Not so good

Me: I'm going to cook dinner now.
Jacob: Thank God!
Me: Don't take the Lord's name in vain.
Jacob: I wasn't. I was literally thanking him because I'm starving. That's what  you say, "Thank you God." What is wrong with you people?
Poor boy! Surrounded by people who don't understand him...or maybe he doesn't understand them!
Some days are good, some not so good. Today was a not-so-good day. I had a doctor's appointment this morning--the doctor's office is on the sixth floor, and I have a real phobia about self-service elevators. So Betty goes with me--poor patient Betty. I also don't like the parking garage for reasons I can't quite pin down, but I held on to Betty all the way from the car to the elevator. With my new, improved walking, I should have let go and done it on my own--and now I'm mad at myself. Didn't do any better leaving the building either.
The appointment was at Texas College of Osteopathic Medicine in the department of manipulative medicine--nothing to be nervous about and I wasn't: as evidence, I offer blood pressure of 122/74--can't get much better than that. The resident who saw me before the doctor came in said, "I think you're doing much better than you think you are." I did carry that around with me until Betty said, "He was using positive psychology" on you, and I deflated.
We had a good lunch at Lucille's where they're having shrimp festival. I'm allergic to shrimp but Betty loves them, so I thought that was a good way to repay her for taking me to the doctor. What did she order? Shrimp soup--looked sort of like gumbo but had lots of green peppers in it (another thing I can't/won't eat--and I'm not a fussy eater). All those wonderful shrimp dishes and she orders soup! I had lobster bites (not allergic to lobster or crab--go figure) and enjoyed them.
Then, almost too quickly, it was Jacob time, and we got into our usual argument--he argues, I listen--about who gets to use the computer. Sorry, kid, it's my computer, my work, my life. No! I let him use it for Think Through Math while I fixed his snack and did a couple other things, and then after he calmed down we had a strict but calm "Come to Jesus" talk about the computer. (What did I just say about not taking the name of the Lord in vain?) Scrambled eggs and bacon for supper made us both happy.
But tomorrow I have to make up for my reluctance to take risks today. It will be a busy day--grocery, lunch and dinner plans. No Jacob as he's going home with his other grandparents--the "good" ones who will take him to his baseball games.
I guess this balance/self confidence business is two steps forward, one step backward--so today was one step backward and tomorrow will be two steps forward.

Being busy

No profound thoughts tonight, though the news and picture coming out of Baltimore continue to interest--like the line of black men who stationed themselves in front of the police to protect them or the young boy who offered bottles of water to the police in riot gear. And that wonderful mom who beat her boy until he went home--she wanted him safe, but she has mixed thoughts (at best) about what she did. The number of people who rioted is such a small proportion of Baltimore's citizens.
Meanwhile I've been productive and am loving it--sent my Chicago manuscript off to an editor yesterday. it's long--100,000 words--and it's a historical, not a mystery. It's a book I've worked on at least ten years, and Chicago history is a subject dear to my heart. Chicago had its own glittery gilded age in the late nineteenth century, and this is about on prominent society woman during that time--Cissy Palmer, the first to combine the idea of wealth with social obligation. It culminates with the 1893 Columbian Exposition. Yes, I'm a little bit excited about this one.
Also arranged to send another of my 1990s historicals about women of the West for ebook conversion--this Jessie: A Novel of the Life of Jessie Benton Fremont. Don't know who she was? You'll have to read it!
And I drafted a newsletter, talked with my web designer about a logo, and have just generally been busy building my so-called career. It's been fun, but somehow this is the longest week--I'm quite sure today should have been Friday and it's only Wednesday.
And now, at eight o'clock at night, I'm sleepy. Need that second burst of energy.

