Crocs

They're trendy. My granddaughters wear them. I think Jacob even has them. I found a pair in the Footsmart catalog with the label Rx and a description for "challenged feet"--they don't rub, crowd, and do allow circulation, etc. --good for diabetics, etc. Well, of course, I thought they'd give my hammer toe room and give me good footing, so I ordered a pair. A little tentative, I didn't order the bright red but something called brown or some such--I don't remember. Maddie had been so pleased when I bought Sketchers--she had Sketchers, too, she told me. So I thought she'd really like it if her grandmother had Crocs.
Well, they came Friday, the ugliest, dullest color I've ever seen. And I could almost fit both my feet in one shoe! Melinda looked at them and said, "Well, they're not quite as cute as the silver Merrells you just bought!" Understatement! I couldn't wait to ship them back. Maybe medium in another color would do, but now I'm gun-shy.
I've been trying to take good care of my feet because there was a spell a couple of weeks ago when they hurt with every step I took--not good for tramping over the Scottish highlands. Jeannie told me she buys athletic shoes a half size larger--made a magic difference. And I bought shoes--Merrells and Dr. Scholls--with fabric tops, not leather. They have more give and don't put pressure on the hammer toe. My search for the perfect shoes has led me down some blind alleys, and there are shoes I've just bought that I'm going to have to sacrifice. But at this point comfort is the ONLY thing that matters.
I remember a podiatrist I once knew who said if you can keep the feet of the elderly comfortable, you can keep them functioning in society--and I can surely see how it's true. (No, I'm not elderly yet--that's a state of mind, not a function of age!) Surgery on my bunions or hammer toe? Nope. I've seen too many people with chronically painful feet after surgery.
I think with my two new pairs of shoes and a pair of my favorite Keds, I'm set for my trip.
Now if I could figure out the rest of my wardrobe . . . .

Darkness, dreams, and controversy

Last night was the great "turn out your lights" night, sponsored I believe by the National Wildlife Refuge. I dutifully turned out the lights (but not the TV or computer) and got out a flashlight (my neighbor says I was as hard on the environment as if I'd left the lights on, but, hey, I was trying!). It was spooky wandering through my dark house, though more comforting than an electrical outage--I could see lights outside (the schoolyard lights were fully on) and I knew I could flip a switch any time. I felt sort of righteous, knowing that many people would tell themselves, "My one house doesn't make a difference." But I also felt sort of silly--I couldn't see anyone else around whose lights were out. I even thought my neighbors might call to ask if I was okay. Jay kept his light out until he wanted dinner and then turned on the kitchen light--he claims that's better than my flashlight. But it also gave me a good feeling to spend that hour in the dark, like I'd listened and done my bit.

I read something the other day, in another blog, about remembering your dreams and how can you bear to let go of them. They have such significance for our dailiy lives. Well, I had a weird one last night, and I can't think where it came from. My high school best friend was getting married (forget that she's been happily married for over 50 years) and she was a young girl again. I was hosting the wedding and reception, and I was the age I am now (oops, we mixed generations!) The wedding was lovely, but the groom wouldn't come to the reception--he didn't approve of drinking, and all my friends were there, drinking wine. I guess I mixed friends too, for I have a friend of some 40+ years whose husband of 15-20 years doesn't approve of drinking and therefore won't go to restaurants that he considers bars. In my dream all this got us into a discussion of "disapproval" of drinking. I once had a man working for me who was a true alcoholic--his every move was governed by when the next drink would come and he was never without some alcohol in his system. Now, yes, I "disapprove" of that. I object to it because it interfered with his work. But "disapproving" because someone takes one or two drinks seems taking an unacceptable moral leap. It's like abortion rights--people have a right to make a decision for themselves but not to make judgments for others! I've heard from both those old friends in recent days, so maybe that's where that all came from.

