Let the good times roll

What a pleasant evening I had tonight. Christian's b'day was in early August, and desperate for a gift, I promised him dinner at a new wine cafe that opened recently. Tonight was the first night we could all get our schedules together, so Jordan, Christian and I went to supper--I complained loudly that I wanted to take Jacob too, but they would have none of it We had a really good time. The wine list is extensive--and expensive--and the menu limited, but we each had a salad, they had pizza, and I had chocolate mousse--way too rich and way too delicious. We lingered over dinner and wine loosened our tonuges--well at least mine--so we had a good visit. Christian brought me home and brought in more junk--excuse me, exclusive items--for their garage sale this weekend (I am running away from home!).
Today was a good day anyway--I went to the library for a meeting with my boss. Parked in a handicapped spot about half a block from the loading dock (my easy entry to the library) and had no trouble walking there. The meeting went well, the morning at work went well, and an old and delightful friend and I had lunch at a Lebanese/Italian restaurant.
My good news is that yeesterday morning I sent a query to an agent about my first mystery and got back a request for a full manuscript so fast it made my head spin. I have changed the title from Dead Space to Skeleton in a Dead Space. Maybe that made a difference. Anyway, I'm almost afraid to be encouraged because the response was so quick, and yet this agency checks out well. So maybe I'll go with being excited about it. My mentor, Fred, said we must celebrate with lunch, but we couldn't find a mutual day until next week.
Last week, at dinner with Betty, I said I hadn't even started on Christmas, and she said with seven grandchildren, and eight children (including spouses) plus a lot of friends, I really needed to get going. I'm happy to report that I've had suggestions from two moms, and I'm deep into studying toy catalogs and have ideas probably for over half the grandchildren plus a few of the adults. Each year I warn that it's going to be slim, but it's always less slim than I mean it to be. Toys are such temptations. From now on my head is probably into Christmas.

Another lazy day--and a charming evening

Tonight my neighbor Sue and I went to Bass Hall (Fort Worth's big impressive musical hall) to hear Alan Alda. We even got to go to the VIP reception beforehand, where Sue bought a book and told Alda it was for her ex-husband. He laughed aloud and said Fort Worth was a very broad-minded town. The food at the reception was good, and it was fun to feel like we were VIPs, though I knew few people there, which tells me I'm not a real VIP. These programs usually consist of the former book editor of the paper interviewing the guest for about an hour, but Alda did a stand-alone monolog for 30 minutes. He was a great storyteller, charming, funny, self-deprecating, absolutely captivating. I finally had to excuse myself because my cell phone kept going off--I thought it was off but no such luck--and when I came back the books editor was interviewing him, which got a bit more serious but still interesting. And then the audience q&a which had really funny moments. Alda had said he didn't think about his legacy or how people would remember him--"When I'm gone, I'm gone"--so when one woman asked who he wanted to deliver his eulogy, he looked at her and said, "Are you available?" It was truly a captivating evening, and we were both glad we'd gone.
Earlier in the day Mary Lu came over with bags of books, and I pulled out the bags I was ready to discard. We sorted into what belonged to who, who hadn't read what, and, thank goodness, the bigget pile was sell at Jordan's upcoming garage sale. Still I have a huge stack of unread books that beckon to me. Then I took Mary Lu for brunch at a local bistro to celebrate her birthday. It was all fun--we talked politics a lot, although we're in accord about that, and as always we talked about aches and pains and aging. I hate it that so many of my conversations with friends turn to those topics.
The rest of the day was lazy--lingering over the paper, reading a novel, napping, trying to figure out how to buy a small screen HDTV which I have decided is impossible. Now I'm going back to that novel tht doesn't absolutely enthrall me but is to good to put down.

