Judy Alter's Blog, page 316

My cancelled day

This morning I decided, about five in the morning, to cancel the day. I'd been awake all night and made  more than a few trips to the bathroom. That uneasy feeling I've had in my stomach for two days finally erupted. Unpleasantly. I mentally cancelled my yoga routine, my obligation to myself to write a certain number of words, and I made a note in my head to email the friends I was going to lunch with. There was nothing I absolutely had to do today.
Once I really got up, a little  before seven, I thought my stomach had finally calmed down, so I ate toast and tea so that I could take my daily pills. Then I put the dogs out, did some email work, read the paper, and went back to bed for over an hour. Got up feeling better, and Jordan, bless her, brought me steaming hot homemade soup from Carshon's Deli. So good, so soothing. I worked for a while, both chores and writing, and took a two-and-a-half-hour nap--sleeping some, dozing some. Not sure if this was a bug or something I ate, but I sure didn't like it. I think with a good night's sleep, I'll be a new person tomorrow. But insomnia is a fairly recent visitor to me, and I'm hoping it doesn't return tonight.
In spite of a down, cancelled day, I am pretty proud of my accomplishments: did laundry, changed the bed linens, ran the dishwasher, showered and shampooed, and wrote slightly over 2,000 words. Starting tomorrow, the weekend looks busy, and I won't get to do that, so it's good to have it all done.

In a stew

I'm stewing in my own stew tonight. Have spent three days working at my computer without much break and much human company, although I did go out for dinner two nights. But I'm a bit tired of myself and my manuscript. Spent today re-reading the 40,000 words I've written--and, in revising, picked up almost 900 words plus some ideas for where it's going next. So that's the good news. No title yet. I think you forget, between novels, what hard work writing 70,000 words is. I'm sure remembering this time.
The really good news is that my old dog is doing much better with his balance and his back legs. This morning, he went down the steps to the yard, by himself, without falling, and last night, when I left the door open and went back to the kitchen, he came in by himself. I no longer use a towel as a sling to hold up his back legs. He's still shaky about the stairs and loses footing on the wood floors, but he pretty much doesn't collapsewith his legs splayed out. Tonight he was a little less certain, but it was thundering and that always scares him. And it doesn't help outside that the young dog thinks his back end is her private trampoline. Whenever she gets excited, she jumps on him. His legs buckle, but he doesn't go down. Our wonderful vet told me the other day that we probably had 95% of the improvement we could expect. I called them today and said we got the other 5%.
Tomorrow is another work day, but with the anticipation of a pleasant lunch with good friends.

Tangled in the web

I wish I were, I wish I were, I wish I were an intuitive tecchie. I'm not. I spent far too much time solving problems on the web today. Somehow when I go to a site, having carefully checked to see what my password is, it still doesn't work. That was the case with PayPal this morning. I signed up for PayPal reluctantly. It was forbidden at TCU, and I'm leery of it. But I had no choice--it's required by my publisher. I never use it except to transfer royalty checks, but today I wanted to pay for a couple of guest blogs--long story, but it was a modest amount. PayPal was the only choice, so I tried to sign in. PayPal didn't recognize me, then it couldn't verify my information, then I had to figure out how to send them proof of my social security number--and the best I got was the resolution was "in progress." Meanwhile, I had spent far too much of the morning in the bowels of their system.
Then I discovered Pay Ahead or whatever it is--I could pay instantly and they'd bill me for reimbursement. That actually went pretty well and by then the system recognized me. If they want to be reimbursed, I do hope they'll continue to recognize me. I was able to put that matter aside, complete my tasks for the Long and Short Reviews 5th anniversary celebration, and move on to writing.
But first I tried to put a logo on my blog--ended up with it in the header, which is not at all where I wanted it. That took 20-30 minutes to figure out how to delete it from the header, add it to the sidebar, and move it around. But I'm proud to say it's accomplished--see if you can spot the new logo.
Then I went to fix lunch and found the kitchen TV had no signal. Called AT&T--15 minute wait time to talk to a support person, so I reluctantly went to the online support system and signed in for a live chat. Actually those are a big improvement for me, because I'm sure if I'd been talking to Piranti--wherever he was in India or whatever--I wouldn't have been able to understand him because of the combination of my hearing and his accented English. As it was, we got along quite well, but the whole problem-solving adventure took 20 or 30 minutes and involved many trips between the computer and the kitchen for me. Thanks, but I'd already had my exercise for the day. Piranti was helpful, courteous--agreed willingly to a break to let me bring the dogs in out of the heat and said how lucky the dogs are that I take care of them. Finally, with a suggestion from me, we solved the problem and voila! a picture on the TV!
Through all this, I didn't write the 2000 words I meant to this morning--only 758. So I figure I have to write 250 tonight to reach my minimum goal. But, yeah! I passed the 40,000 words point on my work-in-progress. It would be nice if I had a better idea of what was going to happen in the next 30,000 words, but I'm feeling a great sense of accomplishment. One reason that I didn't move the word count ahead that much this morning is that I had to do a lot of cleaning up--I'd said one thing and done another, and I had to fix that.
Dogs are in, sky is cloudy (pray for rain) and it's nap time. I'm feeling good enough about the day that I can take a nap with a clear conscience.

