pause button to work--tried resetting the remote, new batteries, nothing. Now, much later, he says, "It just doesn't work on movies. Can't you understand that?" Hmmm--not feeling too bright when a seven-year-old has to explain something to me. So I asked how much more there is of the movie he's watching and he said he didn't know. What happened to those wizardry skills?
We ate dinner at the Old Neighborhood Grill, his choice, but when Jacob asked, "What do you want to talk about?" we both drew blanks. It was a quiet dinner--but no phones, thank you. Came home, and Sue, my Canadian Fort Worth daughter, came for a glass of wine. Jacob was distracted from his boredom and talked a blue streak, so we had a lively time on the deck. Then it turns out most of the movies Christian brought are Blue Tooth and won't play on my TV. Ah me!
Tomorrow will be better. I have promised him breakfast at the Grill; then we'll grocery shop, and he has a baseball game in the afternoon--the Lord willing and the creek don't rise. We still have to write his letter to Elizabeth and he has to read Boxcar Children to me.
I admit I keep sneaking off to do my own work, but I'm trying here.
Went to run the washing machine tonight, and the door won't close tightly enough to let the machine turn on. I'm stymied.
Bright note: I had a lovely visit with my younger son tonight--if I miss him when he calls on his way home, I miss my chance, but tonight we connected and talked about lots of things--but not cabbages and kings.
Must be time to go to bed. No more editing tonight. I don't think my brain is bright enough. I've exhausted it trying to open the mind of a right winter on Facebook. Don't tell me to save my breath--this is really a sweet, nice guy but he's so misguided. I have this compulsion to make him see the truth--like Wendy Davis' main goal in politics is not to kill hundreds, even thousands, of babies willy nilly.

Thoughts on re-reading a classic western novel

My class in the American western myth read Owen Wister's The Virginian for tonight's discussion. Published in 1902, it's clearly a romantic 19th-century novel in style and content, and some of the class found it difficult reading. But The Virginian set the mold for countless western novels, movies, and TV shows to come, including a series called The Virginian (in which the villain of the book miraculously becomes one of the good guys). I understand a remake of the movie is underway, and I've seen clips from the 1960s TV show used as an advertisement for something--a bank, I think.
If you haven't read it and  you have any interest in the American West and how we came to make cowboys our heroes, you should read it. The Virginian (we never learn his name) is the archetype of the mythic cowboy--innately smart and culture though unlettered (he's soon reading Shakespeare), clever in a foxy way, always a gentleman, with an inborn sense of right and wrong. Oh, yeah, he's really good-looking--and really young. Twenty-four when the book opens and twenty-eight when it closes. I shudder to think of myself at twenty-four.
Basically, the novel is a love story, the account of The Virginian's courtship of schoolteacher Molly, from New England. A narrator, perhaps an incarnation of Wister himself, tells the story, and we must forgive the lapses in point of view when he recounts things he was obviously not there to witness. Wouldn't get away with that in today's market.
My class's opinions (there aren't many people) varied from the book was difficult to read and Molly was pitiful to Molly was following the 19th-century stereotype of "follow your man," though that took her through a lynching and a shoot-out. No one seemed as disturbed as I was by the idea of vigilante justice that those events suggested, and one woman suggested the old Texas question, "Did he need killing?" The general opinion was that it was appropriate to time and place--readers of the time (1902) and even the first half of the twentieth century would understand and appreciate. In our post-Freidan era, we have a harder time identifying with the characters and the plot.
No one seemed to be much concerned with the basic concept that led me to choose the book: the impact it had on cultural development in this country during the whole twentieth century.
Next time (two weeks from now) we discuss Emerson Hough's Hearts Desire and I'll enlarge the discussion to talk about women in the pre-1900 American West. After that, remind me, please, not to teach again. It's a strain on my nerves.

