Judy Alter's Blog, page 322

Family reunion

We had a family reunion today at my brother's ranch--my family, his family, and his wife's family, thirty of us. These are wonderful folks, and we couldn't be luckier to have each other. It isn't clear in this fuzzy photo but there are nine under ten--one was sick and couldn't come, so my niece is also missing--but all day it seemed like there were about twice that many little kids having the time of their lives.
John and Cindy are generous, gracious hosts who go to a lot of trouble for their family. John has been planning this--especially the main event--for ove two weeks, and Cindy worked all day in the kitchen. The only person who can successfully help her is her sister, Jenny, so while the rest of us went on a hayride, Jenny and Cindy worked.

The hayride--the main event! Everyone piled on a flatbed trailer stacked with bales of hay. I must admit that Cindy's sister, Patty, her SO Ralph, and I followed in a Kobuto (think that's right) which is a small all-terrain thing--much more comfortable. Cindy's brother-in-law Kevin folowed on an ATV and midway, he and Ralph changed vehicles. The stock tanks are full, the pastures lush with various grasses and wildflowers--I saw a version of coreopsis and some purple things I couldn't identify plus some we thought were black-eyed Susans. Quite a contrast from last year when drought and high temperatures turned the land pretty barren. From the Kobuto, I got a great view of all the fun the kids were having. A new game: jump off the wagon and then run to catch up and jump back on. Not sure that's a wonderful idea, but no one got hurt.
The tour guide, my brother, stopped to point out various things--like the wildflowers (six-year-old Kate picked a bouquet for her mom) but this was primarily a hunt for Bigfoot. At one point, Jamie jumped out, sniffed some leaves, and declared that Bigfoot had come that way. The young kids fanned out looking for trail in all earnestness. But on the edge of one stock tank, they found it! Bigfoot's footprint! Here's Jacob, looking back at Uncle John, when he first saw the footprint.
As John said, that made the day, if nothing else. And then Jamie led the little children and some big in a searching walk around the edge of the tank--I was waiting for one to get too intent on searching and tumble into the water. Lo and behold, there was another footprint on the othe side of the tank! It was honestly a wonderful sight to see those kids so excited, trooping along in single file through waist-high weeds and grass, bending down to examine the footprint without disturbing it. I hope they'll remember this day when they're grown and treasure the wonder of it.
We had a bountiful meal--beef tenderloin, corn on the cob (Jenny stuck wooden chopsticks in the end of each piece of corn for easier holding--great idea!--they come with takeout orders from PeiWei and she had a drawer full of them), rolls, and then the things the rest of us had brought--my potato salad, Megan's marinated vegetables. We had snacked all along on Mel's veggies and dip, Lisa's black bean salad, Jordan's corn dip. We ate well, and it was so good. For dessert: homemade ice cream and Beth's cookies. Funniest picture oif the day: two-year-old Andrew who lost his balance and sat in the doorway, tumbling his ice cream and spraying it everywhere but not at all disturbed by his sudden seating. Here are my two gorgeous daughters:

There were games of horseshoes--Andrew thought collecting horseshoes (plastic) was his duty, but he had to be persuaded to part with them and stand away from the peg--and there was a riotous game of baseball in which everyone got turns batting and running to loosely (very!) defined bases.  Most of us sat on the porch and laughed a lot. The day was absolutely perfect, with a temperature in the 70s and cloud cover. As we left a few drops of rain sprinkled on us but that was all.
John and I never had the sense, growing up,that we were part of a larger family. John had Peckham cousins in New York--he spent some summer with his New York relatives and was close to them, but is no longer close to the few that are left; on my dad's side, I had one cousin in distant Canada--the last time I saw her I was about fourteen (she's part of my life now, but that's a different story). On Mom's side there were three cousins, and we lost track of them years ago. So it is a huge delight for us to have all these folks as family. Some of us only cross paths twice a year, if we're lucky, but it's always joyous, a time for celebrating--and the ranch is almost always the location of our get-togethers. It's not only a treat to be together, but for some of us a day spent in the outdoors is a marvelous change. (John always says I don't spend enough time outdoors, and he's probably right, but I loved it today). I've always known how blessed I am with my children and grandchildren, but once again today I was reminded of just how large my family is and of how grateful I am for all these diverse people with whom I laugh, joke, and feel loved, as I love them. My sense--and hope--is that as the years go by, these generations, my children and grandchildren, will stay close to cousins, aunts and uncles.
Tonight half of my immediate family is at my house, crashed. I know all those ten and under will sleep soundly tonight.
PS I read just the other day that it is legal in Texas to hunt and kill Sasequatch and Bigfoot. Good luck all you hunters!

