Jamie's girls--wife, Mel, daughters Eden and Maddie

 An almost-everything day

January 5, 2017

If yesterday was a nothing day, today was an almost everything day. About three this afternoon I looked at son Jamie who was here for the day and said, “I am a completely content person.” And I was. I enjoyed having him in the cottage even if he was making business calls some of the time. We talked of weighty matters while he installed two security cameras—they’re really cool. Activated by motion, they record picture and sound and show up on the cell phone of each of my four children.

Jamie brought me a late Christmas gift from his youngest daughter, Eden, almost fourteen. A desk organizer (Lord knows I need organizing) with a picture of Eden and her big sister, so now I get to look at those two

Jamie also fixed my fancy new Sleep Numbers bed and I had a nap on it--it was great, and I think it will help my extremely sore right shoulder.

Jordan and Jacob were also around much of the day, so the cottage as a busy place and I enjoy that. Somehow they inspired me, and I got more done than I have in a week recently. Figured out which books I still have to post in digital form. I have work to do—six books to post. Finally did a permanent chart so I can keep track of my digital books. And I started reading the manuscript I plan to finish next.

Tonight Kathie, Carol, Subie and I had our late Christmas dinner—very festive dinner at one of the more upscale restaurants in town. Wonderful to be out (yes, I don’t get out much lately), festive, in good company. A delicious meal, though I liked everything but my entrée—schnitzel (I think I was reading schnitzel and thinking spaetzle). Came with sautéed cabbage and apples—outstanding—and I had a mint-chocolate tartlet for dessert. Plus, splurge, a glass of wine. Now I’m unbearable sleepy.

I will crawl into my Sleep Number bed and dream sweet dreams. You do so, too.

+-

Nothing much

January 4, 2017

I certainly hope today isn’t a glimpse of the year to come: it’s a nothing day, and tonight I’m unbearably sleepy, can’t stop yawning.

Went to the podiatrist and shivered in the cold. We Texans are funny—we waste more time worrying about a predicted cold spell than we spend taking precautions. So I huddled at my desk today, with a shawl around my shoulders and a lap blanket—and the cold is due tomorrow!. The a/c man came to show me how to use the remote that controls the temperature in the house-really very simple, but not knowing we’d been blindly punching buttons. Christian pointed out last night that it would work better if the battery were securely in place. But tonight it feels cool again.

The TV is doing something funny—the six o’clock Ch. 5 news came on at seven. Before that the news showed the time a full hour earlier than it was. Now it’s only 45 minutes off. Most confusing, and I’m glad I don’t have to be anywhere early in the morning. It’s as though Standard Time got mixed up and tried to become Daylight Savings Time again. It may have something to do with trying to record a program which, if I did, I did it “on accident” as the kids used to say.

Got my second wind and got some work done. One of my goals this spring is to revive interest in my mysteries and make sure they are all available as e-books. Stuck my toe into those waters today.

Sometimes when I can’t go right to sleep I plot a mystery and I end up writing the most fantastic books. Of course, they fade to nothing in the daylight. Sleep tight my friends, and may your dreams be as much fun as mine.

Legend, a collaborative novel—and a bit of BSP

BSP? Blatant self-promotion.

Over a long ride as a western writer (that’s so bad it’s almost a pun so I’ll stick with it) I’ve ridden with some notable authors. The late Elmer Kelton will forever be my hero, the epitome of what a western writer can and should be. His titles, awards and honors are too numerous to mention, but if you’re not familiar with his novels, start with The Good Old Boys (a made-for-TV movie directed by and starring Tommy Lee Jones). As well as a revered author and staple at TCU Press, Elmer and his wife, Ann, were good friends.

During the’90s, I was invited to participate in several anthologies and collaborative novels (several authors unite to tell one story). Not once, but twice Elmer wrote the first chapter of a novel, and I followed with the second chapter. You don’t know intimidation unless you lived in my skin during the writing of those chapters. Elmer himself was the gentlest of critics, masking his rare criticism in irony; I was much harsher a self-critic.

The second novel, Noah’s Ride, was about an escaping slave during the Civil War. Ye gods! Not only did I have to follow Elmer, but I had to write from a masculine point of view, a masculine African-American slave. Nothing could be farther from my experience and knowledge. But I muddled through.

But in the first of those two novels, I gave in to my hesitation to write masculine point of view and wrote the only chapter in the book told from a woman’s point of view. Legend recounts the life of Lyle Sparks from hardscrabble boyhood in Texas to later years as an aging cattle rancher n Montana, years in which his colorful past may come back to haunt him. From one end of the West to the other, Lyle Sparks, bounty hunter, was feared and respected. Now he wants to set the record straight.

Chapter Two tells of the episode of Melanie Beaufort early in his life. Melanie is a proper young southern lady from Jackson, Mississippi, visiting her sister, who is enceinte, and her pretentious brother-in-law, a banker in the raw frontier town of Fort Worth. You can see this coming—Sparks and Melanie fall madly in love, and she is determined to take him home to meet her parents. He reluctantly agrees. But Melanie’s sister lies to her about her mother’s health, and the girl loses her nerve and returns alone to Mississippi. Now disillusioned about love (and having lost his entire family to an Indian raid), Sparks rides on alone.

Yes, it’s riddled with clichés, but there’s some fine writing in this novel from great names of the western – Loren Estleman, James Reasoner, Jane Candia Coleman, Ed Gorman, and Robert J. Randisi. (The Amazon blurb says “legendary” authors but modesty forbids….)

Until January 31, Legend is available as a Kindle e-book from Amazon for one dollar. western fans will find themes and authors they cherish; newcomers can explore the western genre and read new authors. Who knows? We may get a whole new generation of western fans. Find Legend on sale at https://www.amazon.com/b?node=14435394011.

June in January?

An absolutely perfect day. Mid-afternoon, and I’m at my desk with the French doors wide open. Sophie wanders in and out but mostly suns herself on the patio. Even the squirrels are quiet though Sophie did rouse to give half-hearted chase a few minutes ago. Tomorrow the temperature heads downhill, reaching bitter cold late in the week.

I had the sweetest caretaker last night on the 11-7 shift. Through a series of misunderstandings, Jordan took the duty, sleeping on the couch. Unfortunately, it wasn’t my best night—up three times in rapid succession early in the night. Towards morning I achieved a couple of blocks of solid sleeping time. When I felt like my body would be permanently stiff in one position, I called Jordan to please get me up. She did, made me tea, and parked me at my desk while she went back to bed. It’s wonderful to have someone you love as caretaker—when they reach for you, you can feel the love in their arms.

She is also the daytime caretaker today, so she’s working in the family room of the house, directly across the small bit of yard from the window at my desk. We wave at each other. Although the kids have made it a firm rule I not be left alone, it’s okay to leave me like that, with Jordan two steps away. I’m impressed enough by all this business, I won’t do anything foolish, like transferring from wheelchair to bed or potty chair without someone around to “spot” me. I laugh in retrospect at how resistant I’ve been every step of the way: when the surgeon asked me if I was interested in quitting drinking, I assured him I was not (I have since done it); when Colin bought a potty chair for my bedroom, I assured him I would not use it and I didn’t want the smelly thing in my bedroom. It’s been a godsend. Late in life lesson in following the rules.

Don’t you love it when you get hooked on a book and can’t wait to get back to it each time life forces you to set it down? That’s how I’ve been today with The Queen’s Accomplice. I have a friend, also a mystery writer, who says what I call for reading for pleasure is really work—we sharpen and hone our style, sense of plot and character and crafts when we read works by others. I’m fully prepared to use that rationale in this case, although I had promised myself I’d finish this before moving on to the next project.

I’m not much intrigued by thrillers, and the element of possible danger is strong in this, as is the gruesome side with the Jack the Ripper murders. But the WWII setting is so true, the characters so real that I am turning pages as rapidly as I can read. I felt my mention last night was a half-hearted endorsement and I didn’t mean it to be. This is one good book in a really good series.

Black-eyed peas and ham

If the way you spend New Year’s Day predicts anything about the coming year, I should have a good year—I spent the day mostly reading. I am a devotee of Sara Elias MacNeal’s WWII series about SOE agent Maggie Hope. The new one, The Queen’s Accomplice, has turned a little graphic and brutal about Nazi practices—don’t know if I’ll make it or not. The plot also focuses on a Jack-the-Ripper imitator who is terrorizing London. Strong stuff, but the war story behind these novels and their expose of the role of women and their treatment intrigues me—all these years later we’re still fighting the equal pay battle. Other than that I occupied myself, not happily, trying to get to files buried deep in my computer.

If New Year’s Day does have significance, I’m not sure what kind of year my brother is in for—he and Cindy spent the morning fighting feral hogs.

We had our requisite ham and black-eyed peas for supper. Christian requested plain ham and peas so there went all the inventive, one-dish meals I could have made. Jordan and I added corn and mashed potatoes to the menu—I love to mix corn and peas into my potatoes (thanks to Melanie McKay Alter for teaching me that southern trick). I am itching to be back in the kitchen these days but when it comes right down to it, I realize cooking from a wheelchair is difficult unless you have a custom kitchen. When we planned this kitchen, we had no idea I’d be in a wheelchair, nor do I plan to be in it forever. But I am once again clipping recipes like there was no tomorrow.

Jacob is with his other grandparents until Tuesday. He doesn’t go back to school until the 9^th or 10^th. So for one more day we’ll be on semi-vacation, not that it makes that much difference to me in daily life. But I miss knowing he’s around. He’s been so sweet lately about coming to the cottage to give me a hug.

As my surgery date draws closer, I feel like I’m living in suspended animation. We are at the point where we say “After the surgery” about a lot that needs to be done. I pray for strength to remain calm and strong as the day approaches. People praise me these days for the progress I’ve made—Colin in particular says I’m so much stronger, healthier looking, etc. Such words are unbelievable encouragement to me.

So what did you do today, and how would you like to spend the year doing it?

And another year begins .

            As I wrote those words, I wondered how the world will reflect on them in 2037. There’s been much moaning and groaning about what a bad year 2016 has been—for celebrities, for our country with the bitter divisiveness and what I at least see as an unsatisfactory and scary outcome, and for me personal—one shattered and one broken hip, lactose intolerance, etc. Briefly putting aside the good things that happened (moving into my cottage, a Chicago visit with my kids, etc.) I admit 2016 didn’t seem to lay the groundwork for a bountiful and joyous 2017. Most predictions are that it’s going to be worse, a year that requires all our strength and courage and faith, and I admit it may well be. But despite some naysayers, I don’t think the world will fall apart nor will our country. There will be bright moments and happy spots, and circumstances may conspire in ways we’ve not even imagined to make it a happy new year.

It’s been years since I wanted to spend New Year’s Eve at a fancy restaurant or huge, noisy party, and I never had the slightest urge to spend it in Times Square waiting for the ball to drop. But I do believe the fantasy that how you spend the evening of December 31 sets the tone for the coming year. With that in mind I invited a few close friends—six couples to be exact—to come by on their way wherever they are going and help me welcome 2017 to the cottage (all but one couple came—and they were out of town). Most were spending a quiet evening at home and liked the social break.

I intended to serve drinks and no more, but Jordan got hold of it and suddenly my “party” was the focus of her Saturday planning. She served meatballs, hummus, and the artichoke/spinach dip I asked Christian to get at Costco.

At six tonight, the cottage was filled with laughter and loud voices, and I said to one guest that was exactly what I wanted-it will be a happy, joy-filled year. Oh I’m not guaranteeing it, nor am I saying that hard times won’t come. I think I’m hedging my bets and trying to ensure that there will be good times if we all stick together.

Another neat note for New Year’s Eve—at the invitation of my good friends Betty and Don Boles, Jordan and Christian took Jacob and his pal Collin to the Stockyards to watch the herd today and then have lunch at the Star. Jacob loves to go to their restaurant, the Star, and reports they had a really good time. And a good grilled cheese.

Now the Burtons have gone to a local party, and I am at my desk. But that’s how I want my new year too—early fun and a quiet period before bed. I’m off to put the finishing touch on my evening—read a good book.

May your new year be filled with the blessings you wish for, with love and friends and fellowship. And may our country prosper and recover its moral ground and strength.

Home again!

An exhausted Grace

Home again, after a week. Jordan and I left a trail of sleeping kids and dogs behind us. I waken frequently during the night, and Colin got up with me but last night I was sound asleep—his chance to get a good rest—and everyone else in the household woke up. Some puffy eyes and tired faces over donuts this morning. I’m sure everyone was a bit disgusted that I felt chipper and fine.

Jacob and Sophie in a sleep tangle

in the car

Kegan and Morgan

We left Tomball about 10:15 and by 11:30 were pulling into Gayla’s driveway in College Station. The original plan was for a quick hug, quicker use if the facilities, and back on the road. She greeted us in the driveway with Sir Uno, a 75-lb. Alaskan husky and a really sweet dog—but energetic. Jordan got out of the car and Uno greeted her with friendly paws on her chest. It’s somewhat of a procedure to get me in and out of the car and going through that to be welcomed by an energetic, enthusiastic dog didn’t appeal. I elected to stay in the car for a driveway visit and hug. And of course we visited longer than we intended as one topic led to another. Sophie, meanwhile, was having fits in the back seat—she wanted to get out and play with that dog.

Uno is the second dog I have found for Gayla. Over ten years ago, when she decided she wanted a dog (collie preferred) I told her about one in Fort Worth that needed a home. She asked me to “interview” the dog. I’m a dog lover, as you know, but how do you interview? I took a friend and we muddled through. The dog had been shaved for summer (never do that to the long-haired breeds) but later turned out to be a mahogany tri-color with a magnificent, luxurious coat. Gayla called her Eppy, after her own maiden name of Epperson. Eppy died a few years ago, but by then Gayla had Jake, a mix who looked like he had a lot of collie, even if he didn’t. When he too died, Gayla challenged me to find her another dog. I came up with Uno, who lived only blocks from me. His family had an infant who was just beginning to crawl and wore one of those protective white skull-caps or whatever. Uno growled—I still think the strange creature crawling toward the dog scared him, but the growl got him whisked out of that house. Gayla came to get him and take him home to her acreage. Uno has been living the good life ever since. Now Gayla says Uno desperately needs a pal . . . . I assured her I’ll be on the lookout.

Gayla sent us on our way with a container of delicious, homemade vegetable soup, and we were home by 2:30. Good time, Jordan!

No matter how long or short the trip, I come home to a strong urge to organize. I kept up with email while away (worked at my temporary desk every day), but when I got home I was convinced I needed to dig right into the accumulated mail, and I found some treasures—a newsy letter from an old boss, a certification of insurance from a company I never heard of (is that some new kind of a scan?), and a personal Christmas card from the Ted Cruz family. I know, you think it was a political ploy of some kind. But it opened with, “We are big fans. We love Judy’s Stew.” I showed Jordan the card and asked if she knew who they are. “Do they go to our church?” she asked.

Mr. Cruz thanked me for my continuing support. I deny ever having supported him but he doesn’t look nearly as bad to me now as he did a year ago. And if he has such good taste in blogs . ….

My Tomball coffee cup

Lisa fixed my tea in this each morning

I am plotting revenge

The magic of a sunset

Far too early in the afternoon, the shadows begin to fall long across the lake at Camp Tomball, and the light takes on a rosy glow. The house directly across the lake, a modest structure that could probably use some siffing up and one of only four houses, takes on a romantic rosy glow. We are reminded that sunset is early; it’s winter, and we aren’t in for a long summer evening, making s’mores over a fire pit until midnight. Tonight the air will turn a bit chilly, and I bet we’re all tucked in not too long after ten.

The three kids have done country kids things today. This morning they disappeared, but sent back an occasional runner. Once was probably to ask for breakfast, because pretty soon Lisa put a huge platter of waffles out with a bowl of strawberries and some syrup. I quietly drank my protein drink.

The next runner who came back announced Jacob had a splinter in his foot. Why was he barefoot in December where he could get a splinter? Don’t ask. Lisa set off with oil, a needle and a Band-Aid and soon was back, reporting success. They all went bowling about three this afternoon.

Just while I sat here, the sky turned more blue, with one great white cloud and soft fluffy light pink clouds at the skyline. Sunsets are fascinating—different every night.

When I was a kid, we had a cabin at the Indiana Dunes State Park. Our cabin was at the top of a huge Dune (I always thought of it as the third floor, maybe because we reached it by two long flights of stairs from the beach), The sun set to the northwest of us, across the water of Lake Michigan, to end many nights as a huge flaming ball outlining what appeared to be the miniscule skyscrapers of Chicago. My dad would go to his favorite spot on the “second floor landing” and take pictures of the sunset. Our dog, a wonderful female collie mix named Timmy, followed him and so sometimes did I.

When Daddy died he had literally thousands of slides (this was the ‘50s) of sunsets. I cried as I threw them away, but I’ve never forgotten those dramatic sunsets. and I can see Dad with his camera, calling out, “Look at this, look at this!”

Shiver me timbers, bite my tongue, and whatever. The outside temperature is 52, and everyone is by the fire pit making s'mores. We ended the day with a post-sunset mishap--Colin was outside for something and found Morgan on the ground, whimpering. She'd fallen off the trampoline, and the boys, not realizing she was hurt, had gone off and left her. Damage amounts to a few bumps and bruises and a bad scrape on one leg. She'll soon recover, and we would have quickly missed her if Colin hadn't found her. It could have been a lot worse.Hazards of being a country child.
It dawns on me I refer to these kids as country cousins, yet they live  in a small city and probably feel as much urban dwellers as they were in Kingwood or Sugar Land. But here the house is on acreage,, with the lake, swimming pool, barn and arena. Sure feels like country to this city kid.

A typical day at Camp Tomball

Seventy, sunny by mid-day, a perfect December day in Texas.

My own personal anti-Donald note

A friend posted on Facebook today 2016 seems determined to crush him under its heel. He’s sick, and the news about Carrie Fisher’s death was the final straw. In response someone suggested that he should be first and consider it a challenge—then he should crush 2017 under his heel. It seemed to me a clear expression of Trump-authorized hate and confrontation. Why must the first thought be one of violence and retribution?

I wrote suggesting instead that he make 2017 his best year yet and work hard to make it a best year for those around him. It seemed a good opportunity to counter Trump’s world of hate. It is always suggested that we counter hate with individual acts of kindness and love, and I worry about how we’ll get around enough to counter all that hate. This was one small step.

There were incidents, ranging from melees to lockdowns, at malls in Fort Worth and Denver last night, and a Denver-area friend worries that “the Troubles” are just beginning. I worry a lot about that too but I have a hard time believing we’ll sink so low after being the greatest nation on earth,

I’ll take almost any chance I get these days to preach the importance of love, of acts of kindness. I will quote clergy, Bible, hymns, because the supremacy of love is that important to me. Look ar=around you-who are the happiest people you know?

Have you had a chance for an anti-hate moment lately?