Lost in Another World

For a couple of days, I've been lost in another world--the Navajo culture, specifically, because I'm reading Anne Hillerman's Spider Woman's Daughter, which picks up her father's characters of Leaphorn and Chee and carries on their stories, with Bernie Manuelito, Chee's wife, as the main character. It's one of those novels that keeps me reading, draws me away from the other things I should be doing.
All my life, I've been blessed by the ability to get lost in a book. Not all books, but that's my criterion for a good novel: I have to move so completely into that world that I am immersed and almost removed from my own daily world. I remember years ago it was the Frances Parkinson Keyes novels that first introduced me to that feeling. I dived into the world of steamboats and post-bellum New Orleans. Steamboat Gothic held me captive for a long time, since it was a longish book for a young girl.
Even before that, I remember in grade school riding to the public library on my bike every summer morning, coming home with four or five books, and spending the day reading on the front porch. The neighborhood kids thought I was nuts but they remained friendly.
Today it is mostly mysteries that drag me into their worlds. I can get lost with Diane Mott Davidson's Goldy or July Hyzy's Grace and Olivia or Deborah Crombie's Duncan Kincaid and Gemma Jones. Confession: sometimes I even got so entwined in the world of my own fictional characters that I hate to come to the end of a story. You know that rare and wonderful feeling when you hate to finish a book?
I worry about people who don't read, about how they spend their time. I read listservs by crime writers discussing TV shows and I think, "When do they have the time? Why aren't they reading instead of watching TV?" Most but not all of my children are serious readers--and that's what I'm talking about here, serious reading. Not picking up a magazine and reading an article or two, but spending hours in the world of the book.
It's a blessing. I see one of my grandsons doing it. When his cousins are playing, his nose is buried in a book, and when I gave him two Rick Riordan books for his birthday he was ecstatic. I love it. I'm trying to make a reader out of Jacob, my local grandson, but it's an uphill battle, and I don't want to push so hard I turn him from it. One day recently he began The Boxcar Kids and was enthralled. "I see why you love to read," he told me. But he hasn't brought it over since, and he wants to watch TV or play on my iPad most of the time. I'm hoping things will improve.
Meantime, blessings on all of you who can get lost in the world of a book. Excuse me, I have to go see what Bernie Manuelito is up to.

Texas' best seasons

Spring and fall are undeniably the best seasons to be in Texas. In spring, we have the riotous color of wildflowers and trees putting forth those first pale green leaves and shoots, but in fall we have brilliantly blue, clear skies, gardens that begin to flourish again, and gorgeous fall flowers. I noticed tonight that my miniature crape myrtle has lots of blooms. After a cold snap that made it too chilly to sit outdoors, we are enjoying perfect weather. Tonight, Jordan and I had a glass of wine on the deck and then when Christian arrived we all went to Joe T.'s just because, as Christian said, it was Taco Tuesday. Perfect weather, no mosquitoes, but some pesky flies. We laughed and joked and lingered over dinner.
I think every once in a while it does the soul good to have a "just because" day, and I had one today. Breakfast with my longtime friends of the Book Ladies, lunch with another longtime friend. In between I did bits and odds and ends but spent time browsing Facebook and being lazy. While I helped Jacob with his homework, I had one eye on the book I'm reading, not because I have to for this reason or that but simply because I want to. It's Anne Hillerman's Spider Woman's Daughter, which picks up the characters of her father's famous Leaphorn and Chee books. .
Maybe I'll get back to serious work tomorrow--I have a first draft to edit, always a painful process, a book to read for the class I'm teaching, a blog interview questionnaire to fill out, and various other things on my desk--an insurance claim to file, calls to make welcoming visitors to my church. But today I had a "just because" day. Just because I could. Who know, I may do that again tomorrow.

Finding a new restaurant

I always joke that I travel on my stomach. Finding new restaurants in strange cities is one of my life's great delights. Tonight I didn't have to go far. Friends took me to dinner at Celaborelle, a Phoenician buffet not a mile from my house. I have to add that it is in a neighborhood where I wouldn't normally think of going. But it was a fascinating experience.
The restaurant is in an old house that reminds you that Hemphill Avenue was once a street of grand homes. This one seems to have been maintained intact, with dark woodwork, hardwood floors, a tiled fireplace angled into what was probably the parlor. The front door sits at an angle, so that the whole house avoids that square as a box appearance. A tantalizing staircase leading to the second floor had me curious, but I'm told if the restaurant is crowded at lunch diners can eat upstairs (they currently aren't serving lunch). Apparently there used to be a lunch buffet but a web site says that's suspended until they get more staff. Celaborelle changes from time to time, and occasionally closes for long periods so the owners can visit Lebanon.
Dinner is casual at best. You order from a huge whiteboard that is crowded with so many items I couldn't take them all in. I chose lamb shish kebabs because the lamb was recommended and because I'd gone there craving lamb. One of our party ordered beef kabobs, and the third the vegetarian meal which turn out to be such an enormous banquet that we could only laugh. The wait lady kept bringing dish after dish--lentil soup, hummus, spicy mushrooms, spinach pie. For an appetizer we had some of the best tabouli I've ever eaten and baba ganoush (eggplant dip)--huge servings of both.
Dinner is not a hurried affair here since everything is cooked from scratch when you order it; it comes out of the kitchen in bits and pieces. By the time my lamb arrived I was already full of the appetizers and bits of Steve's vegetarian meal--a taste of soup, a piece of the spinach pie (absolutely delicious). My lamb kebobs were piled on a huge serving of rice scattered with grilled vegetables, but the kebabs themselves were pure lamb in a marvelous marinade--two skewers loaded with eight good-sized chunks of lamb each. I brought home enough to feed me for a week.
We lingered over dinner for over two hours and enjoyed every minute of it. Thanks much to Della and Steve for giving me a whole new dining experience--and the great pleasure of their company. What a delightful evening.

