Comptonplations

Heritage

2012-01-22T13:12:00.005-05:00

Last night, X-Chromo came into my office and asked, "What's this?"

She handed me my great-grandmother's autograph book.

The earliest entry I can find is April 5, 1891. That's 102 years and 5 days before X was born.

Edward Sargent of Candor, New York wrote:

May you be happy
Each day of your life
Get a good husband
And make a good wife.

Lena Mae Ross married Charles DeWitt Compton in 1895. My parents have a cranberry glass and cut-crystal creamer from that wedding in their china cabinet.

I have a quilt Lena made. When I was a child, it was the "sick blanket": we were only allowed to use it when we were sick. It's in poor shape now. Pretty battered. I think my mom used to wash it in the wringer washer.

Lena died young. She left 3 children, the oldest of whom was my grandfather. My grandmother once told me

she promised Lena she would take care of my grandfather. She ended up marrying him.

When Grandma moved -- I think when she moved in with my aunt after she was too old to live alone -- Grandma gave me Lena's autograph book, because she knew I liked things like that.

Since November, TV Stevie has been learning about his father's family in an exploration of joy and discovering his heritage. I forgot that my children also share my heritage.

Lena's autograph book is a tangible part of that. I'm so glad I have it.

Hands

2012-01-11T06:12:00.001-05:00

I go through stages of noticing people's hands. I don't know why. Maybe it's the writer in me absorbing details to use in a book.

My hands now look like my grandmothers, with aged skin, kind of "wattly".

I once read a book -- possibly The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath -- in which the protagonist claimed her hands, when she wore white gloves (a public "must" in early-to-mid 20th century), felt like Minnie Mouse hands: too big for her body. I've never felt that way about my hands, but I've encountered a couple of women who should.

That wasn't a slam at those women. The shape and size of our hands is not something over which we have control. I think it interesting that both of these women are slender and fine-boned, but have these enormous hands at the ends of their dainty wrists. They are both number crunchers, too, which makes me wonder if mathiness is linked to big hands. Another Molly Compton Herwood Crackpot Theory.

I know another woman who is not slender or fine-boned, yet she has some of the most delicate hands I've ever seen. Each time I notice her hands, it strikes me anew that those hands don't fit her body or her personality.

I usually don't notice men's hands, but there is one man of my acquaintance whose hands completely gross me out. He's a nice man. A lot of women I know think he's attractive. Yet every time I notice his hands, I shudder. They are plump and hairy. And I'm assigning them to an antagonist in my current WIP. Because I'm a writer and I can.

Synchrony, Purple Style

2012-01-04T20:02:00.000-05:00

Every year, a group of my writing friends, commonly known as The Purples, get together around the end of December or early January for a goals session. We review the year past and plan for the year to come.

No, this is not yet another blog about writers and the goals they should be setting. There are plenty of those out there. And most of them are very good. The blogosphere does not need me adding my take on writing goals.

This blog is about synchrony. Simultaneous occurrence. This year, our goal setting session was rife with synchrony.

There's the to-be-expected (from a group of middle-aged women): lose weight. And of course, the writing goals. Those seem to migrate year-to-year on everyone's list.

This year, several of us focused on two things. We didn't discuss this in advance, so it was very weird when it came up during the session.

1) Our parents. Trying to stay connected to the people who raised us. I'm probably the worst of the bunch. My parents are both living and local . . . and I never call them. I see them on holiday's and such, but I never call them. My husband called his mother weekly until she passed away. I expect my children to call me weekly from college. And yet, I never call my mom or dad. So one of my goals this year is to call my folks once a week.

2) Stop confusing obligations with goals. One friend wrote: "clear distinction between goals and duties," and that's a biggie. I'm guilty of the same thing. When I initially started setting my goals for 2012, I wrote, "treasurer of my local RWA chapter". Well, that's not a goal. It's what I am, and I have duties corresponding to being such. Y-Chromo graduates from college this year, but that's not a goal. So why was it on my goal list? It was something that I know is scheduled.

Our lists also seem to grow shorter each year, as we realize that by attempting too much, we set ourselves up for failure. Or maybe we're just becoming more focused on what is really important to us.

Looking for Midnight

2011-12-26T07:11:00.000-05:00

I'm having a difficult time getting into the new book. I've probably done way too much pre-planning. But another issue is that I don't have a playlist.

I listen to music when I write. Music keeps me in the story. Without a play list, I'm lost. The only song I can think of is Vanity Faire's EARLY IN THE MORNING. Which I will download when I have my desktop computer back up and running (thank you EJ!).

But I'm thinking that this book, THE HOME TEAM, requires midnight songs. I can think of only three . . . MIDNIGHT CONFESSION (The Grass Roots); WALKING AFTER MIDNIGHT (Patsy Cline); MIDNIGHT TRAIN TO GEORGIA (Gladys Knight and the Pips).

So I'm putting the question out there: what other midnight songs are there?

Stephen King's 11/22/63: A Review

2011-12-13T21:48:00.002-05:00

I just finished reading Stephen King's newest novel, 11/22/63.

I feel as if I were misled.

Don't get me wrong. It's a good book, well-written and compelling. But it's not the story I thought I was going to read.

The review that made me interested in picking up the book led me to believe the premise was an alternate reality -- what the USA and the world would be like if President John F. Kennedy had not been assassinated in 1963.

Instead, I got a time travel novel.

The bulk of the story deals with the protagonist's life after he leaves 2011 and goes back in time to 1958. Most of the action takes place between 1958 and November 1963, detailing how the protagonist plans to stop the assassination. Pages 748 - 842 tell the immediate aftermath of the failed murder, give a brief, Cliff Notes version of what the world would be had JFK lived, and the protagonist's reaction to that world. Pages 801 to the middle of page 818 -- that's what there is of what happened because the President didn't die that day in Dallas.

I am keenly disappointed.

I wanted King's rich imagination and vivid prose to create the New Frontier promised to America by Kennedy. I wanted to know how things might have been had Johnson not been president. There was so much going on in the country then: Vietnam, Civil Rights, Women's Rights, The Space Race, the Cold War. Did Haight-Ashbury and the Summer of Love happen? Woodstock? Kent State?

Discussing this with TV Stevie, I learned he also thought the book was about what ifs. I doubt we read the same review.

I confess I haven't read a lot of King's newer works -- THE STAND or THE DEAD ZONE was probably one of the last ones I read. (Well, not counting his landmark ON WRITING. Every writer needs to read that book at least four times.) There were several places in 11/22/63 that seemed as if King were going to . . . be King (for lack of a better phrase) by tossing the reader into some horrible paranormal situation, but it never happened. Of course, there are those who will say the late 1950s/early 1960s fit that description perfectly.

I don't blame King for my disappointment: He didn't misrepresent his book. He wrote a good book. It's just not the book I wanted to read.

Creekwalk

2011-12-04T17:28:00.001-05:00

There's a new Creekwalk in town. Last weekend, TV Stevie and I walked from the Inner Harbor to the Armory Square district in downtown Syracuse. It was a nice walk. The city has done a wonderful job with this project.

Today, we walked the Inner Harbor to Onondaga Lake portion.