Name the hot dog--and win a free book

Hot dogs have moved from the ballpark to the world of haute cuisine--well, almost. There are a hundred things you can do with a plain old hot dog these days--from the spiral cut and roasted to the muffaletta dog with marinated olives and peppers. I personally like Hebrew National hot dogs with sauerkraut and a sharp, good mustard--not Kraft salad mustard, thank  you very much.
I've decided a character in the fourth Kelly O'Connell Mystery is going to open an upscale (?) hot dog restaurant on what has become restaurant row in Kelly's neighborhood--alongside a bistro, a country Italian restaurant, a long-established place serving Middle Eastern food, a high-brow taco place. She'll serve a wide variety of hot dogs--Thai style with Sriracha and other things, Greek with yogurt, cucumber, and Greek salad dressing, Dixie featuring black-eyed peas, bell pepper, and jalopeno. I'm sure she'll think of other varieties. And of course, chili dogs and Chicago style with mustard, sweet and dill pickles, onion, and peppers. I remember a drive-up stand in Santa Fe called "The Chicago Dog" but I have something more than a drive-up in mind,though small, very few seats.
My problem is what to call the restaurant? I googled hot dog restaurants and was amazed at the number of them across the country. I'm not quite as close to cutting edge as I thought, except that I know there's none in my immediate area, which is pretty much Kelly's area. So this is a viable idea--hey, if I quit writing I might do that myself. Serve beer with them.
But back to my point. I looked at names of restaurants across the country and most were unimaginative. Sometimes they were the owner's name, like "Mike's Place."  A lot were "Dog House" or "Dog Stand." I want something more original. In the book I ask the young girls to think of a name, but then of course in the long run I'd have to come up with it. The best my fictional characters came up with us "Puttin' On The Dog" which one said sounded like a grooming parlor. So I  thought why not ask readers to come up with a really clever name.
So please send ideas to me at j.alter@tcu.edu. I'll look forward to suggestions until September 15. I admit the winner will be chosen by me, probably in conjunction with my local daughter. But the winner will get a free copy of the as-yet unnamed fourth Kelly O'Connell Mystery, due next April.
I'm kind of getting carried away with this hot dog idea. Also send me any new ideas you have for toppings. I'll credit those in the book.

Herding cats

Lots of pictures, but this is part of my wonderful family.
I've just spent twenty-four hours with my two sons and their families. Colin and all drove up from Houston to see Jamie's new house in Frisco, and good friends Elizabeth and Weldon drove me to Frisco (gave my little car a much-needed road trip) and stayed for several hours to visit. My sons are men I'm proud of and their families are wonderful--wives are busy career women, terrific moms, fun to be with, and the children are all happy, enthusiastic,  well-mannered and, above all, loving.
Last night we were headed out for dinner at six. It was seven before we got everyone together and out the door. Herding cats! We went to a sushi restaurant in The Shops at Legacy (Plano, TX), a place I'd heard about but never been. Charming restaurant/shopping area. But the sushi place was crowded by 7:30 on a Saturday night--an hour and a half wait to eat inside, half an hour outside. We opted for outside but waited inside where the noise level was deafening. When we finally were seated, there was a bit of a breeze and it wasn't bad at all. Hard to converse with nine at a long table, but  I had Jamie and Mel on either side of me and we talked some. Salmon sashimi was good, and I had a great salad with a soy/ginger vinaigrette.
This morning Mel announced she was going to take the kids to the park while it was cool--this was about nine. I declined to go. By the time they left, with a cooler full of water bottles, it was almost eleven--herding cats again. Jamie came in from his run and also declined to go, so he and I had a good visit. But he began to worry that he hadn't heard from Mel--turns out Maddie (thirteen) had heat exhuastion. Mel took her to the ER clinic while Colin brought everyone else home. The patient is fine--had an IV and was ordered to stay out of the heat and sun for at least 24 hours. No basketball, no swimming, nada. But a bit scary for us.
Colin intended to leave at 1:00--we left at 2:15. Herding cats again. But the Houston Alters were so good to bring me home on their way to Houston--way out of the way, but otherwise I wouldn't have gotten to spend the night there and see them.
Got home to a peaceful, quiet house. Moksha, who looks after my animals, had the dogs in their beds so they'd be out of the afternoon heat. Scoob got really excited by the children but settled down. I realized that even a one-night respite from caring for him was great. I slept nine hours last night. Woke at 7:45 without hearing a dog snort and lick and whine. I'll always take good care of him--but the vacation was nice.
Even nicer was being with my family. Such a blessing.

LIsten to your body--or your muse?

A lot of writers will tell you the way to write a novel is simply to plant your butt in the chair and write. I remember once being awed to meet J. A. Jance, one of my personal heroines at the time, and when I said I was trying to write mysteries, she said dismissively, "We all know how you do that. You plant your bottom in the chair and write." At the time I was offended by her abrupt, uncaring manner because we didn't all know--I could sit in a chair all day and have no idea what I was doing. I thought if I had her success and met a wannabe, I'd be more encouraging, probe a little about interests, etc. I later heard however that she was in the midst of a family crisis far away--and she was in my city because of a commitment to speak that evening. She carried the evening off with panache and you'd have never known that someone she cared about was dying.
But I kept that  line in my mind. It's not an unusual or particularly original piece of advice. Some writers set daily goals--hours at the computer, number of pages or scenes or words written. I can't do that because my schedule varies wildly. But so, I find, does my muse. When do you keep your butt in the chair and when do you simply walk away?
This morning, my house was a zoo. Jacob and I went out early to his house to feed Fishy, water the plants, look for his favorite sleeping shirt (he couldn't find it) and get his bike-riding helmet (it was in the locked garage). When we came home, Socorro was cleaning, Greg was mowing, and the serviceman from I&E was working on the sprinkler system. Jacob said, "There are a lot of people at your house, Juju," and I was tempted to tell him it takes a village to keep my house running. His grandfather came to pick him up, amid much excitement on Jacob's part--a trip to Legoland, a water park adventure, and a movie. Jacob told me they were taking him to see a movie with lots of violence, and I said I doubted his other grandmother would tolerate that. "Just kidding," he said. "We're going to see Diary of a Wimpy Kid."
Greg finished the yard, Socorro finished the house, and everyone was gone. I fixed lunch and settled down to write. Some really constructive time. I did write 900 words, a scene that I had planned out. I knew where it was going from there, but  I'm not sure if it was my body or my brain or both that didn't want to work. Each word was painful, and I quit. Be it physical or mental, the muse wasn't there. Took a good two-hour nap, fixed a light summer supper--cold salmon platter with avocado, deviled eggs, cherry tomatoes, cucumber--for a friend and had a lazy evening visiting. She's someone who also lives alone, is as devoted to her cats as I am to my dogs.  We have great conversations, and I feel I'm lucky to have found another new but good friend in recent years.
The news on the dog front is good. Scooby has suddenly turned a corner. Greg said he ran to him this morning, and at noon he went up the steps himself--his back legs don't quite make it, and he needs help. I have given up the towel/sling because it seems to hinder more than it helps. Yes, he still falls but not nearly as often--and he's not as nervous and anxious about it. I am encouraged for the first time in almost two weeks.
Life is good, and I remind myself daily to be grateful.

A grandmother's saga, part II

The fun continues. This morning we went to the pediatrician. Jacob does not have impetigo.  The very pleasant doctor said it looked like bug bites to him. Thirty-five (conservative estimate) between the time I dropped him off yesterday and the time I picked hm up--and he wasn't scheduled to be outside because of the heat. Bribery: I promised him if he' be sweet, I'd get him a Happy Meal--thought I found a McDonald's fairly close to the doctor's office, but it turned out to be one inside a hospital. Didn't want to park and go in, so we ended up going way out to Jacob's house to the one on Bryant Irvin. But he was happy. Wouldn't go back to day camp and probably should have because he was sort of a nuisance (did a loving grandmother say that?) all afternoon. He needed to burn off some energy. We went for Mexican food with Aunt Betty but Jacob wasn't hungry. I was strict about nothing else all night, so about 8:30 he ate some the rest of his taco, beans and rice. Now the child is bathed, clothes are in the dryer, and he just whispered a secret to me: "I love you." Makes it all worthwhile. But the grandmother is sort of tired.
I haven't written a word all day, but I don't figure 9:30 is the time to start. Guess I'll read while those clothes dry. It's quiet and peacful--what a blessing.

The Six-Year-Old Blues

The Impetigo KidJacob is pitiful tonight. I had promised him an evening he was looking forward to--playing with his pal Abby, spaghetti for supper, ice cream for dessert. But when I picked him up from day care they pointed out a lot of small red bumps and suggested impetigo--they've had one case at the facility and have a health alert warning sign up. The suggestion: get him checked out. Of course I called Abby's mother, and as I expected, she bowed out gracefully, saying she particularly worried about her 18-month-old. Jacob is heartbroken--suggested she get a sitter for the tiny one and bring Abby, but I explained if Abby caught it she'd give it to her brother. "What if you get it?" "What if  Mommy got it?" He sobbed, grew quiet, and next thing I knew he was asleep in front of the TV. Our spaghetti didn't taste nearly as good, though he's eating ice cream with enthusiasm. Tomorrow morning we go to the doctor. I'm sure his Aunt Betty won't cancel tomorrow night so that's one bright spot. I feel so sorry for him--and when he says, "It's not fair," I agree with him. Told him I'd spoil him tonight, let him eat ice cream and watch late-night (for him) TV.
But it's hard to see a six-year-old boy put on his nightshirt (one of his father's T-shirts) and put himself in bed at seven o'clock. That's what he did, and he's watching TV.