Politics, potato salad, and a beautiful memorial service

Jordan, my former neighbor and Canadian daughter, Sue, and I went to Susan's mother's memorial service this morning. It was one of the loveliest services I've ever been to, each component carefully chosen. The congregation sang, "How Great Thou Art" and 'Here am I," both favorites of mine. the string quartet carried each of us away into private meditation; the eulogies were moving and made me wish oh so much I'd known Kay Halbower in her heyday; and the Twenty-third Psalm brought tears, as it always can in such a situation; our minister delivered a moving but very celebratory message, stressing that Kay was charming, caring, and unconventional. I see all those traits in her daughter, my friend Susan. I told Jordan to take notes for my funeral, and she said to put them in my file. When I complimented Larry, the minister, I said it was just what I wanted my funeral to be and after thanking me, he said, "Don't be in a hurry." I'm not, but I was truly moved by that service this morning.
From that emotional topic, on to politics. There's a Facebook page called Dogs Against Romney, all built around that infamous time when Governor Romney drove his family to Minnesota or Michigan or some far place, with the family dog in a crate on the roof. The idea outrages animal lovers, as it should, but I long ago decided I don't need to see pictures every day of dogs who ride inside. A friend who did not know of the site, said, "Now that's absolutely silly," when I told him about it. But couple that with the stories of Romney's bullying tactics in high school and I truly begin to think he's not the kind of man I want to lead our country. Romney denied the stories, then admitted maybe some of his pranks got out of hand--we'll never know the truth but I just heard the family of the "victim" said the story was distorted and they were angry it was used for political purposes. But there's that old saying that you can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats his dog. Those of you that know me, know I wasn't going to vote for him anyway. These are just idle speculations.
And finally potato salad--I've labored in the kitchen a lot this week, and today I made a huge batch of potato salad for our family reunion tomorrow. What bothers me--really bothers my back--about making potato salad is all the standing and chopping, but I did it in stages today. Peeled and diced the already cooked, cold potatoes and then sat at my desk for a bit; then the celery and another break; finally pulsed the onions in the food processor. There are a couple of dilemmas here--one is that my mom taught me you should peel hot potatoes and pour some kind of vinaigrette on them while they're hot and will soak it up; the recipe I use calls for cold potatoes and, trust me, it is so much eaiser! Sorry, Mom.
The other dilemma has to do with food safety. We will drive at least an hour to get to the ranch tomorrow, and I began to have doubts about unrefrigerated potato salad. Besides, it has a lot of sour cream in it, and I think it gets watery pretty quickly. I talked to Cindy, my sister-in-law, and she thought I should make it tonight to let the flavors blend. Compromise: I've put on all the dry seasonings--salt, coarse pepper (lots of it!), celery and garlic salt and dill pickle relish. I'll put the mayo and sour cream in a refrigerator container and mix it all up when I get there. The recipe I use is from a barbecue restaurant in Austin and San Antonio so I don't feel free to repeat it, but if you want you might search Google for County Line Potato Salad. Like the casserole I made the other night, this will feed Cox's army.
A long, lazy evening looms, and and I welcome it. Jamie, Mel, and their girls will be here "after work" depending on how long it takes them to drive from Frisco--lately the Friday night traffic has been awful, and they're not known for fast starts. I don't expect them very early, but the guest apartment is ready, the a/c on. And I'm happy.

