Queries: the long and the short of it

After my last post, at 10:44 this morning, I tackled the list of agents appearing in the spring at a writing conference. First I had to separate those I had already queried and from which book. I went through their web sites and discovered some didn't take genre writing and others accepted only non-fiction. Some had already rejected one book or another. The list had really shrunk by the time I parsed the whole thing. It also hurts if the agent has no web site. Will they like a so-called high tech novel? I think not.

Went upstairs and made and consumed a turkey sandwich. Ah man! What could be better than thin sliced white meat on thin sliced white bread with slatherings of mayo and sprinkled with salt and pepper with thin sliced tomatoes and a big leaf of lettuce thrown in to salve the conscience? Yum! Add a few slices of Mrs. Fannings pickles and a few potato chips.

When I got on the scale this morning, the first thought was: how can my pajamas have gained four pounds? Then, I thought: no, it has to be water. Lots of water.

Ye gods! I put on my gym clothes with good intentions for a walk or a visit to the gym, but the rains came and the weather was dark and cold and I didn't feel like going to the gym. As evidenced above, I felt like scarfing down some more of the turkey.

Thisbe's diabetes is much improved, and her coat is so much softer. She is eating Atkins for kitties and the fancy high-priced moist food. Yesterday, most unaccountably, she begged for roast turkey while I was slicing it for dinner. Ate some. Ate some more. When I fixed my sandwich she asked for more. And again.

This from a cat who never eats people food. Well, not since yesterday. It's good high-quality protein, I tell myself when Thisbe and I both feel like a bit of a nosh. This is amazing. I wonder if her body knows this is a good thing in her current state of health. My body only knows that it likes to eat.

Back down to the agents: After all was said and done, I found two, one for Festival Madness and one for World of Mirrors. Nobody for Promiscuous mode, which was the whole point of the exercise. So one email and one SnailMail query have gone out. It's 3:45 and the day is gone. Few queries and no exercise.

I will visit my drug lord. Maybe he'll talk to me. And then again . . . .

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Agent Queries

Somali pirate. I had a dress out of the same fabric as his "headpiece" when I was in grade school. Photo may be from the BBC. Couldn't find a credit. It was on another blog that didn't credit. These pirates all have automatic weapons and cell phones.

Back to writing. I'm calmer about the whole piggy shopping scene, although the sight of all those glossy adds in today's Globe nearly got me into rant mode again. Not my zebra. Not my zoo. Just keep repeating.

I have a big list of agents to query about Promiscuous Mode, a book my writing group loved, a traditional amatuer sleuth whodunnit with lots of suspects, small town, a cat, low lifes, bass fishing. God, what more could you want?

Anyway, I need to send out some queries about this book, since the sequel is already completed. She's into high tech. He's into homicide. The Northwoods rock and roll . . . yada yada. That's my "Pitch" line. God, I wish someone would just read the freaking book. This business of queries to agents, in spite of all the good advice, is something I haven't mastered. It's like there is this giant blind spot the size of the sun.

And also I need to get back to my fabulous fish robot, Frances, and back to Lotto, the Colombian Drug Lord and his worries and tribulations. I live in a world of strange characters, and sometimes they talk to me. How weird is that? And I listen.

Lotto is a little like the Warren Beatty character in "Shampoo." Everyone wants something from him, and he's pulled in many directions.

I take some of the "props" out of the headlines, like small submarines and Somali pirates.
So, off to the drug wars and the agent battle and Indian Ocean piracy. What a fun way to spend a rainy Sunday. Take that, Baudelaire.

Cheers,

Grapeshot

Black Friday

Greed is ugly whether manifested by greedy bankers and businessmen or greedy shoppers, whipped to a frenzy by advertising and the lure of Black Friday"bargains."

I am appalled. The fact that a horde of "Christmas" shoppers would trample store employees like pilgrims in Mecca is shocking. Well, Christ left Christmas years ago and not only that but the true spirit of giving is gone, along with fellowship and charity. Now I guess all those shoppers were "holiday" or "seasonal" shoppers. They were rampaging clods and to an extent you have to blame retailers for creating this kind of a climate. This whole season and economy reminds one of why the moneychangers were driven from the temple.

Retail was my unwilling corporate home for years. I always hated it. Loved manufacturing--"fulfillment" was somewhat short of fulfilling, but oh god, retail was detail, and the people in the back offices were often not my type.

Retailers bitch and moan about everything. Too hot. Too cold, Too this. Too that. Of course this year they have the economy to bitch and moan about. You could not pay me enough to stand in line at 4:00 a.m. to get into a retail store. Are these people crazy? The so-called bargains will be just as good in two-three weeks. Maybe better. We don't need them anyway.

This frenzy for consumer goods is really getting to me. My friend, when we were discussing the wardrobe malfunction of Caribou Barbie, said, "Well, any blouse costs $400! "
Excuse me? Last winter I found a very nice shirt at Brooks Brothers outlet and it cost nowhere near that.
Of course my friend lives on Fifth Avenue and shops on Madison Avenue, and I know she shops the sales, but nonetheless.

If I bought a $400 blouse you can just about bet that it would have a grease stain on it before you can say "spot remover!"

I am thinking of a Christmas boycott this year. Books, yes, magazine subscriptions, yes. Maybe warm socks or pajamas. Flannel shirts, the soft warm kind. Mittens. Cat toys.

But all this consumption is disgusting. Really.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/29/business/29walmart.html?em

Bah humbug.

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Friday is Cat Blog Day

A well-behaved Proustian cat. . .

We seem to be getting the knack of the injections (Thisbe and I). The secret seems to be don' t
swab her fur with alcohol. I suspect she knows the smell of alcohol from the vet and the Proustian memories it calls up are not the equivalent of tea and cookies in cat.

No, the latest crisis, well, mini-crisis, is the Eating Of The Christmas Cactus. Our Christmas cacti almost never bloom at Christmas. We've already had the Halloween cactus and the Veteran's Day cactus and now the Thanksgiving cactus. I hope these plants save something for the Holiday they are SUPPOSED to bloom for.

We've been out of cat grass for weeks, and both cats decimated the Baby's Breath that was part of a bouquet. I put the Christmas cactus on the library table where said plant will be easy to admire. Ooops! Thisbe admired it and ate a blossom or two. Probably a spent blossom. Eeek!

I don't wish to gross anyone out, but the vomiting from this little snack was profuse and disgusting and lasted several hours. I was beginning to think "Call Veternarian on a Holiday" when the cat appeared to be all right and stopped tossing her cookies, or in this case her cactus. She actually came upstairs and slept on the bed last night, and seems fine this morning.

