Colin has sent pictures, wonderful ones, and I've tried loading them, plus tried loading ones I took. Blogger rejects them all. We'll keep working on that problem, and maybe do a photo album blog or two. You really do have to see Scotland to believe it.
Day Two began with breakfast at our Edinburgh BandB, Dunedin. Menus waited on the table--in all the other BandBs you had to order the night before. The Dunedin menu offered eggs with bacon, which is what we'd call back bacon or Canadian bacon, or with sausage and black pudding. I asked what black pudding was: oatmeal with dried pigs blood. I decided to stick with bacon, which made our host giggle. But black pudding haunted me all week.
We set out for Skye, which I think Colin calculated would be a five-hour drive. It was clear across Scotland, and I reminded him that we wouldn't make the kind of time on twisting, curvy two-lane roads as we would on a Texas freeway. He was confident, so we began the day at Stirling Castle in Stirling. Our guide told us that Stirling is the most romantic castle--other sources says it is also one of the largest and most important architecturally and historically. I'd say it is one of the most frequently attacked. At least seven seiges of the castle are recorded. In 1297 William Wallace, "Braveheart," defeated the British at the Battle of Stirling Bridge, and in 1314 Robert the Bruce won the battle at nearby Bannockburn. The castle became the primary residence of the Stuart monarchs and a symbol of Scotland's independence from England. Mary Queen of Scots was born and crowned at Stirling. But by the Jacobite Rising of the 1740s (an attempt to recapture the throne of Scotland for the Stuarts), the English again occupied the castle. In 1746 Bonnie Prince Charlie tried to take it and was defeated.
Our tour took us up on the battlements and into the outer and inner cobblestone courtyards. The apartments of royalty are being rennovated and are closed until early June--darn, we just missed that. But we went to the chapel, and while the kids went to the gardens, I sat quietly in the chapel which looked more like a huge reception room to me. Then we visited the kitchen with its dioramas of cooking as it would have been. The castle and its history were so fascinating that we lingered. I was pondering the thought that if we saw the intellectual history of Scotland in Edinburg, we saw it's war-like past at Stirling Castle.
Lunch at a chain restaurant called The Filling Station, sort of a Scottish equivalent of T.G.I.F. or Chili's. I had fish and chips, which of course we get here, but these were exceptionally good, doused with the traditional malt vinegar. Colin and Megan had distinctively non-Scottish lunches--margarita pizzas! Suddenly, it was three o'clock, and we knew we should be on the road to Skye.
With Colin driving and Megan navigating I sat in the back and pinched myself, saying over and over, "I'm in Scotland. I'm actually in Scotland." The land is lush and green--all that rain!--and hillsides are covered with broom, that ubiquitous plant with deep yellow blooms. We saw shaggy cows, their thick long coats designed to protect them from Scottish winters, and sheep covered every field and hillside, their coats equally thick and long. We drove along streams with rapids--great trout fishing, no doubt--and through mountain valleys. And we drove . . . and drove . . . and drove. Portree, our destination on Skye, never seemed to get any closer.
At last about nine, we drove into Portree and found the Braeside Inn, finally figured out how to navigate one-way streets and get there. Our host, Phillip, was not at all surprised by the lateness of our arrival. He said he could make the drive from Stirling in 4-1/2 hours but he knew it would take us longer. I'd noticed that Scots tend to drive with the same fierce abandon with which they went to war in earlier generations, passing us at high speeds on blind curves and hills. A bit scary.
Phillip warned us restaurants were about to stop serving, gave us a few recommendations, and we went in search of dinner. At almost 9:30, it was still light out. Several restaurants turned us away--they had already stopped serving; one offered no entrees but fish 'n chips or mussels. I vetoed because I'd had fish 'n chips for lunch and Megan had mussels twice the day before--a veto they didn't soon let me forget. We ended up at Harbor View, where they offered us entrees but no side dishes. The three of us split two very good entrees--scallops with bacon and haddock with mashed potatoes. The kids unloaded the car, I made my daily notes, and we fell into bed.
A note about traveling with grown kids: they took really good care of me. I never unloaded the car nor pulled a suitcase. When they wanted to do an extensive tour of gardens and my back was hurting, they found a place for me to sit. They made sure I was alright after steep stairs and hills, and they watched I didn't stumble on curbs and uneven walkways--something I'm prone to do. Knowing they were there, I never even got my walking stick out of the suitcase. Every time I ordered a glass of wine and the waitress asked "Large or small," they chorused, "Give her a large." But sometimes I felt like one of their children: "Get in the car, Mom." "Watch the puddle, Mom!" "Do you have your passport? Are you sure?" At one point, they even reorganized my purse so that I wouldn't mix British and American currencies (which I hadn't done). I giggled and enjoyed it.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Day One - Edinburgh
Day One for us really began about 1:00 P.M. the day before when we left Colin’s house for the Houston airport. Our British Airways flight left about 4:30, and we were in for nine hours of flight. Our flight attendant was a friendly but slightly sardonic British gent who complimented us on our travel plans and warned us to have warm clothes. We had exit row seats right next to the restroom—handy but problematic. One Brit who came to use the loo stayed and talked for half an hour about everything from haggis, neeps and tatties to my Kindle. We dozed but didn’t really sleep. At 6:00 A.M. London time they woke us for a light breakfast: it was about 1:00 A.M. Texas time.