The Week that Was

This has been the week that was--final edits, proofing a final draft, finding typos right and left, plus more major events like the death of my neighbor's mother--I devoted one day to cooking for that family. Then there was the book signing in Dallas, a luncheon speech (brief) today that was fun but took a chunk out of my day, my memoir class tonight, and I honestly can't remember what else. Tomorrow is the service for Susan's mother, and then I must make potato salad for 20-25 people--I'm a bit daunted by that task. And tonight I still have to empty the dishwasher, and early tomorrow start the laundry and run to Central Market. I feel like I'm on a treadmill.
Managed a half hour nap today between getting home from the luncheon and getting Jacob. Slept so soundly that I was really sleepy when the alarm went off. Got him home, fed him peanut butter and sparkling cider, homework done (didn't take long), and (Oh, guilty conscience) put him in front of the TV, his preferred place, and went back to bed until his mom came. She was in a hurry, so they rushed out the door--when I asked Jacob for a hug and a kiss, he said, "Kiss the top of my head." Indignantly, I said, "I will not." But they weren't out of the driveway until I was back in bed and stayed there until Linda came for supper.
Saturday is our big family reunion at my brother's ranch, Sunday brunch at Jordan's (I have to make a cinnamon pull-apart coffee cake), and then I guess they'll all head for home. I'll probably head for my bed.
Come Monday I'll tackle that growing "to be done" stack on my desk. Meantime, I look forward to the weekend so much. Just wish I didn't feel like my motor is running too fast. The hectic life is not for me!

A day of mixed feelings

I hit the floor running this morning a little before seven but noticed that my neighbor's car wasn't in her driveway. Really unusual for her, and since her elderly mom has been failing lately, I worried. Apparently with good cause. Her mom died this morning, with her family at her bedside. They've all been on my mind all day. Tomorrow I will devote the day to cooking a dinner big enough to feed most of the family that will begin to arrive--a Tex-Mex casserole that serves at least fiften, marinated veggies, and salsa (homemade) and chips. It's not much, but it's what I can do.
Proofread like mad all day today but snuck in a nap before Gayla arrived at three, and we left for Dallas for a signing for my good friend Fran. The party was at the home of a well-known photographer and in a part of Dallas I guess I've missed--opulent puts it mildly. Looking for the right address, we passed mansion after mansion on a small, almost hidden road. Laura Wilson's house, by contrast, is modest but absolutely wonderful--lots of open space for entertaining, exhibiting her photographs--one room is a gallery, and a wonderful kitchen/pantry. She must entertain often, and she does it with grace. The back yard (that seems a small term for it) is gorgeous, and we watched some rabbits cavorting in the far part. I got pressed into service at the signing table--handing people sticky notes on which I asked them to put what they would like Fran and her co-editor, Jane Monday, to write. A few people were put off--Fran will know, they said. They don't realize in the flurry of a signing an author can forget her own child's name. I also took cash and checks while Gayla handled credit card sales (she doesn't trust me), took the shrink wrapping off books, and was a general go-fur, but  it was fun to be back on that end of the business again. Saw several people I was really glad to see, and truth be told, I'm better off at parties like that if I have a chore. So I enjoyed it.
Got to make my shopping list for tomorrow--another busy day. I don't seem to have any other kind lately.

Caught between two fictional worlds

I know some readers keep two or three books going at once, and even some authors work on more than one manuscript at a time. I know authors who read five or six novels a week, even while working on their own--do they sleep? I couldn't do it. I can't even read two books at once, and when I'm working seriously on a novel, I don't read much fiction. I immerse myself in the world I've created for my characters--their reality becomes a sort of reality for me, and I guess I don't want too many worlds colliding in my brain.
Last week I did edits on the final draft of what I hope will be the first of a new mystery series--Blue Plate Mysteries. This will sort of salve my urge to write a culinary mystery, though it's by no means gourmet cuisine. The Blue Plate Cafe is in a fictional small town in East Texas, and they serve chicken-fried steak, fried catfish, smothered steak, and the like--oh, and turnip greens, which figure in the story. For many years, my children and I visited friends Charles and Reva Ogilvie at their guest ranch outside Ben Wheeler, Texas, and we usually ate at The Shed in Edom. By small coincidence, the grandmother of son-in-law Christian owns the house right next to The Shed. We once drove all over Edom looking for her house; he was chagrined when he got home and asked her and she said it was next door to The Shed--we'd eaten breakfast there that morning.
But back to my story. I was finishing up the manuscript which will, I think, be called Murder at the Blue Plate Cafe, not very original but a good place to start. But in my head I was in Wheeler, Texas, with a cast of characers including two totally opposite twin sisters, one of whom runs the cafe, a financial planner from Dallas, lawyers, a police chief, etc. These people and that town were real to me.
But I had to yank myself out of their world when I got final edits on the third Kelly O'Connell Mystery, Trouble in a Big Box. The deadline for going through the edits was tight, so I was quicky back in the Fairmount Historic District with Kelly, Mike, their daughters, and a host of other familiar characters. I'm still in that world, because, having sent the manuscript off, I'm re-reading every line of it. But I keep waiting for Kate, wearing her Blue Plate apron, to pop up or that nasty mayor of the town or maybe Dave Millican who runs the nursery. Nope, they're back in Wheeler where I left them. In a way, it's like playing with dolls and putting them to bed for the night.
Now I'm going to put myself to bed for the night. Big day tomorrow with a trip to Dallas for a signing for Fran Vick's new book, Letters to Alice, an edited compilation of the letters of Richard Kleberg (of the famous South Texas King Ranch) to his beloved wife. Oops, another world--and a fascinating one, but this one real, not fictional.

Finding myself in two strange worlds

Today I found myself in two worlds that were strange to me. One was the military. I went to the National Cemetery in Grand Prairie, Texas, for a memorial service for the father of a friend. Very different from memorial services I'm used to, but very impressive. Since there was no casket, eight young men standing rigidly at attention unfolded and refolded a flag, and then it was presented to Kathie. The pesenting soldier said a few soft words to her, and I could see her nodding her head.  One young man among the flag folders that I could see clearly looked terrified that he would do something wrong, and I wondered if it was his first time to do that. Next our attention was directed to a hillside just to the side of the shelter where we were. A lone bugler stood there, but three of the young soldiers joined him. He played "Taps" (Carol tells me now it is sometimes taped and the bugler, as it were, is playing karaoke--we couldn't tell about this one.) Eiher way, it made me teary because it always made my mom cry and I thought not of soldiers but of Mom. They must have played it at the funeral of my brother's father, who died from a WWI wound. This was followed by a three-gun salute, after which a soldier presented something else to Kathie and said a few words to her. A gentleman from the assisted living center spoke about his friendship with Larry, Kathie's father, and then Kathie, completely composed and in control, gave a brief but moving eulogy and invited us all back to the house for a reception. What I guess I missed, impressed as I was by the formality, was the presence of a chaplain, but it may well be the family didn't request one. Carol and I flew back so we could put out food before the guests arrived and pretty much we were successful. I tried to be as helpful as I could but left about 4:30 with friends Jean and Jim, leaving Carol behind because she was going to help clean up. Kathie is an exceptional hostess, and the reception was beautifully done. Still, I was tired when I got home, and I can only imagine how exhausted Kathie is tonight.
The other strange world I wandered into was a Facebook thread of conservatives, and I did that because I couldn't resist a comment on the original post about how awful things have gotten under President Obama. I refrained from asking if they were wonderful under W. but I did point out some things I thought Obama has accomplished (we sure aren't hearing high body counts every day) and ended with, "Is your glass half full or half empty. Mine's half full." Well, I was deluged with responses, and the bitter, hateful tone of some of them astounded me. One guy and I agreed that each side sees things from their own point of view, and he suggested people vote the issue and not the party. But for these folks the issue is President Obama, and the level of hate is scary. It's also absurd. One man said that since Obama is president there is no glass, so it can't be full or empty--he's taken it away (by then I was sorry I'd introduced that image). The original poster said he's talked to thousands of service people and they uniformly resent Obama taking credit for killing Osama Bin Laden because the mechanism was set in place by W. True, but W. didn't get it done; it happened on Obama's watch. And thousands? Is he sure of that number? Does he do anything else with his life? There was talk of how Obama politicized the moment, to which I couldn't help but respond with a comment about Bush's great fly-in moment when he announced "Mission Accomplished." Of course, it wasn't. The response that made me want to laugh and cry simultaneously was, "He's destroyed the very fabric of America." Hello! What does that mean? I decided countering was useless and bowed out of the discussion. But I have seen the enemy, and they really really scare me.
One wonders how much of this hatred has a racial element, a sort of "He isn't one of us" basis. That goes from John Boehner and Mitch McConnell who early on made it their mission to destroy the president when their mission should have been the good of the country to that nameless commentor about the fabric of America. A worrisome thought.

Neighbors

The house to the east of me is rental property. We have common driveways, and their kitchen, dining and living rooms look out at me; my office, where I spend most of my time, looks out at them. So I get to know whoever lives there pretty well. When I first moved here, the owners lived in the house with small children (now grown), who used to get out in the driveway at 7 a.m. on Saturdays and scream, "Daddy! Daddy!" They moved to a larger house and there was a newly married couple in their maybe mid-thirties--nice enough people (except for one smashing driveway argument)--but they had a half wolf/half dog that howled. His name was Grant, and my kids, then grown, thought it was "Grand Goddman it!" because if he howled in the early morning, I'd come straight up in bed shouting that. (Excuse my profanity). Then came a series of college kids--some boys who were pleasant and not noisy, some boys I barely knew who had parties so loud I once called the police explaining I didn't want them to get in trouble, I just wanted them to be quiet (found out other neighbors had called too, which made me feel better). There was one weird couple--he had a homemade-looking van conversion from which he sold golf balls (one friend said to me, "Yes, but what's inside the golf balls?) and his wife was so reclusive I thought maybe she had agoraphobia. I was always tempted to see if I could help, but  they were so strange I kept my distance.
Then came Sue, about seven years ago. Newly divorced, with two young children. I met her parents first in the driveway and took to them instantly--of course, they're Canadian! Sue and I became good friends in spite of a 30-year age difference, and we shared a lot of wine on my porch. With Jay and Susan, neighbors to the west, we had a happy little community. Sue moved maybe two years ago, but we are still close--and she is only nine minutes away. She's clocked it. She calls me her Fort Worth mom, and I am awed by what wonderful people her children have grown to be--one in high school, one in middle school now. I was distressed when she moved, and the house sat vacant for a long time. I still get a visit with her folks when they come to town,  usually twice a year.
The Latimers moved in--Meredith, Brannon, and two-year-old Abby. They've been there almost two years and have become almost family--Meredith and Jordan visit a lot, and Meredith said the other day she's tempted to call me "Mom." Jacob adores going over there to play with Abby and the new baby, Grayson, now a year old. But now they've bought a house--probably not much more than a mile away. I'm happy for them, and I know, as Meredith predicts, we'll stay close. She says she likes Jacob and his mom and his grandmom too much to let go. But it won't be the same.
Still, I've decided I collect new friends, even extended family members, from that house--and I wait with baited breath to see who will move in next. Meredith et al probably won't be gone for another month, but then we'll see!

A sudden burst of energy and a fascinating Web site

Does this ever happen to you? You sort of drag your way through a few days and then suddenly you're energized, enthusiastic, back, as my friend Joyce Roach alwys says, "at yourself." I've been lollygagging this week. Oh, I could keep busy with Facebook and emails and Pinterest and odds and ends, like a long discussion with the plumber about why my water bill was so high. But late this morning, I finally turned my attention to the manuscript that's been on my desk since late January, waiting for revision after I got comments from beta reader Fred. And I'm suddenly "back at myself." It's lovely to go back to something written quite a while ago and discover it's not all that bad; in fact, I like parts of it, and Fred's comments are helpful. So I sailed into it.
One thing that helped: I'm a more critical reader these days. As I read more cozy mysteries, I find my taste or instincts improving. Just finished one that I thoroughly enjoyed--the plot was convoluted enough that I was left guessing until the end and the villain turned out to be the last person you'd suspect. Plus the requisite climactic scene was nail-biting indeed. But the heroine--like too many single amateur sleuths, she kept shooting herself in the foot, refusing to trust the guy who is obviously (to the reader) the good guy and crazy about her. Worse, she went lickety-split after the guys she thought were the villains, all but screaming their names from the rooftop--and, indeed, giving them to the police, who nicely ignored her as a nuisance. She was out of control. So there I had a model of what I don't want to do, and I'm re-reading carefully to make sure that Kate doeesn't behave that way.
That's right, Kate, not Kelly. What I'm reading now will come out in January, and I hope it's the first of a new series set in a small-town cafe in East Texas. Anxious as I am to encourage everyone to get to know Kelly O'Connell of Skeleton in a Dead Space and No Neighborhood for Old Women, I'm also immersed in Kate's world--and wondering if Kate and Kely are too close together in sound. I still have time to change Kate's name. I'd love opinions.
Held the first copy of No Neighborhood for Old Women in my hands today--always a thrill, though it looked a bit smaller than I expected. I love the dedication and hope my publishing pals--Gayla, Fran, Kathie, Carol and Melinda--read it. Kathie told me she doesn't read mysteries but maybe she'll read this one with her name on the dedication page--or at least read the dedication page. Gayla and Fran and Melinda are fans of the first book, so they tell me, and I don't know if Carol has read it or not. My busy friends.
I also sent out email invitations today to the two signings at the Old Neighborhood Grill: May 19, Saturday, at 7:00 a.m.--Peter, the owner, says that's when his readers come in. I'll stay as long as people stop to say hello.The second signing, for slugabeds, is at 5:30 Monday May 21, same place--great place to have supper if you're in Fort Worth. I'll post on Facebook soon, but I've already had nice response to my email flyer. Last time I signed at the Grill, it was a great success.
I stambled on a Web site today called The Secret Life of Pronouns. I believe it's a book.
http://secretlifeofpronouns.com/exercises.php. It has fascinating exercises for you to analyze yourself. One is the classic TAT which is supposed to reveal your views about yourself, the world, and relationships, but the one I liked was a Life Survey. About 80 questions but they go fast, and it instantly analyzes how you fit into four categores (I can only remember three because I was like a one in the fourth--I think it was sloth or something). The other three are Suburbanite, Cultural, and Preppie. I arrived pretty much in the middle ground on all three, and at the end was told, "This computer thinks you have a healthy approach to life, but you may try too hard at your yoga." Are you listening, Elizabeth? Check it out--it's fun. One exercise I'll have my class do--writing about an everyday object for five minutes, no longer.So with this newfound energy, tomorrow I'm back to a world of errands, lunch and dinner engagements, etc., not that I'm complaining about any of that. Oh, and cooking. But once I get going on a major project, like these revisions, I'm usually pretty focused. 