Today I will brave Black Friday at the pet store (how bad can it be?) and buy cat grass. Yesterday when I mentioned "Black Friday" on this blog, it immediately received a comment which was actually an ad in not very great disguise. I guess that's why some blog sites make you copy the crooked numerals and letters before you can post. Not a bad idea.

So Black Friday! Black Friday! yada yada.

Apropos yesterday's food contributions: The Brussels-Sprouts-Cauliflower casserole was a winner. I took it from the oven just a few minutes before we had to be out of the house, neglecting to take a picture. It was toasty and brown and a little cheesy (in the good sense) and the pine nuts had turned a golden hue. If you ever need a holiday side dish that is not lo-cal, this one is a winner. And the veggies tasted so good.

The cheese cake was to die for and we probably will, with all that cream cheese and eggs clogging ye olde arteries. I dare not get on the scale today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe Jan. 2nd.

Shop till you Drop, but personally, I'm buying lunch and a couple servings of cat grass.

Meow!

Happy Thanksgiving To One and All

Some images of the season.

May your family be no more dysfunctional than usual, may you travel over the river and through the woods with little traffic and may the turkey (or even the tofurkey) be succulent and the side dishes toothsome and the desserts rich in vitamin A.

Tomorrow I am eschewing "Black Friday" and meeting a friend for lunch. Steak tips at the "99." What could be more traditional than that? In Boston, anyway.

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Food for Thought

Since many of us are obsessed with food today (see previous posts), here is food for thought in today's New York Times.

I can't imagine how ANYONE wants to have discussions with the Taliban. Yesterday in Afghanistan, they paid someone to throw acid in the faces of some school girls whose only offense was that they were going to school. People who would do this are lower than scum. They are sub-human and should be treated as such.

The Times has an article on the editorial page, A French Connection about a settlement of French Huguenots who settled in Florida 50years before the Pilgrims settled Massachusetts. The Spanish took exception and deliberately killed them all, men, women and children. So much for religious tolerance. Not that the Puritans were big on tolerance. I am sensitive to this subject because the ancestors of three out of four grandparents emigrated to this country for religous freedom, and the idea of intolerance is intolerable.

Next: An article about Mark Twain and all the American foods he craved when he was in Europe. One of the things he missed was fresh game. I recalled that as a child my grandparents served pheasant and rabbit, and sometimes venison. My mother remembers eating squirrel, and my dad ate doves. Sometimes we had wild duck, and of course one always had to chew diligently to make sure you didn't bite down on buckshot. No one except hunters has access to game anymore. In Europe, baby wild boar is on the menu, but not here. We've gotten away from our food roots. When's the last time you had roast wild goose?

I remember eating the fish my parents caught, so fresh, so delicious. Days gone forever.

Next to last: Thomas Friedman has a column in today's (again) New York Times about the Citigroup mess. Don't you just love your tax dollars going to these arrogant nincompoops? Nincompoops that made fortunes that they sure as hell aren't going to give back? Personally, I wouldn't mind seeing some of these people, the big shots, not the accounts payable people and the administrative assistants, selling pencils on the corner. Really. All that corporate greed is so disgusting. Bah, Humbug!

Last: Apropos greed, etc. The 2nd and 3rd pages of the Times which always has advertising catering to the filthy rich (now we truly understand that expression) have come down a bit in, shall we say, economic stature. Yup, we still have Chanel shoes and a Tourneau watch, but Gucci is advertising sneakers, such a deal $495 instead of the usual $895. And Cartier is advertising wedding bands, not baubels. Page 3 is even more pedestrian. Macy's, Bloomingdale's, and Lord & Taylor (cozy mink earmuffs, only $98.00). Usually there's some handbag for $1400.00 or $2300 or more than any handbag should ever cost. And Saks has no payments for twelve months if you spend more than $2,000. Times must be really hard. Tiffany also advertising engagement rings, from $1,400. Not too bad, really. Lo, how the mighty have fallen. It is almost obscene to advertise this stuff when so many are losing their retirement savings and homes and jobs. Dress in flannel and corderoy and wear sensible shoes.

That is all I have to say on conspicuous consumption, religious tolerance, the economic meltdown and Mark Twain. Maybe we'll all be out shooting our own ducks and pheasants one of these days. If we want to eat. They won't be full of melamine, either.

Grapeshot, who probably shouldn't read the paper while she's waiting for stuff to cook.

Thanksgiving in Process

Tomorrow when the Pumpkin Cheese Cake is taken out of the pan, the gingersnap crust will be revealed in all its tastiness. The cake will have a topping of melted mini-marshmellows and sour cream, the yin and yang. I was feeling playful. And it even sounds good. The veggies are in the fridge ready for their topping and baking.

We forgot about the 2nd cheesecake and ate our fill at dinner (leftover stuffed pork tenderloin), so are waiting for digestion to occur such that some appetite for the cheesecake will appear. Dumb, huh?

Kitchen is full of good smells and the counters are heaped with Brussels Sprouts and Cauliflower, which is next to cook. I did the topping already. See links to recipes at the bottom of the blog.
Note: Do not substitute something "lighter" for the heavy cream or you'll have a runny mess. In fact, maybe cut down on the cream a tad.

I'll take a photo of the Pumpkin Cheesecake. It looks so good, and there was enough filling for a 2nd cake in a pie plate hurriedly lined with graham cracker crumbs.

I would like to speak up in favor of southern cornbread which has no white flour and no sugar and is made with buttermilk and stone ground corn meal. You need an oven-proof skillet and about 10 minutes to put it together and a few minutes to bake.

Please don't stuff your turkey with the overly-sweetened Yankee cornbread. Yuck! You'll get cavities and your taste buds will atrophy.

Here is the recipe which I found on the net with a long google search. It's the same one I've been using since God was a boy.

Grapeshot

Southern Style Cornbread (no Sugar Or Flour) Ingredients
2 cups cornmeal
2 large eggs beaten
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 cups buttermilk (no substitutions)
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons bacon drippings veg. oil or melted butter
Instructions for Southern Style Cornbread (no Sugar Or Flour)
Heat oven to 450. Grease a well-seasoned 9 inch cast iron skillet with 2 tablespoons oil or bacon drippings. Leave oil in bottom of pan. Place pan in oven to heat. Combine ingredients using the muffin method and mix well. Pour into hot skillet. Batter will sizzle. Bake at 450 for 35 minutes or until golden brown.

For a crispier bottom crust, sprinkle a little cornmeal into pan before adding batter. Serves 6 to 8 Muffin method: Combine dry ingredients, mix. Combine wet ingredients, mix. Add wet to dry and mix.