Heathrow is the kind of airport I dislike—endless miles of walking, more escalators than I’ve ridden in ten years, always rushing to sit around and wait. We caught a connecting flight to Edinburgh and were there shortly after ten in the morning to be greeted by the cold, rainy weather that would follow us most of the week. After a long walk, pulling suitcases (Colin pulled both mine and his and insisted on carrying my carry-on too—yes, they spoiled me), we had a rental Renault.
Megan and Colin had decided we had to “power through” the first day—no naps. I viewed this with a great deal of skepticism but went along. Megan did an amazing job of navigating—we only got lost once—and we made it to our BandB which was, I think, pretty much in central Edinburgh. The host, David, was most friendly and helpful. Our room was literally the garrett—up one set of stairs and then a steep, winding staircase that I usually half-crawled up. We all shared one room, which worked out fine for me though the kids say I snore.
We spent the afternoon at Edinburgh Castle which sits high above the city and its harbor. It was built in the 11th century, though most of the buildings reflect its more recent use as a military garrison. We saw the Crown Jewels, visited St. Margaret’s Chapel, the oldest building in the city. Queen Margaret died in 1093, and the chapel was built in 1130. We saw Mons Meg, a huge 15th-century canon, and gazed out at the view and, on leaving, passed statues of Scottish heroes William Wallace and Robert the Bruce. In America, where our recorded history goes back generally to the 17th century, we don’t realize the many centuries of history to be rediscovered in a country like Scotland. It was eye-opening for me.
The disruption in our daily rhythms left us unsure when to eat, but the castle offers several small restaurants, and we stopped in the Queen Anne Café where Colin and Megan had the first of what would be many cappuccinos, and I had a glass of wine and an appetizer that mixed fresh and smoked salmon in a great combination.
Next was a bus tour of the inner city—great chance to sit after trudging up that hill to the castle and walking all around it. I was fascinated to see Edinburgh University which in the 18th century was the cradle of European intellectual achievement—philosophy, medicine, natural science, religion (I’d done my homework with a book titled How the Scots Invented the Modern World by Arthur Herman). We also went by the Greyfriars Cemetery with its statue of Greyfriars Bobby, the dog who lived by his master’s grave for years. I remember that book fondly from my childhood and was sorry I couldn’t see the actual statue. Then there was Holyrood Palace, official residence of the Queen when she’s in town though she prefers Balmoral for Scottish trips, Bedlam Theatre, the Parliament Building, and the Scottish Museum.
The tour reinforced my first impression--Edinburgh is a lovely old city with houses crowded upon houses, all built up tight next to each other, most with doors nearly on the sidewalk. They are gray stone, maybe from the smoke of coal heating used in past times. Older stone houses have dormers, gables, turrets, quoins, and conservatories, built I guess to capture the small bits of sunshine Scotland gets. Every other house seemed to be a BandB, and inside those narrow tall houses were surprisingly roomy.
Back at the BandB I fell on the bed but Megan said, “Mom, don’t go to sleep. It will be a really awful night if you do.” So we staggered to a pub for a light supper of mussels, salmon pate, and tomato basil soup. The pub was everything I thought it would be--wood-paneled, leather chairs, lots of books on shelves, that ubiquitous ceramic hunting dog (my aunt had one), a big bell (the pub was called The Old Bell). You got the feeling that the people crowded around tables were neighbors who met there regularly for a pint and a visit.
My forty-ish kids were asleep by eight but I got a second wind and sat up making notes of all I’d seen in that first crowded day. Below is one of the statues, though I can't remember if it's William Wallace (Braveheart) or Robert the Bruce.
Above, Colin and Megan planning our next day's route. As their younger sister pointed out, note the wine bottle on the table. We all slept soundly but made it at the last minute for breakfast. One trouble with BandB accommodations is that you can’t just sleep until you want to get up—you have to either notify that you won’t be at breakfast or get there during the hours they’re serving.
I know Colin is busy getting back to work, so he hasn't sent the good pictures of Edinburgh. When he does, I'll do a picture blog. Meantime, here are mine. I took a lovely one of Colin and Megan in the doorway of Dunedin but couldn't get it to post.
Heathrow is the kind of airport I dislike—endless miles of walking, more escalators than I’ve ridden in ten years, always rushing to sit around and wait. We caught a connecting flight to Edinburgh and were there shortly after ten in the morning to be greeted by the cold, rainy weather that would follow us most of the week. After a long walk, pulling suitcases (Colin pulled both mine and his and insisted on carrying my carry-on too—yes, they spoiled me), we had a rental Renault.
Megan and Colin had decided we had to “power through” the first day—no naps. I viewed this with a great deal of skepticism but went along. Megan did an amazing job of navigating—we only got lost once—and we made it to our BandB which was, I think, pretty much in central Edinburgh. The host, David, was most friendly and helpful. Our room was literally the garrett—up one set of stairs and then a steep, winding staircase that I usually half-crawled up. We all shared one room, which worked out fine for me though the kids say I snore.
We spent the afternoon at Edinburgh Castle which sits high above the city and its harbor. It was built in the 11th century, though most of the buildings reflect its more recent use as a military garrison. We saw the Crown Jewels, visited St. Margaret’s Chapel, the oldest building in the city. Queen Margaret died in 1093, and the chapel was built in 1130. We saw Mons Meg, a huge 15th-century canon, and gazed out at the view and, on leaving, passed statues of Scottish heroes William Wallace and Robert the Bruce. In America, where our recorded history goes back generally to the 17th century, we don’t realize the many centuries of history to be rediscovered in a country like Scotland. It was eye-opening for me.
The disruption in our daily rhythms left us unsure when to eat, but the castle offers several small restaurants, and we stopped in the Queen Anne Café where Colin and Megan had the first of what would be many cappuccinos, and I had a glass of wine and an appetizer that mixed fresh and smoked salmon in a great combination.
Next was a bus tour of the inner city—great chance to sit after trudging up that hill to the castle and walking all around it. I was fascinated to see Edinburgh University which in the 18th century was the cradle of European intellectual achievement—philosophy, medicine, natural science, religion (I’d done my homework with a book titled How the Scots Invented the Modern World by Arthur Herman). We also went by the Greyfriars Cemetery with its statue of Greyfriars Bobby, the dog who lived by his master’s grave for years. I remember that book fondly from my childhood and was sorry I couldn’t see the actual statue. Then there was Holyrood Palace, official residence of the Queen when she’s in town though she prefers Balmoral for Scottish trips, Bedlam Theatre, the Parliament Building, and the Scottish Museum.
The tour reinforced my first impression--Edinburgh is a lovely old city with houses crowded upon houses, all built up tight next to each other, most with doors nearly on the sidewalk. They are gray stone, maybe from the smoke of coal heating used in past times. Older stone houses have dormers, gables, turrets, quoins, and conservatories, built I guess to capture the small bits of sunshine Scotland gets. Every other house seemed to be a BandB, and inside those narrow tall houses were surprisingly roomy.
Back at the BandB I fell on the bed but Megan said, “Mom, don’t go to sleep. It will be a really awful night if you do.” So we staggered to a pub for a light supper of mussels, salmon pate, and tomato basil soup. The pub was everything I thought it would be--wood-paneled, leather chairs, lots of books on shelves, that ubiquitous ceramic hunting dog (my aunt had one), a big bell (the pub was called The Old Bell). You got the feeling that the people crowded around tables were neighbors who met there regularly for a pint and a visit.
My forty-ish kids were asleep by eight but I got a second wind and sat up making notes of all I’d seen in that first crowded day. Below is one of the statues, though I can't remember if it's William Wallace (Braveheart) or Robert the Bruce.
I know Colin is busy getting back to work, so he hasn't sent the good pictures of Edinburgh. When he does, I'll do a picture blog. Meantime, here are mine. I took a lovely one of Colin and Megan in the doorway of Dunedin but couldn't get it to post.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Scotland--a retrospective
As anyone who has been within shouting distance of me this spring knows, I have just returned from a trip to Scotland with my oldest son and daughter, Colin and Megan. It was an adventure, with what Colin describes as an "aggressive itinerary." We visited seven castles in seven days, not counting the ruin on Skye where I declined to get out of the car because it was too wet, cold, and windy. I have been driven over a good portion of the Highlands and walked more of the land than I expected (the natives call it the Hee-lands). I have climbed countless stairs and trudged up steep hillsides, amazing my children with my stamina and worrying myself with my breathlessness as I climbed. I have ridden on a small, six-car ferry across the Inner Sound, a double-decker sightseeing bus in Ediburgh, and held my breath while Colin negotiated a tiny one-lane twisty, curvy road high (and I mean really high) above a mountain valley (Colin lived in the Caribbean and quickly recovered his skill at right-hand drive; Megan navigated, with a few wrong turns, and they both had fun planning each day's outing). I ate all the salmon I could, both fresh and smoked, along with bangers 'n mash, haggis (twice, deliberately--with roasted onion and whisky gravy), and black pudding, which is really black. A confirmed white wine drinker, I sipped Scotch at distilleries and found some of it smooth and good, some harsh and burning. I know the difference now between a firth and a loch, and I've visited the 18th hole at St. Andrew's. I have a deeper appreciation of Scottish history, though I'd studied it some before, and, yes, Fran, I grieved at Culloden. I've learned that B&Bs can be fun places to meet really hospitable people. I also learned to trust Rick Steves and appreciate single-faucet sinks.
Scotland is a cold, rainy country but it is also lush and green, with amazing flower beds (even on tiny plots in front of houses with the front door almost on the sidewalk). Its hillsides are covered in the gold of broom, and its pastures are a lovely green, its cows and sheep shaggy to protect them against the wind that can be so cold, even in May, that you think your bones might break. Scottish cities, or the parts I saw, are old, with buildings crowded one upon another, the old-fashioned kind of duplexes with houses sharing common walls. The buildings are masonry with all kinds of turrets, dormers, bay windows, quoins and sunrooms--I think the Scottish build "conservatories" to take advantage of that small bit of sun. In short, Scotland is a wonderful land, and I loved it.
Colin and Megan did this trip for me--Colin planned the route, and Megan made all the B&B reservations, as well as researching places to eat. We stopped at as many pubs in small villages as we could and found excellent food, wine and ale at all. But I know that this trip was their gift to me. They have grown up knowing their mom wanted to visit Scotland (I am a registered member of Clan MacBean) and knowing I wouldn't go alone. So this winter, when Colin said "Let's plan it," Meg chimed in with "I want to go." So I am deeply grateful to them for a gift of love and caring. I'm also grateful to their spouses--Lisa and Brandon--who stayed behind and did child duty, and to Jamie and Jordan, the children who cheered us on. Colin and Megan both said they loved the trip, and I think they really did, but it was still a gift. And sharing quiet time with them was wonderful--we lingered over meals, laughing about old times, savoring our new adventures. What more could I ask for?
The kids suggested I do a daily blog about our trip, so I kept a journal, each night recording what we'd done that day. And I will begin that series of blogs in a day or two--depending on when Colin gets pictures to me. His are better, clearer, and more extensive than mine. They both have promised to comment and tell how it really was, as opposed to Mom's version. So if you have an interest in travel and/or Scotland, please do come back for the next week. I'll share everything from pub food to castle ruins to the MacBain Memorial Park. My memories of a wonderful week.
Scotland is a cold, rainy country but it is also lush and green, with amazing flower beds (even on tiny plots in front of houses with the front door almost on the sidewalk). Its hillsides are covered in the gold of broom, and its pastures are a lovely green, its cows and sheep shaggy to protect them against the wind that can be so cold, even in May, that you think your bones might break. Scottish cities, or the parts I saw, are old, with buildings crowded one upon another, the old-fashioned kind of duplexes with houses sharing common walls. The buildings are masonry with all kinds of turrets, dormers, bay windows, quoins and sunrooms--I think the Scottish build "conservatories" to take advantage of that small bit of sun. In short, Scotland is a wonderful land, and I loved it.
Colin and Megan did this trip for me--Colin planned the route, and Megan made all the B&B reservations, as well as researching places to eat. We stopped at as many pubs in small villages as we could and found excellent food, wine and ale at all. But I know that this trip was their gift to me. They have grown up knowing their mom wanted to visit Scotland (I am a registered member of Clan MacBean) and knowing I wouldn't go alone. So this winter, when Colin said "Let's plan it," Meg chimed in with "I want to go." So I am deeply grateful to them for a gift of love and caring. I'm also grateful to their spouses--Lisa and Brandon--who stayed behind and did child duty, and to Jamie and Jordan, the children who cheered us on. Colin and Megan both said they loved the trip, and I think they really did, but it was still a gift. And sharing quiet time with them was wonderful--we lingered over meals, laughing about old times, savoring our new adventures. What more could I ask for?
The kids suggested I do a daily blog about our trip, so I kept a journal, each night recording what we'd done that day. And I will begin that series of blogs in a day or two--depending on when Colin gets pictures to me. His are better, clearer, and more extensive than mine. They both have promised to comment and tell how it really was, as opposed to Mom's version. So if you have an interest in travel and/or Scotland, please do come back for the next week. I'll share everything from pub food to castle ruins to the MacBain Memorial Park. My memories of a wonderful week.
Monday, May 09, 2011
The haircut makes the man, an apology, and a word about memoirs
Apologies to Colin--everyone that I talked to seems to have read the blog that he didn't call for Mother's Day. He called today and said all day yesterday he kept telling himself, "I've got to call Mom," but he didn't get it done. He says we're tit for tat because I didn't call him on his birthday. I can't believe that, because I always remember my kids birthdays and particularly his--he was born on the birthday of my younger sister who died at the age of six months. When I called my folks to say the adoption agency had placed a baby with us born April 22, the first thing Dad said was, "That's Jeannie's birthday." So humble apologies to Colin. He said my transgression was worse because I blogged about him, and I suggested he start a blog. "Nah, we'll just call it even."
My last memoir class at TCU today for the semester. Gosh, those ladies have interesting stories to tell--and a few shady characters lurk in some family trees. As one woman said, "Don't shake my family tree too hard--no telling what you'll get." Several of them seem headed to really exploring some aspects of their family and childhood, and if I've gotten them started in that direction, I'll feel it was a worthwhile course. I'll miss those Monday brown bag lunches with my tuna sandwich. HR may offer it again in the fall, but we have little carryover in that class, so I'll greet a whole new group of women. Whereas the evening class goes on from session to session with the same, oh-so-comfortable group. I'm finding these classes a rewarding part of my retirement.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Mother's Day
Blessings and happiness to all who nurture, be they mothers, surrogate mothers, people who care, whatever. It's a good day for sharing love and thinking about your blessings.
