Judy Alter's Blog, page 324

Talking Texas Writing at Baylor

Today at Baylor Uiversity my talk, "Exploring Women of the American West," was part of a two-week long Celebration of Texas Literature, Music and Film. My talk was in Celebration of Texas Writers. I was a bit intimidated by the prospect of this, not being easy at formal presentations, but it turned out just fine.Son-in-law Christian, an avid Baylor alum, drove us down there. We had lunch at the Faculty Center, then toured the extensive Texana collection (even behind the scenes) with the director as our guide--it was an interactive tour as he was open to questions, comments, etc., and we really enjoyed it. Off to the Armstrong Browning Librry to tour the Browning collection in its most impressive building--lots of artifacts, portraits and paintings, and impressive stained glass. But not quite my cup of tea as I'm more interested in and know more about Texana. Besides I was getting tired of walking and standing.
Then a walk clear across campus--a good way--to the Moody LIbrary where we looked at the posters celebrating Texas writers and then collapsed in Starbucks (how modern have campuses gotten?) Then it was time to head to the English building for my talk which seemed to go well--the audience of about 40 was attentive, interested, and sometimes laughed and smiled. It was in a circular tiered classroom, and I had to keep turning my head to take in all of the audience. Afterward, questions, sold some books, a reception, and then dinner in Waco before heading home.
Thanks to Dr.Dianna Vitanza, chair of the English department, and longtime friend Donna Walker-Nixon, for putting this together and making it work. Donna was our tour companion and dinner host but she said Dr. Vitanza was the one who was instrumental in making me the choice for the slot.
I'd never been to Baylor, though now I feel I've walked much of the campus. It's pretty, much larger than when Christian was there in the '90s, and I saw many more bikes than I ever did at TCU--maybe because it's such a sprawling campus. Christian loved the nostalgia, pointing out where his grandparents' had lived in boys and girls dorms, where he lived, various buildings in which he had attended classes.
And the Mexican restaurant where we had supper? He'd eaten there many, many times, and was glad to return.
This is a sort of goofy picture of me next to a display of my books--well, the picture's not goofy but that's how I think I look. The display was in the Moody Library, apparently the main library on campus.
I'm weary.

You want mayo or mustard on that burger?

It's not hard to fall off the diet wagon. Just when I lose a couple of lbs., I find some excuse for gaining them back. This week, it was those full breakfasts for my English guests, the generous helping of creamy blue cheese dressing I ate for lunch while feeling righteous about having salad and not a burger, that twice-baked potato last night, and maybe an extra glass of wine when chores or good company kept me up late.
One of my downfalls is mayonnaise, though I use the low fat made with olive oil--someone suggested I am fooling myself, but if so, it makes me feel better. On the Guppes (subgroup of Sisters in Crime) listserv there's been a flurry of messages about mayo. Some people range from gentle dislike to active disdain, and I have friends like that, including one daughter who does not eat those white things--mayo, cream cheese, goat cheese, feta, sour cream. To my mind, she's missing half the world's good stuff--but maybe that's why I'm constantly trying to diet.
Then there are the people in my camp who love it. You'd be surprised at how many people artichokes with mayonnaise--both in parts of the United States and much of Europe. Europeans often serve mayo with fries--one of the Brit boys confirmed that saying "We eat it with chips." Then, with a glance at me, "Uh, fries." One person wrote that she likes to dip fries in vinegar and since she tried that, she's discovered all sorts of vinegars (vinegar plays a big role in Slavic cooking). Confirmed mayo lover that I am, I can't see either of these--hollandaise with artichokes and ketchup with fries.
Some people seemed to think that heavy use of mayo is a Midwestern custom, and it seems to me that more people in Texas want mustard and ketchup on their burgers. I sometimes have to ask for mayo--must be my Midwestern roots. I don't have a recipe for it, but I've heard a lot about chocolate cake made with mayo--keeps it moist. Bet it's on the Web.
Europeans on the other hand are disdainful of our use of what I call salad or yellow mustard as opposed to a good Dijon or Bavarian. On the other hand, my youngest daughter won't eat any other kind of mustard! Go figure.
I think this all started because someone asked an author from Switzerland (I think it was) about mayo and loose meat. The latter I've never heard of, but there's always a Guppy with an answer. One wrote that it is ground beef cooked with onions to a crumble. It's eaten on white bread with mayo. That actually sounds good to me, but not white bread unless it was a good sourdough. And maybe it came from the old Maid Rite chain of restaurants.
See why I can't lose wieght? It's ot that I'm obsessed with consumption of food but I am fascinated by the various things you can do with it, flavors you can combine.
Which brings me back to my Brit guests--they were surprised I served jam for the biscuits with a bacon-and-egg breakfast, because they don't mix savory and sweet. Same thing the next morning when I served oatmeal (porridge) with sugar and also provided sausage and bacon. Sweet and savory again. I forgot to tell them about the ever-expanding uses of bacon, in ice cream for instance, or dipped in chocolate. I'm afraid I draw the line there.[image error]

