Judy Alter's Blog, page 320

Dogs--training them, loving them

Sophie demonstrating that she has learned "stay"I"m not sure if I wasn't consistent enough or if Sophie, at almost thirteen months, has calmed down enough to learn some commands. Early on she was good about "sit" and "down" (as in lie down--not don't jump, which she hasn't quite mastered yet) and then she learned, to my surprise, "drop it" and "leave it." She got so that she would ignore Scooby's food if he hadn't eaten it. And she knows to wait at the open front door until I tell her it's okay to go out. She does that with a leash, and the last time I tried it with Jordan and Jacob on the porch, she completely lost it. Who knows what she'd do if no one was there and she wanted to bolt. Still we're moving in the right direction.But now I'm delighted that she has learned (and accepted) "stay" and "come"--of course, so far she's only done that in a training situation. And when she obeys "come" I bribe her with a tiny bit of processed cheese--the kind I won't eat (hmmm, maybe I shouldn't feed it to my dog either!).Being half poodle and half border collie, she's smart as a whip. Obedience is less a question of knowing what I want from her than of her decision about whether or not she wants to do it. But as she settles down, she's more inclined to do what I want. A friend posted on Facebook the other day about wanting a Velcro dog and I guess that's what I always want--a dog who will stick by my side, no matter what, lie contentedly at my feet, etc. In view of that, I have a poor record in choosing breeds--an Aussie who was wild until (but devoted) until he was ten and now this Bordoodle. Both as sweet and loving as they can be but independent, lively, with minds of their own.Someone asked me the other day how much longer I plan to stay in my house, and I replied I never even think about that. I can't imagine life without dogs, and my current dogs would never survive in an apartment retirement home, even if it allowed dogs. (The other reasons I won't go there are for another blog.) They like the outdoors, and I like being able to open the door and let them run into the yard--okay, Scooby now sort of hesitates but he goes. There have been very few periods in my life when I didn't have a dog or two or three. Yes, they're work, and sometimes a pain, but they are so worth it and they return threefold the love you give them.I frequently repost on Facebook dogs that are up for adoption, some in immediate danger of euthanasia, and it makes me wish I could take every one of them. Some people are cat people; I'm a dog person.

Did I throw the baby out with the bath water?

My thoughts are on Kelly O'Connell Mysteries tonight, so here's a picture of another Craftsman house  from Kelly's Fairmount neighborhood. This one may figure in the fourth book in the series.

I've been struggling for some time to start the fourth Kelly O'Connell Mystery. I had ideas floating around in my head, finally wrote a synopsis on the basis of which Turquoise Morning Press issued a contract, and in the last couple of weeks got serious about writing. But I discarded start after start. Nothing seemed to work. I don't outline, but the general idea I had didn't seem to be going any place. And I thought the writing was wooden.
This morning, as I was doing my yoga, a great thought came to me: there was no mystery in what I was writing. A funny story, perhaps, maybe a short story or a subplot. But there was as far as I could tell no real threat to Kelly or her family, not much to call the police about. I suddenly decided I would have to shelve the whole thing--at one point, during all my revising and cutting and pasting, I had it slightly over 5,000 words. I think this morning, the main part was down to about 2,500 but all those other bits and pieces were saved in various files. What I needed was an entirely new plot.
So while I was bending and stretching and breathing deeply, I thought about possibilities--and I thought about current social issues. I came up with some ideas, so later in the morning I wrote the managing editor with an explanation of where I was, and she answered that they would not want me to keep at something that was not working but since they had contracted on the basis of one synopsis, I needed to come up with a new one. She urged me to take my time, which I fully intended to do.
But after lunch with a friend, I came back and batted out almost 600 words of a new synopsis.The words came quickly and easily, which encourages me to hope the story will too. I can see or hear the opening scene in my mind.
I'm too tired to work competently on the rest of the synopsis--or edit what I have--so that's tomorrow's chore after the grocery. Feeling really good about this too.
I did change the name of the file, Kelly #4, to Ghost in a Four-Square (the title I'd intended for the baby I threw out) and created a new Kelly #4 file, untitled as yet. Nothing is lost or irretrievable, but I feel I'm headed in the right direction.
Then tonight, after a nice dinner out with a friend, I had to answer a long bunch of questions from the reprint publisher about the two western historical romances (I use the latter word reluctantly) that are posted on the web. This writing life is exhausting. I'm going to read now.