Pumpkin Cheesecake with a really cool topping
http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2008/10/pumpkin-cheesecake-with-marshmallowsour-cream-from-bon-appetit.html

Eat Your Veggies Casserole with tons of cream and cheese, so much, in fact, that you won't even realize you are eating your veggies:
http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2008/10/cauliflower-brussels-sprout-gratin-pine-nut-bread-crumb-topping-recipe.html

An Ass, But A Well-Meaning Ass

So yesterday a nice person whom I had recently met asked me to be a friend on "Reunion.Com."
The site didn't appear very "friendly" or even intuitive (that almost always gets me in trouble), but there I was clicking through this and clicking through that, when eeeek! I had just clicked on send "Friend" request to my entire email list. 850+ people.

I know. Friggin' stupid.

Of course I tried to unclick, (is that a word?), thinking, no hoping, I hadn't really clicked. I had clicked. OMIGOD. Agents, editors, relatives, old friends, every mystery writer in the country, (well, almost) new friends, enemies, Romans, countrymen. All got an invite to be my friend.

Can you imagine anything more pathetic? Stupider? More assisine? Nope. Thought not.

In the meantime, I've heard from a couple old friends and acquaintances. Also some names I recognized but who didn't know me. I hope that this went mostly into the spam boxes. Or people just deleted it. I mean imagine, asking to "friend" the vet, your hairdresser, your entire high school class.

Oh god.

Feeling humble. Think I'll stick to LinkedIn.

Think I'll stick to writing stories. My robot catfish is burning up the oceans. New ideas for the 2nd half of the story. This robot is one hot ticket.

Time to take the pumpkin cheesecake out of the oven. Somehow, there was enough batter (to die for) for a 2nd cheesecake and sometimes one is lucky, and I had prepared graham cracker crumbs on hand, so in the off-chance that the entire cheesecake is devoured on Thursday, I'll have one at home in reserve.

How cool is that? Licking the beater was the ultimate.

Now if I could just figure out how to create a nevermind key for the computer. The hand is quicker than the eye. And even the brain. No, the brain works the hand. Some circuits must be quicker than others. I've really got to get this figured out.

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Judy added you as a friend on Reunion.com!

Judy Copek added you as a friend on Reunion.com. Please confirm you know Judy so we can connect you. Do you know Judy? Yes No Accept this connection and you'll see Judy's profile and photos for free! You'll also get access to the popular feature: Who's Searching for YOU? Reunion.com - Find Everyone from Your Past.™ You have received this email because a Member sent an invitation to this email address. For assistance, please refer to our FAQ or Contact Us . Our Address: 2118 Wilshire Blvd., Box 1008, Santa Monica, CA 90403-5784

Food for Thought or Thought about Food

Rain driving down in buckets. Blew off my 8:00 a.m. workout. Couldn't go out in that cold wet dark horrible downpour. I'll workout later, I tell myself. Yeah. Sure.

Came down to read e-mail and found a link to the Murderati blog. Just the thing calculated to make me feel even guiltier.

If I don't eat, I become nauseated. Don't remember a single anorexic soul in high school or college. Of course, Marilyn Monroe was the ideal figure and I was always trying to gain weight. Hard to believe. I don't believe it myself anymore. Skinny was unattractive. Boys liked curves. Ah yes.

The photo is me as a skinny young mom with a mocking child hamming it up. La di dah.

Read on:
http://murderati.typepad.com/murderati/2008/11/the-antifood-post.html

Happy Thanksgiving, I think.

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All Is Forgiven

Last night, Thisbe joined us in the living room in front of the fireplace and indicated that "all is forgiven." I went into the kitchen, prepared the syringe, brought it into the living room, swabbed her fur, and gave her the injection, which she appeared not to notice. These are small, fine needles, and that went rather well. She was unfortunately under the bed having "private" time this evening, and I had to wait rather longer than proper timing indicated, but when we got back from my writing group she was waiting for food and I swabbed and jabbed while she was scarfing down moist food.

We're back to moist food, as the web sites dealing with feline diabetes indicate this is the way to go. Far too many carbs in the dry stuff. I'll see. The dry stuff from our vet (available only thru a vet) is for diabetic cats. Right now Thisbe is eating both kinds, and Annie, also porcine, prefers the dry. Annie takes heart medication twice a day. We live in cat sitter hell, that's what.

At the supermarket this morning, the produce truck was LATE. Supposed to be there at 9:00, and not in sight at 11:00. No lemons. No Brussels sprouts. We waited around and waited around and kept accosting the produce people. "They are late because of the holiday."

Grrr. Like the produce people didn't know it was Thanksgiving and might put some extra help on. Finally the truck showed up. I swear to god the Brussels sprouts were unloaded last. We had been hanging out and cooling our heels for a half an hour with entreaties and pleading looks.

Finally, finally the B.S. were brought out and we took four packages, because not only were we doing a side dish for Thanksgiving, but S.O. had it in his head they would be good with the stuffed pork tenderloin tomorrow.

The store didn't charge us for them. Have you ever heard of such a thing? I felt kinda bad, as they were not exactly cheap, and while we seem to be in a financial free fall, we can still buy groceries. They insisted there was no charge. Argued a bit but they were adamant. So thank you for the Brussels Sprouts. We'll enjoy them in good health and and are indeed thankful for your generosity and making us feel the time hanging around and looking at the produce was not time wasted.

Mostly I am thankful that we don't have to eat American Chop Suey one more night. Some wag defined eternity as a ham and two people. I have to say a pound of pasta starts to seem that way by the third night. My oldest kid could, at one time, eat a pound at a sitting. And he stayed skinny. Oh for a metabolism like that in my current years. Yowza! I could eat all the stuff I stay away from. Or try to stay away from.

Yesterday I made oatmeal raisin cookies, a kind of generic cookie from childhood. The recipe made a big batch and there are two bags in the freezer, which is always like manna from heaven. Got the recipe off the Internet. I am getting a good feel for recipes from strange sources. You can look at the seasoning and the fat and get a pretty fair idea if it will be fit to eat.

All recipes calling for margarine are ignored. If all ingredients are "non-fat," that recipe is also disregarded. Low-fat may be all right. We don't object to low, just non. You can always substititute. Healthy salads and veggies are cool. I don't make a lot of desserts, except we like a cookie daily. Seems like one should be able to eat one. Or two. Fresh fruit desserts--yum! Hard to beat fresh fruit. I'm especially fond of Cafloutis.

