Stuff--including more rain

We bought this pillow for Megan thirty-five years

ago or more at a farmer's market. Its survived four children and seven grandchildren, though lately it had begun to lose its stuffing from seams that were coming apart. Such stitchery is not one of my talents, so I took it to a company called Clothes Carpenter where they fixed it for just over $20. I mentioned that its really dirty, but I don't know what to do about that. The woman at the counter said yes, she'd thought about it too, but she had no ideas. Jacob will be delighted to have it back--he likes to put it sidewise behind his head at the end of the bed while he watches TV. I think he thinks its his now--hope his Aunt Megan doesn't want it back.
This morning I got up at eight and turned on the TODAY show as I wandered into the kitchen. They were about to air Matt Lauer's interview with Elizabeth Edwards. Her book, Resilience, has just come out in paper, and she''s added a chapter to the new version about her decision to end her 32-year marriage to John Edwards. So I did what retirement allows you to do--I stopped (okay I did feed the clamoring cat) and watched. Usually the TV is sort of in the background while I go about the morning but I wanted to hear what she had to say. I have enormous admiration for the way she's handled a series of body blows--the death of a child, terminal breast cancer, and the news of her husband's affair, which she gradually figured out was not the one-night stand he'd led her to believe but a long-standing affair that produced a child.She has maintained, at least in public, a grace and dignity, and she still says she married a mrvelous man--he just changed over the years, as people do. We've all seen that in our lives. I was touched beyond words when she said she hoped for eight more years of life so she could be there for her younger children--who of us wants to face, head on, the fact that we may not be here in eight years?
As for John Edwards, she says co-parenting is going well. He is an assistant coach at one of the children's softball games, she goes to the games, and he comes over to talk to her. That they can maintain a camaraderie after all that's happened to them is remarkable, and I admire both of them for that. I'd like to think that in his own way he still loves her but has accepted the consequences of his own actions. Classy lady.
It's raining here again today, after a cool day. We can't complain--rain in the summer is wonderful. But tonight it feel steamy again, even though the temperature is relatively low (in Texas in summer, temperature is always relative--I get so tired of hearing the heat index that I wish they'd never invented or discovered it--it just makes you feel hotter!).
I had a pleasant lunch today with two friends from TCU's Human Resource Department. They both knew I was going home for a nap, so when I said, "Have a great afternoon, ladies," they chorused, "Shut up!" But I actually came home and wrote 2400 words, part of my memoir for the memoir class I teach. I meant to write about parenting but 2400 words never got me past the adoption of my four babies. Meantime my agent is encouraging about getting my short stories on Kindle and sent me some good correspondence he had with a legendary editor about my first mystery--she promises to read it soon.
As usual, life is good.

Front Porch Reflections

We've had blessed rain--the slow, steady kind which does our gardens so much good. And instead of temperatures hovering near 100, we've had low nineties, in fact just 90 today. But at mid-day it was steamy, muggy and felt very tropical--awful. And then when  you came inisde the a/c struck like an Arctic blast--I considered sweats for a brief moment. But tonight it's cool, drier, and there's a wonderful breeze. I took a book out to the porch, even though I have tons of work on my computer to get done. I'm trying so hard to learn that lesson that I'm retired, it doesn't matter what gets done today and what doesn't--but  it's hard. I enjoyed sitting out there, reading, sipping wine, but I kept thinking that I'd get up and come inside to work. Hard to do because the evening light lasts so long these days. And every time I'd think "Okay, now," a breeze would blow through and ruffle the plants. So I stayed until almost dark--oh well, I can proofread tomorrow.

My stemware holder is up over the wine rack. It holds 12 glasses, but you have no idea what a difference that makes in my glassware cupboard. Before, you opened it at your own risk--glasses were liable to jump out at you. And every time someone used a water glass, I groaned silently because I knew it would go in the dishwasher and then I'd have to juggle around and find room in the cabinet. The problem has gotten worse since grandchildren came along, because we've added all those kid-proof glasses. Now there's plenty of space in the cupboard. Such a small thing is a BIG deal for me.

I rushed around this morning doing errands, particularly buying ground chicken so I could make those good Japanese burgers for Jordan, Christian and Jacob (not sure how Jacob would like them--probably without wasabi mayo). After a pleasant lunch with Jean, I came home and made the burgers, which involve a lot of tiresome grating of fresh ginger. Then Jordan emailed to say she was sick and going home--so all my work was for naught. I cooked the burgers, froze them, and ate corn, spinach, and squash for dinner.

Now, back to all that proofreading.

So much good--and a bit of sadness

Story Circle Network has named me a Star Blogger. They praised me for blogging about life stuff that comes my way in an in-the-moment style and said I'd given myself permission to stick a piece of tape across my editor-self's mouth and ramble from idea to idea. I think that means what I've always thought--my blog is disorganized, sort of stream of consciousness, the kind of fiction I don't like to read but maybe in a blog it's okay. I hope you all think so. I will eventually get a "badge" to put on my blog but in the meantime it was featured today in the national SCN newsletter that came in my email. SCN is an international network designed to encourage women to write about their lives--and it's the basis of the most rewarding course that I teach on Thursday nights on my front porch. Teach? Shoot, the women themselves teach it by sharing. Wonderful experience. Not sure if you can read the newsletter if you're not a member of SCN, but here's the URL: http://www.storycircle.org/eletters.shtml#national.
Today I was happily and busily working, mostly on compiling a file of my short storycollection so I could send it to my agent, Roger Williams of Publish or Perish, to put on Kindle. Now I'm proofreading it and finding mistakes I guess were in the printed version but I hope not. Sort of fun to read those stories again, because I still like them, egotistical though that sounds. I also sent off for printing the new stuff on my  Blue Plate Cafe mystery so I can give it to Fred Friday to read and a segment I wrote for class Thursday night on anxiety disorder. And spent a lot of time on emails--the Sisters in Crime  and Agent Quest lists are always much busier on Mondays, it seems. So even though my lunch pal got mixed up and forgot me, I had a really pleasant, busy day.
Tonight, I had dinner with good friends Kathie Allen and Carol Roark--we mostly talked about university presses (Kathie is senior editor at SMU Press, which is in a great deal of jeopardy, and we also talked about the new director of TCU Press and Carol is a frequent contributor to TCU Press, so it's an interest we all have in common). Then we talked Carol's trip to Portugal, aging parents, and other depressing topics, but we had a good visit. Ate at Piola, where we all had piccata--veal for Kathie and me, chicken for Carol--with asparagus risotto. Absolutely delicious. A pleasant evening. And it rained tonight and turned blessedly cool--when I went to water porch plants about 5:15, it was in the upper 70s and I wished I was cooking a porch dinner for the ladies.
The note of sadness: Megan had to put down her Tsi Shu--Jackson was I think sixteen or seventeen, but it seems like she's had him forever. He had gotten so his back legs wouldn't support him, and he'd fall, couldn't get up. But he was the sweetiest bad smelling dog I ever knew--he loved to be cuddled, but a day after he was bathed, he smelled bad again. Never did figure that out. But I knew the last few times that I saw him that he was pretty miserable, blind in one eye from poor vet care among other things. It's such a hard decision to make, but it's one I've made too many times in my life. My heart's with Meg tonight--but then it always is.

Another good supper

This has been a good cooking weekend for me. Tonight, my longtime good friend Linda came for supper on her way from market in Dallas to her home in Granbury--Rodger, her husband, had gone back earlier to "tend the store," so while we missed him Linda and I had a good girls' visit. She has long told me how much she loves anchovies, and I promised to make her an anchovy spaghetti sauce. Actually I had some wild mushroom fettucine in the cupboard, so that's what I cooked. But the sauce has lots of anchovies (six), lots more fried capers, lemon zest and juice, flat parsley, garlic and olive oil You fry the capers in olive oil, drain them and discard the oil only to add more oil to the sauce. It dawned on me--too late--that I should have saved that oil and used it again. It makes a zesty, pungent sauce but not one too heavy for a summer night, as Linda pointed out. We had a simple lettuce and crouton salad with a lemon dressing--I made the dressing in a small jar this morning and when I shook it to mix I realized I hadn't gotten the lid screwed on straight--salad dressing all over my nightshirt and the kitchen! What a mess. When Linda said what a good dressing it was, I said, "Yeah, my nightshirt liked it too."
Otherwise a nice, lazy Sunday--I had to rush around to fix supper, because I took too long a nap in the afternoon, but I got it done. Went to visit Charles this morning, did a little work in the afternoon, and otherwise the day just went by. Sort of nice.
Jean, Jim, and I laughed last night that now that we're retired, we don't always know what day of the week it is--that's one of the questions they ask when they do Alzheimer's profiles. Especially when I wake in the morning, I'm confused--but I can usually figure out Sundays and Tuesdays (the day to take the trash carts down to the curb). 
I think I'll spend the rest of the evening with a book--sounds lovely and lazy.

A really good dinner, if I do say so

Tonight friends Jean Walbridge and Jim Clark came for supper, and I made a recipe from the Star-Telegram series of burger recipes. I used to get great recipes from the newspaper until it cut back dramatically on its food section, so this was a special find. The recipe was for Japanese chicken burgers, which led Jean to say she'd never had a chicken burger. I have several other recipes for them, but this was really unusual and turned out to be terrific. Obviously I can't give the exact recipe for copyright reasons, but I'll say that the burgers had, along with ground chicken, grated fresh ginger (I thought that was going the extra mile--I needed two teaspoons but you can't find small pieces of ginger, so now I have a large piece left in the fridge), garlic and soy sauce. You pan fry them in vegetable oil and serve with cucumber-shallot pickles, made with picked ginger, rice vinegar (okay, I got home with rice wine instead of vinegar so used the chardonnay vinegar I had in the cupboard and will return the rice wine), sugar, water, peppercorns--an English (seedless) cucumber and a shallot. Great with the burger, but the cukes still tasted a lot to me like the ones my mom used to make in cider vinegr and water. The burgers were also served with wasabi mayonnaise--mayo mixed with wasabi powder, which turned out to be white (even though the powder was white I somehow expected it to magically turn green when I mixed it with the mayo; it didn't, so now I'm wondering why wasabi in sushi places is so green). Great combination of tastes. That, with some corn on the cob and a terrific salad Jean brought, was dinner--with hummus and pita chips for an appetizer. Okay, I was mixing cultures, but it worked. Also a good visit. Jim prowls through my books and ignores Jean and me, while we visit. I'm afraid someday he'll have run the gamut of my books--he likes illustrated books of the American West--and won't want to come to dinner any more! But a pleasant evening.
Nice email correspondence with my agent today, mostly about how to get my old books on Kindle, especially since I have no digital copy of the ones fro the '90s--who back then thought to save digital copies once the book was in print. He asked me for my last emails with the editors and again I said, "Duh. I don't have them." Clearly I've cleaned my mailbox out many times since then, and my files on those books have gone to the archive at the Southwest Writers Collection at Texas State University-San Marcos. I do have digital files of my short story collection and permission to turn them into ebooks from the publisher, so maybe that's the place to start. I hear if you sell books for 99 cents to $1.99 on Kindle, you get a lot of orders. What fun! My goal is to have all my older novels, about women of the American West, in Kindle format. Meantime, I'm working away on the new novel--and having fun with it.

Blessed with a rainy day and the life of a writer

This morning we had what you would call insignifcant rain--I came home from Central Market with the top down on my car, even though it was sprinkling and I finally had to use the windshield wipers. When you're moving, the raindrops don't seem to hit you; at stoplights, you do get a bit wet. But it was cloudy and much cooler than it has been. Rain in June is unusual for us, but this afternoon we had what I'm sure weather people would call an "appreciable" amoiunt of rain--it certainly soaked my porch plants for me. And it made for great napping. If it was a quarter of an inch, I'll be surprised. This evening, even though it's not hot, it's terribly muggy and still. Yet I'm grateful for the rain. Just wish my new grass had gotten in before it came.
On Sisters in Crime  you read a lot about  the importance of close communication with your agent, and yet I never hear from mine, so yesterday I started a campaign to get in touch with him. Today I've had emails, which  report that two editors have passed on my manuscript and it's still out to five other editors.  Somewhat reassuring. I fired back a list of questions and haven't heard yet. A bit frustrating.
Even more frustrating, I think I like the novel I'm currently writing better than the first two--shh! should I say that aloud? Maybe you always like the one in progress best, like the newest baby in the family gets the most attention. But I had a great idea for a plot twist today and am going to work on that tonight. What do I do with it? Tell the agent to save some editors for this new one that is completely unconnected to the other two? Sometimes I have the feeling that I'm just beginning to learn the ropes of this business, and at my age, I don't have a lot of time left to learn.
I had a brief visit with the new director of the press this morning, and he said writing is a release for him. I agreed. I can't imagine not writing. But it would be nice to see some of it in print. I've said this before, but I've read cozies that I don't think are as well written or as interesting as mine--yet they're published, and, mostly, I enjoyed them. Conundrum!
I haven't had a response to my proposal for a nonfiction book, though I got three CDs in the mail today relating to it--I'd paid for them, so I hope I get to use them. And I occasionally spot an article in the newspaper that is relevant, so I'm always on the prowl.
These days, writing is what I do, though I've thought about Jean Walbridge--what she does is weave, which is pretty much a solitary occupation, like writing, but she's also active in the local weaver's guild and goes to the Monday Book at the Women's Club. She's joined groups and gets out of the house. I need to do that, because sometimes I enjoy too much of my own company.

Thunder and Rainbows and the Indiana Dunes

Stealing a "westernism" from friend Katie Sherrod's recent blog: There are two ways to argue with a woman. Neither one works.

It's been one of the hottest Junes on record in Fort Worth, and we've had no appreciable rain since mid-May. But tonight, I heard thunder rumble, although in the distance, and went out on the porch to look. I didn't see any particularly promising clouds, but there was a gorgeous rainbow in the eastern sky and, later, a faint double rainbow. I came back in to get a glass of wine and a book and went out to enjoy the thunder and wonderful breeze that had blown up.
When I was a kid, we had a cabin in the Indiana Dunes, right at the foot of Lake Michigan, and I can remember watching storms roll down the lake toward us, churning up whitecaps. Dad would rush to put the windows in--they were the kind you took completely out and left the screens--but I'd sometimes sneak out to the screened porch and enjoy the wind. It was really a primitive cabin--we had to walk a mile, either through the woods or down the beach, to get there, carrying all our supplies. We always chose the woods, and I hated it when we arrived after dark, because the woods scared me. There was no running water (a cistern, which meant dishes had to be scalded after they were washed). The bathroom was an outhouse down the hill in the woods--hated that at night too. No electricity, so we read by Aladdin lamps, but Dad was always cautioning us not to turn them so high or we'd scorch the mantle; the result was little incentive to read because it was dark. Our "refrigerator" was a hole in the ground, with a box that could be raised and lowered by--I guess you'd call it a pulley. Every so often the ice man came, and we pulled up the box, so he could drop a big cube of ice--I mean really big--in the hole. Then you had to keep the milk in the bottom shelf, closest to the ice. Drinking water had to be carried up three flights of stairs from the beach, where it came clean, filtered by the sand, from a hand pump.I remember one night when we heard this strange "plop" and discovered a mouse had drowned in one of the pails of drinking water. For all its primitive aspects, I loved that cabin, and storms always make me think of it and life in the Dunes. It was there that I told my mom one night that if I woke up and said, "Ho, ho" it meant that I wanted summer sausage; she said if she said, "Ho, ho" back, it meant, "Go get it yourself." My kids somehow got hold of that story and still come up with it from time to time.
I love thunder and breezes and even rain--though tonight we so far have gotten only a sprinkle--but I have a healthy respect for lightning, and so I came in when I began to see a few streaks. My rainbow was still there. I read on Facebook that it's raining cats, dogs, and possums on the east side of the city--hope some of that comes over here, but I doubt it.
Today I spent much of the day waiting for the plumber because my bathroom commode had overflowed last night and again this morning, when I thought I'd just try it again--dumb idea. It's one that needs to be rebuilt, but right now it's flushing better than it has in a long time. Anyway, there went my trip to the grocery, and I ended spending the whole day with my own company, except for the plumber and a neighbor who asked to use my phone.
Scooby has been behaving strangely--he's afraid to come in the house and then afraid to come into my office, where he's spent evenings for the last six and a half years. I can't imagine what happened to scare him, but now I put a leash on him and "escort" him to the office. He no longer sleeps in the shower stall, which had become his special lair, but lies right by my feet. Tonight, however, he rushed into the house--thunder scares him to pieces. Poor thing--he's afraid of so many things.

Reading habits

I've beenr reading The Art of Eating In by Cathy Erway. When I first picked it up, I thought to my dismay that it was going to be one of those "Look at me, how clever I am to have given up restaurant eating for two years" things. Sort of in the vein of Julia and Julie.  I was dismayed, especially because I'd given it as a gift to Elizabeth, but she reported she loved it. So after I finished Steig Larsson (wow, did I have a funny dream last night, Larsson inspired, I'm sure), I picked it up again. In for a surprise. I found myself reading with great interest about her evening trip with freegans to dumpster dive--they don't so much dive as they sort through black plastic bags of trash. Bakeries especially throw out day-old food, but some people found other treasures--cold cuts, vegetables, etc. I don't think I could ever do that (besides not wanting to be out at night like that) because I'd worry about contamination. And it seems to me we should have a more efficient way of recycling that food to the homeless and needy.
Of more interest to me was a trip she took with a group led by a naturalist through a NYC park, in which he pointed out edible greens--Cathy picked wild onions and garlic, dandelion greens, and other goodies, while the naturalist clearly warned them about poisonous plants. She figured she could make a summer's worth of salads on what she could forage and never buy garlic again. I could so much more see doing that. The next chapter was on waste--and she had amazing statistics on how much waste we all create by eating out and ordering in. But the book is heavy going, and I decided I needed fiction.
I turned to Pat Controy's South of Broad. I've loved reading Conroy before and in reading this prologue I reveled in the beauty of his prose. But I was ready for escapism, not beautiful prose. I turned on my Kindle and began a sample of a mystery that I'd ordered--never heard of the author or title, but I'll probably order it. I'll get back to The Art of Eating In and South of Broad, just not today.
A book I reviewed lately that fascinated me, all 152 small pages of it. It's Bothered by My Green Conscience, by Canadian artist Franke James. James opens with four questions: 1) Do you feel guilty if you throw paper in the trash, instead of recycling it? 2) Do you turn off lights to save energy? 3) Do you apologize for driving a gas guzzler? 4) Do you worry about climate change? If you answer yes to two or more, you have a green conscience; I answered yes to all but the third, because I drive a VW bug. Written in her own hand and whimsically illustrated by her,  James' book chronicles her experience with going green, including a decision to get rid of her SUV and turn her driveway into a garden. The borough of North York (in Toronto) had objections: driveways must be asphalt, concrete or interlock and you can only grow one tree. What? When we all know the more trees, the more pure the air? Eventually she got her garden driveway.
Something you should know: the book was printed on chlorine free paper made with 100% post-consumer waste, which saved 32 fully grown tress, 11,787 gallons of water, 23 million BTUs, 1,514 pounds of solid waste, and 2,840 pounds of greenhouse gases. Pretty impressive, isn’t it? Shows what we can do. I recommend you read this book--and then go back to it when your green conscience needs a jog.
Aside from reading and the nearly 900 words I wrote today, I had dinner with Betty at Lamberts--I had quail, and she had wild boar ribs, which I intended to order  until the waitress said they were spicy. I ate a bit of one, and it was good--but the spiciness of four or five would have been too much. My quail was delicious, though I wished for another one, and we split a side of green chili grits--a huge side. We each brought some home. Nice day, but hotter than  you know what outside. Is this our repeat of the summer of 1980?

A shaky day

I really like something President Obama said on the day after Father's Day: "To have a child is to know that your heart is walking around outside your body!" True, no matter how old they get!

Today I had what I call a shaky day, though not for any good reason. I was determined to go to PetSmart, not an easy place for me because of walking across the parking lot--open spaces make me anxious. I want something to hold on to, if needed. But I had a plan--I'd park by a cart rack, wheel one in, and be fine. (All this for three plastic lids for open cat food!). I did, all went well, and I bought a bird feeder (the squirrels destroyed the last one) and some fresh seed, and came home, but without the triumphant feeling of "Good job, Judith" that I usually feel when I do something like that. At home I made an absolute mess of filling the bird feeder--tonight I even found seed on my yoga mat! It will never again be filled inside! Besides, I haven't noticed any birds partaking of the feast I went to such great lengths to provide.
After that mess and talking to the plumber who is going to have to "rebuild" two of my commodes, I went to Swiss Pastry to get lunch for Jeannie and me--1 bratwurst apiece, kraut and potato salad. And discovered I didn't have my debit card. I dropped off Jacob's favorite life-size stuffed doll (very primitive) to be repaired and high-tailed it to Jeannie's, where I dumped out my purse and went through everything--no debit card. Called PetSmart and some kind soul had found it in the parking lot (as Jordan said, there are still good people in this world). By this time I was really shaky, so Jeannie offered to ride out there with me. The store manager was nice but he asked for i.d., and I'd left my purse in the car, for which Jeannie scolded me severely. While she went to get it, I had an idea and recited the card's 16 numbers to the manager. He grinned and said, "It's yours."
I was glad to get home, piddle at my computer, nap and have a good long yoga session. I'd heard a segment on meditation on NPR this morning, and I really tried to concentrate on what was going on with my body, what muscles felt stretched, strained, where I felt comfortable, and all that--to clear my mind of everything but the poses I was doing. It was more successful than usual--my mind still tends to wander, but I'll keep working on it.
Now I've had supper, hung the bird feeder and cleaned up the mess, taken the garbage carts to the street, fed the dog, and am generally feeling in control of my world. Tomorrow will be a better day. All of us have off-days, for one reason or another--anxiety is just my reason, as opposed to stomach trouble, asthma, migraines, etc. Each of us probably think we'd trade our "problem" for the others--ah, if they only knew!

Being crabby and staying home

Sometimes I find myself being crabby and then I'm ashamed, but tonight a strange red SUV drove into my driveway as if it had every right to be there--and the driver trotted off to the house next door. When she came back and began to maneuver like she was going to jump the curb, I became alarmed. If she manuevered back and forth, she could easily decimate my decades-old crape myrtle trees. I went out on the porch and said, as politely as I could, "Pardon me, but this is a private driveway." If Jordan had been bringing Jacob over and found another car in the driveway, she'd have been incensed to say the least. The woman looked up in amazement and explained she was just jumping the battery of the car in the next driveway. It belongs to the owner, who is trying to sell the house and with whom I've tangled about upkeep before. (Now that she's trying to sell, she keeps it the lawn and outside in great shape, and we have begun to speak to each other again.) Still, I think the woman in the red car should have knocked on my door and asked if it was okay!
Today was a stay-at-home day--the sprinkler repair people came and fixed my stubborn sprinkler so fast they said there would be no bill; Lewis Bundock, for whom I had a list of small things, came by--the biggie is replacing the bathroom sink, and he promised to be back tomorrow, with a plumber in tow. I've about decided to put a picket fence around the front yard--a grandchild barrier, and we talked about that, my difficult commodes, the piece that does indeed belong on the round oak table (thank you, Colin, for finding that)--and he took away the computer keyboard I'd ruined, smelling it for Chardonnay as he went.
I actually wrote almost 1400 words today and may yet write more tonight. I had the heroine experience a flat tire on the highway because someone stuck a lot of small nails in her tire. Jay suggested that I have the brake line cut, and I rewrote the whole section--which led to an unexpected new scene. When I sent it to Jay for technical approval, he wrote, "Unfair teaser. I want to read the whole book!" Neighbors are great.
In the last week or so I've wanted tuna cakes for dinner--I make them like my mom's salmon croquettes but using that good tuna ordered from Oregon. But each time dinner rolls around I'm too lazy to fix them, so this morning I made tuna cakes and summer squash casserole. Had myself a great dinner, with cooked fresh spinach added.
Since our heat spell continues and it was 100 today, it was good to stay home. I watered my porch plants once and will give them a drink again tonight. I do hope this won't last all summer!