One of those days

Life is all about a new toy--and joy!It's one of those days--that's all I can think of to write about. Nice morning at my desk, catching up with things; even nicer lunch with my former boss, dean of the libraries June Koelker--no agenda, just plain catching up and being friends. I really appreciated and enjoyed that. Dinner with close old friends Carol and Kathie--Kathie just lost her father last week and is busy planning ceremony, taking care of details, all that. We talked and talked, but we also managed a few laughs. I am blessed to have such longtime good friends--we're there for each other when needed, and I think relaxing with friends was a good break for Kathie. Hope so.But I end the day with no profound thoughts, nothing special to share. Feel like I should have some great wisdom, but I don't. Got to finish the mystery I'm reading, because I have promised myself I won't start another but will turn my attention to my own mystery that I need to revise. So goes the world. Some days are just so-so.And that 1. at the top? It appeared, and I don't know how to get rid of it. Forgive me. Too lazy to risk losing everything just to deal with that silly number.

Boys and sports

Watch out, Texas Rangers. In a few  years, here comes Jacob Burton! I went to his baseball game today. Peewee Baseball is for a long time an exercise in watching strike-outs, but when Jacob came to bat, the bases were loaded. I was afraid he's strike out and blow the chance, but he nailed it and made it all the way to second--tagged out on his way to third and so disappointed. He wanted to score. We couldn't convince him that his hit enabled his team to score the two points that gave them a winning game (2-0). I kept asking how many innings they played and was told, "They play an hour." Apparently, the cut off the game after an hour, though they play out that inning. Today it was five innings.
Kegan, the youngest of all my grandchildren and a Houston resident, plays a mean baseball game--look at that stance above. He's a bit small for his age but makes up for it in fierce determination. He plays soccer too, and I have a wonderful picture of him--his foot on a soccer ball, arms crossed in a belligerent pose, a scowl on his face, and his hair in a Mohawk. Normally, his fine, blonde hair is limp and lies close to his head, but for games, his parents oil and spray it into a Mohawk.
Jacob appeared one day with the messiest mop of curls I'd ever seen. Wondering why his mom had let him out the door that way, I tried to smooth the mess. "Juju! That's my Mohawk." He'd just been with Kegan.
Sawyer and Ford, my Austin boys, both play soccer and swim like fishes, but I have no pictures and Megan couldn't supply them today. I wonder if they're all going to take after my grown boys, both of whom are now dedicated to triathlons. Even Lisa has the bug, and today her ex-sister-in-law ran a marathon in Atlanta. The exercise bug is catching. I'll stick with  yoga, thank you.
I admit I'm an unabashed sentimentalist--and also hooked on the Food Channel's Restaurant Impossible, where Robert Irvine has two days and $10,000 to turn a failing restaurant into a success. Tonight when I watched a couple open their eyes and see their redecorated restaurant for the first time, I teared up. A part of me always wishes I'd gone the chef/restauarant route when I was younger, much as I like being a writer.
Tonight the air is still. The leaves of my elm tree barely move, and the bugs were after me. I didn't spend long on the porch. But it's still a lovely night.