So I jumped from cat food to people food. Our cats won't eat people food. Won't touch. Won't sniff. It's wonderful. I've had cats that would snake a piece of chicken from a plate with their paws. Cats who ate a half a roast beef. Cats would enjoyed pizza and broccoli and green beans. Cats who want to lick the cereal bowl. Thisbe and Annie are not like those cats.

I am reading a Carl Hiassen book and he showed me how to do a great short flashback. I love his books, which are over the top but in a good, fun way. Great characters, especially the weird bad guys. This book is about bass fishing. I had a bass fishing scene in Promiscuous Mode, but the characters didn't catch any bass. Now I know that bass boats can go fast. You always learn something.

Do you think there are any mysteries where the diabetic cat and the cat with heart trouble solve the crime? I thought not.

Onward,


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Just A Spoonful of Sugar or Maybe Moist Food

Last Thursday morning, we jammed Thisbe into the cat carrier for a vet appointment. She has been eating and drinking like crazy, and we thought that maybe her diabetes was back. It is.

This means I have the honor and privilege of giving her a shot of insulin every day. Just one.

So, the fun began. First of all, a huge (to me) vet bill for the exam and the test. Then I picked up the prescription which could be filled anywhere. We headed to Walmart, hoping that was cheapest.

Oh God, then the fun really began. First of all, the pharmacy was closed for lunch from 1:30 - 2:00. So we cooled our heels buying potting soil and looking for cat grass, which nobody but the pet stores carries anymore.

The pharmacy opened and the pharmacist was very nice, and he didn't say anything when I blanched at the $100.00 price, and the thing is, the medicine is only good for one month and Thisbe only gets one millileter. I got needles and meds and we came home after an expensive detour to Kohl's where everything was so cheap you just had to buy stuff.

Back home, I did a trial run on the needle and the medication, and all was not well. I couldn't seem to make the plunger take the smallest amount. In the meantime, Thisbe got the wind up(who knows how) and disappeared under the bed.

I decided to call it a day.

Yesterday, I practiced with another needle and water, and became quite adept at getting the itsty-bitsy amount of insulin into the needle. Thisbe disappeared under the bed about the time I was thinking about the first shot. She came out to eat, took one look at me, and disappeared under the bed again, into the basement, anywhere, anywhere but in the vicinity of her mistress.

In the meantime, I had somehow expelled the insulin from the syringe.

Today we decided to take a day off, but Thisbe was not fooled and disappeared under the bed after breakfast. When I went up to get dressed, she usually comes out and we have some Mommy/Kitty time. Not this morning.

The damn cat really does have ESP. We're going to play it cool until tomorrow. Maybe she'll calm down.

The fact that the insulin has to be kept in the fridge and the needles sterile and the cat swabbed with alcohol first add to the complexity, as this point the impossibility. Maybe the smell of alcohol triggered a bad memory. Or a new memory from the vet. Maybe she remembers her former experience, when I used to distract her with catnip or get her while she was eating.

She has the wind up. Don't know what to do. And we have $300+ worth of meds, tests, exams and needles going for naught.

Some days you just want to drown your troubles with a cup of hot cocoa. Or something.,

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Technology, Like Lightning, Strikes Twice

My "real" desktop with speakers, pencils, scorpion paperweight and cat mug. How cool is that?


So, this morning I'm ordering Christmas gifts from LL Bean and trying to check out with my shopping cart, but the web site keeps insisting that I send these presents to myself. I attempt to get the "chat" line up but it disappears and in desperation, I call the help line. Finally, finally, I see where I can change the shipping address, but then I have to take everything out of the gift box and put it back again.

The customer service clerk, nice and sympathetic as they all should be, understands my pain and lets slip that there have been some recent changes to the website and I am the 2nd person in a row who complained about the ship-to problem.

In a former life, I wrote scripts for testing e-commerce web site changes and Bean's had some functionality that apparently never made it to anyone's test script, and even worse, they did this right before Christmas in a year where people aren't shopping much anyhow.

I finally got the order in order, but this massive effort from one who has been ordering on the web for a donkey's age. Probably one of the first people to order anything but computer stuff. If I can't figure it out, there is muy mucho problem, but then I also tend to work rather rapidly and expect a site to be intuitive. Yikes!

We always had the Customer Service Reps test the site with the script after we had done so. The worst (and dumbest) thing is to have those who put up the site test it. They know how it works. Duh and Double Duh!

Second technology issue: This blog! You may notice it looks a bit different. A couple months ago, after I had written a particularly (to moi) amusing poem about Caribou Barbie (remember her?) I put the Digg It functionality onto the blog. Nobody dug nuthin' and worse yet, Digg slowed the loading of the page down to a hideous, patience-trying creep.

Had to get that Digg code out of there, but I had copied it into the layout, and when I tried to restore the old file, Blogger told me it was empty, so I just sh__canned the whole thing and returned to vanilla, which looked so pale and anemic that I wanted to give the blog a transfusion and a slap on the butt.

Blogger asked me to "upgrade," which I did, and behold the jazzy stuff was back, the ability to order my book, which no one has done, but hey, it's there, and my cool Burning Man photo, taken in 2004 during the Burn. Links, this 'n that, the return of the blog. Whew! But of course I had forgotten which layout I chose, so here is the new one. Looks decent. Technology go me all bollixed up twice, but I fought the good fight and overcame.

It's scary to think my techno-skills might say adios. Nonetheless, I could still concoct a better script to test web site changes that our friend in Freeport, Maine did. Fie and for shame. They have cool warm clothes, however, and nice customer service people. That's why it's called "customer service."


Gee, I wish literary agents had the concept of being nice to the customer, which is the writer, instead of the "canned letter brush-off." Some of them write your name and even the name of your novel when they reject you. Believe it or not, that helps ease the pain. And the worst pain is no reply at all. The poor (in more ways than one) writer pays $2.00 to send in the query, some chapters and a synopsis, and never hears nuthin. Once I send in a requested entire manuscript and heard nothing. No response to emails and of course the gentleman in question didn't take phone calls.


I wonder why I continue to write. I really do. But today, I just can't wait to get back to my robot fish, Francis, and figure out how he brings down a whole slew of drug runners and then meets an usual fate. Boy, was I ripping stories from the headlines with the Somali pirates. Yowza! Holy freakin' crap! Somali pirates rock.



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National Book Awards

Congratulations to the winners and the nominees. This is indeed a stellar list. Yowza!