Onondaga Lake end of the new Creekwalk in Syracuse

That leg of the walk is about 10-minutes shorter (round trip) than Inner-Harbor-to-Armory-Square. We didn't particularly care for the part where we had to walk over the bridge on Hiawatha Boulevard (near THE Mall), but the rest of the walk was wonderful.

Each leg of the walk is different, going through different terrain, providing different views. Today felt very rural, with tall cat tails waving in the breeze, We enjoyed this as much as we did last weekend's excursion through Franklin Square and downtown Syracuse.

Both days, we ran into many other couples also talking advantage of the unseasonably mild weather. It was good to see people taking advantage of what the area has to offer.

Writing Revelations

2011-11-23T19:03:00.001-05:00

Last night I finally put together my plotting board. I've been meaning to do this for years, but somehow never got around to it. I used Michael Hauge, Alexandra Sokoloff, Chris Vogler, and Blake Snyder's methods, each one in a different color. It's not very neat, but it sure is pretty.

As you can see, I've started putting sticky notes on it.

As I was writing in the beats, turning points, sequences, whatever, it occurred to me that one could do tarot spreads based on Synder's beats and Vogler's stages to help plot the book.

This morning I pulled out my handy-dandy Osho Zen tarot deck and started doing just that. It was . . . amazing. And so many of the same cards kept showing up.

Now probably someone else has already figured this out, but it was a new idea for me. I'm having fun with it.

Grandmothers

2011-11-17T06:33:00.003-05:00

I had the best grandmothers, and I miss them both very much.

Gramma C used to bake me cookies with raisins. My dad doesn't like raisins, so I never had raisin cookies at home, making Gramma's raisin cookies a special treat. When she and my grandfather sold their farm and Gramma offered to let us take something we wanted, I chose the Aunt Jemima cookie jar.

When I was in high school and wanted pet house plants -- purple ones, no less -- Gramma gave me clippings of her coleus and wandering jew. I had those plants for years, until I moved into an apartment that was toxic to plants. (It killed my basil, too, a trauma I still haven't gotten over.)

Gramma T used to make Barbie doll clothes for all of her granddaughters. I still have most of mine -- except for the white satin wedding gown trimmed with pale blue ribbon. The girl down the street "borrowed" it and never returned it. I always thought I'd share the clothes and my dolls with my daughter, but X-Chromo wasn't into Barbies -- or even dolls -- all that much.

Even more than purple plants and homemade Barbie clothes, I have memories. Holidays spent with my sprawling extended families, laughter, fabulous food, and love.

I'm lucky and I'm thankful.

If Gramma C or Gramma T are reading the 'net somewhere, I love you, I miss you.

Election Day & Voting

2011-11-08T18:12:00.002-05:00

So glad Election Day is finally here!

no more automatic messages on my home voice mail
no more inopportune calls that start out, "I can't believe (insert candidate's name) is running for (insert office)!" then proceed to tell you what scum the aforementioned candidate is.

These calls makes one want to get rid of one's landline.

Why are politicians exempt from the DO NOT CALL registry?
Why are politicians also exempt from the bot-call laws (where a computer can't call you and stay on the line even after you've hung up the phone)?

I don't like my county's "new" method of "voting". Another woman and I were discussing this while on-line to cast our votes this morning. Neither of us think very much of this so-called progress. The folders provided for "privacy" were half the size needed to shield the ballot. The Poll Watcher -- the man who can read your ballot (so much for a secret ballot!) -- tried to tell us that the new system was much more handicap accessible.

Sorry. Not buying into that. I mean, how do blind people fill in those little dots? Or people with Parkinson's Disease? And so many of the senior citizens at my polling place this morning had to refill in their ballots because the scanner wouldn't accept them. Some ballots had to be scanned multiple times in order to completely "take."

Doesn't anyone besides me remember that seniors having difficulty with ballots is what allowed the Bush Brothers to collude and steal the Florida electoral votes several years ago, changing the course of American history?

And what's up with no one for whom to vote?

The two most important races in my area (in my opinion) had only the incumbents on the ballot. No other party even bothered to put up candidates. My tax dollars are paying for a non-election?

But I did my civic duty.l

I exercised my right to vote.

And this blog is an exercise in my Freedom of Speech.

Is the USA a great country or what.

Molly's Crackpot Theory # 3547: Baseball is Geometry, Football is Algebra

2011-10-29T17:45:00.000-04:00

Several years ago, on one of my earlier blogs, I wrote Writing & 'Rithmatic, about how the women writers I know all hated math, but loved geometry.

The same subject turned up this week on FaceBook, on author Eileen Dreyer's page. It started with the Mercedes ad (below), which led to a discussion of left brain versus right brain. When someone wasn't sure if they were left or right brained, Eileen asked, "Algebra or geometry?"

Beautiful Mercedes Ad

The text for the left brain reads:

“I am the left brain. I am a scientist. A mathematician. I love the familiar. I categorize. I am accurate. Linear. Analytical. Strategic. I am practical. Always in control. A master of words and language. Realistic. I calculate equations and play with numbers. I am order. I am logic. I know exactly who I am.”

And for the right brain:

“I am the right brain. I am creativity. A free spirit. I am passion. Yearning. Sensuality. I am the sound of roaring laughter. I am taste. The feeling of sand beneath bare feat. I am movement. Vivid colors. I am the urge to paint on an empty canvas. I am boundless imagination. Art. Poetry. I sense. I feel. I am everything I wanted to be.”

By: Grace Mendez

DUH!

Algebra is linear -- or left-brained.
Geometry is spatial -- or right brained.

I completely understood and agreed. The explanation also supports the crackpot theory I'd written in the earlier blog.

Then I got to thinking about left brain vs. right brain and football as opposed to baseball.

Football is linear. One hundred yards. Played on a gridiron

Baseball is spatial. It's played on a diamond. The diamond itself is geometry, its measurements as precise as the yards on a gridiron. But the game moves beyond the geometric shape to the outfield, beyond the outfield with a home run. There are no boundaries. W.P. Kinsella (who wrote Shoeless Joe, the book on which the movie Field of Dreams is based) wrote in his book The Iowa Baseball Confederacy that baseball is limitless (I'm paraphrasing here), that a home run hit hard enough could, in theory, fly forever.

Musing all of this makes me wonder if this is why baseball literature and movies are more prevalent and generally more "romantic" than football (Susan Elizabeth Phillips being a major exception). Of course, I could be totally wrong about that.Maybe baseball fiction/movies seem more prevalent to me and TV Stevie because that's our mindset. TV Stevie also reminds me that baseball has been around a lot longer than football, and therefore has a richer, deeper history from which to draw.

What do you think?

Community: A Writer's Asset

2011-10-22T13:16:00.000-04:00

One of the greatest things about belonging to an organization like Romance Writers of America is that you're part of a huge community. There are currently over 10,000 members of the national organization, and most of them are writers. Romance writers. People who not only get what I do, but who do it themselves.

Being part of RWA allows one to join a local chapter, such as Central New York Romance Writers. Had I not joined my local chapter, I never would have found my best friends. Because these are the people who not only understand what I do, but who also understand me. Yes, I've learned about the business side of writing, about the technical aspects of how to write a compelling story, but the most important thing the chapter gives me is community; a place to be me, the writer, the person that the regular world often looks at in askance.

This past week, CNYRW member Ellen Hartman and her agent gave a talk at the River's End Bookstore in Oswego. Author Gayle Callen said, "Who wants to go?" She and I connected at a local mall and carpooled to Oswego to hear Ellen speak. We had a lovely time. Lots of chatter, lots of laughter. Ellen, of course, was marvelous as always.
In a couple of weeks (October 29), CNYRW authors Mary Reed McCall and Jason Barret will be speaking at "Unmask the Writer Within" at Mysteries on Main Street in Johnstown.Several other members are going to support them.
And on November 19, CNYRW author Nicki Greenwood will be signing her latest release at Books 4 Less in Liverpool. I'm going to try to make it, and I'm sure several others will, too. Because that's what we do.

Writing is a solitary endeavor. We tend to be an anti-social bunch. That's why when we find each other, we bond. We understand each other, we support each other. We give each other community, a safe haven. Home. I'm so glad I've found mine.

A Bug Blog

2011-10-15T08:47:00.000-04:00

Horned String Bean

One August morning, as I was leaving my house to head for the Day Job, I noticed what looked like a string bean clinging to a support post on my patio. I took a closer look, and saw that the string bean not only had horns, but was also moving. I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture. The color isn't good at all. This bean/bug was really a lovely shade of green.

Later that week, my Erie roomie identified the thing as a slug. I always thought slugs resembled fat, slimy earthworms.

While in Erie for a long weekend, I ran into all sorts of insects/bugs/creatures. It must have been my week for it. My cell phone doesn't do justice to any of the colors.

This fella was a beautiful bright green.

And this one was a deep, iridescent blue, with gossamer wings.

And this guy? Dinner. Yeah, I watched the spider snacking on him all day.

Now, what reminded me to finally blog about this is something that happened this week as I was leaving the Day Job. There was a bug (insect, whatever) on the light switch plate by the door. It was black with beautiful red markings. I took out my cell phone and snapped a photo, but must have forgotten to save the picture. A co-worker told me that one side of her house is covered with this particular kind of creature. Google informs me that what I saw was possibly a box elder bug, but the pictures I find on-line aren't quite the same as my memory. The insect I saw looked like a stained glass window. The Internet photos are just gross.

In the Beginning . . .

2011-10-08T10:51:00.000-04:00

I'm in the process of starting a new book. I love this stage, where I have just a glimmer of an idea and things happen. Unexpected things.

I love brainstorming. My book, my friends' books -- it doesn't matter. It's making up stuff and making it believable. It's playing with people's lives. OK, they're not real people. but if I do my job right, the reader will be just as invested in them as if they were real. If I do it right, my characters will become real to readers.

Just changing a character's name can skew everything I thought I knew. That happened last weekend. A secondary character told me her name wasn't what I thought it was. So I did a bit of research -- what names were popular in the state in which she was born in the year she was born (G*d bless the Internet!) -- and voila! The character took on a life of her own, supplying me not only with her backstory (personal history), but also that of the hero. Wow.

So my goal for the next week or so is to write chapter one. It won't be the real, final, polished chapter one, but rather an exercise in discovery. So far -- five and a half pages in -- I've learned two things about my heroine. One of them was completely contradictory to what I thought, and the other adds a good twist to the story.

I'm loving every word.

Getting A Dose of Culture

2011-09-25T10:18:00.003-04:00

This was a very artsy weekend for TV Stevie and me. On Friday night, we saw TURN OF THE SCREW at Syracuse Stage, and on Saturday night, we drove to Rome to see Buster Keaton's THE GENERAL at the Capitol Theatre.

TURN OF THE SCREW:
The acting was fabulous, the staging was amazing (Kudos to the lighting whatever!), but the show itself -- well, I was disappointed. The only thing that I knew about the story was that it is a ghost story and that it is supposed to be filled with suspense.

::YAWN:: Maybe for its day, but this late 20th/early 21st century woman wasn't impressed. And that was the flaw of the production. A lame story.

SIDE NOTE: Ever since the Chromos were involved in drama club, I've paid more attention to staging. I find I like the minimalist sets more than the elaborate. (Although I recently attended a stage production of THE LION KING and was blown away by the staging, costumes, etc. Not a fan of the show itself. Didn't like the movie, prefer the music from Tim Rice and Elton John's other collaboration, AIDA.)

Original installation organ at the Capitol Theatre in Rome, NY

THE GENERAL: I loved it! Great character development. Wonderful print. And Bernie Anderson, Jr. on the organ? Amazing. I forgot I was watching a silent movie with a live organist accompanying it. His playing melded perfectly with the action on the screen.

Critique Groups & Partners

2011-09-18T13:09:00.001-04:00

Apparently the new "hot" topic in romance writing circles is critique groups. I did not attend the national conference this year, but heard that there were several workshops on the subject. I also recently learned that a well-known, well-respected author and instructor is writing a book on critique groups.

I was in a critique group until very recently. The group was one of the longest-running groups in my local RWA chapter, and I was thrilled beyond anything when I was invited to join. After I joined, there was a "core four", but we kept losing our published members. Okay, some weren't such a loss, but most, yeah, a real loss.

The Core Four decided to take off the summer this year. And over the summer several of us learned something about our writing and ourselves. Too often we were writing "to the group" instead of to the story. I know that I really like to push boundaries, but found myself toning back the "grit". My former agent and I even talked about it in 2007 or 2008. I let the group's low 'ick-factor' tolerance level dictate some of my story lines.

One of the Core Four wrote to the group in the beginning of September and said she wouldn't be back. We'd still see each other at our monthly chapter meetings, so the friendships would remain, but being in the critique group was no longer part of her roadmap to publication.

That gave me the courage to suggest that we disband. The other two members quickly concurred. So the 2nd oldest crit group in CNYRW is no more.

In a private e-mail to one of my former crit partners, I said that I often wondered if my feedback was of any value to the other members. Sometimes a lot of self-doubt (part of a writer's toolkit!) plagued me. My former crit partner responded that because I was so well read, my feedback carried a lot of weight with her.

I'd never considered that being well-read was a qualification to be a critique partner. In a beta reader, yes. But critique partners are different. A critique relationship is almost like a marriage, a family, with our stories as our children from the first seed of an idea to a completed manuscript. Brainstorming, picking apart story elements, searching for answers: it's similar to raising a child. Beta readers don't do that. ( I adore my beta-readers, and value their feedback because they are readers.)

I'm glad to know I was of value to my critique partners.
R.I.P. Vs & Ps

Traffic Tales

2011-09-04T12:22:00.000-04:00

Seems like TV Stevie and I have spent a lot of time on the road lately. Which means we've seen some really weird stuff.

I mean, is a prosthetic leg on the roof of a car normal?

And when we were driving to Rome for Capitolfest last month, we witnessed a trooper pulling over . . . a jogger. On the Thruway. I wonder if he went through a tollbooth?

And then there was the adventure of driving X-Chromo to college.

Stretches of the highway are divided and the speed limit is 65mph. Stretches of the highway are regular streets through a small city, and the speed limit is 30 mph. And between said city and the city in which X goes to college is a stretch of highway that is multi-lane, divided, and looks like it should be a 65mph stretch. But looks can be deceiving. This particular section of the road is 55mph. Uh-uh.

Add in last Friday of the month, gorgeous weather, and lots of out-of-towners heading for the SUNY campus, and then see if you can spell S-P-E-E-D-T-R-A-P.

We didn't notice it driving to campus the first time, but on our first return trip home (to fetch a wallet), we saw many cars pulled over on the other side of the highway. Most vehicles looked packed to overflowing, such as a college student might pack a vehicle.

As we drove back to campus (with the missing wallet), I noticed a tractor trailer flashing its light shortly before we reached that particular stretch of highway. I warned TV, who slowed down. A moment later, we saw several state trooper cars parked in a tree-surrounded hollow. Ahead of us? Flashing lights and several vehicles on the side of the road, accompanied by troopers. One way only. Heading toward campus. Many young drivers. All cars overflowing with laundry baskets etc.

And as we made our second trip home that afternoon, we witnessed yet more tickets being issued, but not a one on our side of the highway.

I suppose move-in day is a good way for a poverty-stricken county to try to balance its budget. Gotta love those downstate dollars.

The Empty Nest

2011-08-27T12:19:00.000-04:00

Puppy Goes to College

TV Stevie and I dropped off X-Chromo at college yesterday. It was a bittersweet day for us. Friends who'd been through this before had warned us that the summer between senior year of high school and freshman year of college would be filled with moodiness, moments when a parent was positive a child was no longer likable, and frustration upon frustration upon frustration. Yes, we'd gone through it with Y-Chromo, but somehow, this felt worse.

X was very organized. Gathered her stuff. Didn't pack a lot at all. Maybe because she's seen what we went through with Y his freshman year. At one point, we had discussed possibly using two cars to drive her to school -- she's relatively nearby, but she was so organized and ruthlessly careful, we were fine. Before we left, I asked if she had her college ID, her insurance card, her ATM/debit card. TV asked if she had enough cash. Did you remember to pack your ethernet cable? "I don't need it," she claimed. And she was snappish. Easily irritated. Annoyed with us. A teenager.

Her college has drop-off procedures down pat. I was quite impressed. (Y-Chromo's move-in day was a nightmare.) As TV went to park the car, another vehicle pulled into the curbside spot he'd just vacated, and it turned out to be X's roommate. They went off together to sign in. I introduced myself to the mom. We waited. It was a while before X and Roomie returned. They'd gone up to their room before coming back to the curb for their belongings. X was quite upset. She couldn't find her wallet. I was pretty certain I'd seen it in the kitchen before we left. What I didn't realize was that her ID, insurance card, ATM/debit card, cash, were in that wallet.

So much for Mommy & Daddy asking questions.

Of course, this put us on the wrong foot.

We eventually got everything hauled up to the girls' room. The moms helped with the unpacking. That's when I saw Puppy, X's favorite and well-loved stuffed animal, sitting on her bed. How can you stay upset with your baby when you see something like that?

TV and I had to drive home to retrieve her wallet. And, it turns out, her ethernet cable -- the one she claimed she wouldn't need. We drove back to campus with other things for her, too: a box of tissues; silverware (she'd forgotten to pack any); a book she wanted. We kept reminding ourselves that this was why we were glad she'd chosen a school much closer to home than Y chose.

We arrived back on campus in plenty of time for her to have her ID before her meeting with her academic adviser. We went up to her room to see all the rearranging and things she'd done (and she'd done good!). Then we went over to the job fair with her. She plans to work right away. I showed her how to use the ATM. We found the room where her meeting with her academic adviser would take place. She seemed reluctant to let us go. Or maybe that was just my mommy gene kicking in.

She's in a beautiful place.

Terrace at Dorm

View from dorm window

View of terrace from dorm window

We spoke on the phone last night. She said she misses us. We miss her too. I'm glad she has a weekend on campus to acclimate before classes kick in on Monday. I know she'll be fine. She even said she won't come home until the end of September in order to give herself time to adjust. She's a smart kid. A savvy young lady.

But she's still my baby.

How Weird Is This?

2011-08-11T21:03:00.001-04:00

On August 3, the Inside the Chiefs blog recapped all the roster action that had been happening. My Chiefs blog, From Section 207, had the same basic info (no insider peek as to the reasons) on August 1st.

On August 2nd, I blogged here about Capitolfest and how last year a missing bit of audio from Paramount on Parade was discovered to be the possession of the projectionist. TV Stevie left a newspaper on my place at the breakfast table this morning. A local newspaper had the same story in this week's edition.

Hey, you read it here first!

Man of LaMancha, Or So I was Told

2011-08-07T21:01:00.002-04:00

My View of the "Stage"

TV Stevie wanted to see a local production of THE MAN OF LA MANCHA today, so I said fine. It was scheduled to be held at the ampitheater at a local park. I was psyched. I packed my sun hat, an umbrella, and a rain coat. We tossed folding chairs into the trunk of TV's car. We were set.

We arrived at the park in plenty of time. Found nearby parking. As we were pulling our chairs from the trunk, a young woman interrupted us. It seemed the iffy weather dictated that the performance be moved to a nearby church.

Well, RATS. I've never been to a performance at the ampitheater and had been really looking forward to it. The seating is tierred, like a movie theater or a stadium. I've always wanted to go to Shakespeare in the Park (our local version), but it usually conflicts with something else, as it does this year.

So TV Stevie and I drove to the church. He let me out while he looked for parking. He encountered another Drama Mama & Papa as he walked back to the church, so we ended up sitting together.

I loathe and despire churches and temples and hotel conference rooms for performances, because audience seating flat, and I am five feet tall. The inability to see a thing combined with the heat and humidity and the crowded conditions made for less than an optimum experience. Fortunately, I did have my fan in purse. For what it was worth. Frankly? Not much.

It's A Capitol Time!

2011-08-02T19:04:00.000-04:00

If you like movies -- old movies, classic movies, rare movies, silent movies -- you might want to check out CapitolFest in Rome, NY. TV Stevie and Y-Chromo have been going to movies and CapitolFest for years, at least until Y went off to college.

Original installation, 3-manual,
9-rank Möller Grand Theatre Organ.

I was leary of going in Y's place. In 2006, TV Stevie dragged the whole family to a film festival in central Ohio. Other than the 2 Columbus Clippers games we attended and listening to Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation both ways, the trip was hideous. I attended one movie. It was in a musty hotel conference room with rows of folding chairs. The only good thing about the festival experience was hearing (and meeting) Dr. Philip Carli for the first time, as he accompanied Don Q, Son of Zorro on the piano. (Actually, the movie was pretty good, too. I just don't like musty hotel conference rooms, folding chairs, and flat seating.)

So I wasn't real thrilled when TV asked me in 2008 to go to the Capitol Theater to see a local theater production of Man of La Mancha, but I went. That was my first time at the Capitol Theater. And it was a good production. And they had real theater seats. And sloped floors. And a theater cat. Gotta love a place with a cat.

In 2009, our wedding anniversary fell during CapitolFest, plus we had tickets for the Glimmerglass Opera on that date. Steve suggested we stop at the Capitol on our way home from Cooperstown. The Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra would be accompanying a movie that evening. I said, "sure, why not."

They were amazing. Plus, I wanted to see the movie that followed their performance.

I was hooked.

Last year, TV Stevie and I went to every session. I took many photos of their amazing, original installation Moller organ.

And we were part of an exciting bit of cinema history. Paramount on Parade, a showcase of Paramount contract players, is a "partially missing" film. Several of the shellac sound-track discs are missing, footage is missing (from the movie being edited-for-TV): it's a hodge-podge of audio and video. But it turns out that the projectionist had in his possession of of the "missing" sound track discs. We were able to hear it (altho' it wasn't synced up with the film). And no, he didn't steal it. Missing sound track discs is a common problem, but thanks to the Vitaphone Project, some movies are being restored using new technology.

In a bit of trivia, we were watching a short about dental hygiene, and the bureau in boy's bedroom is the same bureau I use. Well, not quite as beat up as mine is, but that was weird and memorable. I knew my bureau was old, but not that old!

This year, Y-Chromo doesn't head for college until after CapitolFest. He and I have been arguing over who gets to accompany TV Stevie this year. Probably both of us.

Happiness Happens!

2011-08-01T16:34:00.000-04:00

August is Happiness Happens month! I have so much about which to be happy, and I'm going to focus on those things throughout the month.

Happiness Happens when it's a beautiful August day.

2011-07-24T22:33:00.000-04:00

TV Stevie & I went to Cooperstown today. Yes, the Baseball Hall of Fame induction was going on at the same time we sat in the Alice Bush Theater and watched Annie Get Your Gun. No amazing Baseball Hall of Fame stories this year. Of course, last year's story is enough to last a lifetime

Art Pierce, Kylie Pierce, TV Stevie

We hooked up with Art and Kylie Pierce from the Capitol Theater in Rome for a pre-show picnic. (BTW, TV Stevie heartily approved of this year's picnic menu by saying it was 'perfect'.) We talked about upcoming events at the Capitol, such as the annual Drive-In night, Aida (the Elton John/Tim Rice version), and Capitolfest. It was a lovely interlude on a lovely summer afternoon. We were very surprised that there weren't more picnickers. Usually we have a difficult time finding a table.

After the show, we stayed for the Q&A with the cast and the musical director, which was very informative and interesting. Then Art & Kylie left for home, and TV Stevie and I headed into Cooperstown proper. I found a bench and read a book I'd picked up in Oswego last week. TV Stevie wandered the stores. We debated having dinner in a restaurant recommended by one of my co-workers, but decided to grab a pizza on the way home. Cooperstown and its surrounds are very scenic; however, we are not fans of those twisty roads after dark.

Had we eaten in Cooperstown, we would have missed this:

A leg up

Once the kids in car realized I was taking photos, the leg began dancing on the roof of the car. It was one of those quirky moments

Rob Grill, R.I.P.

2011-07-20T07:33:00.001-04:00

My Greek Fisherman's Hat

An icon of my youth died last week. Rob Grill of one of my guilty pleasure bands, The Grass Roots, passed away at the young age of 67.

I always think of the band in the summer. At one point, in the 1980s, I had one of their "Greatest Hits" albums, and cranked it up while I drove. What is it about summer and sing-a-long music and driving that go together so well?

My friend Kris is totally into what her husband calls, That Band. She even went to see them live a year or two ago. She knows all kind of fabulous trivia, too.

I saw them live in the 1980s. It was one of those oldie tours, with lot of other singers/bands. My sister and I used to go to those concerts, which were held in the old MacArthur Stadium. I even had a brush with Rob Grill that day. It's one of those moments I will never forget. My sister and I were on line to get into the stadium. I was wearing a short denim skirt, a summery-white top and my Greek Fisherman's hat. The sun was shining, I was psyched about the concert.

"Hey!" I heard someone call. I looked off toward the side of the stadium, and there was Rob Grill and a couple of other band members leaning through a gap in the fence. "Come here!" they said. I looked around, trying to figure out to whom they were calling. "Pretty girl! In the hat! Come here!"

"You're the only one in a hat," my sister said.

I laughed and waved to them. I stayed in line.

Do I ever wonder what would have happened if I'd gone over? Sure, I'm only human.

Do I regret not going over? Depends on my mood.

This week, for example. Yeah, I regret not taking the time to talk to him and the band.

Rest in peace, Rob. And thanks for the music and the memories.

Glimmerglass: Opera & Picnics

2011-07-15T06:14:00.000-04:00

Picnic grounds at Glimmerglass Opera

It's nearly time for our annual trip to the Glimmerglass Opera in Cooperstown. That means it's time to think about our annual picnic. One can pre-order a picnic through the opera. They offer a nice selection. I, however, happen to like cooking. I enjoy planning menus.

The first year we went, I didn't know there were picnic grounds. The second year, I didn't think about the picnic grounds until the night before our trip, when I dreamed a picnic. That morning, I made the food of which I'd dreamed. I don't remember exactly what I packed, but I'm sure it included fresh fruit and cheese.

When we arrived Glimmerglass, we learned we couldn't drive up the hill to the picnic grounds because too much rain had made the ground too soggy. So TV Stevie and I had to haul a cooler and picnic basket up the hill. He grumbled the whole time. Please remember that this is a man who won't eat on restaurant patios/decks/sidewalks. I love dining al fresco. He usually wins.

The Alice Busch Theater as seen from the picnic grounds at Glimmerglass

Apparently, though, he enjoyed our Glimmerglass picnic.

The following year we went on our anniversary. I bought splits of sparkling wine, and surfed the net for food ideas. I found two that I thought looked good: Mediterranean Spinach Turkey Wraps and Mediterranean Hummus Turkey Wraps. It was a nice time.

TV Stevie didn't want the wraps the next year, so I went back to the Internet, where I found a pressed sandwich I thought sounded fabulous. I made them on ciabatta rolls and served with mixed fruit, iced tea, cheese and crackers, and an Estancia Meritage. Oh. My. Goodness. Except TV Stevie doesn't like ciabatta. Or goat cheese. Or olivada.

This year, TV asked if I minded if he asked another couple to join us. Wow. What a difference from the grumbling of the first picnic year! A few weeks ago, he was doing a guest stint on the radio, and he talked about the whole Glimmerglass experience, including our wonderful picnics. Double wow.

I hope I'm not expected to provide picnic food for four people. It's difficult to tell, because I didn't extend the invitation. Two guys . . . especially my guy . . . who knows? I'm pretty sure TV said we'd provide the wine.

I think I will not try anything fancy this year. Cold lemon-basil grilled chicken, fresh fruit-berry mix, cheese & crackers, and an icy sauvignon blanc. When I ran this idea by TV, he asked what kind of roll I was going to use for the chicken. Um, none?

Our annual opera/picnic excursion is only one reason I love summer.

Crazy Drivers

2011-06-11T12:22:00.000-04:00

I don't know what's going on on the road these days, but it seems that people's driving habits are getting worse.

The first thing I noticed was that a lot of people don't know how to make a left turn. I've nearly been hit several times by people going diagonally into a street when a left turn requires an "L" movement. Very scary.

The second thing is people driving way under the speed limit. I mean 5 to 10 miles consistently. My daily drives are timed for me to go the speed limit. This is very frustrating to be stuck behind someone out for a leisurely spin. I mean, if you have that much leisure time, how are you paying for gas?

The third thing are people not knowing how to make a right turn. Right turns are very easy. Why must one stop in the middle of making the turn? To admire the view?

And finally -- at least for this rant -- what's with sitting at lights long after they've turned green? Are they waiting for a color they like? I mean, I'm inordinately fond of pink and purple, but folks, traffic lights come in only three colors! Green means GO! Very simple to remember. Don't you love alliteration? And if I finally beep at you to alert you to the fact that the light turned green 30 seconds ago, don't compound your ignorance and your rudeness by flipping me the bird. It only confirms that you're a jerk.

Talkin' Baseball

2010-05-31T12:10:00.000-04:00

Back in October, TV won season tickets to the local Triple A baseball team. For his November birthday, I bought him a season parking pass. Our very first date, back in 1988, was to a baseball game in the old stadium. When the new stadium was built, we pulled Y-Chromo out of school and took him to Opening Day. After that, we frequently took the Chromos to games. It was an enjoyable, affordable family outing.

Then things happened. We stopped going except for one or two games a season. Last season, TV rediscovered the joy of an evening at the park. He also found the best seats in the house. When he won his tickets, he knew exactly where he was going to sit. I took vacation time and accompanied him to Opening Day this year. I, too, became re-enchanted. So we've gone to most of the games so far this season.

As we were leaving the stadium on Saturday night, TV heard something that prompted him to say, "If I blogged, that's the sort of thing I would blog about." And he's right. There's a lot of 'blog fodder' at the stadium.

Take Stephen Strasburg. He's a young phenom pitcher, and he's currently with our team. Three of the four times he's pitched at home this season, the stadium has been packed to the rafters. Watching him pitch is a joy. His first game, he not only won the game with his pitching, but also hit the first two RBIs of the game.

We sit in the first row of the second section. Lots of leg room. Good vantage point. Except whenever anyone in the last row of the first section stands up. And during Strasburg's first game, there was a crew of partying young men in that row who wanted to stand the whole time Strasburg pitched. We nicely asked them to sit. They complied. After Strasburg left the game, the rowdiest of the young men came to apologize to us. We asked if he had someone to drive him home, and yes, there was a designated driver. He shook our hands, then spilled beer all over himself. He wasn't an obnoxious drunk; just a young man honoring baseball and a great pitcher.

And the press wanted to set up in front of us, too. One very tall photog with a very tall tripod asked a kid two seats over if he was in his way. The kid said no, but I spoke up. The photog repositioned himself so I could see the action. Later that night, several media types leaned against the railing in front of us for a couple of innings so we couldn't put our feet up, which is my prefered way to sit.

Since the team is on the road until Friday, I'll play catch up on the season during this week.

NCAA Conspiracy: A Crackpot Theory

2010-03-26T07:09:00.005-04:00

This blog should probably be under my Cranky Old Fuddy Duddy blog, but it's also a crackpot theory, so I'm putting it here.

The NCAA did not want Syracuse in the final game of the 2010 Division 1 Men's Basketball Tournament. Everyone knows that Duke got the easy round and shouldn’t have been ranked ahead of Syracuse. (If you don't know this, Google it. The pundits and experts have been having a field day.) But the NCAA took it even one step further.

How, you may ask, do I, a simple woman who'd rather cook than play a sport, know this?

Easy.

KANSAS was a Thursday/Saturday team in the 1^st/2^nd rounds

Had they survived, they would have been a Friday/Sunday Sweet 16/Elite 8, giving them an extra day of rest.

KENTUCKY was Thursday/Saturday team in the 1^st & 2^nd rounds and remained as such in the Sweet 16/Elite 8 rounds.

DUKE Friday/Sunday, Friday/Sunday.

Anybody seeing a pattern here?

SYRACUSE was a Friday/Sunday, then switched to a Thursday/Saturday, not giving the team as much rest between games as the other number 1 seeds.

SYRACUSE should have remained a Friday/Sunday contender in the Sweet 16/Elite 8 rounds if for no other reason than Sweet 16/Elite 8 games were scheduled at the Carrier Dome (SU's home court) on Thursday/Saturday.Talk about a scheduling travesty!

Looks blatant anti-Orange to me.

Now maybe you've have read this in the paper, on-line, or heard it in the broadcast media. I have not (because of that rock under which I live), but being a moderately bright old lady, I figured it out anyway.

Because it’s blatant.

Snow and Cooking

2010-02-25T22:05:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, amid rumors of a winter storm hitting my neck of the woods, I took the check book and hit the supermarket. I loaded up on winter comfort food -- or rather, the ingredients for winter comfort foods. There is something about snow storms that makes me want to cook.

Sure enough, the storm hit. This photo is the view from my back door at about 9:30PM tonight.Those big white circles are actually snowflakes. X-Chromo had her first snow day of the year. I went to work, but came home bitten by an urge to cook. Fortunately, I work less than 2 miles from where I live, so getting home tonight wasn't bad. And I had a fridge, a freezer, a pantry cupboard full of ingredients. (Except for the chili, but that's another story.)

I decided to make lasagne. My lasagne. One of my Italian-American friends insists that what I make isn't real lasagne, because it contains veggies, but she's wrong.

I use (Molly-fy) a vegetarian recipe for stuffed shells as the filling for my lasagne. Unfortunately, my grocer has stopped carrying my favorite sauce-in-a-jar for making lasagne, soI had to use the sauce we generally eat on spaghetti. TV commented the lasagne wasn't as 'flavorful' as it usually was. The sauce is why.

I put on the water to boil the noodles, then opened a bottle of merlot to breathe. Yes, it took a long time to cook dinner tonight, but TV usually works late (and he wants to get out early tomorrow so we can see my niece in EDWARD SCISSORHANDS at a nearby theater, weather permitting), so between the weather and my mellow mood, it was the perfect night for lasagne.

The house smelled heavenly. Dinner was scrumptious. It was the perfect night for dinner from the oven.

I have lots of interesting meals planned over the next few days: Meatloaf with beets & sweets (sweet potatoes); a chicken and avocado crock pot recipe; chili.

I need to hit the supermarket again, because TV took all the chili stuff and worked with me to make chili at 10PM last night for his workplace chili cookoff.
He (we) came in second. After what I did at 10PM last night, I deserved first place if for no other reason than being "a good wife".

Right?

Celebrating My Birthday with Wild Turkey

2010-02-21T12:30:00.001-05:00

My family and I went to my parents house in rural Upstate New York for dinner this weekend. As TV parked in front of the garage, we both saw a wild turkey under my mother's clothes line. X grabbed her camera and dashed out of the car to snap photos. By the time I took out my camera, the turkey had waddled around the side of the house.
My dad led me to my girlhood bedroom and there, where the house forms an "L", right next to the bulkhead leading to the old cellar, I found the turkey.
You can see the window sill at the bottom of the photo. Yes, this lady turkey was that close to the house.
I'll bet you thought I meant another kind of Wild Turkey. Shame on you! I drink wine.

Saturday Soup

2010-01-23T11:45:00.000-05:00

I'm still here! Really. Life just gets busy around the holidays, but I'll bet you didn't know that. HAH!
Plus I've had some computer issues. My wonderful nephew EJ has been helping me a lot. More than a lot. I owe that young man. Now if only I could find all my music, but that's another story.

This morning, this sunny, wonderful Saturday morning, I decided to make soup. I was sitting on the living room sofa, laptop in lap, enjoying my solitude while everyone else was still abed, and decided to make soup.

There was a small container of leftover chicken broth in the freezer and two chicken sausage links leftover from last night's dinner. I had the starters. I chopped up a small onion and minced a couple of cloves of garlic, which I sauteed in the chicken broth. I chopped up the sausage links, too, then tossed those into the pot. I found some ancient parsley in the produce drawer. Some of the leaves weren't at all slimy, so I chopped up some that, too. Then I raided my food cupboard and found a can of black beans and a large can of crushed tomatoes with basil.

It smells wonderful.

I really want to get back into cooking again, a beloved pastime I abandoned while my children were younger. Fussy eaters added to working all day followed by after-school events just wore me out. But now only X-Chromo is home on a regular basis, and she isn't at all afraid to try most 'new' foods. In fact, a couple of weeks ago, I made a recipe I found on the back of a can of chicken broth which contained sweet potatoes. X tried them and loved them, then ate the meal and asked me to make it again. I like that kind of attitude.

One of my friends mentioned Sweets & Beets the other day. I'm familiar with the Terra Chips by that name, but that isn't what she meant. She'd cut sweet potatoes and beets into small pieces, along with an onion, drizzled them with olive oil and roasted them in the oven. I decided I want to try it (although other than Terra Chips, I've never eaten a beet in my life). Just thinking about the juxtaposition of the colors boggles the mind.

'Tis the Season

2009-11-12T19:04:00.001-05:00

X-Chromo came home a week ago and announced she felt like "crap." Friday morning, I heard a hoarse little voice: "Maaaa-meee. I don't feel goooooood." I felt her forehead. Hot. Burning. By Tuesday she was fever-free, but complained that her chest felt heavy and burning. "Make it go awaaaaay!" So I took her to the doctor. Bronchitis. But at least bronchitis can be effectively medicated. I didn't even bother to call the doctor when she had the flu. I knew the office would tell me: drink plenty of liquids, bed rest, and Tylenol for the fever. It's just that my children rarely contract these sorts of things. I don't think X has ever even had a chest cold.

TV had a flu shot. Y-Chromo seems to be okay at college. I am blessed with my 'immunity' to influenza and offer my shot to someone else who needs it more.

Food, Glorious Food!

2009-10-04T13:58:00.004-04:00

I started a new eating plan last week, one I've been planning for several months. Julia Cameron, of THE ARTIST'S WAY fame, also wrote a book about weight loss, called THE WRITING DIET. The book uses a combination of devices from several sources (THE ARTIST'S WAY, Alcoholics Anonymous, Clean Eating) to make participants understand why they overeat and/or make poor food choices. THE WRITING DIET can be used in conjunction with any of the popular weight loss programs, like Weight Watchers, South Beach, Atkins or whatever. There are seven 'tools', 4 questions, and a lot of introspection and time invested. One is supposed to write Morning Pages (from THE ARTIST'S WAY) every morning. Three pages. Long hand. One is supposed to walk for 20 minutes every day. One is supposed to go on a 'Culinary Artist Date' once a week (another TAW concept). I've been writing down a list of possible desintaitons for the dates.

One of the most important 'tools' is keeping a food journal: writing down every thing you eat and drink, all day, every day. This is very similar to the Weight Watchers program I used with great success several years ago. But not only are you supposed to write down what you eat, but also what triggers your need to eat. Why do you want to eat that, now?

So far, my answers have been pretty much, "Because I really want a cigarette, but I've quit smoking."

A month or so ago, someone in my local RWA chapter brought in leftover promotional samples to give away (her husband sells promotional items). Among the pens, chip bag clips, etc. was a lone notebook. Chipboard covers. Information about how the notebook can be personalized for your business is printed on the cover. There's an elastic loop and a very nice pen attached. I grabbed it, thinking I could find some cool stickers to cover the promotional spiel. But yesterday, during another meeting of my local RWA chapter, I was given a sheet of way cool stickers as my BIAW prize. The first thing I did when I got home from the meeting was fix up my notebook. Isn't it pretty? All the stickers are positive reinforcement: WOW! GREAT! YOU DID IT! They couldn't be more perfect.

My initial complaint about the eating plan, which has become secondary, but only to the time-involved element, is the author's constant and continual suggestion to use Splenda. "Slice some strawberries and sprinkle them with Splenda," or "Diet Jell-O with Splenda," or "whipped riccotta and Splenda". My first reaction was, she must be getting product placement money. I guess Splenda doesn't 'disagree' with everyone, but it's absolute poison to my system. Nasty, nasty stuff. And one of the keys to this eating plan is "Clean eating": lots of water; fresh fruits and vegetables; whole grains. Then you add an artificial sweetner? Isn't that an oxymoron?

Besides, why would you ruin perfectly perfect strawberries with anything?

Summer's End

2009-09-07T21:47:00.002-04:00

This year was the "longest summer possible" in the USA. Memorial Day was as early as it can be, and Labor Day was the latest it could be. So summer is "over", even though the calendar and the heavens may indicate otherwise.

Y-Chromo went back to college last weekend. X-Chromo goes back to high school tomorrow. TV & I went to the local AAA baseball team's final home game of the season today.

Overall, it was a glorious weekend. The weather was wonderful. TV grilled burgers on Saturday, and I made a new dish that I'd had on my August writing retreat: butternut squash, red pepper, and sweet onion drizzled with olive oil and grilled in foil. I didn't grill it quite long enough on Saturday, so I took the leftovers to my family's picnic on Sunday.

What a feast we had! Everyone brought their own meat and a dish to pass, except most of us brought two dishes to pass (I made a fruit salad in addition to the grilled veggies). I usually hate picnics because everything is loaded up with hard-boiled eggs and slathered in mayo. Sunday was different. My sister made her macaroni salad -- the only eggy, slimy dish on the table. She also made her broccoli salad (pictured above, in the front, next to my grilled veggies). My sister-in-law did something sinful with shrimp and fruit (pears, peaches, pineapple). My mom provided sweet corn-on-the-cob and salt potatoes; Jell-O with raspberries; and two kinds of fruit-based desserts.

We left my folks' house late afternoon and stopped at a local orchard to buy early apples: macintosh and ginger golds (pictured above). Mmmmm.

(Also pictured are the blacked-eyed Zanas that X-Chromo picked for me, and a wilted cucumber salad)

Then TV went to a baseball game with a neighbor and I wrote.

Today, we went to the baseball game, then came home and transferred my exercise machine from the front porch to Y-Chromo's bedroom. What SARK calls a "micromovement".

Tomorrow, life resumes with it's hectic schedule, claims on our time, and obligations.

But there was this glorious weekend.

Reclaiming a Bit of Myself

2009-08-21T18:45:00.004-04:00

This week, I broke down and ordered used copies of three cookbooks that I loaned to someone and never got back. I love this trio by Mollie Katzen. Finding the versions I previously owned -- the originals, before the author 'lightened' the recipes -- was a bit of a challenge, but I managed.

For several years, I tried looking for tried-and-true favorite recipes on-line, but I suspect many aren't the same. People base their versions on the original, but the changes they make aren't necessarily something TV or I would like. Example: cucumber salad with red onion, red wine vinegar, and honey. I found something very close on-line, but it called for dill and radishes. The radishes never played into the recipe I used to make, and I can't imagine using dill, because TV is seriously not a fan of dill.

And there was a mashed potato pie crust I used for a spinach-ricotta pie . . . Tuscan bean soup . . . lime marinated roasted red peppers . . . zucchini & tomato sandwiches . . .

I'll be haunting my mailbox this week, that's for sure!

Oh, My Aching Feet

2009-08-07T19:27:00.001-04:00

Never tell a Pisces that her aching feet are all in her head. Ever. Go ahead: Google Pisces and feet and see what comes up. If you stop to think about it, it's not so very odd that fish would have feet problems.

But I'm getting sidetracked. My feet hurt for a very specific reason. I've been standing in the kitchen in a pair of flipflops making an Opera/Anniversary picnic. Tomorrow is TV & my wedding anniversary, and we're going to Glimmerglass. I'm not an opera fan, but Glimmerglass is just as much about the experience as it is the opera. There is a picnic area across the road from the theater. Last year, I dreamed a picnic lunch and threw together an impromptu meal. It was lovely. This year, as I mentioned, our Glimmerglass tickets happen to be for our anniversary.

I spent the week surfing the net looking for picnic ideas. I found several that I adapted to our particular tastes. We're having two kinds of "Mediterrean Turkey Wraps"; a rice, asparagas, and cucumber salad, and a medley of fresh berries. There are a couple of 187ml bottles of spumante chilling along with everything else. I just need to pack the dishes and tablecloth in the picnic basket and find a cooler. It's going to be a nice afternoon.

After the opera, we plan to eat dinner in a restaurant, then hit a silent movie festival, where a live orchestra will accompany the flicks. This is more TV's thing than mine. It could be worse. He could want to go to the Baseball Hall of Fame . . . again.

So now the washer is going, the dryer is going, the dishwasher is going, there's a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in my refrigerator calling my name, and my feet hurt.

Planning a relaxing day is exhausting . . . and rough on the feet.

Exhibiting Secrets

2009-08-01T11:25:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, X-Chromo asked me to take her to the local art museum to see the Post Secrets exhibit. X-Chromo has been a Post Secret fan for several years . . . owns at least two of the books, checks the website every Sunday for the update. It was in town for several months, but I finally managed to put on the Good Mommy Hat and take her and one of her friends on the last day of the exhibit.

Post Secrets is an on-going 'art project' where people create 'postcards' containing their deepest secrets and mail them anonymously to the creator (whose name escapes me at the moment).

I saw many people crying at the museum as they read some of the confessions. A couple of secrets stayed with me, but none made me cry. I did choke up at the ballet slippers bearing the truth about why the owner gave up dance: her teacher told her she was no good at it. And I was amused at one or two others, which makes me sound callous, but really? They were amusing.

X-Chromo told me about a secret from one of the books: "No one who knew me before 9/11 knows I'm alive." I wrote a book based on this premise many years ago. Another writer friend says she periodically goes to the website searching for 'secrets' to use as creative inspiration.

It's interesting to read what some folks consider their deepest, darkest secrets. The museum played a taped-interview with the project creator, who claimed the most common secret he receives is, "I pee in the shower."

What's really interesting is the perspective one gains about one's own life and 'secrets'. Things could be a lot worse.

She's a Lady?

2009-07-18T18:31:00.001-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, TV & I went to a nearby city to see TOM JONES in concert. TV thinks Jones is cool. I don't hate his music, but I remember watching him on television during his heyday and thinking he was a disgusting old man. I recently shared this sentiment with my PHriends. Braveheart Barbie said she used to think the same thing. Neither of us could understand why women reacted to him the way they did. I thought he was sleazy.

He looks good for a man of his age -- he's 68. And his voice is still there. He's a good singer. I just don't like him. And after hearing & seeing him in concert, I have to say he's still sleazy. Back then -- mid-to-late sixties -- women in the audience would throw hotel room keys and their underwear at him while he performed. When I mentioned that we were going to see him, people asked if I were going to toss my undies at him. Yeah. Right.

But times change.

As do underwear styles.

About three numbers into his performance, I saw a woman near the front of the theater twirling thong underwear over her head like a lasso. Other women gradually followed suit. Until Tom started singing She's a Lady. Then thongs started flying. TV and I elbowed each other. Does anyone else see the irony of flying undies at that particular time?

After the song was over, Jones looked at the colorful scraps at his feet and said something lascivious about 'thongs' instead of bikinis. Women throughout the theater squealed. No irony there.

I enjoyed the show, although not as much as TV did. But now I can say I've seen Tom Jones live and in person.

Yawn.

Don't Call Me: Divine Telephone Etiquette

2009-07-07T19:52:00.000-04:00

I hate telephones.
Sometimes they're good; sometimes they're useful. Emergencies are perfect for telephones.
And editors/agents are always welcome to call me, day or night.
Writing contest coordinators, too.
If you're X-Chromo, Y-Chromo (especially if you're at college), or TV Stevie, I'll talk. I may not want to, but I will. Mom, Dad, Sissie, Bro -- I'll talk to you too, but you all have my e-mail address.
I prefer e-mail to telephones because e-mail isn't intrusive. It doesn't interrupt naps, meals, movies, muses.

Here are my top 5 Phone Peeves.

1) If you're a telemarketer, don't bother. I will not buy from you simply on principle. I do not have a telephone so you can intrude on my life. Frankly, I don't understand why I have to pay for an instrument of torture.

2) Rudeness. When I worked at my last job, I had to deal with a lot of incoming customer complaints. People were just plain nasty. They wouldn't speak to their doctor or their lawyer or even their spouse they way they spoke to me. And it wasn't only younger people. People old enough to have been taught manners were disgustingly rude. Just because you can't see someone's face doesn't grant you a license to be mean. And remember: what goes around, comes around (or as Bea Arthur used to say as Maude, "God will get you for that.") Next time you want to call someone to complain, remember that the person logging your comments probably isn't responsible for the situation and probably can't do anything about it. TPTB rarely face the music directly. They can and do underpay some shlub to listen to you rant.

3) I'll just get settled on the sofa with my lap desk & my laptop computer . . . and the house phone and/or my cell phone will ring. This is my fault. I know this will happen. Without fail. And it's never only one call. Before I settle in to write, I should put the cordless and my cell phone next to me.

4) Receptionists/assistants who don't know how to answer a phone in a professional manner. There is training out there. Often the receptionist is a customer's first impression of a business. "Yeah," or "hang on," are not appropriate responses (there is no HANG button on a phone*). And what's with the thirty-somethings (and younger) not ennunciating? Everyone slurs. It sounds . . . ignorant. Words have consonants in them for a reason: so we can tell the words apart.

5) Voice mail messages. Now, I happen to be very fond of voice mail, but there are two things people do that drive me right straight up the wall. Again, this should be basic training for anyone in sales or who does a lot of phone work (except telemarketers, who should hang -- not hold -- their heads in shame and embarrassment). When you leave a voice mail message, state who you are, your company and your phone number right away. That's right. State your phone number up front, followed by your message. And when you leave your phone number, say the numbers slowly. I don't know why everyone thinks that as soon as they start to speak numbers, they need to race. SPEAK THE NUMBER S-L-O-W-L-Y so people can write it down. And if you give your number at the beginning of the message, someone won't have to listen to an entire two minute message repeatedly in order to check that the number is written down correctly.

*If there were to be a HANG button on a phone, it should be used for people in Peeve #2

So now you know how to get hold (not hang) of me. I'd love to hear from you.