Canterbury Boys Choir comes to town

Tonight and tomorrow night I am hosting two boys from the Canterbury Boys Choir and one of their adult chapterones. I was to pick them up at ten tonight at the church, but I had one of those three-o'clock thoughts: I can fit three people, two boys and an adult, in my car, but not with the luggage that must accompany a tour in the U.S. Another church member will deliver them, and I'll have to find someone to take them back to the church Friday morning for their flight to San Diego.
The two boys are both gluten free, so I've loaded the apartment with fruit, plain potato and corn chips, gluten-free crackers, peanut butter, and gluten-free chocolate brownie cookies. My good friend Weldon, himself gluten free, came over tonight to make gluten-free cheese-bacon biscuits--from a Bisquick mix oddly enough. They smell heavenly! Jeannie scrambled up on the top of the double bunk bed today to make it. I'm not that agile and would get too easily frustrated, but Jeannie said, "It's kind of cool up here. I like it."
I only feed them breakfast, so tomorrow it's eggs, bacon, biscuits, o.j.and milk--tea or coffee for the adult. Friday, when we'll be in more of a hurry, it's gluten-free oatmeal. I have this vision of ending up with a lot of gluten-free food that I guess I'll eat. Weldon assures me the biscuits aren't too fattening. But then, I'd slather butter on them.
Tomorrow the boys all tour the Fort Worth Historical Stockyards District and then eat lunch at The Star Cafe, owned by good friends Betty and Don Boles. Jeannie and I are going up to have lunch, just to be there. Should be fun. (Retirement is a lot of work, but it doesn't have to be all the time!)
Tomorrow night the boys' choir gives a concert at my church, co-sponsored by Trinity Episcopal, but I can't go. It's my class, and they've missed three weeks. I don't dare cancel on them, but I will kick them out the door fairly rapidly, so I can go collect my charges.
I'm looking forward to this experience. Should get me out of my rut--if indeed I'm in one.