A lazy day of fine food

Today when I was at Central Market I decided I'd eat things that I really like today, so I shopped accordingly. For lunch, I had a wee bit of marinated herring, another wee bit of smoked salmon, and a plate of braseola (the beef version of prosciutto) topped with watercress, shaved parmegiano, lemon and olve oil. I almost took a picture of the plate because it was so pretty. For supper I made my favorite new salad dressing (sour cream, mayo, lemon and blue cheese--no not fattening at all), sauteed some grape tomatoes and green beans, and then floured and sauteed filets of Dover sole, and topped them with a lemon butter sauce. My eyes were bigger than my stomach, and the green beans are in the fridge for another day.
Other than that it was a lazy day--the highlight of the day being the grocery store until Jacob came over briefly. I read, I napped, I piddled (still learning), I paid a few bills. Jacob and his mom came about four, and bless his heart--he had the biggest grin on his face as he hurtled himself across the porch and barrelled into me at knee level--I honestly thought for a minute we'd both go down, he hit so hard. Jordan brought goods for the garage sale she's planning next weekend, and of course I picked them over and found one that I just had to have for a Christmas present--it just had someone special's name written all over it. Jacob found ten things he had to have, broke three of them, and when we got into one of our usual contests--him saying, "No," and me saying, "Yes" (we do that a lot and it's a joke), he said 'Shut up." Not once but twice. I explained to him firmly that we did NOT talk like that. His mom was so horrified when I told her and kept saying, "Are you sure that's what he said?" She declared it a time-out offense next time. They trotted off to someone's house to watch a football game--oh, boredom!--and I fixed my dinner, wandered out onto the proch where Sue and a friend were using my grill. They invited me to join them but I have miles to go tonight.
Having not done anything constructive all day, I'm going to proofread, eat a bit of chocolate, and keep reading that mystery which is okay but not great. I rarely put one down unfinished.

Not much

I didn't blog yesterday, so I tried hard to think of something significant to write about tonight. But it's not there, unless I want to delve into the deep subject of presidential politics. I'm sitting here watching the debate, trying to pay attention to every word, trying hard to undestand, which is particularly hard for me on the economy, but pretty clear on the subject of let's meet with enemies before we decide to attack. Negotiation should always precede hostility . . . but there I go, talking about politics. I clearly have an opinion, especially about Senator McCain's waffling about the debate and injecting himself into economic negotations in Congress. After he got there, things that were almost worked out went haywire. Oh, well, Sarah Palin knows international relations because both of the countries that border her state are foreign countries. Duh?
The shortening days are causing me a problem. For years I've prided myself on never setting an alarm because I always get up on time. Somehow this year, with the darker mornings, I'm oversleeping. This morning I was astounded that it was 20 minutes past time for me to get up when I glanced at the clock, expecting to have another 30 minutes to doze. I have an employee who oversleeps a lot, so I feel bound to set an example. No way I was going to call in and say I overslept. I rushed around and got there on time but I didn't finish reading this morning's paper until 2:30 this afternoon.
Last night I sent off the complicated proposal that I've been working on, so today I've mostly on office stuff--reading a new chapter in a book in progress that came in by email, proofing pages of a small book that came from the designer yesterday. Tomorrow I'll get back to my own work. I did pick up a novel about home repair--sort of the same thing as my realtor/renovation series, and I was interested to make a distinction in my mind. The narrator and her sidekick are too wacky. Maybe what I want to say is the book is "too" cozy. I like my heroine better because she's serious about her work, about the skeletons and bodies she finds--yeah, she's a bit klutzy, but it's not the predominant characteristic about her.
I've been cleaning bookshelves, though I have a long way to go. But I have called the Friends of the Library bookstore and they say they'll send someone to get the hardbacks I have sorted out. I've also sorted paperbacks (mysteries--I have a whole lot of them!) and my friend Mary Lu is coming Sunday to look at them, make sure none are hers and none are ones she hasn't read and wants to. The remainder will get sold at Jordan's yard sale (in my front yard--a whole different subject) next weekend.