The heartless grandmother

Given his druthers, Jacob would spend an entire day with Mincrafters on theiPad, the iPhone, and barring that, watching TV. It's not usually a problem because when he's here after school we're busy with homework and then he's off to baseball practice or a game. I figure between school and baseball and walking his dogs, he gets plenty of exercise and time away from electronics.
But he was recently grounded from electronics for several days, and he became the bright, talkative, loveable child I am used to. We went to dinner and had a great conversation, we laughed and joked, and he read a book in my office and declared now he knew why I love to read.
Today being Friday, he had no homework, so he was here from three to five-thirty (turned out to be six) without anything to do. He immediately picked up the iPad and disappeared, though I warned him he would not spend the whole afternoon with it.
At four I said it was time to put it away, and we had a bit of a scene. My words about wanting him to use his creativity instead of being a sponge fell on deaf ears--at seven, he may not have understood what I was saying. I suggested several things he could do but he shook his head at each and declared everything "in this house is boring." He came close to uttering one of the words he's forbidden to say, close enough that I got the gist and said if I heard that again he'd go to time out. I left him, taking the iPad with me, and told him to decide what he wanted to do. In a bit he came into my office.
End result: we had a delightful two hours. He dictated a letter to Elizabeth (my goal is to get him to write it himself) which caused lots of jokes and laughter and mock indignation on my part, and then he said if I'd do it with him, he'd do a puzzle. He absolutely delighted in doing a fairly simple one that we'd done before, but he had a wonderful time and crowed every time he put a piece in place. By then, it was five-thirty so we went to watch the news together. He was most interested in the woman who tried to storm the White House and wanted to know why the police shot her and why she did that. I tried to explain about mental illness and government security, but when the news cut away to another subject, he said, "I wanted to hear the whole story."
Long story short, we did things together--yes, I had work on my desk, but I chose to spend the time with him. I know grandmothers who won't discipline because they want to be loved. I don't feel that way, and I hope someday he'll remember me as the grandmother who tried to teach and appreciate and help his creativity. I read in Ann Landers about a grandmother who never called her grandchild on his lying. Ann Landers asked if she wanted to be remembered as the grandmother with whom the child could get away with anything. I don't want to be the grandmother who didn't care what he did and let him play electronic games all day.
Highpoint of a day which was quite pleasant--I wrote a lot, went to the dermatologist (one of my favorite people), and served Betty lunch on the deck--tuna salad and a fruit salad that really was pretty if I do say so.

An interesting reception with a focus on Texas History

Tonight I went to a large reception honoring longtime friend Ron Tyler, former Executive Director of the Texas State Historical Association and Director of the Amon Carter Museum. Held at a local country club, it was a posh affair with a band, elegant hors d'oevres, and 250 people. I was glad to be there to honor Ron and his wife, Paula, but I don't much enjoy such affairs. I no longer have a need to schmooze with people, reminding them of the good work the press is doing, hoping for a contribution from one or two, congratulating authors, and, always, prowling for manuscripts. How quickly they forget--a couple of authors were there I'd worked with or at least corresponded with, but we didn't speak. I saw no need to introduce myself and was shy about it, which I wouldn't have been when I had a "position" and a reason to be there. Two of my close friends were there, but you can't really visit in a crowd like that, and I, with my challenged hearing, can't hear what the person next to me is saying, let alone the person across the table.
There was a 45-minute program, with too many acknowledgments and introductions, a witty and brief speech from the honoree, and a forceful talk about the importance of Texas history.
The speaker traced our history in terms of battles and heroics--until he got to the cattle drives and the oil industry. It struck me rather like the time I toured Edinburgh, the center of Scotland's intellectual history, one day and Stirling Castle, the site of so much of Scotland's bloody history, the next. I'd seen two sides of Scotland. Tonight I saw one side of Texas' history, though the speaker did praise Texas women at the end. His choices were strange to me: Jane Long, "the mother of Texas," Pamela Mann, who demanded her oxen back from Houston and got them at gunpoint, and another woman who drove 2500 head of cattle up the trail. For contemporary women, he cited Kay Bailey Hutchinson (who was in the room), while I would surely have added Ann Richards and Wendy Davis as examples of the fighting spirit of Texas. Much of it was material I'd studied and written about, and when he mentioned the cowboy, I wanted to stand up and shout that I am teaching a course in the myth of the cowboy right now. But I don't think he believes there's any myth to it. Still, he was a good speaker, and I enjoyed it.
Now I'm glad to be home, Sophie inside, and I'm back at my desk.