A voice from the past

Years ago, when my children were young, there was an unmarried pediatrician on the hospital staff with my ex. He became a family friend, often a regular at the dinner table--he'd just drive in the driveway, but there was always enough food. Oh, there was the night the teenage daughter of friends, living with us to complete her senior year, said,"Why does he always come on the night we're having salmon croquettes!" But he was welcome and fun.
He dated a flight attendant named Jackie, who flew for Northwest. At this point, I have no idea how they met, but Jackie was also at our house a lot and she and I became fast friends. I'm not sure which came first, but I think they split up and then he moved to the Northwest. Jackie and I kept in touch a bit but eventually lost touch. I had no idea where she was, how to find her, but over the years, I thought of her often and wondered about her.
A few days ago on Facebook someone named Jackie contact me and asked if I remembered her. I asked if she were that Jackie, and she wrote, "Yes, that would be me." We were so excited to hook up again that we exchanged lots of emails that day. Our lives have gone divergent paths--she flew until she retired eight years ago, is married but no children, close to nieces and nephews so feels like she has grandchildren. And sounds happy. When I said she'd have to come visit, she said it would be a while--the children keep her busy. I do hope we can maintain the friendship. Among other things, we have cooking in common.
One of the problems I've found with blogging is that people know all about you and don't think to respond--they sort of think we're in touch when it's one-sided and I know nothing about what's going on in their lives. Thank you, Barbara A., my BFF, as the teens say today, from high school, for not falling into that trap--I love our correspondence.
About a year ago, I heard from another friend, who goes even farther back. Her husband was an intern when my ex was doing his surgical residency. She and I were close, and the four of us did some things together, though he was sort of prickly. They moved to a suburb, he established a practice, and one day she was gone--left him. No farewell, no idea what happened to her. She, too, wrote me--she's in Texas which is closer than Jackie in Ohio, and we brought each other up to date. But I haven't heard since. Jan, if you're out there, let me hear.
That my friends is one of the joys of Facebook. What's the saying--new friends are silver, old are gold, keep the new but treasure the old. I do treasure old friends. Many of those to whom I was once close are scattered about the country now--Santa Fe, the D.C. area, Atlanta, Omaha--and not all are good communicators. Listen up, people. Treasure those times we had together and nurture friendships!
And there are people who were in and out of my life that I wonder about now. Strange--some friendships are forever, others transitory.

A glorious Easter

Church service this morning was superb--I keep wanting to use the word glorious, but there's no other word for the music. And the hymns were from my childhood--"Jesus Christ is Risen, Allelulia," and "Crown Him with Many Crowns." Thought-provoking sermon on change and the the wonder of Handel's Hallelujah Chorus with our stupendous choir! A thrill. I tried to let go of all anger, hurts, disappointments, and just let the music wash over me.
Tonight, drinks and deviled eggs on the porch, though it was a tad cool. Then leg of lamb with vegetable gratin for ten of us. The presence of my oldest, Colin, on his way to his brother's in Frisco was an extra treat--he carved the lamb, sat at the head of the table, and led Jacob in the grace. Good friend Sue was here with her teenagers and parents--tomorrow the parents leave for Canada, to be back next fall. And I was so glad to see her kids--they've grown into wonderful young people.
I offered ice cream cups for dessert and Hunter, twelve, took me up on it. When I asked Jacob if he wanted one, he said, "I didn't eat a good dinner." Told him he could have one anyway, but he declined--then later I found him eating one.
Lively conversation, sense of being surrounded by loved ones--and Christian rinsed all the plates and put them in the dishwasher. Hope the true meaning of Easter sank in for each of us.  But I am so thankful for all I have and for all the blessings given me.

A cooking failure and a lovely evening

My Easter tableWhat do you do when it's the Saturday night before Easter and you're alone and having a pity party? Why cook yourself a good meal, of course. So that's what I did. But it didn't quite work out. First of all, I generally don't like tilapia. But I found a recipe that sounded good--poach it in wine, make a cream sauce and top with sauteed mushrooms. Of course I fiddled with the recipe--no way I'm putting two cups heavy cream in a sauce, so I added a small spoon of light sour cream. Of course I didn't let the cooking liquid reduce enough--impatience!--and I didn't as the recipe said thicken it with cornstarch or flour and water. Result was a runny sauce that did nothing for the fish. And guess what? I don't like tilapia. The aspargus was good, but I've been eating on the same bunch of aspargus all week.
I decided chocolate and chardonnay fix anything, so I took both of those, with my Kindle, out on the porch. Lovely evening. As I came out the door, a small gray and  white kitty skittered away from my monkey grass--hope she's not someone's lost baby. Then I sat and stared at squirrels, who are my enemy because they ruin my porch plants. The big old elm in front of the house has a huge knot hole in it--one  year we sat and watch birds fly in and out. They had built a nest there and were feeding babies. Tonight squirrels were in and out of it. Do they build nests? The world does not need more squirrels, at least my corner of the world.
I got my chili book as ready to send off as I can today, and the book on my pile is dark and depressing--a holocaust survival tale with a twist. Not what my mood needed. So here's the glory of an e-reader: I ordered Carolyn Hart's newest Death on Demand book, Death Comes Silently, and read until it grew too dark. Then I came in and filled the deviled egg shells--gosh that filling is good!
Mood much improved now.
For those of you who celebrate Easter, may you have a blessed day tomorrow. If Passover, enjoy that. I've lost track of how far into Passover it is, but I do have fond memories of seders more raucous than reverent. But I'm sure the intent was there, and I think seders are meant to be joyous. How I'd love some good, crisp, hot latkes!
Table set with my Easter china--check. Eggs deviled--check. Dishes out to cook lamb and vegetables--check. I'm all set for Easter dinner. So glad to share it with Sue Boggs, her children and her parents as well as Jordan, Christian, and Jacob. And maybe my Colin--what a treat even a brief visit from him will be.