Saga of a grandmother--and a neat recipe

It's been a while since I cooked a big dinner on a weeknight for family and then got a six-year-old ready for bed, with full directions on what to do the next three mornings. But Jacob is with me for three nights--his parents are off to Mexico to celebrate his father's big 40 birthday. I will send him to day camp (right across the street from me) tomorrow and Thursday, with full instructions about packing lunches, what time he has to be there, all that good stuff. Sheesh! You'd think I've never done this before. Friday, his paternal grandparents will take him for the weekend. I'm actually excited about having him for three days and have arranged a full social schedule--tomorrow night I'll fix spaghetti for friends (much younger) who have a four-year-old who Jacob adores. And an 18-month old, which means we have to clean up all the tiny Leggos, etc. Thursday night my good friend and Jacob's Aunt Betty will come by and we'll go out for dinner. Jacob has chosen Mexican. But that night we also have to pack, bathe, etc.
I don't use the crockpot as much as I should but early (really early!) this morning I followed a recipe (which turned out to be more complicated than I thought) and put pork chops on to cook all day. A trick I learned: when they're through cooking, strain the broth off and put the solid things (minus bay leaves but mostly sliced onion) in the blender and puree. Then add to the broth and thicken with cornstarch. The onions gave the gravy a sweet taste. Had lots left over so I froze it for a soup base this winter.
But I also fixed Louella's Rice, of which Christian ate three helpings and declared he'd rather have that than birthday cake. Simplest recipe in the world. Mix:
1 can cream of celery soup
1 cup minute rice
1 cup sour cream
1 cup grated sharp cheddar
1 4 oz. can green chiles
Bake @ 350 until bubbly
In between all those chores, I had breakfast with a friend, wrote 2,000 words, did my yoga routine, partially carried a 55 lb. dog up and down the two steps to the yard twice--and got a much-needed nap. What happened to the simple life, living alone and peacefully writing?
I am worried about Scooby. He keeps his balance pretty well in the back yard because he can get traction on the ground. But his legs splay out on my hardwood floors, and I have to hoist his back end up. And he is terrified of those steps--begins to shake when he gets near them. It's a week and a half since his "incident" and they tell me it will get better. He is better, but not nearly as much as I'd hoped. Yet obviously tonight, he wanted to come in--did not want to be left out. And he plays with the little dog when he's outside. Not ready to call it quits.

Political humor--or is it?

I'm having a hard time reconciling my sense of respect and my sense of humor. I have a great deal of respect for Barack Obama, both as President and a man. I have a friend who says adamantly he respects the office but not the man. I was about to argue, when I realized that's exactly how I feel about George W. Bush. I understand he's a nice guy--genial, laid-back, good company. In fact, that was my impression when I shook hands with him during his governor days. Laura Bush was crisply efficient, well dressed, properly cordial; he looked like he'd grabbed that plaid shirt out of the dryer, and when he offered his hand it was with almost sheepish duck of the head. But his presidency ruined any leeeway I was about to give him.
Now we have Mitt Romney, and I would like to respect the man. Anyone who puts himself out there to run for president deserves respect. But his increasing gaffes make it hard, especially after his tour abroad. The hardest thing for me, however, is that some of the cartoons and comments on Facebook are so darned hysterical, I can't help laughing out loud. I try to follow with common sense. I don't take seriously much from the page, "I love it when I wake up and Obama is president." I do take seriously a column from somone like Paul Krugman. But even the stuff from the "Dogs Against Romney" page is funny, though Seamus' trip on the roof of the car is now a stale joke. The slogan, "Mitt the Twit" is almost irresistible, and I love "Mittens" as a nickname--it has such a dimunitive quality about it.Then there's the picture of Queen Elizabeth, looking stern as only she can, with bubble words, "I am getting quite tired of you, Mr. Romney." Never happened, but the idea is great. Or Jay Leno's comment that the reason Romney is having a hard time picking a v-p candidate is that he's never hired from within this country before. Or the picture of the Obamas at a casual supper somewhere on the campaign trail--they're laughing naturally, heartily and you almost want to laugh with them. But the bubble words say, "And he wanted an apology!" You know that's not what they're laughing about, but it's still funny. I don't repost those things unless I just can't help myself.
But you know what? I don't see Governor Romney laughing much if at all. A tight, forced smile, yes; genuine laughter, no. Maybe someone should tell him that a new study indicates that being able to laugh at yourself is a sign of a healthy personality and sense of humor. Or should we tell him laughter is the best medicine?
In the long run, maybe the most apt saying is "He laughs best who laughs last."