Those blah days

I’ve had a couple of blah days this week, and, compulsive that I am, I feel obliged to search out the cause. Was it that extra glass (or two) of wine I had being sociable Sunday night? Sophie’s cough that had her sounding like a barking seal? Adjusting to a new routine without Elizabeth in the apartment? (Monday I found myself waiting for her to come in for “rat watch” wine about 9:30.) Or maybe it was stress over my work-in-progress? I’ve been pushing myself to write a minimum of a thousand words a day but I had only a vague idea of how the novel should end (I’m at 53,000 words, and my novels tend to be about 65,000 so I’m closing in on it). Maybe I’ve had too much of my own company.

Several things contributed to make this a better day: Sophie is not coughing nearly as much nor is it that deep, frightening sound, and, to my relief, she’s not spitting up as she coughs, though she’s left little marks throughout the house. Carpet cleaning coming up.

I slept soundly, which I didn’t do the night before, and had weird dreams as I always do, but they weren’t unpleasant. In fact in one, I was visiting with old friends, one of whom is now gone so it’s an opportunity that will never come my way again; in another dream, my father was prominent. I woke feeling rested but stiff and sore.

For two days I’ve told myself I felt too blah to do my yoga—of course, that’s when I really should do it. This morning, I made myself do it early in the day—because my back felt like someone had nailed a rigid board between my shoulder blades. Yoga got some movement into that tight section of my upper back and improved my overall outlook. It’s a lesson I’ll probably learn over and over again, but when you least feel like doing yoga is when you should do it.

And, finally, I had an aha! moment in the wee hours and knew exactly how that mystery is going to end—down to most of the details. I’ve written over a single-spaced page of notes on it, and I suddenly don’t feel the pressure I did, the worry about the novel. Warning: it will be different from preceding Kelly O’Connell works. A little more violent, sort of a cross between a cozy and a suspense novel is my take, but I’ll wait and see what beta readers say.

I topped off the day with an early supper with Betty at Sera, a new wine and tapas bar. A space we used to love has been redone, lightened up, and spruced up. And tapas always draw me. I had a white anchovy salad with greens, tomatoes, manchego—delicious, but it wasn’t enough. So I ordered the Spanish omelet—potatoes, eggs, and onion. The seasoning was just right, but the thick cake-like patty was too filling—Betty ate part of it. She had ordered a wonderful-looking oyster chowder with saffron. We’ll go back there.

Came home and wrote more. The world is gradually moving back into its proper place.

Neighbors Night Out

Tonight was National Neighbors Night Out,, an effort to get neighbors together to strengthen the community. Susan Halbower, my neighbor, joined me, at my urging, on the front porch, and I issued a welcome on the neighborhood email to one and all to come by, drink of choice in hand, and visit with us. The police department gave us an amazing array of hand-outs--Susan is still giggling about police department chapstick, saying she'll tell a mugger, "Don't come near me. I have police department  chapstick on." There were hand sanitizers, fans that fold like the sun shields we (should) put in our windshields, small leather balls, emery boards, wristlets that say to call not text 911 in an emergency--a veritable treasure trove. We had hummus and chips ready, and Susan munched on an Oriental mix of crackers.
But it was sort of a bust. One couple we both knew came by with their two-week-old baby, a beautiful little girl. They brought a bottle of wine and their own glasses and settled down for a visit--but they didn't bring a diaper bag and had to make an emergency exit. Still, it was good to see them, and I didn't even know they had a baby, so that was fun. Our other visitor was a neighbor from three blocks away who said he was scouting out the neighborhood, on his bike, at the direction of his wife. They'd probably be back. And friends Greg and Jaimie said they'd walk up. But those things didn't happen. So Susan and I had a good visit. We had said 6-8, but about 7:30 she said she guessed she'd go home, and I didn't want to stay there alone, so I locked up. Never did see the promised police car come by to chat with us.
Neighborhood Night Out is a good concept, and maybe it worked better for other people. I'll probably still keep trying because I like living in this neighborhood and want to know my neighbors.
I have new neighbors on the east side of me, the house from which I've gotten several friends. A couple with two young children moved in a truckload of furniture last night but apparently did not spend the night. Tonight, the wife drove in with the two children, and we introduced ourselves and invited them over, but they were not staying tonight either. I'm looking forward to knowing them--the children are beautiful.
And life in Berkeley goes on--that is the neighborhood in Fort Worth, not the city. Today I proofed the printer version of the neighborhood newsletter and okayed it with a couple of adjustments. It would be easy to say I don't know how I ended up editor, but that wouldn't be true. I know exactly, and the former editor is at this moment kicking up her heels in New York, on her way to Europe, while I'm proofing ads with too heavy a screen. Such is my life of retirement.
Wrote 2200 words yesterday and 1200 today. I think I'll read a book tonight.