Fiction Winner Peter Matthiessen, Shadow Country (Modern Library)
Aleksandar Hemon, The Lazarus Project (Riverhead)
Rachel Kushner, Telex from Cuba (Scribner
Marilynne Robinson, Home (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)
Salvatore Scibona, The End (Graywolf Press)

Non-fiction Winner Annette Gordon-Reed, The Hemingses of Monticello: An American Family (W.W. Norton & Company)
Drew Gilpin Faust, This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil War (Alfred A. Knopf)
Jane Mayer, The Dark Side: The Inside Story of How the War on Terror Turned into a War on American Ideals (Doubleday
Jim Sheeler, Final Salute: A Story of Unfinished Lives (The Penguin Press
Joan Wickersham, The Suicide Index: Putting My Father’s Death in Order (Harcourt)

Poetry Winner Mark Doty, Fire to Fire: New and Collected Poems (HarperCollins)
Frank Bidart, Watching the Spring Festival (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)
Reginald Gibbons, Creatures of a Day (Louisiana State University Press)

Richard Howard, Without Saying (Turtle Point Press)
Patricia Smith, Blood Dazzler (Coffee House Press)

Image of Peter Matthiessen from: www.nytimes.com/.../LeClair-t.html?ref=books

Dark Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies

Holy freakin' crap. I made some dynamite cookies today. For the recipe, follow this little old link: http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Dark-Chocolate-Oatmeal-Cookies-109497

I think my oven is reluctant to heat, because I had to bake them at least 5 minutes longer than indicated, but they were oh-so-good, and of course we can't leave them alone. They went together really fast. I was in a hurry to bake them and get out of the house, and the mixing and sifting were no big deal.

I also liked that they aren't too sweet. They tasted ultra-sweet when I was scarfing them off the hot cookie sheet, but by this evening they're just right. And were are talking serious chocolatey-ness. And common ingredients. Only 1/4 cup chocolate chips, so this recipe didn't break the bank, either, an important consideration in these times of job loss and the stock market not just in the toilet, but the toilet has flushed and your investments are deep in the sewer. Eeeeww!

I've revised my last scene yet again, in In Flight, my WIP novel, and it's just about there. Even though I have two flashbacks, I've discovered they're best approached with dialog and not straight narrative. And ye gods, I think the main character is going to acquire a cat as she had threatened to in the first scene. The cat just appeared and it looks like the one I saw that needed a good home when I was campaigning for Obama. Crazy, huh? Now if the REAL kitty has found a good home.

Thisbe has been diagnosed with diabetes again. Hopefully this is temporary as it was last time. I discovered the entire unopened box of needles can't be used because the vet changed medicines and these syringes are the "right" size. Ye gods, I'm thinking of going into a bad neighborhood and flogging the needles to well, to someone. I don't think I can advertise them on Craig's list. This is so annoying.

And of course it's no fun for me or the cat to have to go thru these shots once a day. Cat freaks. I freak. Have to calm myself with . . . Dark Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies. Yes. Once a day.

I'm taking a Brussels Sprouts/Cauliflower casserole to our hostess for Thanksgiving and also a pumpkin cheesecake. And wine. Always wine. The problem is, I didn't really read the recipe for the vegetable dish, and it has like pints of heavy cream and a sh__load of cheese, artery clogging and filling, but yowza! I can almost guarantee the guests will digest every milligram of vitamin A. Good calcium, a bit of protein, some beta carotene. Bring it on!

Of course I am breaking the BIG RULE that says you never cook anything for the first time for company, although since I'm TAKING it, they aren't really company. Hoping for leftovers.
We had an omelet tonight, using the last of the grated mixed Italian cheese and the bits of red pepper. It was good. I gathered the last of the parsley from the garden this morning and picked some sage.

Winter is here. It's colder than a well digger's ass.

Onward

Grapeshot

How Doth The Busy Little Bee

Yup, that's me. Busy as a bee.

Crimebake over, on to the food class at Brown. We're doing a little book of our writings. Should be very cool. Something I noticed last night during the read-alouds: these writings, although non-fiction, all deal with some kind of conflict, whether familial, inner, or even societal. I would call the works narrative non-fiction, and it's just so interesting when one thinks that in fiction conflict moves the plot, it also moves the narrative for our non-fiction. Who would have thunk?

Last night I got to a recipe that's been on the "can't wait to cook" list for a while. Cashew Chicken Stir Fry. Quite tasty--we finished up the leftovers at noon. The flavors were good and the red from the pepper and the green from the scallions plus the white rice looked very appetizing and it smelled divine. Man, if I could only bottle that smell.

Here is the link to the recipe, with 45 comments, some of them suggesting the addition of pea pods or mushrooms, always good.

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Chicken-and-Cashew-Stir-Fry-238402

Red peppers were on sale and I bought two, using one for the quiche which was also very tasty and is now gone.

We're invited out Thanksgiving, and I'm taking a cauliflower/broccoli casserole with plenty of cream and cheese such that everyone will be sure to get all the vitamin A from the dish, and also a pumpkin cheesecake with a kind of cool topping of melted marshmellows and sour cream. This is the week to diet so that one may taste everything on Turkey Day without reams of guilt. Just remember: small portions of everything. The food can be stretched out over the weekend, and we wouldn't want to run on before Sunday night, would we?

I have some dynamite turkey croquettes that almost rival the T-Day dinner.

I keep trying to revise my latest scene. It's getting there, but does it ever take a long time. There's a lot of information the reader needs, but it doesn't require a huge amount of words--and so my character is thinking about it while she's heading for the Florida Keys. It would be so helpful if I could pop down to Key West and scope out a few details. When I was there, I didn't plan to write about it.

Ah, yes. Another end of the road place. This novel will have two of them: Key West and Northern Nevada. If I could stick the tip of the Baja in, I'd have three. Fortunately, my ending will happen in Nevada and so I don't have to trek to the Grand Caymans, although one of the characters will. Bloody but upbeat ending.

La Di Dah.

Grapeshot

The party's over now . . . .

I'm tired but still exhilarated. After ten months of effort, the Crime Bake weekend is almost a blur, and the credits are rolling and you want to say, “Wait! Stop! I want to see that scene again.”

These events come together with a huge effort and much attention to details, and we all know that's where the devil is. If you want to live the Crimebake vicariously, try the web site http://www.crimebake.org/ in a few days because Mo Walsh, roving photographer, snapped pictures everyplace except the restrooms and I’m not too sure about them.

Between the bar and the banquet I spent a lot of time visiting what we call “the dark side,” in other words, noirish writing, which is what I seem to have plunged into, in this new book “In Flight.”

What is noir? According to a panel I heard years ago, in a noir film or novel, the world is corrupt. All the characters are already in purgatory. Trying not to slide into hell. Knowing the truth doesn’t change anything. It just makes life worse.

Cozies need not apply.

