Wowser! Look at my new web page, please

I am over the moon about the redesigned web page that Lisa Auslander made for me. It’s clear, concise, welcoming, and, well, cozy, like the mysteries I write. Lisa has enlivened the page with hand-drawn sketches. No long blocks of copy here. Lisa has captured what I want you to know in small, easily read blocks of type, and it is easy to move from page to page and different topics. I love the simplicity of it—too many authors’ pages overwhelm with elaborate designs.

Please do look, sign up for my “only-occasional” newsletter if you’re so inclined, and admire Lisa’s fine work.

Lisa drew a marvelous sketch of my new cottage, the place that makes my heart happy these days. There’s a sketch of Bertha Honoré Palmer, from The Gilded Cage, and a Craftsman house to introduce the Kelly O’Connell Mysteries. Look particularly at the sketch for the Blue Willow plate (Blue Plate Café Mysteries).

If you don’t know the Blue Willow story, you should. It’s a love tragedy. The beautiful daughter of a mandarin fell in love with a humble servant, defying her father’s wishes—he wished her to marry a powerful duke, who arrived bearing jewels. The night before the wedding, the young lovers ran away, taking the jewels with them. They found safety on a secluded island and lived happily for many years. But the duke never forgot and finally found them. He sent soldiers who put the pair to death. The gods, pitying them, transformed them into a pair of doves. You can follow the story on the plate, from the lovers running across a garden bridge, chased by the whip-yielding father, to the pair of doves in the sky.

My mom served almost all our meals on Blue Willow china, and I use it today. My collection includes everything from some good English china to the dimestore version, and some passed down from my mom. That china accounts for the Blue Plate Mysteries, though the name is a play on words—it can also stand for the blue plate special of the day, a term some restaurants and cafes use for the daily special. Take your pick.

One of those days

Is there a spot on the moon today? Or does the calendar know it’s the 13^th but think it’s Friday? Either way, my luck has changed. Woke up from an afternoon nap feeling sort of blue, and the evening at my desk has done nothing to improve that mood.

I set out to find the files of some novels I had starts on, rough notes, maybe 1000 words of a first draft. There should be two of them, but I cannot find them. It may be that my computer in its wisdom has decided they should be abandoned and has swallowed them. It’s probably the best fate for them, but before I start something new, I wanted to check.

Today I digitized two books, and one was rejected. I had to go back and correct the way my name was displayed. And I burned myself out this morning trying to collect tax information for my accountant. I don’t think I’ll ever finish, and it’s frustrating because it keeps me from creative work.

My publicist wrote with a note that a blog post was due today. But I’d never heard of this blog and hadn’t even begun to think about a topic on the book requested. I don’t do spur-of-the-moment well, so I will lie in bed tonight and think on it. It’s a romance blog—yes, there’s a bit of romance in Murder at Peacock Mansion, but it isn’t front and center by any means.

And then friends came for happy hour. The wife reminded me that we were having lunch with a third friend Friday—oops, my mentor is scheduled to bring lunch Friday. I’ve double-booked myself. You’d think I had a galloping social life but it’s simply not true.

I learned from the physical therapist today that I am classified as homebound—she was taken aback that I have several outings planned this week. I’ve been homebound or mostly so since early fall. Now that I have little or no pain, I’m anxious to get out. In fact, a friend is taking me to a breakfast group in the morning, and my mouth is set for biscuits and gravy. I lost twenty lbs. on this journey, and I can allow myself such indulgences.

With visions of biscuits and gravy, I’m going to pack it up and spend the rest of the evening reading. I’m still enjoying Jenn McKinley’s Hat Shop Mysteries. It does, however, seem like a very long evening ahead, and I don’t want to go to bed early because I’ll not sleep at 4 a.m.if I do that.

Let’s see—I can’t think of anything else to whine about, so I’ll quit. A bit of belly-aching is good for the soul. Thanks for listening. Tomorrow will be a better day. Blessings and sleep tight.