Thoughts on Aging--and some busy days

I have a friend who has an epiphany about every seven days--you know, one of those bright flashes of insight that changes your life. Most of us are fortunate if we have three or four in our lifetime, but this friend is always reinventing her life--which actually might be kind of fun. But I had an epiphany--or a semi-one anyway--the other day. I was thinking how my bad balance problems began oh, maybe two weeks before my birthday. And it dawned on my--I didn't turn seventy quite as easily as I let on to the world. I laughed and joked about it, had a huge and wonderful b'day party--one of the highlights of my life--and joked about after I turned seventy everything was recalled, from my car to my colon. But I think I was dancing to fool the devil. I think turning seventy shook me--Jim, who is 6 months from 78, said to me today, "Of course it shakes you." But I truly do find it hard to think of myself as 70. That sounds old, and I don't feel old, walking stick or no. I think I've mentioned on this blog before my belief that we each have an age where we perpetually see ourselves and mine is about 35--I was happily married, my kids were young and wonderful (of course, they are still wonderful), but I don't know if that's it or if it's that I still see the world as I did at 35. Jim said his "lifetime" age is 18, not because it was a happy time in his life but because that's how he sees the world.
Anyway, now that I've taken off the rose-colored glasses and most of my car and medical problems have been dealt with, maybe I can really come to grips with no longer being able to use the euphemism "late middle age" and learn to understand that I truly am a senior citizen.
I don't want to push this, saying this "epiphany" improved my balance, but it is getting better. Jean noticed it when we went shopping the other day, and Melinda saw it when we went to lunch. And today I went alone to the country club for a luncheon and had to park--oh, half a block from the entrance. The walk was made difficult not by fear of open spaces but by the heavy heavy book bag and purse I had on my bad shoulder. Now that is something I can deal with in practical terms. A friend told me tonight she has a manuscript carrier on wheels, like an small overnight case only even smaller.
It has been a busy couple of days. Yesterday we had a long but productive (and fun) meeting about a book we're doing of the work of the photographer who chronicled the black community in Fort Worth during the last half or more of the 20th century. He took pictures of everyone from school children to world leaders, and the journalist who's working on the essays for it has had a wonderful time trying to identify people in the pictures, tracking down stories, etc. Yesterday we sorted photos and matched them to categories in his essays.
Today I took my car to be inspected--it was only three weeks overdue, had an advisory council meeting (only three people showed up but we zipped through my brief agenda and came up with great ideas), went to a luncheon for past presidents of Friends of the Library, and went to dinner with Betty--plus did a lot of work at home. I'm working on a proposal for the mystery--an agency that requires a long and complicated proposal with a cover sheet, a "sell sheet," a biography, a synopsis, a market analysis, an author marketing plan, a history of the manuscript (where it's been submitted), and a 30-page synopsis. I figure getting all that together will be good for me, even if the agency says "Thanks, but no thanks."

A Spot on the Moon--or something

Talk about days that get off to a bad start. When I stumbled out of bed this morning, for some stupid reason I entered the entirely wrong code in the alarm system. Result: it wouldn't disarm. Let it rest a while, went back, it still wouldn't disarm. Then, just as I called the company, it occurred to me I was entering an old code. But I had visioins of Scooby doing his "I have to pee" dance at the back door and me unable to open it. That crisis solved, I moved on and started to wash the big pot in which I fixed the pasta dish last night--result was I stopped up both kitchen sinks. The idea of using the plunger--which has been used elsewhere unsavory--didn't appeal to me, but my morning routine calls for washing my hair in the sink--a great dilemma. Finally got them to drain and moved on, but I did waste a lot of the early morning. Then at 7:30 Jordan called to say she was deathly ill--no, she didn't need anything. I think she just wanted me to worry, which I did. Later in the morning, she called to say she had strep throat and infected sinuses but the doctor, osteopathically faithful, did not give her antibiotics but wanted her to try some other things first. By the time I picked up papers from her office and took them to her house, she looked and sounded better--I passed them through the gate without physical contact--but said she still felt awful. No wonder I was glad to come home and work quietly at my desk with no one around me.
The good news of the day came from Houston. The second of Morgan's Sunday evening messages, which I couldn't understand, was to say, "We have power, Juju! We don't need the generator." I'm sure they're delighted to get their household back to normal.
Last night the subject of dreaming came up at dinner. Gayland never dreamed and always snored until his sleep apnea was diagnosed. Now he wears one of those devices at night, doesn't snore, and for the first time dreams. Katie and I both said we dream vividly, and Katie said that means we're getting sound sleep. She has something called cognitive dreaming--she can pick up a dream from the night before the next night. I don't do that, but if I get up in the night for some reason I can go right back into the dream I was having. And my dreams are always in color. Most of them stay with me for hours the next day, and I sometimes recount them to Melinda who is somewhat alarmed--especially by the one where a possum peed on her. Often I call tell where things in my dreams come from--something that happened during the day, something that's on my mind but sometimes they come out of the wild blue--like last night when I was at TCU working in a lab run by an old friend of my mom's who was a florist. I hadn't thought about her in years--was it the flowers Katie brought from her garden? I also have the recurring dreams most of us had. Katie and I both confessed to the one about it being time for finals and we haven't been to class, studied, don't know where the class meets, etc. I have another one--and had it last night--about being at TCU and not knowing where I parked my car, wandering all over the campus looking for it. And then instead of driving my car (which I found) I was riding a red trike. That, I'm sure, was because Saturday Elizabeth commented on how battered the red trike I keep for the grandkids is, and I told her to have some respect--it's as old as I am, though it wasn't mine, came from good friends. I don't put much faith in the websites that interpret dreams for you--all mine say I'm reliving my childhood insecurities which may well be true but is pretty prosaic. I'd like a little variety in interpretation, but I'm glad I dream, I'm glad I remember that, and I'm glad dreaming is a good sign.

On Learning to Putz

I once wrote an article, really an essay, by that title, but the magazine that was nervous about the word "putz"--in Yiddish it has negative implications from describing a poor behavior pattern to a part of the male anatomy. So they changed it to "On Learning to Putter." Putz, putter, whatever--the point was that I don't do it gracefully. I'm much better when I'm busy with details, etc. But today I puttered--or putzed--and enjoyed it thoroughly. I lintered over coffee and the paper, watched the talk shows, rode my stationary bike while watching George Stephanopoulos, did a bit of laundry, took a lazy long shower (for me), ate an early lunch, read, napped, and then got busy fixing dinner. But it was a lovely lazy day.
I had guests for pasta on the porch tonight--the weather was just right. I haven't seen Gayland and Katie all summer, because she's been traveling and up to her eyeballs in work (which is good but stressful) so it was good to visit again. Sue joined us for drinks, and they took an immediate liking to each other--it always pleases me that my friends like my friends and I bring people together.
Of course, dinner was experimental. An antipasto platter with two cheese (Manchego and a soft provolone), two salamis, gherkins, and marinated artichoke hearts--not much of an experiment there. But the one-dish meal was whole wheat pasta with green peas and asparagus and a basil/mint/feta pesto. You cook the asparagus and fish it out; then cook the peas in the same water--fishing becomes a bit more of a challenge with tiny peas; then you cook the pasta in the same water. Meantime make a pesto of basil, mint, olive oil, salt, pepper, and feta and add to the vegetables. Add 1/2 cup of the cooking water, drain the pasta and add it. Sprinkle with scallions and more feta. Hmmmm. delicious. Gayland told me about a cauliflower pasta made the same way--when he was served it he thought, "I don't like cauliflower," but he said it was delicious--and topped with bread crumbs browned in olive oil left in the skillet from preparing the dish. They gave it a nutty crunchiness. Sounds like a great idea for any pasta.
So now I start the business week witha full fridge--leftover pasta, sloppy joe, salami and cheese. Can't let cooking keep me from working, so I'll have to think of another reason. It promises to be a busy week at the office, but I guess that's good.

Saturday stuff

I would tell you today wasn't much of a writing day, but it turns out that wasn't true. I went through three more chapters of the first in my Kelly Jones series--looking for ways to punch up her character, and once again finding I like the way it flows. I don't see much room or need for change--indeed, punching up might sort of jar the flow of the book.
But other than editing, which I did tonight, it was a pleasant day. Early (for a Saturday morning) I followed my neighbor Sue to her car repair shop, then she and I met my good friend Jean for breakfast at the deli--always a treat. Sue drove my car home--told me later it made her nervous, maybe because she knows how attached I am to that car. Jean and I went shopping for supplies and refreshments for a TCU Press reception October 3 and did very well for just over $100. We went to Costco for stuffed marinated olives, big pretzels, and smoked almonds, and three bottles of wine to supplement what I have left from another function; then at Party Warehouse we got napkins and glasses. Came home just in time for a yoga lesson--Elizabeth says I'm doing well, and I can tell a difference. Strangely enough my feet don't bother me as much since I've been doing some foot exercises. Then I grabbed a bite of lunch, picked up Sue, and we went to Central Market. Home to nap, and then take Sue to get her car. Whew--a busy Saturday.
Tonight, just for me, I made sloppy joe. That's not what it really is--I found the recipe thirty-some years ago in a wine coobook. It was called, appropriately, "Wine Casserole," but since it's hamburger (I used bison tonight), beans, canned tomatoes, various seasonings and red wine, I always told the kids it was sloppy joe. Several years ago Megan asked for the recipe. She fixed it for Brandon, who said it was really good but it wasn't sloppy joe. Megan emailed me, rather archly, that she guessed she was the only child who grew up thinking red wine was an essential ingredient of sloppy joe. I had a taste for it, so now I have a whole bunch of it, even though I went back for seconds--shame on me.
Colin bought a bigger generator today, so they have more power at their house. I told him that meant the power would come back on this evening, and he said he thought it would have come on before he got home from the store. But so far it hasn't.
I read something tonight about the majority of Americans (I forget how many) believing in guardian angels. The instances cited were sort of near-death escapes, and I do remember one time when a truck almost ran me down--I didn't see it because I held an umbrella to shield me from blowing rain, but I know the driver must have seen me and can't understand why he didn't stop sooner. But that's not so much what I think of when I think of guardian angels--I think there's one who watches over me in general and keeps my life on a fairly even keel and quite happy. The blog where I read this suggested sometimes our guardian angels might be those who have gone before us, and of course there's the possibility that my folks are watching over me, but I think I pretty much had a guardian angel even when they were still living. No, that angel stopped me from all dumb mistakes--and I made a couple of really big ones--but it generally it's kept me on the straight and narrow path to happiness, and I'm grateful.