My impression of the Impressionists

Next week is the last week of the Impressionist exhibit at Fort Worth's Kimbell Museum. These are works from the Carter Collection, about which I know little. But I like Impressionists, wanted to see the exhibit but told myself I had no one to go with, it was always so crowded, it was expensive, yada, yada yada. Last week good friend Jeannie Chaffee said she's take me on her membership and assured me it had never been crowded when she was there. We planned to eat lunch at the museum restaurant which always has an innovative menu--sometimes great, sometimes not so great. When we walked in, the place was wall to wall people. First decision: eat lunch elsewhere. We later asked a guard about the crowd and she said Tuesdays are half price. Lesson learned: don't go on Tuesday.
In spite of people everywhere, we were able to view the paintings, read the signage. Jeannie had seen the exhibit several times already, so she could tell me which paintings had interesting stories and which bits of signage I could skip. The exhibit began with Coret, who really paved the way for Impessionists, then moved on to Monet, Degas, Renoir, Toulouse-Latrec, and a few artists I'd never heard of, ending with Gaugain, whose works of the South Pacific don't do much for me. But it was interesting to watch the freedom of technique develop in each artist, and the clear move away from posed portraits of nobles to ordinary people caught going about their lives. I'm on shaky ground talking about art, but it seemed to me that Impressionism has all to do about brush strokes and freedom (not thefirst time I've thought that but it struck me again today).
What struck me even more forcibly was that these artists from the late nineteenth-century were part of a larger cataclysmic change in the social structure of the world. As the Industrial Revolution standardized life and made objects impersonal, artists of all kinds worked to create works that celebrated the individuality of mankind. It wasn't just an experimental period in art--that spirit carried over into architecture, literature, clothing, all aspects of life. I'm particularly interested in it because that same era gave rise to the earliest Craftsman architecture--the subject of my Kelly O'Connell Mysteries. But in a previous part of my life I studied the exploration and conquest (bad word!) of the American West during that same period, and I could even fit that into the pattern--a search for new freedom, new opportunities, a casting off of the old ways. If I could live in another period, I would choose the late nineteenth century, though Jeannie pointed out that the sixties in the twentieth century brought about similarly cataclysmic changes--look at music, clothing, protests, etc. Still, it's about 1875-1900 for me.
Many thanks to Jeannie for a really interesting lunch hour. We left and ate at a favorite local cafeteria and then checked out the summer sale at Williams Sonoma--sort of a prosaic comedown but fun.
A postscript: I used to have a really long print of Monet's water lillies--maybe three feet or more--in the two-story dining room of what I now call "my doctor's wife house." Wondering what ever happened to that--the print, not the house.

Turning Six...and the man in the moon

Jacob and I had a rough time the other night. He walked right by me when he came in, and I said something about saying hello. "Juju, you just saw me yesterday!" I pointed out this was the first time I saw him that day and he could say hello, and he spread his arms expressively and said, "I"m turning six" as if that explained nonchalance. Then we had a real row when he started to help himself to a fruit bar at six o'clock. I said no because dinner would be ready in five or ten minutes. He yelled (yes, he did) that I didn't understand--he couldn't wait! I told him he could and would. He sort of got his manners back and later we had a talk and I asked what we could do about attitude. His solution, after long periods of "I'm thinking,"  was that he could be nicer to me, which I appreciated.
But any differences vanished about ten o'clock. I went out to get the little dog and was sitting on the back steps staring at the full moon. I called Jacob to see it, and we talked about  the man in the moon. He didn't see it, but after a while he said,"I see him. It's my first time." The look on his face was full of awe. We talked about green cheese, and then he wanted to know about men on the moon. I suggested if there were any, they were aliens because we'd heard no news of expeditions to the moon.
"I have an alien for a friend. He lives on the moon. His name is Jack." Jacob called "Hello, Jack" so loudly I expected the neighbors to come running. Jack apparently answered him, and Jacob called back, "Can you see me? I'm at my grandmother's house." He then told me all about Jack and asked if I saw him right by one of the eyes of the man in the moon. It was truly a magical moment with a child, and I only reluctantly said we had to go in when Sophie started chewing her leash. But Jacob insisted we both had to call goodnight to Jack.
My faith is restored. He's still my sweet boy, even if he is about to turn six.

Stuff

A lot of the time when I write to one of my kids, the subject line is stuff, which means it's a mish-mash, and that's what this is. I spent a lazy but productive Saturday--finished the galleys for the third Kelly O'Connell Mystery, Trouble in a Big Box (I simply cannot type that without typing Bix instead of Big!). Did my yoga, feeling more relaxed than usual--I'd just had a good nap and had no rush to be anywhere or do anything--which is usually my feeling when I do yoga. And I cooked--made a tomato/cheddar pie with some difficulty with the crust--still not sure how it will turn out, but the recipe said let it set for 3-4 hours, so I decided to let it set overnight. I'll serve it tomorrow, along with the overnight salad I made just now. And I made myself ham salad for lunch: my new trick is to buy a half-inch thick slice of good ham, whirl it in the blender, add chopped celery and scallions, mustard and mayo. It's lunch for three days at least; then I'll switch to tuna.
Speaking of food, I realized today that not all of you who read my blog are on Facebook and therefore you miss my postings of "Potluck with Judy" when I post on the food blog instead of this one. So I'm starting a new policy: from now on, I'll post on Potluck on Sunday evenings. Maybe that will make me more disciplined--it's been kind of haphazard. Tomorrow's post is already half written--some terrific, easy appetizers. The URL is http://potluckwithjudy.blogspot.com if you want to check it out tomorrow night.
If you're Amazon buyers, here's something you may not realize: if you read a book and like it, it's a big help to the author if you click the "Like" button right by the title. And it's a huge help if you write a short review, just two or three sentences. Yes, this is a plea for reviews for No Neighborhood for Old Women--it hasn't gotten any yet, but many people have told me they like it. I need to share those opinions with the world. I have a dear friend who congratulated me when Skeleton in a Dead Space came out but explained, "You know, I don't read mysteries." For reasons of my own I gave her a copy of No Neighborhood for Old Women, and she tells me she loved it, couldn't wait to get back to it when she had to put it down. She's even speculating on what will happen in the third book and calls herself a "new fan of your mystery-writing." Not everyone is going to be so enthusiastic, so if you found flaws say so, but I'd sure appreciate a few reviews. And remember this when you read books by other authors--heck, even if you didn't buy it on Amazon, you can go on there and click "Like" and leave a review if you feel so inclined.
Every day I learn more and more about the mystery business, but  it's still an uphill climb. Thanks for your help.

a literary evening with the Bookish Frogs

Lonn Taylor spoke to the Bookish Frogs tonight--mostly he read three short essays from his new book--but it was a delightful evening. With the Bookish Frogs, you get to meet and hear an author,  you get a terrific and interesting pot-luck supper (remember how much fun it is to discover who brought what?), and often  you get to see an amazing house. Such was the case tonight.
But first, Lonn Taylor. He lives in Fort Davis and writes a weekly column for the newspaper there. This compilation of his columns is not limited to the Big Bend area however but ranges widely over his interesting life and career--he was a curator at the UT Winedale Historical Center and was for twenty years a historian at the Smithsonian Institution's National Museum of American HIstory. Best of all, he's a home-town boy who graduated from TCU, and one of the essays in his book is about little known bars that he frequented during his school years in the late '50s and early '60s. (Some of you may recognize one or two--just sayin'!). He also read a piece about his grandmother who, among other things, believed that your watch would stop if you rode a streetcar and that Abraham Lincoln was the illegitimate brother of Jefferson Davis. Fascinating stuff.
The food was good, the wine plentiful, and the house in which we met spectacular. It's in west Fort Worth, a '70s modern with a two-story living room (the current owners have added an almost-floor-to-ceiling bookcase with a ladder, and someone remarked to me that they were always so impressed by a bookcase with a ladder--me too!). They've kept the mirrors of the '70s, so that a good portion of the wall surrounding the fireplace is mirrored, and there's the most amazing powder room--every surface, even the inside of the door is mirrored. You can see parts of yourself you may never have seen before. I decided next time I needed someone to check my back for moles, I'd just call and ask if I could use their  powder room.The open entertaining aspect intrigued me the most--a wonderful long granite bar, with a sink, runs along one side of the dining room, with plenty of stools for seating. And the kitchen is spacious, open and gleaming. The dining room and kitchen walls are windows that look out on the narrowest of gardens, well maintained with gravel and unusual plant arrangements. A real treat to see.
If you like good  books and book people and you live in Fort Worth, you really should investigate the Bookish Frogs and support TCU Press. They have a Web page http://www.prs.tcu.edu/bookish_frogs.html, so check it out. See you at the next supper--and, hey, bring  your friends.

This, that, and a gullywasher

Cousins are your first and best friends forever!
For the second night in a row, the gods were bowling in the wee hours of the morning. Then came sheets of rain. About seven it cleared but remained dark, and just in time for the school rush across the street the heavens opened again. Jordan called for a big umbrella and I put it out; then she called wonderig what to do about her feet--she didnt want to spend the day with wet feet. She finally did what was for us a first: she let him out right by the door next to his classroom. Always the anxious grandmother, I asked if we should call and be sure he was in class. "Mom, I watched him go in the door, and then I watched to be sure no one carried him out." I suppose child-snatchers weren't out in the storm anyway.This afternoon was my last day to pick Jacob up, and he's staying late, so I decided I had to do my yoga with him here. He suggested I do it in the front room so as not to disturb his TVwatching; I suggested he watch TV in my office so as not to disturb my yoga. That didn't please him, so he watched me do my yoga, imitated me some. When I was in the meditation phase at the end, he demanded, "Juju, are you doing yoga or are you just sleeping?" I'm going to miss him in the afternoons. Then again, maybe I won't have to watch any more Bigfoot videos. I've been too social this week--Monday night playing catch-up from a weekend away, Tuesday night dinner with the neighbors at the Grill--a chunk out of the evening; Wed. night dinner with friends at a wine cafe--a bigger chunk out of the evening and my wallet both. Tonight I'm staying home, eating a BLT, and working. Was all ready to start tht next Kelly O'Connell novel, but I got final proofs for the third one today. Sigh. The weekend doesn't offer lots of work time. I imagine I'll be running errands, etc. Retirement sure is fun!

A Sort of a Memoir

I've known Judy Mangan vaguely for many years, more in the last few through email and some professional dealings--TCU Press, when I was director, reprinted some Mangan Books titles and Judy and I had quite a bit of correspondence. But I didn't really "know" her until I read her memoir which does exactly what a well written memoir should do: it brings the writer alive on the page for us. Judy eschews the traditional narrative for a series of anecdotes--and she really has an ear for telling the attention-getting story. Some of these anecdotes are no more than a paragraph but they go together like the pieces of a quilt so that when you've finished reading, you have a picture or pattern.
The book is divided into chronological chapters--childhood, high school, college, marriage, and so on. There's a chapter on Mangan Books and one called "Lest We Forget" which neatly encompasses the geneaological material. And unusual for many small-press memoirs, this book has an index--the mark of a true professional.
Judy--or Jude as she asked her children to call her--has the disconcerting habit of throwing characters into the story before we're aware they exist. She does that with Frank, her husband of many years, now gone, and with her children--we have no idea that she has children until she tells a story from their childhood. None of this "On such-and-such a date I gave birth" stuff for her. You catch on pretty quickly. And she is refreshingly frank about some things most of us would skirt in a memoir.
Much of this book is directed at El Pasoans--she's pretty specific about people, places,and events, so that it's the quintessential memoir for family and friends. But the rest of us will find gems to remember and savor. If you're old enough, you'll remember the loops and circles of the Palmer method of handwriting, and I was absolutely delighted to come across the complete text of 'Little Nell," a melodrama I remember from Girl Scout days: "Twas a  year ago today/That my Nellie went away" and so on until the bitter end when Little Nell comes home with her baby, having been abandoned by the lothario she ran away with. There's mention of one of my favorite people--the late C. L. "Doc" Sonnichsen, and a neat final chapter on "My Philosophy" with such treasures as: "You're not sinning unless you're enjoying it," [Baptist philosohy according to Wally Shied]' or "From that time (1593) healthy interest in gold and jewels had to be played down while a passion for making worried Christians out of satisfied savages had to be played up," [C. L. Sonnichsen, Pass of the North]. Perhaps my favorite is a quote from Katherine  Jefferts Shori, Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church of the U.S.A. when asked if Jesus is the only way to get to heaven: "We who practice the Christian tradition understand him as our vehicle to the divine. But for us to assume that God could not act in other ways is, I think, to put God in an awfully small box."
Get to know Judy Mangan. You'll like her. Unfortunately the book is not listed on Amazon, but you can send a check for $16 to Mangan Books, 4855 N. Mesa, Suite 120, El Paso TX 79912.

Flying cockroaches, a shaving cream war, and a memorial of sorts

A shaving cream war at its height Years go I had a dear friend, a generation older than myself, whose son had divorced. She remained fond of his ex-wife and her family, so she called them her outlaw family. This weekend my kids and I had a joyous reunion with my outlaw family--the New York Alters, with their indomitable (?) patriach, Uncle Mark. In the 30 years since Joel Alter and I divorced, I have seen Mark and Amy twice--in 1997 at Jamie and Mel's wedding and again in 2004 when Jordan and Christian married. We have emailed sporadically, though always warmly and with fond feelings--still there was a distance. My children have seen more of them--a few at their children's weddings, Jamie on business trips to New York, all of them on a couple of visits to Joel in the years before he died. But this was a full-blown family reunion--with their oldest daughter, Jordana, her husband Don and 15-mos. daughter Ayla, and their youngest daughter, Emily. (We were missing their son Jeremy and his wife, but hey! they have three-month-old twins and a three-year-old--would you bring that crew from Baltimore to Houston?) We gathered in Houston for two days that went by way too quickly. And there was not for one minute that awkward, "How are you?" "Well, fine, how are you?" It was instant warmth and hugs.
I've always noticed that when my children are together, the grandkids almost don't have individual parents--it's sort of like a commune, where everyone takes equal care of all the children, from handing out treats to soothing skinned knees (several, including one child run over by a bike who said he now understand why his parents tell him to be careful of cars), blackened eyes (we had one), and hurt feelings (lots of those inevitable). But Mark remarked that Ayla was immediately adopted by the children especially Maddie and Eden, both old enough to care for her. My family just absorbed these new people and went on with their usual rowdiness. And they can be overwhelming at times.
Saturday night there was a kickball game in the cul de sac, enlivened by the fact that we spectators were sitting near the strangest sewer I've ever seen--it was in someone's yard, with a concrete base and the usual sewer top. The trouble was that cockroaches (Mark called them cockaroaches--you can always tell a New Yorker!) kept crawling out of them. All the girls went hysterical and were alarmed that I, sitting nearest the sewer in a folding chair, didn't seem alarmed until one crawled up my dress and Megan nearly hit me with my walking stick in her zeal to get it off. Worst of all, these were flying cockroaches, all headed for one tree which we decided was the mating tree. They buzzed right at the girls who screamed and laughed by turns.The children of course made sport of squashing them (I wasn't sure about the bloodlust here) but the street was soon littered with dead cockroaches. Brandon went in the garage, got some insecticide and sprayed it into the sewer, so then we had double reason to warn the children away.
When Mark has been to Fort Worth for those weddings, he wanted, almost demanded, Angelo's BBQ, so Sunday lunch we went to Tin Roof in Kingwood, the closest we could come. They told us they'll be on "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives" this week. We had an entire section to ourselves and all ate too much. The owner obligingly took a group picture, but I don't have it yet. The highlight of the day, however, was the shaving cream war. Colin spread black plastic on the grass, Lisa provided cans of shaving cream, and the kids--plus Uncle Mark--went at it. He was the only adult game enough, and I intend to warn him that Brandon put a video on YouTube and people are bound to ask "Why is that old guy in there with all those kids?" It was wild good times at their best, and we spectators--at a safe distance--thoroughly enjoyed. Afterwards, of course, there was the hosing off.
Way too soon it was late Sunday night and time for goodbye, which took forever. Don, Jordana's husband, got himself a beer, sat on the couch, and said philosophically, "I figure this will take a while." It did, and it was bittersweet but there are plans for an Alter family cruise (I hate cruises!) and more get-togethers. I hope they come true.This was Memorial Day, and in my thoughts I honored those who have given their lives for our country. But for Mark, Amy, me and my children, it was a different kind of memorial day, a time to rehash memories, good and bad, to patch up the years that circumstances had kept us too far apart, to reaffirm our love for each other and our families. For me, personally, it was eye-opening, a bit disturbing in some things I learned, but a good experience in sharing with someone who understood some things that I had kept to myself. I feel a bit like I've been to an alternate world and it's hard to get back to my daily routine. This is me and Mark, my new-found outlaw brother-in-law who kept referring to me as his sister-in-law and gave me wonderful compliment that I'm keeping to myself.