Heigh, ho, to the groomers we go!

Don't know that you can tell the difference--it's hard to photograph a black dog, but Sophie belatedly got a hair cut today. Above is fuzzy Sophie, and to the right is new Sophie. Her border collie/poodle coat was out of control--and smelly to boot in spite of baths. I labored under the delusion (I do that a lot) that God gave dogs their coats for a purpose, and I shouldn't mess with it. But I finally wrote the breeder, who said a wise thing to me, "Doodles are man-made mutations, not dogs as God created them." Short answer: 1" all around, 1-1/2 to 2 inches on the face." She sent me a picture, and this morning Sophie and I happily went off to the groomers--well, I was happy. Bad news: she was so matted all they could do was shave her. "One inch?" I asked hopefully. "Nope, shave. She won't look anything like she does now. Be prepared." I begged for saving as much face and tail hair as they could, so tonight I have this skinny small dog with a bushy face and bushy tail. She'll grow out to the right length in six weeks or so. Doesn't seem to have bothered her at all, and she's the same irrepressible personality.
Scooby missed her. He barked all day. Greg, the lawn guy, was here, and he said "Scooby's barking to find out where she is. He's gotten used to her." Scooby did give her a thorough sniff-check out when she came home.
Usually I have Scoob cut back to one-inch for summer. Not sure about it this summer, whether his disliking the trip to the groomer would balance out his discomfort. Got to think on that one. Owning dogs is not cheap!

Letting go--it ain't easy

Yoga is or was meant to be relaxation preparatory to meditation. So when I did my yoga workout today, I was meditating alright--on anger. Hardly what it's supposed to be! I don't think I'm generally an angry person nor do I usually hold a grudge. I've long ago let go of my anger at an ex-husband, and more recently, I've been able to let go of my anger at two difficult former employees. But I have this one bit of anger that I'm still harboring and--dare I say it?--even nurturing.
I know all the reasons to let go of anger. This is Holy Week, with the holiest of Christian holidays fast upon us, and I'm a Christian who takes my faith seriously. Anger is not in the doctrine--forgiveness is, a "turn the other cheek" philosophy. I've prayed about this, but the Lord seems willing to let me stew in my own juices a while longer. I know the platitudes too--the only person anger hurts is you, etc. Those are all over Facebook.
A gentle lecture from daughter-in-law Lisa last night helped a bit but mostly made me feel guilty. She expects me to be a better person--and so does her husband, my oldest child--and I'm afraid I don't always live up to that.
Dinner with good friend Betty tonight was helpful--the more I talked about my anger, the harder she laughed, until I was laughing with her and seeing how ridiculous and uncharacteristic I'm being. So for the time being, my anger is less. Gone? No, not completely. Will it come back in full force? I expect so, from time to time but maybe each time it will be easier to let go of.
Dinner, by the by, was delicious--we split a tapas platter of smoked salmon crostini with sun-dried tomatoes and goat cheese, skewers of grape tomatoes and mozarella with balsamic dressing, baby artichokes with blue cheese, asparagus with yet another cheese topping, and hard (spicy!) salami. Add a glass of chardonnay and it was great.
So here I am tonight, on my own Easter journey from anger to peace. Forgiveness? No, that's stretching it. I just need the peace within myself.