Blogging to figure things out

Someone asked me once why I blog, and I answered that it made me write something almost every day (except that I haven't posted in two days). But I think that's the truth of it, but I also think I have always figured things out in writing. It used to drive my ex-husband crazy that I didn't argue--I wrote notes. I figured he could yell louder than I could, and arguing was futile.
So today I'm trying to figure out revision of my mystery. The rejection mentioned earlier said a real estate agent had no spark, no appeal. So I rewrote my query letter and really punched it up, making Kelly, my protagonist, a character who stumbles over skeletons and bodies, serial killers and cold-blooded murderers. A TCU Press author who reads the blog sent an opening sentence from El Paso that sounds pretty good: Kelly Jones always thought real estate was pretty safe until . . . So having rewritten the query, I set about "punching up" the manuscript itself, adding more free-spiritedness to Kelly. But as I tried to do that, I found I really like Kelly the way she is. She's realistic about who she is and who she isn't and she can be clever, but she's not a rebel against society--she has those two daughters to whom she's devoted. In short, she's a real person in my mind--she has taken on life. A lot of the advice I got from Sister in Crime sisters over this had to do with what write you want and believe in, and so though I'll continue through the first manuscript and then start querying again, I doubt I'll change much. I did work in a craving on Kelly's part for chocolate bars with ground peanuts and jalopenos--my current chocolate addiction. And I think I might work in Fort Worth's "Cowtown" image in the public and its contrast to ordinary life in our neighborhoods. But I don't think I'll change much. If, praise be, an editor gets hold of it someday and wants changes, that's another matter. Meantime I'm confident about what I've written.
There was a huge private signing party for one of our authors last night. The book, Dancing Naked: Unforgettable Encounters with Memorable Texans, is a collection of columns the author, Mary Rogers, published in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram over a period of years. There were well over 200 people at the reception, and our bookstore sold 176 books--terrific for one evening. My job was to ask people to write on post-its how they wanted the book personalized, and several said, 'Oh, Mary knows me." I tried to explain that in a long signing line, an author can forget her own children's names. Worked most of the time but Mary confessed she was stymied by one person, and her brain only kicked in at the last second. The hostess created a lovely affair with elegant, low-key refreshments--I was fascinated by how many people chose lemonade over wine. All in all, it was elegant and fun.
The food part of my blog tonight even involves some figuring out: I have been craving things that aren't good for you lately. No more the lean piece of meat and the green vegetable. Today I had two Hebrew National hot dogs with kraut for lunch, and though I was tempted by the idea of a baked potato topped with chili, cheese, and sour cream for dinner, I refrained in favor of pan frying some Dover sole I had in the freezer and topping it with lemon butter sauce. I've finally learned to cook it at medium and not hot, and it came out browned nicely, just a tad crunchy. When I defrosted it I thought it smelled fishy even though it was vacuum packed, but it tasted great. I baked a half tomato topped with bread crumbs and blue cheese and steamed some green beans. I steamed a whole mess of beans earlier this week but not long enough--they were really al dente, more than is pleasant. Better tonight. I have a mystery in my kitchen--I've lost the top to the steamer I've had for 30 years or more. I used it earlier in the week, put all the parts of the steamer in the drain basket but I cannot find the lid anywhere. I keep thinking it will show up in some weird place, but I've looked all the weird places I can think of and so far no luck.
The report from Houston is that Colin and Lisa are okay, managing with a smile, but they still have no power. They are supposedly on the list to have power by Monday which Colin hopes means any time between now and then. Tomorrow they'll take the kids to Lisa's parents, who have power, and go to dinner with friends in the part of town where things are more back to normal. I admire thier good spirits during all this. Was trying to think the longest I was out of power, and I think it was four days. You do kind of sink into an unpleasant routine, but it's sure magic when the lights come on. Lisa keeps repeating though that they are so blessed when so many lost so much and they are relatively unscathed--just inconvenienced. Colin said it's hard to make coffee on the grill in the dark with a flashlight and frustrating to get up in the middle of the night to put more gas in the generator.
Not much political comment except that I am astounded to hear McCain try to blame Obama for the financial crash--McCain has taken three times the money from Freddie and Fannie than Obama. And I'm further asotunded at a poll that says 59% of Americans believe Sarah Palin is qualified to be vice president. My goodness, are their heads in the sand?

Rejection and chocolate

aSisters in Crime has a subgroup known as Guppies (Going to be Published) with a listserv called AgentQuest. Getting an agent to represent your work is as big a deal or maybe bigger than writing the darn thing. Well, I've been writing away, making a few desultory marketing attempts--got two requests for what are called partials (30 pages) but no more response. So when one agent was favorably discussed on Agent Quest, I decided to query her last night. Through a mail mix-up and the limited system I have at home, it was this morning before I sent the query. I had a gracious, lovely rejection within less than two hours, mostly based on the fact that a realtor was not a compelling enough figure to attract an editor. Gulp! I've written a book and a half about this realtor, and I like her.
So I told the story on the listserv and got comforting replies, most of which said don't jump ship. The Guppies standard reaction to rejection is "Eat chocolate" so I mentioned that I had eaten some chocolate (with jalopenos and ground peanuts) and a couple of them said if the novel was as interesting as the chocolate I should have no problem. I know it's early in the querying game--some of these ladies have 50 or more queries out but a lot of times you get no reply. Still I was really let down. Tonight I'm resisting having more of that chocolate--after all my stash has to last the week until I can get back to Central Market.
You can't be a writer if your skin is thin. Tonight I'm also going to work on a new blurb that begins, "Kelly Jones is no ordinary realtor." That seems a bit trite, but it's a starting point. As I've said over and over, writing mysteries has a real learning curve--maybe I should say "marketing mysteries."