An Evening with Jacob and Bigfoot

Jacob is with me from the time I picked him up at school until toorrow morning--always an event I look forward to. But tonight he came screaming for me and insisted I come back where he was watching TV because it was about Bigfoot and "it's about to get really scary." So I sat on the bed, and he clutched my arm. Mostly it was people talking about hunting for Bigfoot, with occasional brief footage of sightings. I would ask, "Is this scary?" "No, but it's about to be. Don't leave." My pleas that I was hungry and wanted to fix supper, that I had to check the computer list I'm monitoring today, all fell on deaf ears. Finally, I began to sneak away with a promise I'd be right back. I'd get a little done and then go back, only to have him clutch my arm again. And we watched endless discussions about hunting for Bigfoot. Fortunately, he's trained to keep the volume low, and I didn't have my hearing aids in, so I didn't actually have to listen. Last I knew, it's still on.
But he decided he wanted to play in the front yard, so I obligingly took a glass of wine and a book and went to sit on the front porch Then he wanted to go see the tarantula house at Jay and Susan's, which is out of sight. We had a discussion about what he'd do if someone came up to him while I couldn't see him, and he gave all the right answers, but I ended up walking over there with him. I think if there ever was a tarantula there, it's been scared to a new home by all the activity. It became apparent that Jacob's idea of playing in the yard involved showing me endless insects, etc., and I wasn't quite up to a tour. Then we sat on the porch and had a long discussion about hunting and how it's all right to shoot a deer if you plan to eat it, but not if you shoot it just to be shooting it. Jacob seemed to think you coiuld shoot it and whisk it right home to cook, so I tried to explain about dressing and butchering and all that. Not sure I made my point--nor do I think he would eat deer meat. The child doesn't like beef, for goodness sake!
When he was out in the yard tonight, I got little reading done because I was always raising my eyes to make sure I could see him. I live on a busy street, with lots of traffic, and Jacob is never allowed in the front without an adult--nor are the other grandchildren when they visit. Thank goodness for a red shirt that I could see even through the thick green of the youpon tree. But I think tonight a lot of us may be more on edge all over again because of the news in the Etan Platz disappearance. I don't like it when I can't see him. And yet I don't want him to grow up scared. I did that on the South Side of Chicago. There's a fine balance there, but sometimes it's hard to find it.
Bigfoot is over, but there's another "really weird" program on Animal Planet. I said he'd either have to watch it in my office or change channels. I'm a hard-hearted grandma.