More thoughts on Baltimore

Everyone and their brother has had an opinion today--and expressed it--about the Baltimore riots last night. I've read a lot and pondered a lot, and I have a few random thoughts. One is that there were some incredibly brave black men who stood up to the rioters--I saw a man, arms spread, in front of a row of riot-gear policeman, as if protecting the police and daring the rioters to come closer; another man took up a stand, apparently with a baseball bat, to keep looters out of a 7-11. And there's an incredible video of a mother, literally beating her teenage son and herding him home, away from the trouble. These folks remind us that they are good and brave people, even in the midst of the worst circumstances.
Another reminder many of us need: those rioters weren't angry over the death of one man, brutal and cruel as it was. They were expressing years of pent-up anger, of living in poverty, in a decaying neighborhood, where it was rare for a young man to finish high school alive and without a police record. Particularly the young black men in that section of Baltimore (and others like it across the country) are the subject of police brutality. The police expect them to be bad, so they live up to that expectation, and then they are brutalized. It is a world without hope--and that's the key word. They have no reason to hope. Things will not get better for them.
Some say the riot gear police that turned out for the funeral of Freddie Gray sparked the riots--there again, it's a statement of an antagonistic relationship. Could the police, suitably armed but not in riot gear, have turned out to show respect for Freddie Gray. We'll never know the answer to that question.
It's easy for me and many of you to sit here in our safe, middle-class homes and say, "Why do they burn their own neighborhoods?" I am led to believe, from what I read today, that it's that very lack of hope, that sense of helplessness, of being caught in a system they cannot understand let alone fight.
I don't know how this country can manage a massive swing in its attitude, from antagonism to helpfulness, comradeship, joining together to make things better. Pending national legislation is not leading in that direction, and sometimes all of us are left with despair.
But I think we must cling to the hope that we can make the world better, that each of us can do our part. And maybe it will begin in Baltimore. I pray for the people of that city...and for all of us.

Out of the mouths of babes--policemen are our friends

When my children were quite young, there was a local TV program called "Hobab Means Helper" and a friend of mine hosted it. So one Saturday, all four of my children were her guests. At one point, following the helper theme, she asked them what they did to help their mother. Oh, you wouldn't have believed those little angels--they made their beds, picked up their dirty clothes, carried their dishes to the sink, etc. All with halos shining brightly. Until, that is, it was four-year-old Jordan's turn. She looked at them in amazement and said, "The maid does all those things." (Disclaimer: I was then married to a doctor and had a far different lifestyle than I do now.)
Then came a discussion of policemen, and I forget what the others said, but Jordan's answer will live on forever: "Policemen are our friends, and if you don't have a Cadillac or a Mercedes, they will help  you get one."
That line rings in my head these days because I am so appalled at the instances of police brutality we're seeing daily on our televisions--if it's not Ferguson, it's New York or Tulsa or, now, Baltimore. I truly believe that most law enforcement officers are good people, trying to help others, enforcing the law when necessary but not taking pleasure in beating the less fortunate. But it's happening too often, and the victims of this brutality are (without an exception I can think of) black. Don't even begin to talk to me about profiling.
Not too long ago I read an article by a black mother who talked about her fear every time her son went out, her cautions to him to be polite, respectful, etc. When a policeman shot a man in the back (see, there've been so many incidents I can't remember where this one was), I wished the man hadn't bolted when he got out of his car. He was wrong. Apparently he had something fairly minor against him--traffic violations or failure to pay child support. But is there no other way than to shoot him in the back and kill him?
I know that crime is high in black communities, and I can understand police frustration. I know they feel their lives are on the line every time they go on duty. But to break a man's back? It sickens me. Or to shoot a man because you mistook your gun for your taser. There's probably too much overuse of tasers anyway, but that's not a subject I'm qualified to speak on.
I do feel capable of asking if law enforcement attracts people with hidden anger that they are waiting to take out. What's outrageous and scary is that this is not a localized problem--it's happening in cities far and wide. So I don't know what the solution is. Except police forces have to work together, to screen candidates, to train them better, to train them to reach out to their communities and avoid the obvious antagonism that existed (and still does) in Ferguson and other communities. God help us, if we become a nation terrorized by those who are supposed to keep us safe.
I'm like Jordan--every policeman I've ever met, including those who came when I mistakenly set off my health alarm, have been unfailingly kind, helpful and friendly. No, they didn't offer me a Cadillac or a Mercedes. But then, I'm not a black male.

A day far from the madding crowd

Wow! I doubt any of us realize how the world tugs us in this direction and that until we spend a day at home working--which is what I did today. Yes, I skipped church, but I talked to the Lord about it and I'm sure he understood. My only human contact today came when I look out the front window on the way from kitchen to office and saw a strange figure in my front bushes. Turned out to be Susan from next door in ball cap and long-sleeved denim shirt. I threw open the door to yell, "Who is that in my bushes?" Foolish move--Sophie darted out the door. Only she just went next door to say hello to their dogs, Rio and Pearl, and Susan soon corralled her and brought her home. Jay leaned against my porch railing, taking it all in and not at all perturbed. I scolded Sophie, put her in the house, and talked trees and bushes with them for a few minutes.
Started the day as always by going to get the newspaper, reading email and Facebook. I meant to get right to the chili manuscript I was proofing first thing but, as too often happens, Facebook distracted me. I watched clips from President Obama's comments to the White House Correspondents Dinner last night and finally succumbed and watched the whole twenty-two minutes. Whether you love him, like him, are indifferent or intensely dislike him (notice I avoided the word hate--we teach my grandchildren not to use it, and I think it's a good rule for adults), you have to admit he has a great sense of comedic pacing--and he doesn't mind in the least skewering his opponents.
My accomplishments for the day--finished adding many references, etc., to the chili manuscript plus notes to the editor and sent it off; sent off a guest blog; drafted a newsletter. Oh, running the dishwasher and doing a load of laundry--now, dishwasher is not emptied, laundry is not folded. There's always tomorrow.
Rewarded myself with sautéed scallops (I can never get the nice sear on them without turning them tough--these were just right but not brown), a fresh ear of corn, and pea mash--something I've recently discovered to my great joy.
At nine-thirty I'm sitting here with the TV on mute (some awfully bloody program from Biblical times appears to be on), hoping to look up at the right minute to catch the weather radar reports. Tremendous storms to the west and southwest of us. As is often true, anticipation may be worse than reality--but one storm has rotation in it, and we've had some doozies lately. I'm really glad Jacob is home in his own bed--or probably bedded down in his parents closet.
A satisfying day. Hope yours was too, and the world didn't tug you in too many directions.

Gourmet-or gourmand

I'm not sure there's a huge difference between the two words but an editor once worked for me who insisted that gourmand had overtones of gluttony. I looked it up and found it was simply one who enjoyed good food. So tonight I would call myself a gourmand. I had diner at Paco & John's with good friends Carol and Lon.
Paco & John's has been around a while, in a converted gas station. I had lunch there once, and since it was essentially Mexican/South American, everything had too many peppers in it for me. But I began to hear that on weekends they served two menus--same foods, but either French or Mexican versions. I wanted to go for some time. Then we heard that they were closing, and tonight would be the last night--tentative plans to re-open at another location might be announced later. So off we went.
I started with a smoked salmon appetizer, something dear to my heart. Lon and Carol split the mahi-mahi Mexican style, and Lon and I split the mussels French style with a wonderful cream and garlic sauce. So good, especially with bread to dip in the sauce. It was one of those cases where I shouldn't have split, because I could have eaten the whole thing--and so could he. And then dessert--chocolate mousse, while Carol ordered key lime pie and Lon got more than a few bites. Fun evening--since Lon is a former state representative and still much a public figure, there was much talk of politics, education, and the like. Enjoyed the evening thoroughly, although poor Carol, sitting between us, said she had to translate all evening. It was noisy enough in the restaurant that even though I turned my hearing aids to restaurant setting, I couldn't hear everything; neither could Lon though he hasn't yet admitted he has a hearing problem. Good friends, good food, and a great evening.
Earlier this afternoon I suffered from a great case of inertia. I took a late nap, woke about 4:45, and just didn't want to move. You know the feeling? So comfortable, sort of dozing but definitely awake, nice thoughts going through your mind. I think I could have stayed there all evening except I knew I had household chores to do and anticipated dinner plans.
Tomorrow although Sunday is a work day. Got to finish proofing the chili book galleys.
Happy Saturday everyone.

Storms--again

Jacob in his parents' closet
He is generally afraid of storms but there
must be something about being home

The world around me has that lovely, almost preternatural dark quiet about it that comes after a ferocious storm. The trees are leafy, very green, and very still. The schoolyard across the street boasts small lakes. As the sun sets, there's a pink glow to the sky. Lovely time of lovely day--though it is a bit chilly. We had planned a leisurely dinner of BBQ on the deck--didn't quite work out that way. Jordan was a) tired, and b) anxious to get home before the storm. So we gobbled our BBQ at 5:30 (virtually kicking Jay out the door), and by 6:10 she had cleaned the kitchen and they were gone. They barely made it home before it hit--they were more in the direct path than I was--and reported time spent in the closet.
Here, the sky got that ominous color (no, not the green or a tornado--kind of a dark gray-blue), and then came the wind and rain. I think I heard winds of 70 mph--I stood in the front door and watched wind blowing the rain until it danced down the street, fierce gusts propelling little rivulets. I love the power of a good storm--fascinates me. As I may have mentioned, my brother tells me our mother taught us to love storms--so glad she did that instead of frightening us with them. Again, I was lucky--no power outage, no tree damage, just the pure excitement of watching the storm roll through. It was the first time I thought Sophie was a little nervous, for she stayed at my heels. I soothed her with sweet talk, and she went to sleep by my desk.
Just before the storm I had sent all four children and their spouses copies of the proposed cover of my chili book, due out this fall. I loved it and sat back waiting for them to respond. Instead I got a bunch of emails that essentially said, "Why aren't you in a closet?" Big disappointment. When the editor says it's okay, I'll share the cover here.
Meantime, it's a wet, wonderful world, and I am grateful. The contractor who keeps my house together was here this morning and is not so grateful. Asked how he was, he said, "Fine, except for the rain." I launched into the usual, "Oh, but we need the rain. We're grateful for it." "Not when you have the roof off a house," he replied.
Funny, we each see the world from our own perspective.
 

How's your energy level, Grandma?

This is a post for my colleagues--those beleaguered grandparents across the nation. Yesterday afternoon, eight-year-old Jacob and his classmates finished two days of the SPAAR tests. Jordan left work early to get them at school and bring five little boys here for treats. You could almost reach out and touch the energy in that room as they ate, drank bottled water, joked, screamed, laughed. Jacob got so excited he choked on who knows what. Jordan took it all in stride, laughing with them, joking, encouraging them to remember manners. There were all good boys--I've known them for four years now or most of them, and they're generally polite and well behaved. But they were on an energy high.
I stood in the doorway and watched them, admiring my daughter's patience. Okay, I raised four children, all close in age--been there, done that. But now, I don't know I have the energy or patience for it. Jordan loaded them all into her car and took them to Central Market where there's a wonderful playground, and the moms can sit and order wine. She reported they had a blast. I took a nap after they left, before I went out to dinner.
The night before I took Jacob to a happy hour. The group that regularly dines at the Old Neighborhood Grill had been invited to one couple's new condo for wine before dinner. It just so happens that Jacob really really likes the guy with the new condo, so he was excited about going, cancelled baseball for himself, and brought his favorite new shirt to wear. He was charming during the happy hour and afterward at the Grill--talkative but not too much, fairly informed on what he was talking about--school testing, etc. Quiet, well-behaved, the perfect gentleman.
I on the other hand was out of sorts--long story--but when we got home, all of Jacob's pent-up energy burst loose. He sang, he shouted, he danced, all while he was supposed to be doing a bit of homework and getting ready for bed early. His joy was not a good combination with my irritability--I didn't have the energy for patience. But we got it together, and he went to bed at nine. Earlier than I can ever get him down. Then at 9:20 he was back--the neighbors' party was keeping him awake. So he danced around, doing silly imitations of the people at the party. By then, he made me laugh. Finally both the party and the child quieted down, and when I went to bed he was sound asleep.
This afternoon I mentioned to Jordan that I was tired--I had been to physical therapy, which tires not only your muscles but your brain and emotions as it challenges you to ever more difficult tasks. That was close to an hour and a half. Then I did a huge grocery shopping--we had apparently run out of every cleaning product we use--and I hauled it all in and unpacked it. And you know what my daughter said when I mentioned I was tired? "We have to work on getting your energy level up."
So, come on grandparents, speak up! How's your energy with grandkids under ten? Not what it was forty years ago when you were raising their parents? I'm sort of proud at my energy level at my age, and I took offense. I think I'm doing pretty darn good. How about you?

Recipes & remedies

Recipes & Remedies                   

Please welcome my Wednesday guest, Connie Spittler. Her writing is found in twenty anthologies next to the words of The Dalai Lama, Deepak Chopra, Desmond Tutu and Barbara Kingsolver. She’s written two award-winning nature books, a previous novel, a creative nonfiction book, and The Wise Women Video Series, archived in Harvard University’s Library on the History of Women in America. A graduate of Creighton University, she lives with her husband in Omaha, NE, next to a secret pond visited by mink, fox, a Great Blue Heron and other lurking wildlife.  

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Like colorful, connective threads, the power of recipes and remedies tie a family together. As a grade schooler, I remember picking radishes from our garden and thickly slicing them for a bread and butter sandwich. The most important part of the recipe was sitting on the back steps savoring the buttery crunch experience as the sun went down. This recipe, including back steps and sundown was passed on to my own kids.

I’ve heard of family members who go to great lengths to keep their food traditions alive, like the Mexican/American women who crossed the border with sprigs of moistly-wrapped herbs tucked in their bras. Plucked from relatives’ back yards, the bits of green were rooted and planted in their U. S. garden plots. My apologies to the USDA and rules prohibiting such smuggling. The sentiment that appeals to me is the importance of keeping heirloom ingredients intact for family recipes and remedies.

