Judy Alter's Blog, page 339
September 16, 2011
Some good writing, a long nap, rain and homemade pizza
Today was a holiday, even for me--no school for FWISD students, which frees me to my old schedule of working in the early afternoon and napping in the late. I wrote almost 2000 words and felt good about what I'd done--as opposed to yesterday, though last night I reread all that I had so far and it didn't seem that bad to me for a first draft. But I worked away this afternoon, and the ideas seemed to flow. Love that feeling. I took a late, long nap and then lay in bed, daydreaming--sometimes great plot ideas come to me when I do that. But I realized I smelled rain--my greenhouse window vents in the kitchen were open and sure enough, the streets were wet. As I write it's raining pretty steadily--what a blessing. Yes, it's humid, but who cares.
Tonight I did something I haven't done in years--made homemade pizza. I'm not particularly a pizza fan, having overdosed on it in high school when we used to eat it cold for breakfast the morning aftre a party. When my kids were little I would spread dough in a jelly roll pan and section off parts, so each child could put on favorite toppings. But now when the kids suggest ordering pizza--or as Jamie often does, going to the pizza parlor which has sentimental value from high school--I either pack a sandwich or eat what passes for a salad. Make pizza nowadays? Never.
But Jacob announced he had a special recipe. You put it (I had to ask what and was told chicken) in the oven for 20 minute,s take it out, put pepper on it, and you have pizza chicken (piece of chicken?). I promised him we'd make pizza tonight, so today I pulled a sauce recipe off the web and let it simmer so long I burned it--luckily it didn't taste but once again I'm scrubbing and soaking. Bought a Boboli 8" crust, cooked some lean ground beef with salt, pepper and garlic powder. Had Jacob spoon on the sauce, then sprinkle the ground meat, and top with shredded mozarella. I despise buying shredded cheese but it's a lot cheaper.
Result was pretty good--knife and fork pizza because it was piled so high with ingredients. We ate maybe a third, so Christian has good leftovers. Trouble is Jacob doesn't really like ground meat so he didn't eat much.
Now I've got everyone to bed except Sophie--and I'm dreading taking her out for her evening excursion in the rain. Hope I have to get used to that.
Tonight I did something I haven't done in years--made homemade pizza. I'm not particularly a pizza fan, having overdosed on it in high school when we used to eat it cold for breakfast the morning aftre a party. When my kids were little I would spread dough in a jelly roll pan and section off parts, so each child could put on favorite toppings. But now when the kids suggest ordering pizza--or as Jamie often does, going to the pizza parlor which has sentimental value from high school--I either pack a sandwich or eat what passes for a salad. Make pizza nowadays? Never.
But Jacob announced he had a special recipe. You put it (I had to ask what and was told chicken) in the oven for 20 minute,s take it out, put pepper on it, and you have pizza chicken (piece of chicken?). I promised him we'd make pizza tonight, so today I pulled a sauce recipe off the web and let it simmer so long I burned it--luckily it didn't taste but once again I'm scrubbing and soaking. Bought a Boboli 8" crust, cooked some lean ground beef with salt, pepper and garlic powder. Had Jacob spoon on the sauce, then sprinkle the ground meat, and top with shredded mozarella. I despise buying shredded cheese but it's a lot cheaper.
Result was pretty good--knife and fork pizza because it was piled so high with ingredients. We ate maybe a third, so Christian has good leftovers. Trouble is Jacob doesn't really like ground meat so he didn't eat much.
Now I've got everyone to bed except Sophie--and I'm dreading taking her out for her evening excursion in the rain. Hope I have to get used to that.
September 15, 2011
Grandsons and sports
Kegan, four-and-a-half, had his first Little League practice, and as the picture shows, he was deadly serious about it. He's a bit small for his age but he makes up for it in determination. His dad says he was really dialed in to what he was doing while the other kids were goofing off. That's okay--I remember the days his dad used to stand and watch a soccer ball roll by him. But good for Kegan.
And Jacob got his soccer outfit yesterday. Nothing would do but he put it on immediately when he came in from school.
And this is how Jacob starts his school day Sophie insists on going out to the porch even before they arrive. Not sure how I'll explain to her that there is no school tomorrow. That's sort of how my days go--dogs and puppies and Jacob. This morning it was errands; tomorrow morning the grocery store plus I have to take my car in--the top is not going back down as it should. I never seem to get a block of time to write, but I did manage 1400 words this afternoon and may get another bit done tonight. The novel hasn't quite taken off in my mind yet, but the idea is to get that first draft down on paper. A lovely day--high of 82--made it hard not to sneak out to the front porch with a book. I have a rather "deep" book to review: True Confessions: Feminist Professors Tell Stories Out of School. Got to dig into it.
And to think I worried about retirement, afraid I'd wake up in the morning and wonder what I could do with my day! I am now a big fan of retirement and wondering how I ever found time to work.
Ooops. Just ended the day with a water disaster. I was at the dining table in the back room, three feet from the back door, keeping an eye on Jacob and Sophie in the back yard--but not close enough. He turned the hose on her, then brought a muddy, sopping wet puppy in the house. Confession: I lost my temper. Jacob said I hurt his feelings. Well, forgive me, but I had to towel the puppy (who is still damp) and mop the floor. Now all is quiet--Jacob and family have gone home, Scooby's in his bed, and Sophie is definitely winding down, poor damp thing. Some days I'm more ready for sleep than others.
September 13, 2011
Back to work
A fuzzy picture of Sophie patiently waiting for her morning hug from Jacob as he goes to school. She devils me to take her outside when she realizes it's about time. When Jacob hugs her, he gets the most blissful look on his face. Tonight he and I had a theological discussion. I told him Wywy had died and he asked if she (he, it) was in heaven. I said, "Well, cat heaven." He launched into an explanation of how God is invisible to us but in heaven you can see him so Wywy can see him and then he decided that she's up there playing with Pecos, the dog my neighbors Jay and Susan lost a few months ago. The simple faith of a child is a most comforting thing.Today I got the tentative (I guess it's tentative--it's a bit scary) publication schedule for my next novels. Skeleton in a Dead Space is the first Kelly O'Connell mystery; the second, No Neighborhood for Old Women, is written, under contract, and as of tonight, in the hands of the editor. It will be released in April. The third novel, however, is untitled and essentially unwritten--I have about 5,000 words which only leaves me at least 65,000 to go. It's scheduled for release in August, which means I have to put my shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone, and all those other cliches. Life keeps getting in the way but I really have to buckle down now, and I couldn't be happier about it. I went back to the third novel this morning and did get caught up in it. I'm working on carving myself big blocks of time to work. All of this is pretty exciting for me, and I feel fortunate.
Megan read Skeleton and I asked if she recognized her nieces. She said, "Oh, I recognized a whole lot of stuff." When my mentor Fred first read it, I said something about it being in some ways autobiographical, and he said he would never have asked but he wondered. So there, dear reader, it's for you to figure out what came from my life and what didn't. By the second novel, Kelly has definitely established her own life and there's no autobiography--except my two darling granddaughters.
Feels good to have goals and deadlines and be working.
September 12, 2011
Many kinds of grief
Last week I grieved from a distance with friends who had lost loved ones: a close friend I see fairly often unexpectedly lost her younger brother, with whom she was not close--that kind of grief brings its own special difficulties. My high school best friend lost her husband of over 50 years to cancer. I see few marriages that look, from the outside, to be truly happy but theirs was one. In the last months I've marveled at the grace and faith with which they faced this next step in their journey together. They have a large family, and my friend will have children and grandchildren around to comfort her. Still I wish I could have hugged both these friends.
Yesterday I grieved with the nation over the enormous loss of life in a senseless, brutal attack on America ten years ago. Like so many others, I went to church and prayed and I watched the memorial at Ground Zero. My heart goes out to those who lost loved ones so suddenly and tragically, but in a way I felt a sense of triumph for America yesterday. I think Vice President Joe Biden said it best when, at the Pentagon ceremony, he said something to the effect that they thought they would bring us to our knees but they underestimated America. We were unified, and we drew strength from each other. I only hope that it does not take another national tragedy to unite us in these contentious times of political disarray.
Today my grief was personal. In a recent post I talked about the decline in my 19-year-old cat's health. After an episode yesterday, today was the day to put him to sleep. My son Jamie came from Frisco--Wywy had been his cat, and he said, "Mom, you should not have to do this alone, and I want to see Wywy." He did something I never would have had the nerve to: he asked the vet to make a house call. Dr. Minterley from University Animal Hopsital came to the house willingly and was kind, gentle, and compassionate. Jamie and I shed a few tears and hugged but we know it was right. Wywy was struggling for each breath. RIP Wynona Judley, the cat with gender problems. We never could decide all those years whether to say "he" or "she," but he was a wonderful cat--fluffy and gorgeous and affectionate. I'll not get another cat. None could replace Wywy.
I know that there's no comparison between the death of a pet, no matter how well loved, and the death of a family member or the extraordinary death toll of 9/11, but it has its own special grief in the fact that, at least in this case, I had to decide to end a life, a decision made with much help from Jamie. As frail as he was, Wywy slept in his usual place last night--pressed against my feet. My feet will be lonely and cold tonight, and there's a void in the house. This is the first time in thirty years I haven't had a cat in the house.
Yesterday I grieved with the nation over the enormous loss of life in a senseless, brutal attack on America ten years ago. Like so many others, I went to church and prayed and I watched the memorial at Ground Zero. My heart goes out to those who lost loved ones so suddenly and tragically, but in a way I felt a sense of triumph for America yesterday. I think Vice President Joe Biden said it best when, at the Pentagon ceremony, he said something to the effect that they thought they would bring us to our knees but they underestimated America. We were unified, and we drew strength from each other. I only hope that it does not take another national tragedy to unite us in these contentious times of political disarray.
Today my grief was personal. In a recent post I talked about the decline in my 19-year-old cat's health. After an episode yesterday, today was the day to put him to sleep. My son Jamie came from Frisco--Wywy had been his cat, and he said, "Mom, you should not have to do this alone, and I want to see Wywy." He did something I never would have had the nerve to: he asked the vet to make a house call. Dr. Minterley from University Animal Hopsital came to the house willingly and was kind, gentle, and compassionate. Jamie and I shed a few tears and hugged but we know it was right. Wywy was struggling for each breath. RIP Wynona Judley, the cat with gender problems. We never could decide all those years whether to say "he" or "she," but he was a wonderful cat--fluffy and gorgeous and affectionate. I'll not get another cat. None could replace Wywy.
I know that there's no comparison between the death of a pet, no matter how well loved, and the death of a family member or the extraordinary death toll of 9/11, but it has its own special grief in the fact that, at least in this case, I had to decide to end a life, a decision made with much help from Jamie. As frail as he was, Wywy slept in his usual place last night--pressed against my feet. My feet will be lonely and cold tonight, and there's a void in the house. This is the first time in thirty years I haven't had a cat in the house.
September 10, 2011
Kitchen mistakes--and successes
Tonight I decided to do some heavy duty cooking--make potato salad for tomorrow night, fix a lamb patty and beets and greens for my dinner. Central Market sells lamb patties that have mint and feta mixed in--delicious, but one patty is huge. I halve them and freeze, and sometimes even a half is too much. But tonight I ate the whole thing--I mean, the whole half. The beets on the other hand were a problem--not exactly a disaster, but...My habit it to boil them, then slide off the outer peel, slice, and reheat with the greens, which cook down quickly. Well, I boiled those beets and boiled them and boiled them some more and still couldn't stick a fork in them. Finally decided I'd let them simmer while I ate lamb and leftover summer squash casserole. When I finally went back to them, they peeled and sliced easily--at last.
Made a potato salad with lemon juice and oil, no mayo. The Bookish Frogs, a group of friends of TCU Press, had a potluck supper recently and my friend Sue Winter brought this--I loved it. Some of my friends don't like mayonnaise (which I consider a travesty, but there's no accounting for friends) and some are gluten free--this would be perfect for them. So now I have a head start on tomorrow's dinner, beets to nibble on all week--I may pickle some--and have had a good dinner.
Sophie and I marked a milestone of sorts today: I began to leave her out without being out there every minute. Freed both of us. I do small chores, then go back to check. Since I keep a leash on her--only way I can catch her until I can teach her to come, which she isn't inclined to learn yet--I have to check frequently to make sure she isn't hung up on something, but so far she's been fine. This morning I sat at the back room table reading the paper while she and Scooby played. I left the door open, and when Scoob tired of her he came in. I tried the same thing this evening, just before dark--but he came in right away, as if to say, "Enough is enough." Sophie has also--knock on wood since it's only nine--had an accident-free day. I think this makes four days. It may come from my not watching like a hawk to see if she pees and poops. Sort of the same principle that I'm doing better on my weight now that I'm not so focused on it.
Wywy is still with us. Sunned himself by the back door this afternoon and then yowled like he wanted food. In my excitement to get him food, I left the door open and panicked for fear he'd gone outside. But he moves so slowly I figured I'd find him if he did, and this evening, while I haven't seen him, I've noticed that he's eaten some, so I guess he's safely in his closet in the house.
Whew! In the midst of all that I actually did some work editing a young-adult manuscript, by another author, for my publisher. Got all mixed up with "Search and replace" in Word but the managing editor was able to guide me through it. I get along pretty well with Word, but someitmes it seems determined to make my life difficult. This time, if I center the chapter title, it goes back and centers the last lines of the previous chapter; if I fix that, it left justifies the chapter title. Go figure! And I searched for and replaced double spaces--many people still double space after a period as we were taught years ago in school, but it doesn't work today with new printing technology. Today it deleted two spaces from all the first-line indents--fixing that line by line would have taken forever and the thought had me tearing my hair, but that's what the editor showed me how to fix.
Made a potato salad with lemon juice and oil, no mayo. The Bookish Frogs, a group of friends of TCU Press, had a potluck supper recently and my friend Sue Winter brought this--I loved it. Some of my friends don't like mayonnaise (which I consider a travesty, but there's no accounting for friends) and some are gluten free--this would be perfect for them. So now I have a head start on tomorrow's dinner, beets to nibble on all week--I may pickle some--and have had a good dinner.
Sophie and I marked a milestone of sorts today: I began to leave her out without being out there every minute. Freed both of us. I do small chores, then go back to check. Since I keep a leash on her--only way I can catch her until I can teach her to come, which she isn't inclined to learn yet--I have to check frequently to make sure she isn't hung up on something, but so far she's been fine. This morning I sat at the back room table reading the paper while she and Scooby played. I left the door open, and when Scoob tired of her he came in. I tried the same thing this evening, just before dark--but he came in right away, as if to say, "Enough is enough." Sophie has also--knock on wood since it's only nine--had an accident-free day. I think this makes four days. It may come from my not watching like a hawk to see if she pees and poops. Sort of the same principle that I'm doing better on my weight now that I'm not so focused on it.
Wywy is still with us. Sunned himself by the back door this afternoon and then yowled like he wanted food. In my excitement to get him food, I left the door open and panicked for fear he'd gone outside. But he moves so slowly I figured I'd find him if he did, and this evening, while I haven't seen him, I've noticed that he's eaten some, so I guess he's safely in his closet in the house.
Whew! In the midst of all that I actually did some work editing a young-adult manuscript, by another author, for my publisher. Got all mixed up with "Search and replace" in Word but the managing editor was able to guide me through it. I get along pretty well with Word, but someitmes it seems determined to make my life difficult. This time, if I center the chapter title, it goes back and centers the last lines of the previous chapter; if I fix that, it left justifies the chapter title. Go figure! And I searched for and replaced double spaces--many people still double space after a period as we were taught years ago in school, but it doesn't work today with new printing technology. Today it deleted two spaces from all the first-line indents--fixing that line by line would have taken forever and the thought had me tearing my hair, but that's what the editor showed me how to fix.
September 9, 2011
The Nine Lives of Cats
My cat has apparently used up another of his nine lives. I thought he was dying. Wynona (wrong name for a male cat, but please don't ask) was 19 last spring, probably in May, so he's had a long and happy life. I've had him since Jamie brought him home at about three months of age. Jamie had found him, a kitten, abandoned on a country road, and kept him all summer. He grew into a beautiful long-haired domestic, with a good touch of Maine coon in him. One friend, a cat lover, called him the world's most gorgeous cat. Beautiful as he was, he also has been a sweet, affectionate creature, craving love--not a mean bone in his body except the time he was enraged at another cat and bit me when I tried to pick him up. I made three long trips to ER from that experience, but it's another story.Wynona is not in good health. He has kidney disease and a diaphragmatic hernia, which means his intestines are up in his chest cavity, stressing his heart and lungs. Last week, I had to have him shaved--he was covered with mats, some so large and close to his skin that they must have pulled and caused pain. After he was shaved, he looked like one of those skinny old men who needs suspenders to hold up his pants.
I guess it was the shaving that did it, though he seemed all right the first few days. But about three days ago I couldn't find him. He didn't come out to eat, didn't sleep on my bed and demand to be fed at 3 a.m. He didn't eat, and he barely used his litter box. By yesterday, I thought when I came home in the afternoon I'd have to start searching closets for a dead cat. Instead he was by the back door. He still wouldn't eat, and he yowled a bit but then he went back to his hiding place and stayed there.
Last night he slept on my bed again and I woke and took him to eat about two a.m., carrying him on my shoulder, but he ate nothing. This morning he showed some interest in food but again refused to eat. But when Jacob and I came home from school he was sunning himself by the back door, and he ate just a bit. I've been putting food and water by the closet where he hides, and the food disappears. I do have to be watchful to be sure the dogs don't get it, but they haven't.
Wywy has already used up two lives with similar behavior--once when I subjected him to the indignity of a flea dip and, more recently, when I brought the puppy home. I don't suppose he has all six or seven lives left, but I am now waiting to see what happens. Signs are encouraging. I didn't rush to call the vet because in my mind Wywy (his nickname) has signed a DNR or I've signed it for him. One of these times, probably sooner than later, it will be real. But I don't want to make the decision for him. So I'm waiting and watching. Cross your fingers for Wywy--and me, please.
September 8, 2011
Y'all come to a party
I spent my morning sending out batches of emails with this pasted in them. It's my blog for tonight at the end of a hectic day when I didn't get much if anything else done--except my class met tonight and was fun and informative as usual.
Come help me celebrate publication ofmy first contemporary mystery
set in Fort Worth's Fairmount neighborhood
Book signings
7:00 a.m. Saturday, September 24
5:30 p.m. Monday, September 26
The Old Neighborhood Grill
1633 Park Place Avenue
Fort Worth
Can't make the signings?
Skeleton in a Dead Space may be ordered from
Turquoise Morning Press,
Amazon.com : http://www.amazon.com/Skeleton-Space-OConnell-Mystery-ebook/dp/B005JKO41M/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1314492611&sr=1-1
smashwords.com http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/84482
Print Copies https://www.createspace.com/3680105
Come help me celebrate publication ofmy first contemporary mystery
set in Fort Worth's Fairmount neighborhood
Book signings
7:00 a.m. Saturday, September 24
5:30 p.m. Monday, September 26
The Old Neighborhood Grill
1633 Park Place Avenue
Fort Worth
Can't make the signings?
Skeleton in a Dead Space may be ordered from
Turquoise Morning Press,
Amazon.com : http://www.amazon.com/Skeleton-Space-OConnell-Mystery-ebook/dp/B005JKO41M/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1314492611&sr=1-1
smashwords.com http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/84482
Print Copies https://www.createspace.com/3680105
September 7, 2011
Writer's Block
Every writer suffers from it sometime--the almost desperate feeling that you have no idea where this project, be it novel, short story, non-fiction, even corporate report, is going, no idea how to push forward on it. The classic wisdom says "Write through it."
I've been stymed on the new novel I started.Wrote what I thought was a pretty good first chapter and then lost steam. I dealt with it by ignoring it. I could keep myself most busy with blogging, writing guest blogs, emails (suddenly people got long answers from me), Facebook, and reading. I thought about the novel a bit, with guilt, but kept busy. Last weekend I forced myself back to it, but Saturday was a day when I'd worked so hard by nine in the morning I was ready for a nap. Instead Jacob and I headed for Central Market and then met his folks at Smashburger's for a cheeseburger. End result: I was tired and full, and I was so sleepy when I sat down at the computer that I coiuld barely think. Still, I remembered "write through it" and I wrote. Later, after a nap, I realized that I had been just puting words on paper. They were lifeless and didn't get the story anywhere. Too much telling and explaining.
Sunday I started over and found some scenes flowed nicely--I was dealing with the delemma which with I had opened the novel, but I sure couldn't keep that ball in the air for another 60,000 words or more. Truth was, I had one idea but not a novel in mind.
Some of you may remember I dream vividly and frequently and usually remember those dreams. Last night I dreamt that I was a neighborhood activist. Some people wanted to move a development into a historic neighborhood and I was fighting it. Bad guys were threatening me, and in a bit of over-the-top drama planned to kidnap and murder me. I was out in the street, appealing for neighbors to help but none did., none believed me. Well, I don't think things will get that extreme in my novel, though maybe close. But there was my idea for Plot B.
Kelly, my protagonist (do read Skeleton in a Dead Space), is a realtor who rennovates Craftsman houses and is passionately dedicated to preserving historic neighborhoods. So what could be better than a developer who wants to put a big-box store on the lovingly restored main street of her neighborhood. That's as far as I'm going with a spoiler.
Unfortunately today, what with car repairs--trips to the dealership and a body shop--plus a lunch date, then Jacob after school, and a dinner date, I haven't had time to develop the idea more in my mind. Still it's firmly fixed there and I hope to work on it in the next couple days--if not, over the weekend. I'm feeling good about writing again tonight. And all those distractions--dogs and cat, Jacob, friends--I wouldn't trade for them.
I've been stymed on the new novel I started.Wrote what I thought was a pretty good first chapter and then lost steam. I dealt with it by ignoring it. I could keep myself most busy with blogging, writing guest blogs, emails (suddenly people got long answers from me), Facebook, and reading. I thought about the novel a bit, with guilt, but kept busy. Last weekend I forced myself back to it, but Saturday was a day when I'd worked so hard by nine in the morning I was ready for a nap. Instead Jacob and I headed for Central Market and then met his folks at Smashburger's for a cheeseburger. End result: I was tired and full, and I was so sleepy when I sat down at the computer that I coiuld barely think. Still, I remembered "write through it" and I wrote. Later, after a nap, I realized that I had been just puting words on paper. They were lifeless and didn't get the story anywhere. Too much telling and explaining.
Sunday I started over and found some scenes flowed nicely--I was dealing with the delemma which with I had opened the novel, but I sure couldn't keep that ball in the air for another 60,000 words or more. Truth was, I had one idea but not a novel in mind.
Some of you may remember I dream vividly and frequently and usually remember those dreams. Last night I dreamt that I was a neighborhood activist. Some people wanted to move a development into a historic neighborhood and I was fighting it. Bad guys were threatening me, and in a bit of over-the-top drama planned to kidnap and murder me. I was out in the street, appealing for neighbors to help but none did., none believed me. Well, I don't think things will get that extreme in my novel, though maybe close. But there was my idea for Plot B.
Kelly, my protagonist (do read Skeleton in a Dead Space), is a realtor who rennovates Craftsman houses and is passionately dedicated to preserving historic neighborhoods. So what could be better than a developer who wants to put a big-box store on the lovingly restored main street of her neighborhood. That's as far as I'm going with a spoiler.
Unfortunately today, what with car repairs--trips to the dealership and a body shop--plus a lunch date, then Jacob after school, and a dinner date, I haven't had time to develop the idea more in my mind. Still it's firmly fixed there and I hope to work on it in the next couple days--if not, over the weekend. I'm feeling good about writing again tonight. And all those distractions--dogs and cat, Jacob, friends--I wouldn't trade for them.
September 5, 2011
This 'n that
Half the population of North Texas is on Facebook commenting on how wonderful the weather is today, and I'm among them. When I took the puppy out at seven this morning, I was almost a bit chilly--and it was great. A breeze, good temperatures, a great day. I've opened the vents over my greenhouse windows in the kitchen--always a sign of good weather to me. And this pleasant temperature will stay for at least a week. But many parts of Texas are in real trouble. Until about five years ago, I thought southern California had an exclusive on wildfires. It never dawned on me that they'd make their way to Texas. In recent years, fires have popped up all over the state. Possum Kingdom has suffered twice this year, and there's that terrible fire in East Texas that killed a woman and her baby. But now, the worst of all is the fire in Central Texas, so bad that our governor even came back to the state and said,sagely, "These things pop up with no warning." No kidding? (I liked the Facebook message that said, "Welcome back, Governor. We hardly missed you.") But it's a terrible fire, too close to Austin. Over 400 homes destroyed and it's not, last I heard, at all contained. There's a big push to rescue horses and cattle, and a lot of people from all over the state are working night and day to fight this monster. Pray for them.
You know those young girls who take razor blades to their arms and mutilate themselves? Well, no one will ever mistake me for a young girl, but they might think I've been busy with the razor blade. Puppy teeth are sharp and make deep if small cuts that bleed freely and heal slowly. Somehow when bitten I manage to wipe my arm on whatever T-shirt I'm wearing--last night there were blood speckles and one big smear on my MacBain Clan T-shirt. Can't have that. I've developed a foolproof (I think) removal method, combining hints from my ex-husband and my mom. Soak the garment in cold water; let it hang dry and treat the stain with hydrogen peroxide and then spray it with Spray 'n Wash or some similar product. I've had really good luck.
At lunch today a friend told me that mysterious charges, not hers, had appeared on both her debit and credit cards. The banks took care of them efficiently, but since she still had the cards in her possession it was puzzling. I'd been about ready to put a big charge on my credit card, so I came home and checked my account--there were all kinds of charges on my account, most of them little, to places I never go: Target, Macy's, Tom Thumb, five small ones to the grocery where I shop but I go once a week and run up a whopping bill. I called, gave the Citicard folks the account number on my card (mind you, it's a new card since I lost my wallet a couple of weeks ago and I haven't comitted the new number to memory), and my zip code. They were puzzled: the computer brought up a totally different account. They asked the cardholder's name and I was about to give my name when I looked: Betty Boles. My friend Betty and I had dinner last Wed. and apparently switched cards. I was still waiting for my new debit card, so that's why I used the credit card--usually I never do. She on the other hand uses hers all the time. I asked her to look, and she said, "Sure enough. Judy Alter." I could have waited till we had dinner Wed. but she flew over to the house to trade cards. In the meantime I printed out the charges, added them up, and figured she'd charged $351.11 to my card! I'm glad I looked before I charged $670 to her account.
You know those young girls who take razor blades to their arms and mutilate themselves? Well, no one will ever mistake me for a young girl, but they might think I've been busy with the razor blade. Puppy teeth are sharp and make deep if small cuts that bleed freely and heal slowly. Somehow when bitten I manage to wipe my arm on whatever T-shirt I'm wearing--last night there were blood speckles and one big smear on my MacBain Clan T-shirt. Can't have that. I've developed a foolproof (I think) removal method, combining hints from my ex-husband and my mom. Soak the garment in cold water; let it hang dry and treat the stain with hydrogen peroxide and then spray it with Spray 'n Wash or some similar product. I've had really good luck.
At lunch today a friend told me that mysterious charges, not hers, had appeared on both her debit and credit cards. The banks took care of them efficiently, but since she still had the cards in her possession it was puzzling. I'd been about ready to put a big charge on my credit card, so I came home and checked my account--there were all kinds of charges on my account, most of them little, to places I never go: Target, Macy's, Tom Thumb, five small ones to the grocery where I shop but I go once a week and run up a whopping bill. I called, gave the Citicard folks the account number on my card (mind you, it's a new card since I lost my wallet a couple of weeks ago and I haven't comitted the new number to memory), and my zip code. They were puzzled: the computer brought up a totally different account. They asked the cardholder's name and I was about to give my name when I looked: Betty Boles. My friend Betty and I had dinner last Wed. and apparently switched cards. I was still waiting for my new debit card, so that's why I used the credit card--usually I never do. She on the other hand uses hers all the time. I asked her to look, and she said, "Sure enough. Judy Alter." I could have waited till we had dinner Wed. but she flew over to the house to trade cards. In the meantime I printed out the charges, added them up, and figured she'd charged $351.11 to my card! I'm glad I looked before I charged $670 to her account.
September 3, 2011
Tell me it's a holiday
By nine in the morning today, I was exhuasted--and I'd only been up an hour and a half. But there were the dogs to tend to, in shifts of course, because if the little dog is out with the big one, she forgets what she's supposed to be doing outside. The cat came out of hiding wanting to be fed. There were porch plants to water (that's not a small chore), the bed to make--never did get to the laundry. And then there was Jacob, who wanted his waffle NOW. When he wanted a second, he banged on the table and pointed to his empty plate, I told him I didn't speak that language. Finally, he got his second waffle, after an appropriate, "Please may I have..." and I got a cup of coffee and the newspaper.
Jacob is a wonderful help with the dogs. He loves on Scooby, who needs it a lot, and he plays with Sophie endlessly. She thinks he means fun. When I had her outside this morning Jacob wandered out, barely awake, and she covered him with wet, sloppy kisses. But there are lapses in judgment--forgetting to close a door so the dog I was keeping inside goes out, emptying their water bowl (I know not why), then making a huge muddy mess when I asked him to refill it. Well, he's only five.
Animal trauma: I had to have the cat shaved. He was one big mat. On his rear end and back the fur was matted like a carpet, close to his skin. His stomach was a succession of huge mats, and he even had small ones hanging under his chin so you couldn't scratch in his favorite spot. They asked if I cared how he looked or just wanted him to be comfortable--the mats pulled and hurt him, I know. I said no, I didn't care how he looked, but I was unprepared for the creature I let out of the cat carrier. Like a long-legged rat with a bushy tail and big head. He hid all night and still is hiding most of the day but he emerges occasionally to eat. He has the thin body of an old man, which only makes sense--he is really old. I hope he's grateful, but I suspect he's embarrassed.
This evening, Jacob's gone home, Sophie is playing at my feet, Scooby is outside, and the cat is in his hiding place, wherever that is. Peace and quiet. After a looooong nap--two hours--I'm feeling a bit better about the world. It was about to get me earlier in the day.
Jacob and I did go to Central Market and then to Smashburger's to meet his parents.What a delicious burger! Honest, I don't let myself eat burgers very often, but this was great.
Jacob has the baby thing all figured out. We were talking about apartments--he said he'd like to live in one, and I said houses were so much nicer. But I pointed out that his mom and dad lived in an apartment before he was born.
That, he said decisively, is what they should do. Move to an apartment and then move to a house, and then they'd have another baby. Great logic, from one who wants a baby sister though I guess he'd settle for a baby brother.
Nice day--good kind of tired. Writing? Yeah, I did a little this afternoon but I was so sleepy I could hardly keep my eyes open. I'll reread tonight and see if it made any sense. I doub it. Tomorrow.
Meantime, life is good.
Jacob is a wonderful help with the dogs. He loves on Scooby, who needs it a lot, and he plays with Sophie endlessly. She thinks he means fun. When I had her outside this morning Jacob wandered out, barely awake, and she covered him with wet, sloppy kisses. But there are lapses in judgment--forgetting to close a door so the dog I was keeping inside goes out, emptying their water bowl (I know not why), then making a huge muddy mess when I asked him to refill it. Well, he's only five.
Animal trauma: I had to have the cat shaved. He was one big mat. On his rear end and back the fur was matted like a carpet, close to his skin. His stomach was a succession of huge mats, and he even had small ones hanging under his chin so you couldn't scratch in his favorite spot. They asked if I cared how he looked or just wanted him to be comfortable--the mats pulled and hurt him, I know. I said no, I didn't care how he looked, but I was unprepared for the creature I let out of the cat carrier. Like a long-legged rat with a bushy tail and big head. He hid all night and still is hiding most of the day but he emerges occasionally to eat. He has the thin body of an old man, which only makes sense--he is really old. I hope he's grateful, but I suspect he's embarrassed.
This evening, Jacob's gone home, Sophie is playing at my feet, Scooby is outside, and the cat is in his hiding place, wherever that is. Peace and quiet. After a looooong nap--two hours--I'm feeling a bit better about the world. It was about to get me earlier in the day.
Jacob and I did go to Central Market and then to Smashburger's to meet his parents.What a delicious burger! Honest, I don't let myself eat burgers very often, but this was great.
Jacob has the baby thing all figured out. We were talking about apartments--he said he'd like to live in one, and I said houses were so much nicer. But I pointed out that his mom and dad lived in an apartment before he was born.
That, he said decisively, is what they should do. Move to an apartment and then move to a house, and then they'd have another baby. Great logic, from one who wants a baby sister though I guess he'd settle for a baby brother.
Nice day--good kind of tired. Writing? Yeah, I did a little this afternoon but I was so sleepy I could hardly keep my eyes open. I'll reread tonight and see if it made any sense. I doub it. Tomorrow.
Meantime, life is good.
