Judy Alter's Blog, page 305

The suggestion of sickness--or, how are you feeling?

My dad had an assistant (he called her his secretary/receptionist but that was in the old days) who would say to him, “Are you feeling all right, Dr. MacBain? You look a little peaked.” By the time he got home, he was a sick man, anxiously asking my mother how he looked and saying he wasn’t sure he felt good. He came from a family that thrived on illness. As a newlywed, my mom dutifully wrote her mother-in-law and once mentioned that Dad had a slight cold. Immediately his mother and sister were on the phone, worried to pieces about him. Even he could see the folly: “Do not ever mention illness to them,” he told Mom.

Yesterday I woke with some sort of stomach bug, whether a real bug or something I ate or what I don’t know, but I was in and out of the bathroom from five until ten in the morning, and then I was wiped out. By one, I was back in bed for a nap. But always my mother’s daughter, I soldiered on, made potato soup for eight people, and hosted a Twelfth Night party (see http://potluckwithjudy.com) Thought I felt okay if not great. My neighbor and I were in the kitchen when he asked “How was your day?” I confessed it was so-so, that I hadn’t felt well, and he said, “I can tell. You’re not your usual bubbly self.” Right then, I turned the wrong corner and began to wonder—if it was so obvious, maybe I didn’t feel as okay as I thought. Later in the evening, Jordan asked, “How are you feeling?” and Jay said, “She’s fading fast.” They all did the dishes and left with admonishments to go right to bed.
I would have told you it was midnight when they left, but in truth it was eight o’clock. I couldn’t have written or read a word if I wanted to, so I was in bed a little before nine. Slept, not soundly, for ten hours and feel better this morning but a little rocky still. More soup for lunch. Still, with Jacob’s help, I’ve gotten Christmas down and mostly put away and some computer work done.
So, was it really a bug or the power of suggestion or a bit of both? I don’t know, but I won’t say to someone, “Are you feeling alright? You don’t look well.”

Charging ahead

A book is the greatest gift you can give a childI seem to have rushed headlong into 2013 without a backward glance. It's only January 5, and I have a deskload of projects and am feeling the pressure of work--started a new novel and want to do something on it every day, a book to review, blogs to write, Facebook to keep up with as well as I can, and an edited collection of my blogs to work on for possible publication with a small press--their request. Trouble is I set my own goals and deadlines, and then have trouble convincing myself that the pressure I feel is self-generated, and the world won't end--nor will my career--if I don't make those deadlines. I think it's part of being a compulsive personality--I've never really learned to piddle well.
The novel is waking me up at five in the morning, my mind full of plot ideas. This morning I almost go up at six, but I really resent getting up before seven. When I got up though, I wrote down key words so I'd remember all those ideas. I now have enough to write way more than my daily thousand-word quota--but when will I find the time?
This morning was taken up by the mundane--empty the dishwasher, take out the garbage, water the plants, grocery store, dollar store (doesn't everyone have to have new hangers for the closet?), and do my yoga--first time in a week, and I could tell I was stretching muscles that had been stressed and not stretched. I've had a lot of company this week--last batch tomorrow--which means I've been on my feet and my low back hurts. Yoga was almost painful but I trust helpful.
Reading back blogs has been interesting--I find that I didn't used to feel obliged to post on my blog every night, and I may go back to that. My new plan is to post in the mornings, along with doing all other busy work such as yoga. But I'm trying to pull out the blogs that have to do with writing and collect them for a book on a writer's journey--haven't asked the publisher about this, but I shall in due time. My brother wants me to pull out all the blogs about family, and I think what discouraged me on the project was trying to do both at once. So yesterday I started with just culling posts or excerpts from posts that had to do with writing, and I got through about six months. But I have a long way to go--I've been blogging since July 2006.
On a sad note, my oldest son, Colin, and his family had to put their dog down today--a wonderful "island dog" they got as a puppy fifteen years ago on Grand Cayman. He'd had a great life-a Lisa said, he'd lived in three countries and two states--but was painfully arthritic and a malignant tumor had recently been diagnosed. No matter how much you know it's the right decision, it's a hard one to make. And particulary hard on young children--they were showering the dog with love with this morning and giving him more Begging Strips than was probably wise. I like to think he's running on the beach now, just as my Scooby is herding sheep in some heavenly pasture. I've heard it said that when you die, all the dogs you've ever loved are waiting to greet you.
And on a frustrating note, Blogger has changed the way they insert pictures, and I can't add the picture that I wanted to this blog. I wish they would stop "improving" things.

Learning about myself

I think I have learned something about myself as a writer. It's about time, after almost forty years. But last night, when I bemoaned having written only one sentence for the day, I went on to reach about 1200 words for my day's total. Not record-breaking, but respectable, especially when I remember the beloved history prof who used to say “A page a day (250 words in the day when we used the Courier font) is a book a year.” No, 1200 words is respectable. But I wrote those when everyone was gone, and the house was quiet.

Today went by in what kind of flurry I don’t know. I spent almost two hours on the phone with various tech people, sorting out what was wrong with my printer—all the color prints came out yellow. After all that time and a lot of self-testing of the printer, I was told I need new color cartridges. Usually the printer warns you, “Magenta ink low,” and such. But it said nothing this time. So tomorrow I buy cartridges and await a follow-up call from Hewlett Packard. To be fair, both HP and Staples were courteous to a fault, and I was grateful for their help—it just seemed silly to come up with such a simple, obvious solution after all that folderol. The rest of the day was absorbed in fixing dinner for company tonight—Jacob’s friend Max and his grandparents plus Jacob’s parents—and in a pleasant lunch with a longtime colleague from TCU. And, yes, a nap. So I told myself when everyone left tonight, I would write. This would be my new schedule: at night, writing my thousand words would be my priority, above blogging, Facebook, reading, all of that.

But after the company left, Elizabeth wandered in and Jordan, who was about to tackle the dishes, wanted to sit, have another glass of wine, and visit. So the evening wore away, and then I found myself, as I so often do, in the kitchen doing dishes. Actually it’s never a chore—she had stacked them—and it doesn’t take long. But the goal of writing began to fade.

Still I came to my office about 8:45 and started to write—and pretty soon I had doubled that 1200 words. I know not all of it is golden, and I’ll re-read and wonder where my head was. But I’m getting words and ideas on paper. And to my mind it’s a pretty good start on January 3 for a new novel.

So maybe I’ll try a new routine: I’ll blog, take care of business—personal finances, marketing, etc.—during the day and write at night when the house is quiet. I’m not making resolutions this year, so I’m not putting this in that form. It’s just an experiment I want to try. We’ll see.

 

Life really gets in the way of writing

A lot of my fellow writers are knuckling down to work today, getting back to routines. It's the start of a new year, and time to get serious about that book. I wrote one sentence. That's right, one sentence (okay maybe I'll do two or three more tonight). Just to make it sound a little better, let me point out it's the first sentence in a new book...and that's always hard. And before I wrote it I had to go back to the previous book in the series and make a list of all the characters--because I was lazy and didn't do it the first time. Also had to look for quotes about hindsight, because that's how I want to open the book.
But I also had, at nine-thirty in the morning, a six-year-old who was watching a scary program on TV--I checked, it was Disney Channel--and decided he's like to watch it on my desk. Then, "Could you pull up naughty elves at home?" Pulled it up and found an extensive page of pictures, every one of which he wanted to study. His father told me he thinks his elf wasn't naughty enough, though there's one picture of an elf holding an electric razor and sitting next to a man with a bold swath of his head shaved. "My elf better not do that," Jacob said, "because then I'd touch him and he'd lose all his magic."
Jacob is with me during the day for three days because school hasn't started yet. It may be a long three days. At 10:30, he wanted lunch: I put him off until 11:15. At one, I delivered him to a neighbor's house to play and then that mom brought three little boys back here for snacks. While they played we had tea by the fireplace--kind of civilized, I thought. I still have the fire going, and every time I walk through the living room I feel a breath of warmth but unfortunately it doesn't reach to my office. But there went the day--Jordan stayed and we discussed family affairs until almost six, so there went the afternoon.
Tomorrow Jacob will leave at noon with a friend and the friend's grandfather for lunch and a trip to the Museum of Science and History, but I will spend the morning fixing dinner for all of them. May be another one-sentence day. Friday, grocery store, a probable trip to Grapevine for lunch (with Jacob), and dinner for a friend; Saturday, Jacob spends the night. Sunday is Twelfth Night, and we always throw a twig from the tree in the fire and make a wish--friends will join us, and I'll make a big pot of soup to use up yesterday's ham. Then, of course, I'll have to take down Christmas.
But next week, I'm going to write. Honest I am. I keep telling myself I'm a writer. I wonder how many other writers feel this way? Excuse me, but I'm going to write that second sentence now.