The Mystery of Etta Place

Who was she? Where did she come from? What happened to Etta Place after Sundance and Butch died in a hail of bullets in South America? Well, that's the 1969 movie version--and then there's my version, now available again in ebook on a wide variety of platforms.
Here, told in first person, is my rwllinf of the story of Etta Place's life with the Sundance Kid, Butch Cassidy, and the Hole In the Wall Gang, told form her point of view and with a hint at a new look at the relationships between that infamous threesome and a question about who really died in that shootout in South America. 
She was born Martha Baird, but history will always remember her as Etta Place, the woman who rode with the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang. This is history transformed into fiction in a novel that captures all the drama, passion, and adventure of the life of one of the West's most amazing women.
Publishers Weekly wrote "Alter is a meticulous researcher but never at the expense of a skillful first-person narrative." And The Literary Times said, "Judy Alter is one of the finest writers of Western fiction! Her realistic portrayal of historic events touches the imagination and stirs the spirit."
Heady praise for an author with at best a mid-list career.
Here, just in case, are links to Sundance, Butch and Me:
Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/Sundance-Historical-Western-Romance-ebook/dp/B007Q3LUGM/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1333393307&sr=1-2 
 Nook:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1005183916?ean=2940014178884&itm=1&usri=sundance%2c+butch+and+me

Thanks for putting up with me and my blatant self promotion. From now on, back to regular posting. Who knows? I might discuss politics--naw, probably not.

:Like seeing your chldren again

An author/friend once commented that having books out of print was like having children  you can't see. Well, I'm excited to announce that as of today I can see two of my OP "children" again. Libbie and Sundance, Butch and Me are now both available as ebooks. I've mentioned them before but in cases of blatant self promotion, I believe in repetition.
Libbie is the story of Elizabeth Bacon Custer's years with George Armstrong Custer, as I imagine them. Not all the fun and games her journals would suggest. Elmer Kelton wrote, "Libbie is probably the book Mrs. Custer would have written had she not been determined to protect her husband's name."—Elmer Kelton, a review in Romantic Times said, "A wondrous, intimate story of an unsung heroine of the West," and Affaire de Couer said, "Rings…authentically true….Brilliant and memorable….Kudos to Ms. Alter for a refreshingly unique story." Here's a brief excerpt:

I knew that history would make a plaything of Autie, and when that happened, all my battles would be lost again. Autie rarely lost a battle—save that last big one—and his fights were always glorious, painted on a broad screen by the clamoring newsmen if not by himself. My battles were small and silent and private, but oh! they were important to me, and I had managed to hold the line. I would not see it all wiped away with the muckraking cry that Autie's overweening ambition had led him to disaster at Little Bighorn. I would make sure that the world saw the George Armstrong Custer I wanted seen. Only this private journal—to be burned upon my death—records my own wars.
Twelve years is not very long in a lifetime, yet it seemed my whole life was lived in those brief years of marriage. I had fought battles of my own, hard battles, to marry Autie, and once married, I thought myself the happiest and luckiest of women—married to the great boy-general, the hero of the Civil War. We would, I knew, grow old together, savoring the best of life, the last for which the first was made, so the poet wrote. I'm not sure when, exactly, that I knew that dream was not to be, that a love as intense as ours could not survive, that two people as willful as we could not be bound so tightly together. And yet, when all was said and done, I would not have traded those twelve years for anything on earth. Were they worth a lifetime? There is no answer, but even to think about it, I must begin earlier, back in Monroe.... I remember yet one snowy night when I was but sixteen years old.
 Libbie is available from Kindle at http://www.amazon.com/Libbie-Historical-Western-Romance-ebook/dp/B007Q3EJ74/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1333417391&sr=1-3  and from Nook at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1000340594?ean=2940014178730&itm=1&usri=judy+alter+libbie I'm proud of these novels and the research that went into them. Hope you enjoy them. Tomorrow, more about Sundance, Butch and Me, the story of Etta Place's years with the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang.