Judy Alter's Blog, page 314

JFK assassination

A friend in Fort Worth started a Facebook thread by asking,"Where were you when you learned that JFK had been killed?" In Fort Worth, that question has particular poignancy because Kennedy's last speech, last public appearance was here. The response has amazed me in its sheer numbers but also by the similarity of so many answers. With few exceptions, respondees were in school, from elementary to high school. Some had been to the Hotel Texas with their classes to see Kennedy or stood on the highway to watch the motorcade. Most can remember what teacher's classroom and what subject. A very few seemed out of school, and a similar low number were either infants or not yet born.There are whole generations that didn't respond to this, and I'm curious about why one age group--granted wih a twenty-year span or so, answered in such heavy numbers.
I was twenty-five years old, living and going to school in a small town in Missouri. I was also working for an osteopathic medical school, and one of my jobs was to do a 15-minute radio show once a week at the local station interviewing physicians on problems of interest to the general patient. Sort of, "Tell me, doctor. If I have a pain in my side, is it appendicitis?" The station was, well, casual in its organization. So on November 22 I was driving through town in my old VW with the local station on when the announcers seemed to lose it--there was obviously confusion, an utter inability to know what to do. I heard mumbles and mutters, the shuffling of  papers and incoherent phrases. And I laughed to myself. "Those guys can't ever get it together." Of course in a minute, they did get it togther, and I hard the awful news. I remember going back to the office and saying to my boss--not my favorite of men--that the president had been killed."President?" he said sharply. "What president?" Did he think it was the president of the school?
The friend who originally posted the question was right. Those of us who lived through that day will never forget where we were when we heard the news. Nor will we forget that riveting weekend when we all stared at the TV without break. I remember I had stepped away on Sunday just long enough to miss Jack Ruby shooting Oswald. My brother called and said, "You better turn that TV back on." Of course, we saw re-enactment after re-enactment.
This struck me as strange timing, since the thread appeared during the Democratic National Convention, the first at which the Kennedy legacy wasn't a large presence, principally because of the death of Ted Kennedy. Yes, there were tributes, and we saw Patrick Kennedy and Caroline, but it wasn't the same electric presence we'd come to expect. I missed it, and I feel lucky to have lived through the Kennedy era and on to treasure the legacy, no matter how tarnished. Camelot existed, however briefly.
No I won't ask where you were. I don't want to answer that many memories. But do think about it

Classy ladies

Michelle Obama's speech last night was a class act--there's simply no other way to describe it. I heard a commentator on TV this morning say one thing that was striking was the contrast with Michelle four years ago when entering the presidential race, let alone the White House, was a new and scary experience for her, when she worried abut the effect on her daughters and, probably, on her relationship with her husband. She was a professional woman, experienced, but not used to being thrust into the national spotlight, and there she was. Last night she demonstrated that she was used to that spotlight,  used to the White House, and comfortable with all of it. Her passion and sincerity were evident not only in her words but in the way in which she carried herself. I thought she had an inner glow that made her truly charming and beautiful.
It reminded me of Laura Bush, whose ascent to the pubic spotlight I watched more than eight years ago. As the governor's wife, she kept a low profile at first; when she made an appearance once at a dinner I attended she seemed just a bit shy. I met her once, for a handshake, in the foyer of the Governor's Mansion and thought her crisply efficient. Her husband, on the other hand, seemed like a bashful teddy bear who had just pulled that wrinkled shirt out of the dryer.
But because I attended the Texas Book Fair, I got to watch her a bit more than usual. By the time she left the Governor's Mansion, she had gained a great deal of self-confidence and poise, and as the First Lady she continued to grow.  I greatly admired the way she handled herself on television  and in public appearances, although her style is far different, more formal and reserved, than Michelle Obama's.
They say what doesn't kill you helps you grow--and maybe that's true of the public spotlight. Presidential wives have not always fared well--Mrs. Lincoln comes to mind. But then, there's Eleanor Roosevelt, perhaps so independent that she alienated her husband but a woman of great compassion, intellect and good deeds. Want to know more? Read Presidential Wives by Paul Boller, an informative, informal and entertaining book.
This isn't a political statement but one on women. I'm ready and willing to admire women who achieve and grow, no matter their political affiliation, but I don't see in Ann Romney the comfort in the spotlight, even the comfort in her own skin, that Michelle Obama has achieved. Mrs. Romney looks pinched, even angry. The most telling Facebook post I saw was that Ann Romney talked to us; Michelle Obama talked for us.
Then again, there was some discussion on TV this morning (the TODAY show) about the relevance of a politician's wife. Does her character (or charisma or lack thereof) have anything to do with governing the nation? Yes, I think it does. As one person said on the show, who you choose to live with says something about you.
Hats off to Michelle and Laura--ladies with class, ladies who took experience and grew with it.

Jacob learns to read

I have been the proverbial, over-worrying grandmother, afraid beyond belief that Jacob was not learning to read. To me, an English major, an author, and a reader who never goes anywhere without a book or a book on the iPhone or iPad, reading is the key that opens the whole world. Without it you're forever limited. Jacob's good at spatial and math problems, but reading made him throw up his hands and say, "You know I can't read." No, I refused to accept that, and I probably made it worse by trying to make him sound out words. He'd say, "I'm so tired. Just tell me what it is." Last week, I promised to back off, after his teacher told his parents that a booklet I tried to get him to read was a math exercise and not to worry about reading.So I backed off and worried in private.
Today, he was so excited when he unpacked his backpack--honestly, it's the biggest backpack for a six-year-old! "I'm learning to read," he shouted. And indeed I think this is the beginning of the formal teaching of reading. He had a baggie labeled "Jacob's Book Bag." In it were a letter to his parents outlining the program, a sheet they have to sign that says he read his assignment to an adult at least three times--"we can read it more," he assured us--and a small booklet. Granted, it was pretty simple: "Mom is cooking," "Mom is digging," "Mom is running," and, after all that activity, "Mom is sleeping." But he was so proud he read it to me twice, and then read it again when his dad came to get him.
I am excited by his excitement. Excuse me, now, but I have to go read the mystery novel I'm in the middle of.

Labor Day

Hot and humid, but we celebrated Labor Day with a porch party tonight--my local children and grandchild and neighbors. I created a hot dog bar with little cards detailing the toppings for different kinds of dogs--Mexican, Chicago, German, Franks and Beans, Coney Dogs. Watch Potluck with Judy next week for more details. But hot as it was, it was pleasant to sit on the porch and trade banter. Jacob was bored beause there were no other kids and finally retreated to the TV--he'd had a long day and played hard with his cousins in Coppell. The rest of us were lazy and tired, full and content. Wine was drunk, beer was sipped, and too much food eaten.
But I am struck with the fragility of life tonight. My friend who's in the midst of a life change is staying in my garage apartment. I am so glad I can offer this help and a place of refuge, and I'm grateful for the company, but I grieve for the changes she's going through. No matter how the current crisis comes out, her life will never again be the same. She's strong, and she'll be fine--but I feel like this is happening to one of my own children. My neighbor Jay is just back from Vermont where he went for a family conference about his father's health--apparently all seven children met. His dad knows he has problems, knows therapy and rehab work will prolong his life, but won't do it. He goes home today or tomorrow with full-time medical care--a good situation but one with an inevitable outcome. A neighbor who was supposed to join us tonight couldn't because of health. And Christian's grandmother died last night in a rehab facility, two days shy of her 95th birthday. I hope her family can take comfort in the fact that she was probably just done, just tired. A lifelong friend is close to marking the one-year anniversay of the death of her husband--a true love match if I ever saw one, and he was too young to leave us. So much sadness.
I sense that change and a certain inevitability are all around us. I'm not depressed by it in the way of thinking that my turn is next, but I am saddened by what happens to people. Not sure how to say this, but some people obsess over the smallest changes in their lives. Sort of "Don't park in my parking space" when there are such larger life changes all around us. Seeing those larger changes makes you--or should make you--put life in perspective.
I guess I pray for all of us tonight a sense of life's beauty...and its fragility. My hope, for myself and others, is to learn to treasure the glory of the moment, the day, and give thanks. I always liked the saying, "Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first." Maybe that sums up what I'm thinking.
Awk! I'm no good at philosphizing, but there's a certain blue mood around me tonight, in spite of the pleasant time and good company.

One of those miscellaneous posts

A good friend of mine is in crisis tonight, and it's hit me hard. In fact, sometimes I think she's calmer about it than I am. But I take life changes in those I care about seriously. Maybe it's the mother hen in me, the natural instinct to nurture. If I ever again take one of those personality profiles, I'm sure it will show that I'm a nurturer--from emotional support to feeding people. So tonight I'm doing both, but the pain of people I care about is weighing heavily on me. Then again, that's what you do for friends.
I frittered the day away--took me three hours this morning to run errands that should not have taken that long. Two grocery stores, the post office--okay, that always takes a while and I had to buy mailers and address them, then wait in line. The Dollar Store where I bought some kind of weird Star Wars puzzle for Jacob--it's called a lenticular puzzle. Close as I can figure it looks like a hologram--if you turn the box one way it's one thing, turn it another and the picture changes. Its virtue is that it's a 12x9 puzzle with 100 pieces which means to me that the pieces are bigger. The bargain $1.00 puzzle I bought had 500 teeniny pieces--both Jacob and I were overwhelemed. I think he'll like this better.
We are inundated with statistics, warnings, and advice about mosquitoes and West Nile viirus. Mosquitoes don't seem to bite me much if at all, but they love Jacob, so I keep spray with Deet on hand, much as I hate it. I also have one bit of standing water--an air conditioner drip line or something--that I can't do away with, so I bought some Bti that was harmless to dogs. Put a little bit in the water and now I can't find the rest of the package. So I went to the hardware to get more; they were out and offered an alternative but it said not for drinking water. Didn't want to take a chance. Sometimes it's hard to be a good citizen!
After all that I spent most if not all of the afternoon reading and napping. Tonight I finished No Way to Kill a Lady by Nancy Martin--latest in a series I thoroughly enjoy. But without that to tempt me, perhaps I'll get back to the chili manuscript tomorrow. Though I do have to make potato salad for Monday night and probably will go to church. And my next reading venture will be a contemporary mystery that spins off Jane Austen's work. I've wondered about the various contemporary adaptations of Austen, so I'm glad for a chance to read and review one.
And that's my day. Lazy, comfortable, with a constant twinge of grief...and my ever-present conscience is telling me it wasn't productive. Oh, I did finish one guest blog and send it off. A small whittle-down in my stack of things I must do.

An amazing man

The TCU Bookish Frogs had one of their potluck supper/programs tonight. The speaker was a man who has long been a good friend but is known outside TCU as the best-selling author of popular books on the American presidency. Paul Boller came to TCU as a professor of intellectual history (that's what I always heard was his specialty, but we think of it as the presidency.) His books include Presidential Anecdotes, Presidential Campaigns, Presidential Wives and many others. At TCU Press, during my tenure, we were privileged to publish Memoirs of an Obscure Professor, the title being Paul's poke at a Chicago Tribune article's reference to him during the McCarthy days, when he was teaching at SMU. Among other things, the book contains an essay on his work as a Japanese translator during WWII. A man of many talents and great intellectual capacity, Paul was always a strong supporter of TCU Press during my years there; more recently, when the press was an endangered species, he stepped forward to ask, "What can I do to help?" And help he has.
Paul is, if what I hear is correct, 95 years old, and he's still tooling around town in a smart car.And he still gives a wonderful talk. Tonight he had us all laughing as he talked about his new book from TCU Press, Essays on the Presidents; Principles and Politics. No, folks, it's not a dull, political science text. It's a lively look at some of our presidents and the way they thought. For instance, there's a chapter on the presidents and Shakespeare, many of whom studied the bard and quoted him frequently. On the other hand, there's LBJ who, when presented a speech with a quote from Aeschylus, asked, "Aeschylus? The farmers aren't going to know who the hell Aeschylus was." When the speech writers said they'd immediately take the quote out, Johnson said, "No. Leave it in. I'll say my daddy said it." LBJ always liked to claim he was born in a log cabin until one day his mother turned on him irately and informed him, as he well knew, he wasn't born in a log cabin. Paul said it's his opinion that if Johnson hadn't inherited the Vietnam War, he'd have gone down in history as one of our great presidents because of his social programs. There's a chapter on "Bush-Speak"--referring to the first Bush. I once heard Paul give an after-dinner talk on this subject that was so funny women had mascara running down their cheeks and men were falling off their chairs in laughter--even Republicans. The final chapter is "They Really Said It: Quotes from the Presidents and their Wives"--I can't wait to read that one. Folks, if you're interested in politics or not, read this book. You'll laugh, and you'll learn a great deal about American history and the presidency. It may help put today into perspective. Did you know that in the early days of the government, it was considered rude for a candidate to speak on his own behalf, let alone ask for money? They had a derogatory term for it--electioneering.
A neat touch to the book and the evening: tonight they unveiled a portrait of Paul by Jeff Barnard, a longtime friend of Paul's who has, in his own words, been his carpenter and his driver on book tours as well as his friend. The portrait perfectly captures Paul's wit and sense of adventure. It serves in place of an author photo on the back flap of the book jacket.
P.S. The potluck supper was good, and people, including me, liked the ever-so-simple cobbler I made.

Just call me Lady Judy of Glencoe

I am a Scot and proud of it. Did you know that the number of people of Scottish descent living in America tops the population of Scotland? Count me as one. My lifelong dream of visiting the Highlands came true a year and a half ago, thanks to my oldest son and daughter, and, as the saying goes, my heart belongs to the Highlands. We visited the MacBain Memorial Park (that's my clan, and the park is a tiny bit of the vast lands once owned by the clan and lost in the clearances--but that's another story) and I felt I had a connection to the land. But now there's an even greater opportunity. I found a site called Scottish Highland Titles.
Highland Titles offers small pieces of land, from one square foot to a thousand, on the Keil Estate in Glencoe Woods--not too far from Glencoe where, if you know your Scottish history (or ballads),  you know the Campbells wiped out the MacDonalds in a dastardly repayment of hospitality. When you buy your wee piece of land you get a properly registered title and may call yourself Laird or Lady. You can visit your land with its view of Loch Linnhe and the Salmon Burn, a river running with salmon (you cannot drive to your land but have to follow a path along the river). You may choose to erect a small cairn or plant a tree; if your land is big enough, you may pitch a tent and camp out--the preserve offers other camping areas too.
But the most important thing is that you are contributing to the preservation of the Highlands. Highland  Titles is devoted to conservancy. Their project focuses on the environment, nurturing the native flora and fauna of the Highlands, including varieties of the Highland thistle, while working to eradicate invasive species, such as one type of rhododendrum. The company keeps the land from developers and provides a woodland home for many native animals and birds--and bats. Animals on the land include red deer, roe deer, badgers, hedgehogs, pine martens, the wood mouse. Specially erected bat houses have attracted many species.
It's hard for me to think that the wild land I saw is threatened by developers but apparently it is, so efforts to preserve it are important. The MacBain Memorial Park does that for one tiny piece (maybe two acres). The Highland Titles Company preserves on a much larger scale. As my son said said, "At least you know it's not a come-on, with the money lining someone's pocket. It's going to a good cause."
Hmmm. Lady of Glencoe. It rolls easily off the tongue, don't you think? Check out the Highland Titles Company at http://www.highlandtitles.com/

Are short story collections dead?

During the last ten years or so that I was director of TCU Press, we routinely rejected short story collections, usually without reading them. The policy was based on bitter experience--we had published collections by well-known Texas authors, stories that I really thought were high quality. And we inevitably lost money on them. In this day of POD and  e-books, they may be more profitable, but I came away with the impression that readers don't want short stories. They want to immerse themselves in the world of a novel. Short stories were saved for literary journals and the occasional commercial magazine that publishes them. Remember when POST published all those stories by authors either already famous or soon to be? Those days too seem gone (oops, just dated myself--I mean I've read about the history of that magazine).
In the past I was asked to contribute to several themed anthologies of stories, the most difficult among them the time I had to write about some sort of firearm--I required a tutorial from my longtime friend and mentor, Fred, and if I remember correctly I wrote about a derringer--and a young girl out for revenge. "Pegeen's Revenge" was one of my favorite stories.
Today my publisher, Turquoise Morning Press, publishes themed anthologies of romance short stories. Recent titles inlude Men in Uniform, Foreign Affairs, and Be Mine, Valentine. They must be successful or TMP wouldn't continue to publish them.
I have one collection of fourteen stories in print. Sue Ellen Learns to Dance is filled with stories about what was once my focus--the lives and loves of women of the American West, both historical and contemporary. Originally published by Panther Creek Press (thank you, Guida Jackson), it got some nice blurbs and reviews but it never sold much. When I asked for permission to post it as an e-book, Guida gave me her blessing, and up it went on Kindle and Smashwords. Recently, a couple of fellow members of Sisters in Crime/Guppies have discovered the title and said some quite nice things about it but mostly it languishes.
I have two books posted myself on those platforms. One, Mattie, sells quite well. The short story collection simply doesn't sell. I know a redesigned cover would help--the current one has too academic a look, so a friend who owns a gift shop tells me. It didn't sell for her. You can comment on the cover as seen above. The photograph, which is eloquently poignant and sad, is by Dorothea Lange and was my personal pick. But at this point, I'm reluctant to put more money into redesigning the cover. Then again, maybe I didn't market it enough, put enough oomph into it (yes, this blog post is an effort to remedy that).
I don't know the answer to Sue Ellen's status, but I'm curious: do you read short stories? Collections of them? Don't get me started on poetry collections...but then, I've never written a single poem.

A flattering invitation...and some advice for readers

I have been invited to be the speaker at the opening luncheon of Women's Ministries at my church, University Christian Church. I found the invitation flattering, and now I find the all-out effort they're putting into publicity even more flattering. I went to the restroom on the way to the service yesterday morning--and there I was, in living color. There are posters on bulletin boards throughout the church, and the luncheon was announced in the monthly journal. Last night at Fall Kick-off there was a sign-up table, with the same poster (Jacob and I posed by it for his daddy). Several women I know made a point of telling me they'd be there that Sunday, and special thanks to Jordan for saying she'll go be my cheering section. And to Reverend Cyndy Twedell for the great publicity.
All this made me think I'd better scurry home and work on my comments--the luncheon is September 9, which isn't all that far away. I have always been one to prepare comments in advance and read them often enough that I almost don't refer to them when I deliver the speech. In fact sometims I get so familiar with it that I bore myself. But this time I noticed several places I could enlarge and embellish. I'll have bookmarks, but I also worked on a handout--something telling ladies where to find my books and me on the web...and on the backside of the handout I'm going to put suggestions for helping your favorite authors.
I'm sure readers don't know to click "Like" on Amazon or cick on tags or even leave a review. I guess my biggest hint to them will be "If you enjoyed a book, tell your friends." They say word-of-mouth is the single most important factor in the success of a book or an author.
So wish me luck. I'm taking a slight break from the manuscript that had my bumfuzzled and doing things like getting ready for this talk, writing some guest blogs ahead of time, and the like. For the time being it makes me sleep better at night but I know guilt will soon kick in.

Uabashadly a grandmother

This is purely a grandmother blog--with a alittle bit of doggy thrown in, so if that bores you, click away now. I enjoyed way too much of my own company this past week, so it was a joy to have Jacob spend last night. When he came in from day camp I said I had a surprise--chocolate peanut butter (I'd never heard of such until I saw it in a recipe) spread on apple slices--he loved it, asked for sparkling cider to go with it. For dinner? More choclate peanut butter, with honey, in a sandwich--sounded cloying or too sweet or something so I started him on a half, and he said that was enough--plus five raspberries. After saying he wanted to stay home and eat ice cream, he decided he'd like to go for frozen custard at Curley's--and when he got there, he wanted a hot dog with ketchup. He ate the whole thing and about half a cup of chocolate custarad--while I wolfed down a waffle cone with vanilla. We sat outside in a really pleasant little area that he thought would be perfect for an Easter egg hunt. Yes, I sprayed him thoroughly with Deep Woods Off!
He and Sophie spent the rest of the evening in my office. Jacob said some people don't talk much, but he does and Poppy (his grandfather) said that was healthy. Jacob proceeded to demonstrate how healthy he is. I got little to no work done, and he kept asking me to pull up hurricane pictures. All I found were maps of Isaac's progress.
This morning, after a lazy start, it was off to the bookstore where he showed me at least 25 things I could get him for his birthday--not until next June, thank you--but we only bought the fourth Wimpy Kids book (he'd seen the movie) and one 100-piece puzzle. He saw a pack of three puzzles, but I convinced him it was best to start on one. Then to Central Market where we bought Jacob stuff--more sparkling cider, maple syrup for his waffles, baked puffed rice for after-school, and a marvelous cupcake that said ABC and had a ruler on it. By the time we got it home, it had fallen sideways and the icing was all mushed. He ate it with relish.
Throughout  our visit he was a gentleman, telling me ladies go first and stepping back--his dad has been drilling that into him. Knowing I sometimes have trouble with steps, he asked if I wanted him to hold my hand. He said "Thank you," "Please," and all the other polite things we hope our kids will say. Maybe this is what happens because I haven't had him much at all this summer. Hope it will last into the school year.
Sophie is having a traumatic time--she's lost her buddy. He never let her in his doghouse, but she perched on the roofed porch, especially when he was sick.She was guarding him And she's housebound because of the house painters--which should only last one more week. But as a result she's lost her house manners--peed in the house four times, pooped once. I talked to the dog trainer, and he said to go back to a training schedule, letting her out every two hours. The painters will have to cope. Tonight I tossed a rope-and-ball toy for her, but she was much more interested in coming in the house. I'm back  to keeping her in my office instead of giving her the run of the house. She's getting lots more love and attention, so my theory is she shouldl enjoy it. The trainer said however it's not unsual for a dog to grieve for six months--it's now been two weeks. And, which will relieve some of my children, he said a second dog is not the answer. He even suggested I might be happier and find it easier to have only one dog.