With moderator Hallie Ephron, the Playing After Dark panel discussed their noir genre, and whether there is any redemption for the characters and the answer is yes and no. Compelling authors Alex Carr, Amy McKinnon and Richard Marinick told how and why they write on the dark side. For non-readers who watch movies or television, the Wire, Chinatown, The Sopranos and even Mad Men are all dark to greater or lesser degrees.

One can O.D. on all this writing stuff. Come Saturday evening you just want to go home and write, but by Sunday, on overload, I am more inclined to watch, say, Sex And The City and chill, preferably with chocolate.

Of course I want to read all the new authors I discovered. The house looks like a book drop, with stacks all over and no end in sight. This week we hauled off a huge collection to the jail, a book exchange and the Viet Nam Vets and nothing seems to make a dent because I come home with more including Hallie’s book about 1001 more books to read. Sheeesh! Just what we need. 1001 more books.

Two days of newspapers, await, including the Sunday papers. I recycle the newspapers once a week ere they take over the house like the books have. Of course I’ll read the New York Times book review this evening and want even more books.

Something triggered an old memory this week, and I recalled discovering my parents Frank Yerby novels when I was perhaps in fourth grade and reading them and lots of other stuff that was unsuitable. Elinor Glyn in high school, Guadalcanal Diary, Forever Amber, which fell open at the “good parts.” I think I read most of the fiction in our little town's Carnegie Library, so thank you Andrew Carnegie. Let’s hear it for a robber baron who gave much, much back to the little towns of this country. Fortunately, my parents took no interest in what I read, assuming perhaps that it was Nancy Drew and something suitable for young ladies. Ha!

Back to the Crimebake. The attendees also sat rapt through riveting forensics discussions which we crime writers like. Your assignment is to hie thee to the web site and surf around, especially once the photos are up.

In the meantime, all those Sunday papers are calling my name.

Cheers!
Grapeshot

New England Crime Bake

The place to be today, tomorrow and Sunday is in Dedham, MA at the mystery conference The New England Crimebake (http://www.crimebake.org/).

Authors, agents, editors and fans are coming to master classes, panels, and to meet guest of honor Harlan Coban. Attendees can even watch the French movie taken from Coban's book Tell No One tonight. A gala banquet caps Saturday's activities.

I'm not blogging anymore until Sunday because I'll be baking in crime, so to speak. Hoping, as always to connect with an agent or editor that will love my writing enough to represent or publish it.

Someday it will happen. I hope not posthumously.

In the meantime, I baked this vegetarian quiche for us to eat Sunday night after the conference is over and the guests are on their way home and it's kind of a let down but we bask in the glow of a job well done. Again, the yin and the yang.

Onward.

Grapehsot

Kin Schilling and the Cornucopia Project

Kin Schilling was the guest speaker Tuesday night at the Food Writing class at Brown University. Kin, talented painter, gardener and cook, told us about her Cornucopia Project in New Hampshire and her organic garden, and how she teaches children to grow food. Kim brought two of her board members to the class: Ricardo Barreto, an art project manager, curator and consultant who also has experience in public art for community development, and Jessie Benthien, culinary school graduate and former chef at the Montalvo Arts Center in California. Jessie shared her knowledge of the food movement that began in California with Alice Waters and Chez Panisse and some of the happy changes in the Berkeley, CA school lunch program.

Conversation among “foodies” is always passionate and wide-ranging and below are links to some of the topics we discussed. Kin’s final advice was to start with a tiny plot and grow carrots or radishes, something simple. Something delicious, as home-grown organic foods taste so much better than supermarket varieties.

The class agreed that Kin is an inspiration to all. Thanks to Carol DeBoer-Langworthy, our instructor, for finding such a cool guest scholar.

Listening to Kin talk of the children's enthusiasm for gardening, I recalled my young son’s first growing efforts back in Illinois and how the rabbits decimated the green beans, leaving only stems. He never lost his optimism, and gardens to this day as time and space allow. At my funky little place in Nevada, we have apples, pears, plums and peaches and even a cherry tree. The plums are tiny, barely bigger than large grapes, yet tasty, even succulent, and I still remember the delicious compote I made this fall, and the freeform plum tart that was soooo good.

A hint to all of you who would garden. My grandpa believed that you must plant root vegetables in the dark of the moon, and above-the-ground crops in the light of the moon. It worked for him, and his garden was the envy of his small Kansas town.

This summer my little patch of heritage beets was modest, as was the green pepper plant and the tomatoes and all the herbs, but they were a beginning. Starting small, we grew some of our own food, and we even inspired the guys next door to do a bit of gardening. These are the same guys who tossed a perfectly good tomato plant out with the trash a few years ago, and the lawn maintenance people snapped it up before the garbage truck came. I heard one of them saying, “it just needs a little water.”

Our young guest gobbled up the beets, and we all enjoyed the tomatoes, especially with the fresh basil and some fresh mozzarella drizzled with EVOO. The green peppers tasted so sweet that I could hardly believe they were actually GREEN.

We donate the Halloween pumpkin to the critters in the woods and even the acorn squash seeds. The Scottish Highland cattle get the acorn squash skins. Waste not. Worms like coffee grounds and then make the soil more friable.

Here are the links to all sort of things and people you should really know about.

The Crotched Mountain Foundation and the Cornucopia Project
http://www.cmf.org/crotchedmountain/html/cornucopiaperspectiveskidsfill.htm


Vendana Shiva is an Indian Woman who has spent years studying food and society

http://fora.tv/2008/08/30/Vandana_Shiva_-_Food_as_Social_and_Ecological_Justice


Terra Madre, A world meeting of food communities

http://www.terramadre.info/pagine/?-session=terramadre:CDBC750F1b2682EDB0YNn2FCF7B3


Biodynamic Framing
http://www.biodynamics.com/biodynamics.html

Alice Waters: http://www.chezpanisse.com/pgalice.html

Ricardo Barreto: http://www.furtherfield.org/display_user.php?ID=566

Let's Hear It For All Us Mutts

Obama is in hot water already for a couple off-the-cuff remarks, the first about seances, a reference to Nancy Reagan and the White House astrology business, and the second for referring to himself as a 'Mutt.'

Ye gods, by now anyone whose family has been here for a few generations is a mutt. I claim the British Isles, France, Germany and Austria and two American Indian tribes as ancestors. My sons can add the (always) disputed border of Eastern Germany and Poland to the heritage, adding a bit of Slav. My granddaughter gets all that and I do believe that some extra Cherokee entered the mix.

And isn't it a good thing to be a mutt? No inbreeding, for one thing. Jeez, you wouldn't want that godawful Hapsburg jaw or non-clotting blood would you? All those bad genes combining with all those bad genes. Gimme new blood. Make it red.

Aren't those shelter dogs the best of the best? My great grandfather was half-Indian, a so-called half-breed that the family kept quiet about. It was shameful then. Now we celebrate our mixed heritage. After all, it's a melting pot.

Put a tablespoon of butter and one of olive oil into the skillet and they will run together? Butter for flavor and olive oil for higher heat tolerance. The yin and the yang. Combining the best of most products.

If you're a mutt, be proud. Celebrate your variety. Red blood is better than blue any day.

Grapeshot

Writing Bad Guys

One loves one's literary characters and doesn't want anything bad to happen to them. I am really starting to like my Columbian Drug Lord, as I flesh him out. He sees himself as a businessman with "product" and all of these disasters descend on him--supposedly loyal employees skimming money, a missing laptop, employees swimming at the shallow end of the gene pool, bad luck, smart opponents, a greedy girlfriend, huge outlays of cash for his little submarine fleet, and this woman who has disappeared, a woman who has caused him so much grief, a woman who needs to be killed. But where the hell is she? He has a grudging respect for her, and she for him. Throughout the book they will be doing this dance. I love the way he cusses and views the world and what he really wants, which is to go home to Cartagena. But of course he can't. Life is complicated. For all of us.

Tonight I took the scraps of chicken (some pretty big scraps) and made a tasty chicken pot pie with homemade crust, again the food processor recipe which takes one minute and rolls out like a dream. I had chicken fat left over, and all the savory pan juices, garlicky and lemony and chickeny. I bought a few mushrooms, but the peas, carrots, celery and onion came from the fridge. There was one problem. So good we couldn't stop eating. Not a good thing. About a million calories. Thank the lord I didn't add any heavy cream as the Food Network recipe called for. The recipe made enough for three, so there is a lunch to die for in the fridge.

We have been very busy getting ready for the mystery conference, the New England Crime Bake, and I've done mail merges for labels, which I have to relearn every time I do them, although I hope that I'll remember at least enough to do the Christmas card labels. Doing the mail merge is NOT like riding a bicycle. You forget practically everything.

Late fall is here. The colors are mostly drab and there are more leaves on the ground than on the trees. I put the acorn squash seeds outside for the critters and fed the Highland Scottish cattle their fruit and veggie scraps. The little herd has increased by four new cows with tags in their ears. A second bull has been added. Everyone seems to be getting along. They liked the acorn squash skin and the grapefruit rind and the apple cores. Banana skins always popular. We have taken recycling to a new level.

More anon.

Grapeshot

Out and About In the World

Nothing beats going into the world, and how many of us really do? I have friends and fellow writers who had no clue what a so-called "wife beater" undershirt was. I have friends who don't know anyone who is black or gay or poor.

So Friday night we take the MBTA into town for a concert. Left with plenty of time to spare which was quickly eaten up by a wreck on I-95, where someone had been rear-ended. A long wait for the subway. Lots of people going to the Celtics game. We are quite obviously the only couple headed for Symphony Hall.

At Park Street a young Chinese man asks which train goes to Symphony Hall. We must look like we know, which, of course, we do. Train takes forever, too. Hustle up three flights of stairs from the MBTA station, and are shown to our seats with about one minute to spare. Glad I work out.

Nice all Mozart-Beethoven concert. The orchestra really has to break a sweat on the Prometheus Overture and the 8th Symphony. Mozart more sprightly. Good crowd. Nowadays, one worries about the arts.

During intermission I eavesdrop shamelessly on the tales of the woman behind me who also went to New Hampshire (and Ohio) to ring doorbells for Obama. There was an army of unlikely types to went forth and canvassed.

We have dessert at Brasserie Jo, still crowded at 10:00 p.m. Economy has not totally tanked, and lots of young people are in the restaurant. S.O. orders the bread pudding and I take a slice of lemon tart with fresh berries. Delicous. Berries salve conscience.

Back on the T. We wait forever at Park Street. The game is over and the Celtics won. Crowd in a good mood. A group of young ladies (teenagers) en route back to Quincy. They remind us of some of the girls in Quinceneara, the movie we watched last night. A group of eight, all very different, and they are having fun.

Friday we watched Rabbit Proof Fence. Both good movies. No explosions. We do not always have to go out into the World to go into the world.

Yesterday I went to a meeting, and I'll preserve the anonymity, because there was a panel about self-publishing and unfortunately, I knew more than most of the panellists. Two of them had spent a combined amount of $50,000 to self-publish, which is beyond most writer's budgets. This was all non-fiction, and some of the advice was so bad. They did not even mention Print On Demand.

Some comments:
"I didn't hire an editor because I didn't want anyone changing my words." "Just get it out there, and you can fix it in the next edition." "I only found out what a literary agent is this morning."

Oh my god. The panels at Crimebake, which eschews the mere mention of self-publishing as being beyond the pale, are more entertaining and certainly better-informed about whatever the topic may be.

Came home to the rest of the Garbure, wherein the cabbage had disappeared, but the potatoes seemed to come to the fore. Tonight I'm roasting a chicken and we have fresh cranberries and acorn squash. Baked apples for dessert. See photos. These are dynamite apples, and a) don't break the bank and b) may even be good for you. What ho!

Grapeshot

Garbure

I'm making a French peasant soup, Garbure, that sounds like a cross between garbage and ordure. We've had it before and found it quite tasty. Of course, Dr. Atkins would NOT approve, since the soup contains beans and potatoes and bread. Did I say peasant? Hearty fare. I used a slice of ham instead of ham hocks which the store doesn't carry anymore. A head of cabbage is another ingredient. Even more common.


We're doing the yin/yang thing with some delicous stuffed apples from Gourmet. Actually, the garbure is also from Gourmet, a magazine not adverse to the random food of the people recipe.

In my latest work in process, In Flight, I have three characters (man, woman, child), eating a casual meal on a patio, with a contrast between the two bad guys who are having lunch at Lincoln Road Mall in Miami Beach. The baddest one has a terrible hangover and just about loses it when a waiter splashes soup on his expensive pink shirt.

Significant Other found a CNN video with the Columbian (I guess) marines taking over a drug submarine being loaded with cocaine. Very cool, and I got a close up of the sub, which plays a small but important part in the new book and an even bigger part in the short story of my CIA robot fish. The short story and the book are cross-polinating each other right now. Of course I had "seen" the bad one in my mind's eye, but imagine my surprise when his photo turned up in the newspapers the last few days, the spitting image of Obama's chief of staff, who is supposed to be rather pugnacious and very smart--very rich, too. Writing bad guys, antagonists, whatever you call them is fun, as well as challenging, but I like my anti-heros be believable and my bad guy is good to his old mum. When I had his "voice" all wrong, I wrote him in the first person and that worked wonderfully well. He swears too much, but whatchagonna do?