TCU has been embroiled in a controversy the last week or more. It began when Rev. Jeremiah Wright's sermons or sound clips from them were made public. Yes, there were racist, ranting, all the things that oppose reasonable discourse. Rev. Wright was to be honored by Brite Divinity School on the TCU campus for the truly remarkable accomplishments of his ministry to African Americans on Chicago's South Side. TCU immediately distanced itself from the event, and it was moved off campus for security reasons--all the way to Dallas. Then Rev. Wright, citing security concerns for himself and his family, cancelled his trip to Texas. An editorial this morning in our paper criticized everyone involved--TCU for academic timidity and caution, when it should be an open forum to all points of view, and Rev. Wright for retreating. I do think Martin Luther King would have come to Texas. One of the points made over and over is that African American religion in America has to be taken in context--some of Dr. King's comments, pulled out of context, sound inciteful too and yet he is a national hero, with a day dedicated to his memory. I'm disturbed by the entire thing, but I know I would have liked to have Dr. Wright on campus. And after all this fuss, I'd have gone to hear him speak, something that wouldn't have occurred to me before. Another comment suggested that the Wright controversy and Obama's speech on race revealed the depth of racial problems in this country--and maybe indicated that he is ultimately unelectable. I certainly hope not.

On a much lighter note, I've discovered a new series of cozy mysteries, these set in a Greenwich Village coffeehouse and written by Cleo Cloyce. The one I read is Decaffinated Corpse, but there are apparently a number in the series before that. Check it out at www.coffeehousemurder.com.

And thanks to Amanda for a tuna recipe comment on a post way back about using canned tuna. Amanda, I've made a similar tuna salad--with pecnas, not walnuts, probably because I'm in Texas--and it's delicious.

Cooking and kitchen matters

Most Saturday nights I fix myself an out-of-the-ordinary dinner, usually seafood. But I'm stuck in a rut--salmon, Dover sole, and scallops. And there's that long, long fish counter at Central Market, with all kinds of exotic choices. I told myself last week, as I bought salmon, that I had to branch out. So today I bought halibut. I've been a little leery of it--the last I had was some years ago in a chain seafood restaurant and it was dry and over cooked and bland to the point of tasteless. Farther back, I swear I remember my mom poaching halibut in milk in the oven--she loved fish but rarely cooked it, partly because you couldn't get good fresh fish in Chicago in the '50s and partly, I suspect, because she didn't know how. And then there was my meat-and-potatoes father. But I really do think I remember the poached halibut--not one of my better memories of mom's cooking, since she really was a great cook and got me started on lifelong cooking.

I found a halibut recipe on epicurious and set to work. It called for halibut on beet greens, with roasted beets and orange/dill gremolata. Of course I fudged a bit--I don't have dill and don't like it a lot anyway, but I have plentiful chives and oregano, so that's what I used for the gremolata. And I did not microwave the beets to loosen the peel, per the recipe--I boiled them the good old-fashioned way. But it was a delicious dish. You put sliced pre-cooked beets, tossed with olive oil, salt and pepper, and part of the gremolata, at one end of a baking sheet and mound the greens, tossed with a bit of oil and salt and pepper, at the other end. Then put the fish on top of the greens, brush with oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper and the rest of the gremolata. It goes into a hot oven (450) for 8 minutes--and the fish was moist and wonderful, mild yet flavorful.

In the course of cooking that, I realized I had leftover veggies from a week ago that I hadn't cooked, so I boiled an ear of corn and sauteed some tiny delicate asparagus tips. Had a bit of each vegetable with the fish and still have beets and greens, corn, and asparagus to look forward to. I may treat myself to a chocolate sundae later but I'll have to let dinner settle a bit.

Speaking of food, I've been eating the steel-cut oatmeal, as I mentioned before. One thing I learned--a little bit will do you. One morning I ate a more than generous bowlful--that brown sugar was sooo goood--and was uncomfortably full all morning. I started lessening the portions and found a fairly small portion fills me up (Melinda says it expands like pasta in your stomach). At any rate, I carried the same banana to and from work for three days (it was pretty sad by then) for my mid-morning snack--but I never needed a snack and wasn't very hungry at lunch time. Of course, this morning I had salmon and eggs--and a toasted hot cross bun out of the freezer. So good, but I was full again.

One more kitchen matter: I'd been noticing an "off" odor. Emptied the garbage (I don't have a disposal) but that didn't get it. Wondered about a return of the rats, but this was a different smell. It was faint but sort of had an animal hint about it. I usually noticed it by the stove or sometimes I caught a whiff by the pantry (across my skinny kitchen from the stove). Today I dismantled and thoroughly cleaned the Jen-Air indoor grill--and emptied the grease jar underneath. I think that was the culprit--the grease drippings were rancid and smelled strongly of some lamb chops I cooked who knows how long ago. One of those tiny housekeeping chores we all have to remember to do.

Remember tonight--lights out from 8-9 p.m. I have to go look for a flashlight. And I'll probaby cheat and leave the computer and TV on, but at least I'll turn off all the lights. Even the outdoor lights?

Jacob gets the idea

At twenty-two months, Jacob has the slightest inkling about the potty. He's obviously been watching his mama, not his father, because he backs up to it and wants to be lifted up to sit. He sits very seriously for several minutes and then raises his hand for you to lift him down. Of course, he's fully dressed the whole time--and I seriously doubt he's peeing in his diaper while he sits there. But, hey, it's progress!

Jacob and I were supposed to dine alone tonight, but Jordan's plans changed and she stayed for dinner. I defrosted a chicken breast, floured it, sauteed, then sauteed shallot, chive, parsley, and tarragon in butter and olive oil. Some chopped tomato went in, then white wine and chicken broth, and I let the the sauce thicken. Really good. We had broccoli, blue cheese salad, and baby artichokes. The latter were a bit of a disappointment. I've been wantingto try them for a while, but the leaves didn't have much meat on them and the hearts were tiny and hard to get to. I'll settle for an occasional splurge on a regular artichoke. I asked if I could give Jacob a Girl Scout thin mint cookie but Jordan pleaded exhaustion--she didn't want to stay up with a baby swinging from the ceiling at 10:30.

What a week! Starting with a stomach virus was probaby a bad sign. Then there was the grant proposal, some misunderstandings with the editors of the proposed series (thankfully, those were easily and pleasantly resolved and we ended up on the same page), then catalog copy came and had to be proofed instantly and prices finalized for the fall books--once you put it in a catalog, you can't change the price because . . . well, it just causes all kinds of you know what.

And then the dissatisfied author I thought I'd mollified came back to haunt me. He had written a nasty letter to the provost, saying that I ran off everyone--authors, editors, booksellers, even the garbage man I suppose--because I was so quick to offend. He contended that I was running the press like a fief (isn't the word fiefdom?) and ruining it and that many local historians were working on texts they wouldn't bring to TCU Press because of me. Since we publish a lot of local history, that came as great news, and in my anger I wanted to call and demand the names of those writers. I know he's misguided, distorting things, taking out his anger in an unprofessional way--but it's still worrisome. Knowing about the letter before I read it, I woke at 4 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep. I refuse to let someone like that rob me of my sleep, my peace of mind, or my sense of myself as a professional!

Often I dread slow weekends, but I'm looking forward to this one. I'm finishing that coffee house novel that I like, and then I have two Robert Parker novels. One of our fall authors is Parker's publicist and offered today to send me anything I wanted to read--wow! Tomorrow I'll shop, Sunday I probably go to church, and that evening Sue is coming for a glass of wine and I promised appetizers. Hmmm, deviled eggs with smoked salmon sounds like a place to start. Usually when I'm home alone on Saturday I cook something wonderful, but I have so much in the icebox--half a hamburger from today's lunch at a bistro, pieces of my chicken and Jordan's from tonight, my ever-present smoked salmon. I'll have to think of something to make me feel creative.

Or maybe I'll get to work on the Scots in Texas again.

Sibling love and work, work, work

Lisa sent this picture of Morgan and Kegan and titled it "Sibling love." To my mind, Kegan looks a little . . . well, cautious. He had just had his first haircut. I figure I can show off my Houston kids once in a while. As a baby, Morgan looked just like her dad but now she favors her mom, and Kegan looks a lot like his dad did as an infant. I told Colin a friend of mine had a new grandchild named Morgan, and he said, "Yeah, a lot of people are using that for boys." No, no, I said, this one's a girl too.

Busy days. Getting hit with a statistical project to trace where our books are sold (title by title!), a grant proposal to be refined, and notice of an academic support program review to be written next year almost sent me into retirement today. Those Scots were looking better and better. I hate doing things at the last minute, and the grant is due Tuesday, so, to me, this is last minute and I'm still "refining" and struggling with budget. Hate it! But I do think we have a good proposal. As for the title by title analysis, while Melinda was nodding sagely and saying she could do this, that and the other electronically, I was groaning. She reminds me I am left-brained, which I guess is a compliment, but not suited for such picky work--she loves it.

Last night Betty and I had our weekly dinner. I had visions of a nice rare sirloin burger at Cafe Aspen. Not just any burger--it had to be one of meat good enough to eat quite rare. But at the last minute, Jordan and Jacob came by--she was not dressed for Cafe Aspen and wouldn't have taken Jacob there anyway, so we went to Hofbrau. Jacob was his most charming self, all smiles and flirtatious looks, generously sharing the crayons and dipping his French frie (the same one over and over) into everyone's ranch dressing. Betty loved it.

So tonight I thought I'd get my good burger. June, my dean, was taking visiting authors to dinner and invited me. The local author, host of an interview program on campus later this evening, said he'd choose a restaurant, and somehow I convinced myseslf he'd choose a new but good local burger joint. He didn't--he chose the Mexican food place I like least of all in town. Maybe I can get that burger tomorrow!

The author being interviewed tonight was James Donovan, whose new book is A Terrible Glory, the "definitive" book on the Battle of Little Big Horn. Since I did a novel titled Libbie about twelve years ago, I know something about Custer and the massacre--and Libbie whose mention tonight earned me a nice mention of my title. That battle is one of the most complicated military stories I've ever heard, and there are many details Jim admitted we can't be sure about. But he gave a balanced interpretation, and I was most impressed by his grasp of the many facts of the battle and of Custer's career. I still disagree with him on one point--I do think Custer was arrogant, but as one friend said after the program, maybe you have to be in order to be a military leader. Wow, could I run with that one in today's politics, but I will let it lie quietly.

Up and Down

I've been up and down in the last couple of days. In the wee hours of Monday morning, a nasty stomach virus attacked me. I thought it was something I'd eaten, though I couldn't think what, and once I got it out of my system I'd be fine. So I charged off to work at 9:30--slept a bit late since I'd missed a lot of sleep. And I slunk home about 11:30, realizing from the way I felt it was a virus, not food poisoning. Spent the rest of the day going back to bed and wondering what in the world my stomach could keep down (oatmeal was the answer). Today I'm a much improved person, feeling almost like myself. Went to sleep at 9 last night, and it was so wonderful I may do it again tonight!
But today I was a bit up. I faced a difficult meeting with a dissatisfied author. Long story short, he's someone I've worked with before and always found difficult, and when I rejected his latest manuscript, he attributed it to an old grudge on my part and wanted to know the "process." I realized that if I didn't take charge of the meeting from the get-go, I'd lost. So I did just that. And he sat silently and listened until I was through. I do confess that when he began re-raising the same arguments, I kept interrupting--I have an irritating habit of thinking what I have to say is so important that I have to jump in. "Let me finish," he'd plead, and I'd sit back impatiently. I did make a huge concession--I'll send it out to a reader--and when he kept pushing about why didn't I send it to two readers initially, I finally asked, "Are you a historian? A good one?" His eyes went all around the room, finally landed on me, and he said, "Yeah, I guess." "Good," I said, "let me be the publisher." After a minute he looked a me and said, "Touche!" Susan, who was in the meeting, complimented me about the whole thing later. We'll see . It may not work out as I think but I'm willing to go with what happens. Does give one a boost. Makes up for the fact that I missed a 3:30 meeting because I was mixed up about where it was; lost my i.d. card and by chance found it in a book I'd just returned to the library; checked out a mystery from the current reading section, got it home, and realized I'd already read it. Glad I had one success today in the face of those minor irritations!