In The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies, my cozy mystery, the recipes and remedies belong

to Aggie, one of the club members. She’s an old gypsy turned herb and vegetable farmer who stirs up boiled parsnips with rosemary butter, oxtail stew, nut pudding, and a headache-curing tea of ginger, honey, lemon and cayenne. Her mixtures come from her own family recipe book, handed down from European ancestors. The scent of dill, the bitterness of yarrow, garnishes of dandelion greens and chive blossoms flavor the pages as she cures and cooks for book club members. Perhaps her most unusual recipe is for an aphrodisiac tea, an elixir composed of five herbs, one of which is imaginary. I didn’t want to be responsible for any bizarre reader reactions, in case an exact recipe was included and worked.

Aggie is one of three (it’s a small town) book club members. There’s middle-aged Lily, the fired and lonely librarian; and Piper, the young beauty shop owner, who’s fearful after finding a lump in her breast. Since they’re nice ladies, their erotica selections begin with Emily Dickinson’s Wild Nights! Wild Nights! But meetings are often cut short because of crime and a murder or two as the women become entangled in a search for a stolen ancient book of herbal cures.  

Called “a fantastical romantic mystery of friendship, science, sex and literature” by Sallly Deskins, editor of Les Femmes Folles, the release date for The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies is May 1, 2015. It’s available for pre-order on Amazon, print or eBook. http://www.Amazon.com/dp/0991409361

Susan Wittig Albert, author of Bittersweet, the newest China Bale mystery, described the book as “an intriguing, herb-seasoned page-turner” while Margaret Lukas, author of Farthest House found elements reminiscent of Alice Walker’s magic realism.

For more book info: www.conniespittler.com 

 

Outhouses and other inconveniences

The other night when it stormed, I blogged about our family cabin in the Indiana Dunes and how I loved to watch storms roll down the lake and how I treasure the memory of summer times at that cabin. The outhouse was a memory I don't treasure so much. The cabin fronted, high on a dune, to the lake, but out the back windows was woods--lovely, Midwestern woods with lots of undergrowth and tall trees--dark and beautiful during the day but scary at night.
The outhouse was maybe a quarter of a block down the path into the woods--it seemed like a mile. I hated having to go down there in the middle of the night. You never knew what would jump out of the woods at you or what you'd step on or if there was a spider on the seat. Flashlights, always kept at the ready, were minimal help. I was well grown before I stopped making my mom go with me.
Last night I had sort of the same experience. The only working toilet was the one in the guest house. I wakened at three or so and knew I needed to go to the bathroom. Lay there fighting it and considering my alternatives until four. Then in a burst of--I don't know what--I jumped out of bed, grabbed a flashlight and cane, the key to the apartment and my cell phone (I was a Girl Scout--Be Prepared) and went out there as fast as I dared. Came in and slept soundly, congratulating myself on my bravery. I'm not a particularly brave person--in fact, I'd say I scare easily. My balance is bad and gets worse after dark, so this was an especially courageous move for me--or not. Necessity is necessity.
Today the toilets are fixed--well, they were, until Jacob demonstrated accidentally that the tank in the small half bath off my office didn't fill and he couldn't make it flush. Another day with the plumber tomorrow.
I'm in a patch of self-doubt, anxiety, whatever--and one thing I know is I should keep congratulating myself on the things I do instead of dwelling on what goes wrong. The other day I had a difficult time driving to physical therapy, although once I got there I was fine. I have overcome my driving woes--or thought I had. So when I headed home, I considered longer routes but "safer" ones. Then I told myself if I did that once, I'd never go the direct route again, and I can't let anxiety rule my life. I drove fairly calmly, but oh my, was I glad to be home. The dark of the night trip to the apartment falls into that same category. I know my stride is better and my muscles stronger--so why hasn't my self confidence kept pace?
Tonight I went with friends for happy hour at some other friends' new condominium, and I was so awkward about going up the tiny steps or the grassy slope that I made Jacob hold my hand and he complained I was holding too tight. Really miserable. But I enjoyed the camaraderie, and once I was back on familiar territory--the restaurant where we dine every Tuesday--I was just fine.
Another thing I'm trying to tell myself is not to worry about going to physical therapy Thursday. Don't bring that anxiety up here and let it build. Tomorrow? I wait for the plumber, go to the grocery, fetch three little boys from school, and have dinner with Betty. Oh, and there's that next-to-final proof of a manuscript to read. I don't have time for anxiety.