And so, the new year begins

New Year's night. The house is festive with twinkly lights (I won't take them down until after Twelfth Night) and a fire in the fireplace. We've eaten ham, black-eyed peas and spinach (my version of greens since I really don't do collards or turnip greens), so we should be the luckiest people ever next year--or this year now. We've listened to stories of being a meteorologist in WWII and Jacob's fanciful stories of his grandfather's narrow escape during that same war (he was far too young). We've shared wine and laughter and love. Now the house is quiet, and I, for one, am most content, ready for the new year (if we could only vaporize Eric Cantor). I look forward to 2013 though I know it will bring much more political turmoil, new threats of terrorists and probably violence on the home front, probably more violent weather. But I hope it will bring some small steps toward peace,     toward loving our fellow man and worshipping whatever God we choose, toward respecting individuals and their choice of lifestyle, toward living in a world the God I worship meant for us to have--no more fracking and global warming and abusing the earth that we've been loaned. So far, we aren't good caretakers.
Personally I am optiistic about the coming year--I have books to write, a grandson to do homework with and other grandchildren to love as often as I can, the promise of some family get-togethers and some trips that I look forward to. I need to start a list of the people I want to visit with, entertain in my home, share my life with--they are many, and time goes by so quickly that I think, "gosh, it's July and I never did get with so-and-so."
No resolutions for me, but I've heard an idea that I really like: take a large jar (I prefer glass and rejected a plastic one in the store the other day) and fill it with scraps of paper noting the good things that happen to you. Jean told me she has a jar I might use, and I asked, "Is it big enough? How many good things are going to happen?" Her answer was, "You've got a whole year." Yes, I do, and I intend to take full advantage of it. Watch my dust!
Every Christmas for the past six years, my oldest son has constructed a gingerbread house--no pattern. The planning comes out of his head. This year it was an elaborate castle with a drawbridge. And every year after Christmas--this year on New Year's Day--he uses fireworks to blow it up (safely, out in the country, with everyone way out of the way). At first I thought it a shame to blow up something he'd worked so hard on (his kids help decorate it) but now I think maybe it's a fitting way to say "Out with the old, in with the new. Goodby last year; hello, new year!"
And Colin, enjoy that pick-'em-up. Your Texas roots are showing:-)

The good kind of New Year's party

Jacob hosted a New Year's party this evening. Okay, it was his mom's idea, but she served six young children formally at the dining table--with my best china that I had given her. Confession: I did not mean her to serve six-to-eight year olds, and at least one mom was heard to say, "You're not serving my two-year-old on good china." But Jordan did it up proud, with carrot and celery stick appetizer in tiny glass cylinders on small plates; mac and cheese, hot dog bites in crescent rolls, and meatballs, plus chocolate pudding in flutes with the rims studded with multicolor shot. Jacob was very proud and told me he was the boss of the party. But he nearly pigged out on the chocolate/banana bread I was trying to slice beforehand--it did not slice well, and he picked up a huge piece and said, "This is a crumb. I'm so hungry!"
Normally I don't go to New Year's Eve parties--it's home in pjs for me. But tonight I really enjoyed myself. While the children ate, the adults gathered in small groups in the kitchen and noshed on a bunch of things from cheese and fruit to veggies and hummus, drunken meatballs, spanikopita, all kinds of good things.
I stayed just long enough--about an hour and a half. Had some wine, nibbled, talked with various of these young people all of whom I've known for years. They are so kind and welcoming, and I'm flattered to be included in their gatherings. When it was time for me to head home, I got warm hugs from them, and I came away thinking, "Now I want to visit longer with this one and that." I had a good chat with Christian's sister who is in graduate school and has moved her husband and two girls into student housing--she says, "We live in the dorm." But I am so proud of her. One of Jordan's friends married a history teacher--high school--this past year, and I so enjoy talking to him but we get distracted. A group of us had an intense conversation about first-grade homework--wow!
I was barely in the door at home when the phone rang--Jordan checking to be sure I got safely home. I took back roads and figured it was too early for drunks to be out. Many of the people at Jordan's will spend the night there rather than brave the roads.
So now Sophie and I are settled in for the night. I wish for each of you a healthy and happy 2013. I don't know that there's anything more important than that. For our fragile planet, I have so many wishes--peace, an end to global warming, an increased guardianship of what the earth gives us, an end to senseless gun massacres, an end to bigotry and hatred. That's a tall order but maybe in 2013 we can take more baby steps toward that. I do believe we grow a little better each year, not worse, and I can only look forward with positive hope.
A P.S. I can't resist: Jacob said the other day, "I kind of wish we weren't having the party. I'd like some of that melty cheese Juju made last year." I'd forgotten that he spent New Year's Eve with me last year, and I fixed cheese fondue! I've promised to make it for our Twelfth Night Supper when we, following family tradition, each throw a twig of greens into the fireplace and make a wish. Do you know how hard it is to find someone with a live green tree these days?

Home again, home again

Not sure why my family feels compelled to make weird faces at a camera  Oblivious of the camera--at a restaurant, drawing on the kids' menus I'm back from almost a week-long visit with my oldest son and his family in Kingwood, north of Houston. A good time--my Houston grandkids have now been around me more and are more open about hugging and loving. They really seemed excited to see me, which delighted me. Watched them jump on the Christmas trampoline, demonstrate karate sidekicks (wicked), draw, and be silly. Had some good visits with my son--like any mother I'm so very proud of him but not above suggesting a thing or two. Colin is an accountant, so once again we discussed my finances and figured out where I am which he says is better than I think it is. I will remain penurious. Lisa, my daughter-in-law, really didn't feel good all week--recovering from the gift of flu from one of her seventh-grade students. I did a lot of computer work, got a book read (couldn't put it down) and reviewed, wrote a proposal for a novel. Somehow being away from home frees me from all those small chores and allows me to focus on some bigger things.
We shared Christmas Day with Lisa's parents, who are good friends of mine. Torhild brought Norwegian hamburgers for Christmas Eve--a family tradition--and John helped with the dinner. Colin flattered me by specifying I was to make the gravy--and it did turn out well if I do say so. The rest of the week I had a fondness for dressing covered with gravy, and I nearly cried this morning when they threw it all out. I had salvaged turkey so I could have a sandwich on the way home.
Christmas Day was a bit marred by tornado warnings in the morning--the sirens went off--and power outages in the evening due to high winds. Power would go off, then come back on, then go off.  We didn't get any of Fort Worth's lovely snow--it was just wet and cold.
Jordan and Jacob came down Thursday, and the cousins were wild--I should know, because I got to babysit them Friday morning. Colin thought he was taking time off, but it just meant he came home at three instead of seven--still was up at five, cleaning the kitchen (he allows no one to touch is the night before, no matter how I itch to at least rinse the plates), going to work by 8:00.
Each time you visit one of your children, you get to know that family a little better--and I am aware of that after this trip. It's a good thing. I am also aware lately that my sons seem more solicitous of me--hope it's not that they sense my mortality or something. I think they're just good guys.
So Christmas is over for another year. I hear the family.is talking about Santa Fe next year (it will be an all-Alter Christmas) which would delight me, though they love to tease and say, "You know, we'd all really like to take a cruise." They know I have a list of twenty reasons, some rational and some not, why I don't want to go on a cruise.
Tonight I'm grateful for a good week but glad to be home with Sophie and untangling my life and getting it in order again--no small task. I said something to Lisa this morning about fish and guests, and she was puzzled so I had to explain that both grow old in three days.

Once a day is not enough

If an ideal world, I would tell you I do my yoga routine once a day. Truth is, I'm doing well if I do it four times a week--as with a lot of other things such as writing, life gets in the way. What with Christmas and family and cooking and excitement, I didn't do any workout Sunday through Tuesday. Yesterday, Wednesday, when I did my routine I could feel how tight my muscles were and how good it felt to stretch and twist and loosen things up. My yoga routine was designed for me by my teacher--she knows what I'm capable of and what I shouldn't try. I can't, for instance, ever do a full plank because my old feet just won't bend that way; but I can do a half plank and do mini-push-ups in that position. And I can do some poses I'm pretty proud to have accomplished. Just can't remember the name of anything but boat. Elizabeth, who is tenant, friend, and yoga teacher, always pushes me to go farther: if I can hold boat for a count of twenty, I should begin to hold it for a count of thirty. Is she kidding? One thing I cannot do is sit and clasp the bottom of one foot with that leg flat on the floor--too many years (my entire professional life) spent at a desk have irreversibly shortened my hamstrings or whatever those muscles are. I've been doing yoga four years, more or less, and I still can't come close to straightening either leg. When I sit with legs flat on the floor, I can reach maybe mid-calf, and that hurts.
No matter, until today I felt quite righteous about my physical routine.Then I read an article on Facebook about recent research entitled "Don't Just Sit There." (see it here: http://www.nextavenue.org/article/201...). A research study has suggested that if you sit at a desk all day and then get up to exercise in the evening, you're still not getting the benefits of movement--.and you'll find it hard to lose weight. (Amen! I can testify!) It suggests getting up at least twice an hour to move about and taking phone calls standing up instead of sitting.
I thought about my daily routine and because, as I said, life gets in the way, I don't really sit at a desk all day. That's another ideal world that, for me, doesn't exist. I always have errands to run; there's the dog to care for, play with, let in and out; there are meals out with friends; and then there's my daily trip to the elementary school, and believe me, when Jacob's in the house, I don't sit still: I'm up getting snacks, homework supplies, etc. I'd get more written if I did sit at a desk all day. And I suspect during those rare times when I am at my desk for two or three hours, I get up once or twice an hour--a trip to the bathroom or hungry or thirsty or check the laundry.
How about you? Are you sedentary for hours? Maybe at a desk? Reading a book? Watching TV?