Easter and its blessings

When I count my blessings this Easter, family and grandchildren lead the secular list. A day that I had been apprehensive about turned out to be truly wonderful, albeit with a couple of misunderstandings. We got to Frisco about ten and were greeted with loving hugs from the girls. Jamie was working out, and we waited for him then shared Easter baskets. Jamie had thought we were eating lunch with them and had two bbq pork butts in the oven--the kitchen smelled heavenly! Jordan thought it had been made clear we had to go to Coppell around noon or shortly thereafter--before the bbq was quite done. But that didn't put too much of a damper on the day. Mel bustled around and fixed a wonderful lunch of salad, cheese and fruit--and I contributed hot cross buns though I think Christian and I were the only ones who ate them. And Christian was suffering from hunger--a meat and potatoes man who had not had breakfast, he was only slightly cheered by the delicious lunch, but the rest of us loved it. Then the children hunted eggs outside, though a cold wind blew through the yard. Jacob still didn't quite get the idea--he'd open a plastic egg, find the candy, and throw down the egg. Maddie and Edie were sweet about helping him find eggs, but . . . .

The Burtons left about 12:15 for Coppell, and I stayed behind to visit with Jamie and Mel and the girls and eat a wonderful pulled pork sandwich lunch (seemed like a second lunch). Jamie took me to Coppell about 2:30, just when they were finishing lunch, and I had pie with the Burtons. Then we sat and watched Jacob play for two hours--he loved having center stage with all his family atching and was charming, cute, funny, and occasionally outrageous. But I am not good at hanging out and began to get antsy. Of course it took a half hour to leave, which made me more antsy, but we got home about six, so I could feed my animals and sink into my routine, which is just what I did. But with lovely memories and some good pictures.

Easter nostalgia

I'm feeling nostalgic tonight for Easters of the past--when my children were little and egg-hunting was the most exciting thing they ever heard of, and even for my own childhood in Chicago where I always had a frilly spring dress and ended having to put a winter coat over it. Tomorrow Easter in Texas will be cold and windy with possible but not probable rain. We're not having the kind of big family Easter I like, with everyone gathered around my table (I need to get over the feeling it always has to be MY table!). Since Jamie and Colin and their families were here last weekend, they've understandably declined to come back, and Megan has houseguests. Jordan decreed that if Jamie wouldn't come here, we'd go there so Jacob can hunt eggs with his bigger cousins. So we'll do that and then go on to Jacob's parents' house for lunch. A kind of hopscotch Easter--and no church, about which I am also nostalgic. I can carry the meaning of Easter in my heart--and I hope do--but I miss the music, the ritual, the sense of joy and rebirth, and the community of worshipping together.
Another bit of my nostalgia crumbled this morning when we took Jacob to the country club for the annual egg hunt. I had told Jordan I'd meet them in the lobby. Redundancy! There were 10,000 people in the lobby, including quite a few grandparents. I was particularly struck by the little girls in organza and ruffles and all kinds of finery--to go out in the damp grass and look for eggs. The whole thing was a madhouse--when we finally were released into the egg area, Jacob wandered about aimlessly, having no idea what he was doing--and bigger kids had swept away all the eggs, even though they were supposed to be separated into age groups. My impression, perhaps cynical, was that all those preppie moms and dads, now into their thirties, were pushing their kids toward the "perfect" childhood, complete with video cameras. But of course, there were my kids with a video camera--but at least Jacob was casual in his jean jacket. Christian muttered that next year we'd hunt eggs at their house and everyone could come for lunch. A good idea--I'll cook the ham, since I'm sure Jordan has no idea how!
I did have my own Easter dinner tonight--Coho salmon with a buerre rouge (not the best buerre rouge ever but it was my first--and it tasted pretty good), a stuffed baked potato with smoked salmon and chives (funny how often smoked salmon turns up on what I eat--I had eggs and salmon for breakfast, and a salmon/cream cheese/tomato sandwich for lunch--good things it's healthy for you!).
The Scots have gotten precious little attention from me today. I'm reading a mystery, and I made two trips to Central Market--Jamie called tonight to ask if we were bringing candy, and I assured him his sister had gotten it. Then I called her--she never thought about candy to put in eggs and only got candy for baskets. I had a certificate for $10 free bulk candy and my receipt proving I'd spent the required amount this morning, so back I went to Central Market. Tonight I'm going to continue that mystery and be really lazy.