A confession

I’m contrite this morning, because I was really cranky last night. Just ask Jordan, who bears the brunt of it, simply because she’s here and handy. I know she wishes there were siblings close for her to consult with when I get this way, but Austin, Tomball, and Frisco are a ways distant.

I’m cranky because I’m frustrated by all the restrictions placed on me—physical and emotional. I can’t put full weight on my left foot, I can’t bend over, I can’t cross my legs, I can’t get my left leg at an angle less than 90 degrees. But I think it’s the emotional frustrations that bother me most. I can’t be left alone, although Jordan does leave me for short spells while she runs in the house—I have to promise to sit at my desk or stay in bed. Most of the time I have a caregiver. Now I ask you about the sense in this: today I had a lovely lady I liked a lot, but she’s 84 years old and half my size.

I lost my good disposition when Jordan announced I would have a caregiver on Sunday morning because Jacob is to be an acolyte, and she wants to go to church. I sort of look forward to weekends as a vacation from caregivers. Most of the ladies who have spent time with me are pleasant. I like them, genuinely. But in my small quarters, it’s annoying to have some always present, especially if they’re inclined to be talkative. I crave solitude.

For some reason, I decided in my fog of unhappiness to make my dog the focus of the issue. For almost three weeks, she lived in the main house with Jordan, Christian, Jacob, and their two dogs. She got treats, she slept on the bed, she had a generally good time. So when I came home to the cottage, she didn’t instantly transition back to thinking of this as home. And they all let her into the house any time she wanted to go.

Probably I was a little too firm in insisting they leave her outside, where she’ll default to me house. But daily, she has gotten more used to spending time with me. She sleeps on my bed intermittently during the night, and cuddles up to me as much as she can. I’m always having to warn her off my bad leg.

Jordan and Christian are cooperative in this effort—Jordan insists Sophie knows whose dog she is and where she lives, but Christian says he understands completely how I feel. Sophie isn’t talking about itA.

Food, youngsters, and—taxes

Since finding an online recipe for beans on buttered toast (was it Sam Sifton’s column in the New York Times?), I have been obsessed with the idea. Somewhere in my past, I’ve eaten that and loved it, but nobody in my family or circle of friends recognized it until Jeannie today said, “Oh, I ate that as a child.”

Yesterday on his day with me, Jamie spent a good deal of time cooking a pot of beans. He had soaked the beans the night before and brought an onion, garlic, and bread to fix them for our lunch. The bread was Wonderbread which his daughters like, whereas the recipe calls for a hearty peasant bread—Jamie’s bread did not standup to the beans, but otherwise the lunch was delicious. Beans being beans, I was afraid to have more than one helping but I loved it and am lobbying for it for supper tonight. Try finding the recipe on Google.

Today in Sifton’s column I found a recipe for miso-grilled scallops. It had a good explanation of umami, that fifth taste that always puzzles me a bit but was described there as “delicious.” Hmmm. Maybe I should do another cookbook just because I’m having such fun with recipes..

Plentiful goings and doing at the cottage—in addition to Jamie, the physical therapist came yesterday and put me through my paces, left me with instructions for exercises that I can do without difficulty—4 times a day but they only take about 5 minutes. She’ll come twice a week.

And of course, Jamie all day and a caregiver until three and Jordan’s friends Mike and Marty who brought a yummy supper of chicken and zucchini. Sophie loves it when there’s a full house at the cottage, and so do I.

Today, an outing—went to lunch at Carshon’s, the deli that is a favorite of mine, with Carol who is so good as to load up me and my wheelchair and take me to lunch. Good time, good visit—and I came away with a wonderful idea. Carol prepares their taxes for the accountant on a spread sheet. I’m no genius about spread sheets, always thought them generally a nuisance—I once had an employee who was spread-sheet-nuts and wanted to turn everything into one. Bur I can master a simple one. Tonight, I whizzed through several categories of items and felt truly accomplished. Sigh, still a long way to go. But thanks, Carol, for the idea.

Tonight was ‘50s night at Cotillion, and these ten-year-old boys rolled their T-shirt sleeves and slicked back their hair for the event. So adorable.

Ramblings about dogs, weather, onomatopoeia

Cuteness in my kitchen

My sleeping companion

Cuddled as close to my bad leg as she can get

Lazy day—up at six but fiddled around, especially on Facebook. Now it’s nine in the morning and I still haven’t written my morning blog. I’m still liking this new schedule of rising earlier and getting the blog out early in the day.

Cool this morning in North Texas (53 according to my indoor/outdoor thermometer and only 64 inside—surely that’s wrong) but as I watch the ferocious blizzard in the New York area on TV I’m grateful for our clear skies and bright sunshine. But it won’t be warming up like it did the past few days. Pet peeve: Facebook friends, mostly writing acquaintances, who post dire messages about their weather but never tell us where they are. I want geographical locations, please.

Jacob is studying such things as onomatopoeia and alliteration. I found out last night I was way off the track in spelling onomatopoeia—so much for a graduate degree in English. Jordan and Jacob laughed and laughed at me. Still, I think it’s fairly advanced that he’s learning that in fifth grade. Will he still remember it in sixth? I just queried Jamie and he remembers the meaning but not the spelling.

I spent too much time yesterday on Facebook but there were so many comments about Betsy DeVos and Jeff Sessions that I couldn’t tear myself away. Elizabeth Warren’s attempt to read a letter from the late Coretta Scott King to the Senate and her slap-down by Mitch McConnell are big news—and like some other recent events they’ve galvanized opposition to our so-called president and his appointments. “And, she persisted” is going down in the history book of memes and the onerous (oh oh, Rule #19—don’t impugn a member of the Senate) Mitch McConnell has also written himself into history books but for all the wrong reasons. The so-called president seems to be appointing cabinet people who will dismantle programs. Perhaps his goal is to completely restructure the government--or destroy it.

Finally got a book (No Neighborhood for Old Women) posted to several digital venues last night. Today’s goal: post Desperate for Death, sixth in the Kelly O’Connell series.

 Got so sleepy about 9:30 a.m. I was nodding off into the keyboard, so I went back to bed. A couple of phone calls woke me but I did doze because I remember one dream fragment. Got up with the arrival of son Jamie. Now he is working at the coffee table from his laptop while a pot of beans simmers on the stove. Late but delicious lunch coming up.

In praise of some politicians

I guess I liked rising early better than I thought because here I am again at my desk at 6:15, waiting for dark to turn to daylight. My body was tired of being in bed, achy. Yesterday I heard from several people who said they love this hour of the day, and I’m beginning to see why.

I am also energized this morning by yesterday’s news. Yes, it was bad news for liberals who value our country’s heritage and want to preserve it in the face of unrestrained madness. The confirmation of Betsy DeVos is a tragedy for our country and our educational system. Private charter schools, which she advocates, have been shown to be discriminatory and generally academic failures. My grandchildren are all (okay almost all) good student that come from academically achieving backgrounds so mine is not a personal worry—it’s for the country, for the thousands of children that we must help move to a high level of existence—better jobs, etc. If we’d done a better job in the past, we might not face the current administration. I don’t take Hilary’s “deplorables” lightly. I understand students at the university where I worked so many years now sport “Make America Great Again” caps and “I’m a deplorable” shirts.

I don’t remember the details but I do recall that early on when DeVos was mentioned, I was more appalled by her lack of knowledge of history and the way the world operates. She seemed not to be a deep thinker. That bothers me as much as her unformed ideas on education.

If I were Betsy DeVos, there would have been little rejoicing last night. She must realize it was a squeaky victory, and one that she owes to overly generous campaign contributions and party loyalty rather than to any accomplishment, knowledge or capability of her own. Go slow on that champagne, Betsy babe.

But look at the challenge to her. I’ve waited years for the progressives in this country to show the spark of life shown yesterday. Fifty—count them, 50—votes against DeVos, mostly Democrats but a few Republicans who listened to their consciences. Phones in DC rang off the wall as folks weighed in with opinions mostly against this appointment. And this protest won’t stop here—it is a rising tide. The man in the White House better learn to swim in rough water.

And then there’s the Senate Majority Leader’s remarkable slap-down of Senator Elizabeth Warren. During hearings on the appointment of Jeff Sessions, generally regarded as an extreme racist, Senator Warren quote a dated letter from Coretta King and was forbidden to speak again for breaking the rule against impugning someone’s character. Pardon me, but if you can’t criticize why are they wasting our time and money on these hearings? A sour-mouthed milquetoast like Mitch McConnell is no match for the fiery and comitted Senator Warren. The difference between the two is basic—she is committed to the good of ALL American people; he is committed to the wealth and success of Mitch McConnell and maybe the Republican Party. Watch out, Mitch—a lot of us are waiting to see you crash and burn.

My dander is up this morning, and I find it energizing.

Watching the sun come up—sort of

I have never been an early riser, although even as a teen I could not sleep the day away. Somewhere between 7 a.m. and 9 a.m. was good, preferably 9:00. But this surgery recuperation has thrown my clock off. Last night I was falling asleep at my desk at 7:30, so I went to bed. And didn’t, as I intended, get up in an hour.

As a result, 5:45 this morning found me at my desk. Lots of people, including one of my sons, tell me that it’s a wonderful time of day and I’m missing something by staying in bed. It was pitch dark as I sat down and began to browse the computer. My office faces the wrong way—no sunrise to be watched with pale pink slowly turning to a blue-gold but sunsets are terrific from my desk. are often more dramatic and brilliant. I planned to watch it go slowly from dark to light this morning even if I couldn’t actually see sunrise, but ultimately it happened too fast. One minute it was dark, the next pale daylight.

No birds this time of year but I looked for Jordan’s dogs on their early morning pit stop—too early for them. Yesterday when I let Sophie out, the girls had already been out and were back inside in their beds. Today Sophie went out in lonely darkness, begged to come back in, then changed her mind. Now she’s gone in the house with the girls.

I’d like to tell you I did something remarkable in that “found time” but it wouldn’t be true. I read email and Facebook—the latter is maybe righting itself or maybe it was just me. But I found more of general interest and a little less vitriol. That would be a welcome change.

What about you? Are you a morning person? Do you find it’s your best time? I know some writers who “sprint”—write fast for a brief period—in the morning and claim it keeps their work moving forward. Probably something I should try—not sure I will, but I sort of liked my early morning. Now I’m ready for a nap.

Home Again, Home Again, Thank God I'm Home Again

(With apologies to Martin Luther King, Jr.)

Got home about noon today, thanks to dedicated efforts of Colin, Jordan and Kegan (a nurse asked if my boy-boy grandson with long hair was my granddaughter). In a way, it seems like I’ve never been away, but in most ways I feel that I’ve been on a long journey. It will take me a while to process the emotional and spiritual effects of that journey. The physical effects I know—lots of limitations. And I have a lot of therapy to do to regain strength. Would rather not regain the 20 lbs. I lost on this journey.

Meantime, not much has changed. I spent the afternoon at my desk, sorting accumulated mail, etc., and had a long nap. Grateful for my sleep numbers bed that raises and lowers head and feet, just like a hospital bed. We’ve had had my favorite foods—lox and cream cheese for lunch, Railhead BBQ for supper. Jordan did a grocery run for me, and I’m looking forward to yogurt, LeCroix, all kinds of things I haven’t had in a while.

Sophie seems glad to have me home and pays more attention to me than she did at Garden Terrace. She likes having all the people in the cottage.

Yesterday Brandon took three young boys to the stock show and, feeding them, spent $100 in less than two hours. Today was Christian’s turn for boy excursions—he took Kegan and Jacob to Flight Deck. Not quite as expensive but not cheap either.

A study in contrasts, not just blonde and dark, but these cousins are so different in style--the long-haired soccer kid, and the all-around preppy boy. Yet they love each other. Pictures tell all.

No wise comments from this corner on the political situation or anything else. I’m sleepy and ready for bed and a book at eight o’clock. Can’t get past the feeling that today is Sunday. We all feel that way, and the kids will be lucky if we don’t send them to school tomorrow.

I plan to rejoin the world tomorrow-no more spending the day in my pjs with dirty hair.

Another Frabjulous Day

I'm going home

I can’t tell you when I’ve been happier or had more fun than at lunch today. I am going home from the rehab facility tomorrow, and this morning both my daughters came to meet with staff about my discharge and pack up the things I had here. All seems in order about the discharge, and though the staff wishes I’d stay longer, they seem okay with my leaving, and we’ve gone over such practical matters as exercises, daily activities like getting in and out of bed or to the toilet, and medications.

Then the girls dressed me—literally, they hold clothes up to each other and say, “This is cute” and similar things and talk about me as if I were a three-year-old: “Doesn’t she look cute?” I ended up in a fairly heavy sweatshirt type top in avocado green, heather white pants, and an off-white shawl. The girls kept warning that it was truly cold outside, and I ended up uncomfortably warm.

We headed for a new restaurant in a new mall area sort of near the rehab center. I’ve been wanting to go to Piatello, but if the Jordan had listened to my directions, we never would have gotten there. The whole development of southwest Fort Worth has me befuddled, and apparently the rehab place is farther south than I thought. I’d have had us in Cleburne before we found Piatello. Good lunch—split the meatball appetizer and each had a different salad. I had a small small serving of wine—first in two months, and it made me unbearably sleepy.

With my beautiful girls

The girls went off to go to the rodeo, and I went to sleep. Tonight I still can’t shake my lethargy. Six hours later it’s not the wine; tt may be lack of sleep because various medications have had me up and down too often during the night: it may be relaxation that I’m finally going home after two weeks. Whatever, I’m uncharacteristically sleepy and looking forward to reading it bed.

Tonight is our annual Alter family rodeo night—but this year it is a bust. Traditionally, we go to the rodeo on Friday night, tour the grounds and Midway Saturday, and go to dinner Sat. night. I long ago gave up rodeo—I just don’t enjoy it anymore. The Frisco don’t like rodeo and don’t go, so their absence is not unusual. But half of Colin’s family—Lisa and Morgan—are not here, and the Austin branch is leaving at 7:00 a.m. because both boys have “can’t miss” activities. I’m grateful for my time with the girls today. Colin will spend time tomorrow, and I’ll see Jamie next week, but it’s not the big family gathering I anticipated. Still I’m glad the rodeo brought everyone to town.

A little bit of lightness for troubled times

Before the presidential campaign kicked into full swing, I was a die-hard Facebook fan. (These days, life can be divided into before the election and after—anyone got the appropriate initials in mind?) I confess I spent way too much time scrolling carefully through Facebook. Unlike the many who have given it up because of the hate, I still go to the page—but I browse, leap, skip, pick and choose. It’s not just the hate, though that bothers me—I am tired to death of being pestered to sign a thousand and one petitions most of which will do nothing.

I decided between troubled times and my rehab incarceration I needed a light diversion and discovered Jenn McKinlay’s Hat Shop Mysteries. I read the third, Assault and Beret, first. Two cousins who co-own a hat shop in London, are at the center of these stories. Viv is the creative, talented hat maker and the will o’ the wisp unpredictable personality. In this novel, she has married someone in Paris without telling anyone and left him two days after the wedding because he was too perfect, there was no clash. A year or two later, she and her cousin, Scarlett, are to go to Paris where Viv will teach a class, and she orders Scarlett to find the missing husband so she can have the marriage annulled. Improbable, yes. But you must call on willing suspension of disbelief. Scarlett tells the tale, and her voice--brilliantly ironic and clever—carries the story. It’s a mystery, and there’s the requisite suspense but Viv, Scarlett and the missing husband are the meat of the book. I enjoyed it thoroughly. So now I’m into Cloche and Dagger, first in the series. If you want some light diversion, I recommend these books.

I had delightful visitors tonight. Thanks to Jordan for bringing Jacob and Sophie to see me. I must get home before Sophie thinks she totally belongs to Jordan. She is always a bit ill at ease here and barks, which worries Jord. But these two are so cute!