I had a lovely, lazy day--kept busy all morning though as I look back I can't tell you what I accomplished--maybe doing a load of laundry, watering plants, answering emails, making macaroni salad.
One thing I found, while reading Twitter, was a site about Slutfest--sounds awful, right? Check it out--a police officer, addressing college law students, made an unfortunate remark about women having to dress "appropriately" to avoid being victims--the old blame the victim argument. Slutfest began in Toronto as a protest and soon became international. Read about it here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/may/06/slutwalking-policeman-talk-clothing?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter. I'm not much for the title--or even some of the outfits--but I applaud the idea. It's time law enforcement and others got over blaming the victim. Title, however, is terribly inappropriate for Mother's Day:-)
And on Facebook I learned a new word: fissiparous. It means recreating as in fission or something, but can also mean a splinter group, etc. Apparently it was used in relation to Osama Bin Laden. I doubt I'll be dropping that word into casual conversation--I'm not even sure how to pronounce it, and I don't think I got the meaning quite right. Use your own dictionary for this one!
About 4:00 I headed to Jordan's for a family cookout--hamburgers with the fixin's, beans, my macaroni salad, and a Bundt cake for dessert. Sat around and visited, watched kids play which meant I never could tell if the party was moving inside or out but it sure was hot out. A nice, comfortable time. None of my other kids were here, though I had flowers and a FB messge from one, a phone call from another and, uncharacteristically, have not heard from my oldest. But it was a good day.
Now I'm back to work. Lots to get done this week.
I had a lovely, lazy day--kept busy all morning though as I look back I can't tell you what I accomplished--maybe doing a load of laundry, watering plants, answering emails, making macaroni salad.
One thing I found, while reading Twitter, was a site about Slutfest--sounds awful, right? Check it out--a police officer, addressing college law students, made an unfortunate remark about women having to dress "appropriately" to avoid being victims--the old blame the victim argument. Slutfest began in Toronto as a protest and soon became international. Read about it here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/may/06/slutwalking-policeman-talk-clothing?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter. I'm not much for the title--or even some of the outfits--but I applaud the idea. It's time law enforcement and others got over blaming the victim. Title, however, is terribly inappropriate for Mother's Day:-)
And on Facebook I learned a new word: fissiparous. It means recreating as in fission or something, but can also mean a splinter group, etc. Apparently it was used in relation to Osama Bin Laden. I doubt I'll be dropping that word into casual conversation--I'm not even sure how to pronounce it, and I don't think I got the meaning quite right. Use your own dictionary for this one!
About 4:00 I headed to Jordan's for a family cookout--hamburgers with the fixin's, beans, my macaroni salad, and a Bundt cake for dessert. Sat around and visited, watched kids play which meant I never could tell if the party was moving inside or out but it sure was hot out. A nice, comfortable time. None of my other kids were here, though I had flowers and a FB messge from one, a phone call from another and, uncharacteristically, have not heard from my oldest. But it was a good day.
Now I'm back to work. Lots to get done this week.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
A blog vacation
Forgive my silence. I've been taking sort of a mini-vacation from blogging, partly because I didn't have that much to say--we live in tumultous times, and major news event has piled on major event: a tsunami in Japan with the resultant nuclear crisis, tornadoes in the American South with apalling loss of life and property damage, the joy of the royal wedding, and the bitter triumph of Osama bin Laden's death. It makes my head spin, but all the news is capably--and sometimes not so capably--commented on by others.
I meantime have been in my own little world, revising a novel, which will be my project for at least the next two weeks. So you'll hear from me sporadically. I seem to go in novel-writing spurts (not the sign of a professional, I fear) but right now I'm delighted to be back in the familiar world of what I hope will become my second mystery, No Neighborhood for Old Women. If I hadn't said so before, yes, it's a deliberate play on Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men. The story behind it has to do with Literary El Paso, compiled by my good friend Marcia Daudistel, to which Mr. McCarthy declined to contribute. It's okay--Marcia's book is doing great without it. If you have ever lived in or visited El Paso or have an interest in bicultural writing, you should read this beautiful book.
But back to my mystery--I'm pondering why this character did that, was this event mentioned with a lead-up or did it just spring into being, are my characters being true to themselves? Too introspective? Too much description (I get carried away about Craftsman houses and old neighorhoods)? Too little description to set the mood? Rewriting is thorny business, sometimes much harder than that initial "just get it down on paper" phase, and I'm deep in it. Some of the problems come because I'm a pantser--I write by the seat of my pants instead of from an outline.
I'm also taking time to enjoy North Texas in the spring--to my mind its best season. This morning, with the top down on the car, I went to the nursery and Barnes and Noble, both trips I enjoy. I have my porch pretty well planted now--got fountain grass this morning, but it's too much for me to plant. Greg will do it next week. My sweet potato plants--those hardy, wonderful, oh-so-green things--have developed some kind of wilt. Greg suggested by phone this morning that I'm over-watering, and I admit I'm prone to doing that. So just now I only watered the marjoram, which was wilting, the basil, which like lots of water, and the parsley I just planted. Beautiful day to putter on the porch.
Alas and alack--isn't that a wonderful phrase?--some of my front yard flowerbeds are alredy past their prime. The spirea is fading, and the ox-eye daises are gone as are the iris, but the coreopsis is blooming, and the miniaure crape myrtle should bloom any time. And then there's that profuse plant on one side of the garden that blooms and blooms--but I can't remember the name. Anyway, it's still to come--like my crape myrtles, those are late bloomers.
The rest of the day is free--to work, to make macaroni salad for Mother's Day supper at Jordan's, to cook that piece of salmon in the fridge and eat some of that asparagus--maybe dining al fresco on the porch. A good day, and life is sweet.
If I'm absent from the blog, please bear with me for a while. I promise to be back in full swing by June 1.
I meantime have been in my own little world, revising a novel, which will be my project for at least the next two weeks. So you'll hear from me sporadically. I seem to go in novel-writing spurts (not the sign of a professional, I fear) but right now I'm delighted to be back in the familiar world of what I hope will become my second mystery, No Neighborhood for Old Women. If I hadn't said so before, yes, it's a deliberate play on Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men. The story behind it has to do with Literary El Paso, compiled by my good friend Marcia Daudistel, to which Mr. McCarthy declined to contribute. It's okay--Marcia's book is doing great without it. If you have ever lived in or visited El Paso or have an interest in bicultural writing, you should read this beautiful book.
But back to my mystery--I'm pondering why this character did that, was this event mentioned with a lead-up or did it just spring into being, are my characters being true to themselves? Too introspective? Too much description (I get carried away about Craftsman houses and old neighorhoods)? Too little description to set the mood? Rewriting is thorny business, sometimes much harder than that initial "just get it down on paper" phase, and I'm deep in it. Some of the problems come because I'm a pantser--I write by the seat of my pants instead of from an outline.
I'm also taking time to enjoy North Texas in the spring--to my mind its best season. This morning, with the top down on the car, I went to the nursery and Barnes and Noble, both trips I enjoy. I have my porch pretty well planted now--got fountain grass this morning, but it's too much for me to plant. Greg will do it next week. My sweet potato plants--those hardy, wonderful, oh-so-green things--have developed some kind of wilt. Greg suggested by phone this morning that I'm over-watering, and I admit I'm prone to doing that. So just now I only watered the marjoram, which was wilting, the basil, which like lots of water, and the parsley I just planted. Beautiful day to putter on the porch.
Alas and alack--isn't that a wonderful phrase?--some of my front yard flowerbeds are alredy past their prime. The spirea is fading, and the ox-eye daises are gone as are the iris, but the coreopsis is blooming, and the miniaure crape myrtle should bloom any time. And then there's that profuse plant on one side of the garden that blooms and blooms--but I can't remember the name. Anyway, it's still to come--like my crape myrtles, those are late bloomers.
The rest of the day is free--to work, to make macaroni salad for Mother's Day supper at Jordan's, to cook that piece of salmon in the fridge and eat some of that asparagus--maybe dining al fresco on the porch. A good day, and life is sweet.
If I'm absent from the blog, please bear with me for a while. I promise to be back in full swing by June 1.
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
Cats and diets and writing
For those who were kind enough to express concern about my cat, I'm glad to announce that he's doing much better. A visit to the vet this morning showed that he's gained 6 oz. in the last two weeks, and everything about him is better, except that he still has just a bit of his bladder infection. In general, the vet said he's doing well and I may get to keep hydrating him for two years. My second attempt, done without moral support from anyone, was relatively easy--I arranged everything (like an OR or something) before I went to get him. Occasionally while the IV flowed, I'd feel him tense to jump, but I just held firm and talked softly to him. We made it through 2 cc. I did that yesterday, feeling it wasn't fair to inflict on him the traumas of an infusion and a vet trip in one day. Is he grateful? Who can tell? He's a cat.
I promised some time ago not to keep blogging about dieting, but I can't resist saying this: I have gone off Weight Watchers. I told my doctor I was worried about my weight (even though I'd lost weight the day I saw him) and his advice was essentially to quit obsessing about Weight Watchers. So I quit. I joined a free site called LiveStrong (sponsored by the Lance Armstrong Foundation) that counts calories, exercise, and how much water you drink. I haven't learned to enter my exercise or water consumption, but the calorie lesson is a whole new thing. Raspberries and bananas were point-free, but they're sure not calorie-free. Eggplant is close to being calorie-free. But I'm not going to obsess about it. Tonight I had an antipasto plate with a side of asparagus risotto--and I have't checked the calories. Who can figure out an antipasto platter, and I'm sure I don't want to know about the risotto--but it sure was good. And wine and chocolate? They're really high in calories--there is no justice in this world! Honestly feeling a weight off my shoulders. I'll report from time to time.
I'm in a writing quandry. My desk is clear of projects--oh, yes, there's that second novel to revise. But in the next few weeks several family things will take me away from desk time, so should I start revising now, knowing I won't finish? I've been waffling, reading novels, doing busy stuff, but I think I'm going to get serious about starting the revisions. Of course then there's my memoir class tomorrow night, and Jacob the night after, and Mother's Day. But I'm tired of being without purpose--it makes me antsy. (Yes, it's a compulsive nature.) And besides, I would really like the second novel to come out on the heels of the first.
I promised some time ago not to keep blogging about dieting, but I can't resist saying this: I have gone off Weight Watchers. I told my doctor I was worried about my weight (even though I'd lost weight the day I saw him) and his advice was essentially to quit obsessing about Weight Watchers. So I quit. I joined a free site called LiveStrong (sponsored by the Lance Armstrong Foundation) that counts calories, exercise, and how much water you drink. I haven't learned to enter my exercise or water consumption, but the calorie lesson is a whole new thing. Raspberries and bananas were point-free, but they're sure not calorie-free. Eggplant is close to being calorie-free. But I'm not going to obsess about it. Tonight I had an antipasto plate with a side of asparagus risotto--and I have't checked the calories. Who can figure out an antipasto platter, and I'm sure I don't want to know about the risotto--but it sure was good. And wine and chocolate? They're really high in calories--there is no justice in this world! Honestly feeling a weight off my shoulders. I'll report from time to time.
I'm in a writing quandry. My desk is clear of projects--oh, yes, there's that second novel to revise. But in the next few weeks several family things will take me away from desk time, so should I start revising now, knowing I won't finish? I've been waffling, reading novels, doing busy stuff, but I think I'm going to get serious about starting the revisions. Of course then there's my memoir class tomorrow night, and Jacob the night after, and Mother's Day. But I'm tired of being without purpose--it makes me antsy. (Yes, it's a compulsive nature.) And besides, I would really like the second novel to come out on the heels of the first.
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Things I have learned recently
Do not leave your hearing aids in when doing yoga, especially if you have a stuffy nose or sinus trouble
Do not leave your hearing aids when using an electric toothbrush
Beware that eating a crisp dill pickle with hearing aids in creates an explosion in your head
When you remove the spritzer on the kitchen sink, planning to replace it, do not turn on the faucet; the water does not go to the faucet but gushes out of the spritzer hose like Old Faithful
Do not attempt to pass the garden hose from one hand to the other behind you and accidentally turn on the nozzle just when it gets squarely behind you; another water disaster
I can give a cat an 2 cc. infusion of Ringer's Solution, without disastrous results
I can transplate a cactus, but the results were disastrous for the cactus
Don't count on waltzing into your local bank and buying Travelers Cheques--they don't all carry them; you have to go online and search for sites where they are available
Do not believe a four-year-old when he tells you he'll eat a hamburger, then says he doesn't want it and eats all his fries with three cups of ketchup. Then he says he understands he can't have ice cream when we get home, but of course asks for it the minute we get in the door. He was, however, absolutely talktative and charming to a tableful of adults that he'd never met before. So proud of Jacob! And thanks to my friends at the Old Neighborhood Grill for being so kind to him.
Do not leave your hearing aids when using an electric toothbrush
Beware that eating a crisp dill pickle with hearing aids in creates an explosion in your head
When you remove the spritzer on the kitchen sink, planning to replace it, do not turn on the faucet; the water does not go to the faucet but gushes out of the spritzer hose like Old Faithful
Do not attempt to pass the garden hose from one hand to the other behind you and accidentally turn on the nozzle just when it gets squarely behind you; another water disaster
I can give a cat an 2 cc. infusion of Ringer's Solution, without disastrous results
I can transplate a cactus, but the results were disastrous for the cactus
Don't count on waltzing into your local bank and buying Travelers Cheques--they don't all carry them; you have to go online and search for sites where they are available
Do not believe a four-year-old when he tells you he'll eat a hamburger, then says he doesn't want it and eats all his fries with three cups of ketchup. Then he says he understands he can't have ice cream when we get home, but of course asks for it the minute we get in the door. He was, however, absolutely talktative and charming to a tableful of adults that he'd never met before. So proud of Jacob! And thanks to my friends at the Old Neighborhood Grill for being so kind to him.
Monday, May 02, 2011
Happy Birthday, Maddie
For almost four years, she was the only grandchild, adored by this grandmother and a rowdy bunch of aunts and uncles. I used to wonder how she'd adjust when others came along. The first was her sister, Edie--Maddie was mostly protective, only occasionally angry. Now she has five younger cousins, and she soon took over as the lead caretaker. She was always so good with the infants and at a young age was efficiently giving bottles, diapering, and putting to bed whoever happened to be here--and that included a bedtime story. All I had to do was kiss them goodnight. These days Edie assists but they both mother the little ones, watch out for them, lead them in games, and love on them.
Today Maddie is a tween, playing games on her iPhone one minute and nose buried in a book the next.She has a long To Be Read list. She's read some pretty sophisticated things but also loves the Wimpy Kids books. She has her BFF or Bestie, as she calls Rachel, and the two are inseparable, and she has a huge crush on Justin Bieber and can talk about him in excruciating detail. Maddie delights in getting good grades (though her posts on FB say "ugh, school again," and such), and participates in everything from basketball to choir and the school play. I have gone to ballet recitals, volleyball games, and school plays. Once, in first grade, I was a visiting author at her school: a substiute teacher introduced me by saying, 'Maddie's grandmother is here because she has wrote some books." Ouch! Maddie took over the class, and I barely got a word in edgewise. Maddie went through a cooking phase, which I loved--I still remember asking her to spread a potato cassereole evenly in the dish and looking over to see her pounding it with a wooden spoon! I don't think she cooks as much these days, but she knows the basics and she'll make a good cook someday. She isn't--yet--a sulky teenager and retains her sweet disposition and her closeness to her family, though as her father explained to me, "She doesn't hang with us as much these days." Still I hope she'll continue to love our family gatherings and be close to her own wonderful family.
She's a girl to make a grandmother proud, and I love her dearly. So happy birthday, Maddie-Moo, from your Juju.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
Gloomy day inertia
Overnight the weather turned cold. This morning, when I opened one eye about 6:30, it was headed toward sunny. By 9:00 a.m. it was dark as night, and I went around switching on lights for cheer, cancelled church plans, and settled down for an inside day. By evening, it's been a long day, and I would have welcomed company, distraction, whatever. (That does not include the dog peeing on the rug when I turned my back for a minute!)
There's something about a gloomy day that gives you a sense of inertia. This morning I thought I didn't have the energy to do anything except sit and read a book. I did actually get things done today--small household chores, some cooking, some computer work. And yes, I read and napped. Part of my inertia comes from not having a project and being uncertain about starting revisions on my second novel until I hear from the publisher. I think I'll take the plunge and begin on it anyway. I have several things on hold--the chili manuscript is at the publisher waiting for a verdict, I can't start making real marketing efforts for my mystery until I get the cover (and it isn't smart to start too early and run out of steam before the pub date but my plans are already made), and there's that second novel. When I face it, it's always easier to start reading someone else's novel.
I did fix myself a good meal tonight. Central Market sells ground lamb patties with mint and feta in them--absolutely delicious. I made four sliders out of one patty, and only ate one of the four. I suppose if you don't have Central Market, you could mix that up yourself--my mint is already profuse. I grilled some eggplant, just brushing it with a mix of olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper, and dried basil (my basil is on the porch waiting to be put into its summer pot--today wasn't a day for porch gardening). I made a corn, black bean, hearts of palm salad and threw in a little green cabbage, seasoned it with lime and olive oil, salt and pepper. When I plated it, I added some hummus. A really good meal, and the lamb will make great leftovers.
Tonight it is still gloomy although we've had no rain beyond a good soaking this morning. But it's cold--about 50. I dug out a sweatshirt. May isn't supposed to be this cold. High of 54 toimorrow. I have cancelled an appointment to get Scooby his summer haircut.
I feel like signing myself Judy, the recluse, but since I had such a lovely evening last night, with lots of friends and new people I met, I guess that doesn't fit. Back to that mystery I'm reading.
There's something about a gloomy day that gives you a sense of inertia. This morning I thought I didn't have the energy to do anything except sit and read a book. I did actually get things done today--small household chores, some cooking, some computer work. And yes, I read and napped. Part of my inertia comes from not having a project and being uncertain about starting revisions on my second novel until I hear from the publisher. I think I'll take the plunge and begin on it anyway. I have several things on hold--the chili manuscript is at the publisher waiting for a verdict, I can't start making real marketing efforts for my mystery until I get the cover (and it isn't smart to start too early and run out of steam before the pub date but my plans are already made), and there's that second novel. When I face it, it's always easier to start reading someone else's novel.
I did fix myself a good meal tonight. Central Market sells ground lamb patties with mint and feta in them--absolutely delicious. I made four sliders out of one patty, and only ate one of the four. I suppose if you don't have Central Market, you could mix that up yourself--my mint is already profuse. I grilled some eggplant, just brushing it with a mix of olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper, and dried basil (my basil is on the porch waiting to be put into its summer pot--today wasn't a day for porch gardening). I made a corn, black bean, hearts of palm salad and threw in a little green cabbage, seasoned it with lime and olive oil, salt and pepper. When I plated it, I added some hummus. A really good meal, and the lamb will make great leftovers.
Tonight it is still gloomy although we've had no rain beyond a good soaking this morning. But it's cold--about 50. I dug out a sweatshirt. May isn't supposed to be this cold. High of 54 toimorrow. I have cancelled an appointment to get Scooby his summer haircut.
I feel like signing myself Judy, the recluse, but since I had such a lovely evening last night, with lots of friends and new people I met, I guess that doesn't fit. Back to that mystery I'm reading.
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