Furniture and friendship

When I lived in Missoui in the early '60s, I loved to go to auctions. Mom and Pop out on the farm would die, and the children would sell off all that old stuff. I still have the round oak pedestal table I paid $3 for, an oak washstand, a marble-topped buffet with burled insets and wonderful glass knobs. But it's been years since I did that--the bargains aren't there, I'm not close to those country auctions if they still exist, and, most important, my house is full. I cannot fit another piece of furniture in. But I just bought four wonderful chairs.

The chairs in the family room/playroom/children's room are lovely antiques with woven cane seats, not a good combination with little children. I spend a lot of time saying, "Put your bottom in the chair. Dont' stand." Jacob, in particular, will eye me as though speculating on how serious I am about this, then grin and sit down, only to stand a few minutes later. Jordan suggested the logical solution was to stop worrying about the cane seats and buy some durable chairs. So I commissioned my friend Kathie, who goes to garage sales every Saturday morning like they were church. She called three times Saturday (I was out), leaving messages and phone numbers for me to look at some "black" chairs not far from home. Black? Not with my oak! But Monday night at dinner, she raved so about them that I called the guy. He called them "mission" chairs and said they were "mocha." (They turned out to be a heavily grained oak stained quite dark.) I went to see them last night, bought them in an instant, and the former owner delivered them this morning. I am so pleased with them that I wander back there every once in a while just to look. I don't think the picture does them justice, but . . . .

A friend sent me a chain email today about friendship, much more interesting than most such, for it made the distinction between friends for a season--who are there to meet a need in your life and then move on--and friends for a lifetime. I've been thinking about friendship anyway--I have friends who moved on, sometimes leaving a bit of hurt behind, and I have friends of a lifetime with whom I have almost nothing in common except the friendship--and it endures. It seems I always make new friends, and now I'm wondering if they are for a season or for the long haul. There's Sue, a friend for almost two years who lives next door with her two kids. They're in a rental house that's not well maintained, and I know she'll move on some day--will the friendship remain without the proximity? There's Katie, someone I knew casually for years but over a book project the last couple of years, we've really developed a strong friendship. And Mary, whose columns I read in the paper but never knew--and now we visit over breakfast, again because books brought us together (one of the reasons I won't retire from my job--I meet such wonderful people!)

Then there are friends of ten-fifteen years, people that I'm confident are there for the duration. And there are those lifetime friendship--a few who frustrate me now but I'll never say it because there's that thing called friendship. And the friend who sent me the email? She was my "best friend" in high school and we went off to college together. Over the years we always kept in touch at Christmas and visited occasionally when we went through Mississippi or her family traveled through Texas but we didn't communicate often. And then came internet and email and we really rekindled our friendship, even had a wonderful weekend when she and Don came to Fort Worth and stayed in the guest house. I'm back to Jamie's phrase: New friends are silver, old friends are gold. I am blessed with much silver and gold.

Lame Mondays

You know people who party too hard on weekend and have a headache (read hangover) on Monday? Well, I have a limp on Mondays. I had noticed in the past that my right foot was occasionally really painful to walk on, but a little clinical observation has proved to me that it's always on Mondays after I've had a cooking weekend. This morning, after fixing two large dinners over the weekend, plus tending to a houseful of kids and grandkids, I could barely walk on that foot--and truth to tell, I felt achy and bruised all over. By mid-day I felt better, and by tonight I'm back to normal. But that soreness and limp are things about aging that I don't like to confront.

As a result, it was a quiet day. I came home a little before noon and did all kinds of household chores--laundry, emptied the dishwasher, put away dishes from dinner last night, etc. And took a long nap. Tonight I had dinner with good friends at a lovely small Italian restaurant, relaxing and fun, though I meant to have a salad and ended up with lasagne.

Now it's time to explore Scottish history some more. I've decided if I'm going to do a book on Scots in Texas I have to really grasp Scottish history, including the difference between Scots who came to America and Ulster-Scots, those who had migrated to northern Ireland or whose families had--it's a complicated story that I'm trying hard to understand.

Meanwhile, here's another grandkids picture. I can't resist!