Twas the Day after Christmas

And just as the day should be--long and slow and lazy, a time for recharging. I did a tiny bit of work--polished a proposal and a book review and sent them off. I fiddled on Facebook and even thought for a change I'd go to Pinterest. I almost never do that because you get stuck on it forever--it's addictive. But today it was almost all photos of classic movie stars. Nice but I could scroll through pretty fast. So I dove into the new Coffeehouse Mystery by Cleo Coyle, Holiday Buzz. Spent an enjoyable evening reading. Just not ready to get back into the routine of the real world, though several projects beckon.
Going to read a bit more, go to sleep early. Sweet dreams, everyone. I hope you too recharged your batteries. Sorry for those who had to rush back to work early this morning. Once again, something that makes me realize how fortunate I am.
LIfe is good--grab it!

How far does your Chrismtas spirit go?

We've had a lovely, family Christmas with all the trimmings--"out" presents and stockings for excited kids,and thoughtful stocking gifts for adults, a lazy big breakfast, and then an attack on the mountain of gifts undere the tree. Seven-year-old Morgan told me tonight it's the best Christmas she's ever had. Dinner was early--turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, a new version of green bean cassereole--nobody wanted apple pie. Now, at eight, it feels like midnight and the house is quiet.
I kow there are many who did not share these blessings of Christmas, many for whom this day was just like to many others or worse--perhaps they were lonely, hungry, cold, frightened. A disturbing incident that happened to my daughter and her family has set me thinking about those less fortunate--and how you know who is real and who is a scammer. It's a cycnical attitude but symptomatic, I fear, of the times in which we live.
They were coming home from midnight services, delayed first by the need to wait while ambulance attendants cared for a woman who fainted toward the end of the service (it's always crowded and it gets hot in there--easy to faint at this season of too much stress and fatigue), then by a wreck. I'm not sure I have the story straight but a tow truck followed them home--perhaps from the wreck?--and into their driveway. A woman got out and asked for money. They had their six-year-old with them and reacted as any parents would I think--with fright and concern for the child, and for themselves. They closed the electric gate and the garage doors, bolted all the doors and turned on the alarm system (what a world we live in!). Sorry to say I think I would have called the police--my neighborhood association has trained me well that it's better to be suspicious than a victim (again, what a world!).
But for some reason, hearing this tale today, I thought of Halloween and the trick-or-treaters who came to my front porch. I was touched and delighted by the mothers who said to children who grabbed, "No, no, only one piece." And I was slightly outraged by the mothers--and a couple of grandmothers--who grabbed handfuls for themselves. Until someone said to me, "Judy, perhaps that is all they had to eat that day" and anger turned to curiosity, open to the possibility that compassion was called for.
I live across the street from an elementary school and occasionally harried parents block my driveay. It's rude and inconsiderate, and it makes me angry. I expressed that to the crossing guard one day when I went to pick up Jacob and he said, "She's handicapped. I told her it was okay. Told her you don't ever go anywhere this time of day." Of course I don't--I'm doing first-grade homework. I felt humble--and a bit humiliated.
So how do you know, especially with all the horrific tragedies of the last few weeks, when the need is real and compassion is the answer and when caution is the prudent expedient. Remember when the initials WWJD were popular--what would Jesus do? What would he have said to the woman in the tow truck? I'm afraid I'd have reacted just as my kids did and probably also called the police...and then I'd have spent a sleepless night worrying about whether or not I had done the right thing. Maybe she had hungry kids at home or she wanted money to buy at least one small Christmas surprise. We'll never know.