Off to Handel & Haydn tonight at Symphony Hall. No rain in the forecast. Haven't had any culture for ages. La-di-dah.

Grapeshot

An Historic Moment

Photo from BBC News.

Yesterday, I had ants in my pants. The day had finally arrived, and we voted early, but not often, and then I had to hang out until my class met at 7:00. Hard to concentrate on anything.

Significant Other picked me up a little before 9:00 with the news that New Hampshire had gone for Obama. Yes. The time, the work, the sore feet, windburn, being the butt of condescension (sometimes) and the effort had paid. Yes.

Then Ohio was safe, and finally even Pennsylvania, and the clock ticked on. For a while, nothing more, then New Mexico and finally, California, and victory. It was sweet. We broke out the cognac, effete Eastern elitsts that we are.

McCain's speech was very gracious, and again we saw the old McCain who had been usurped by the mad old man and now the real McCain was back again, offering cooperation and congratulations. A class act.

Obama did not gloat, and seemed very inclusive, very, well, presidential. The "yes we can!" being the only rejoicing. Seeing Jesse Jackson with tears in his eyes, well, who would have thunk it? A long time coming, and everyone thinking of Dr. King's dream, and some of us old farts remembering another night in Chicago, in 1968 where things were very different and the Mayor was Daley then, too, and that was another war and the "whole world was watching" then, as last night and isn't it almost too unbelievable for words that last night when the world watched, all of us could be proud.

So I will not gloat but am working on another poem about you-know-who, and then I'll shut up about politics.

Last night in class, listening to people read, I realized that I employ mostly simple words, now, and big academic words have left my vocabulary because you can't write crime fiction using words like that and now I don't use them at all. Sort of sad, and yet interesting. Intriguing. Thought-provoking. Where did the big words go?

Onward. How sweet it is.

Grapeshot

Why I Am For Obama

Once upon a time I was a Republican. My mom was a committeewoman for the party in Denver and my dad was only slightly to the left of John Birch. I shook hands with the Nixons. We went to Republican picnics. I voted for Nixon. When I began wavering in the more liberal direction, I registered as an Independent and voted for John Anderson. Does anyone remember John Anderson?

After that I voted mostly for Democrats, while still registered as an Independent. Of course, I voted for Governor Weld in Massachusetts, but the so-called Wellesley Republicans are a dying breed, usurped by the Southern right wing bloc of the party. . The older I get, the more liberal I become. It’s supposed to work the other way. I like to think with age comes wisdom.

On the cover of the New York Times (elitist Eastern rag) this morning, two photos ran side by side. One was of two old farts in Florida, McCain supporters, and they were fat and well, they didn't look like intellectual giants. Next to them were two young Obama supporters. They are the future, and we are looking at the future now, and I'm a not very young white woman and I like the look of the future. Obama is the future.

Obama is a good person. You can see his goodness shining through. He doesn’t have McCain’s naked ambition, win at any cost, damn the torpedoes, damn the ethics, full speed ahead. Power will not corrupt Obama. Obama is tough, but in a good way.

He’s smart. He’s thoughtful. He’s steady. He believes in getting good advice. He’ll even put some honest Republicans in responsible positions. He won’t be afraid to say ‘no,’ and he won’t be the kind of person to whom people are afraid to deliver bad news.

He’s respected globally. Think what that means to this country. This campaign has tested him, and he has not been found wanting. He grows before our eyes, commanding respect and even love.

It’s time. Time for a change, time for Obama. People who think, those who can reason, understand this. It’s the most important election in our lifetime. Obama won’t be perfect, but he’ll do all right. Experience isn’t everything. Look at the mess those with “experience” got us into. That kind of “experience” we can eschew.

Obama is the future. Look into the future. Cast your vote. Change is always scary, but change is good.

Vote for Obama! Vote for the future.

My Kitchen Disasters

This is the speech (or a variation) that I will give to my Toastmaster's group at the next meeting. The speech is supposed to be entertaining, starting and ending with stories. Let me know what you think.

Disasters in the Kitchen - - A Learning Experience

The first time she made mashed potatoes and gravy, my friend Dorothy said her husband had to pour the potatoes over the gravy. Dorothy became an excellent cook. You can, too, if you laugh at yourself and learn from your mistakes.

Between the spring I graduated from college and the fall when I was married, I lived in Denver with my parents. My fiancé would visit on weekends and we would pick out dishes and glassware and look for furniture. Back then, I didn’t realize my good fortune in that I had actually found a husband who loved to shop.

Sometimes we had lunch at the Denver Hilton, and because it was summer, the restaurant served a cold cream of potato soup called Vichysoisse. The waiter brought it to the table on crushed ice in elegant little soup cups sprinkled with a scattering of bright green chives.

As a soon to be married woman, I had begun to take more interest in cooking, eager to advance my repertoire beyond meat loaf, pork chops and toast. One of the obstacles to my learning to cook was my mother, who had no objection to my cooking, but always found fault with my cleaning the kitchen afterward. She invariably discovered an overlooked blob on the counter, a spatter of grease on the stove, a piece of onion on the floor.

Nonetheless, when I announced I was going to make Vichysoisse, my mother showed no objection, and I drove to the University of Denver to find a cookbook with the recipe. An old cookbook.

Armed with a list of bizarre ingredients, I encountered the first obstacles in our local Safeway. The produce man had to show me the leeks. Who knew? They looked like onions, only different. In the dairy department, the person I asked had no clue what 10 percent cream was, so I bought plain old cream.

I read the recipe again for instructions, and wondered about the advice to “force the cooked mixture through a layer of fine muslin.” My mom provided a worn but sturdy muslin pillowcase, and my adventures in cooking began.

Never, ever, try a recipe where muslin is mentioned in any way, shape or form. I had potato glop up to my armpits. It was smeared all over the counter, the stove and the floor. In my hair. I had created the mess to end all messes. Worse, I had a measly amount of the strained potatoes. Maybe, just maybe, enough for two minute cups of soup. That was with the cream added.

My mom was strangely sympathetic and made no comment about my kitchen cleanup, which was long and arduous.

When my fiancé arrived Friday evening, we each had a small cup of Vichysoisse with chives from my mother’s garden. It tasted good, almost like the Hilton’s. My first failure was also my first success.

Fast forward twenty plus years. I am now a working woman, as well as an experienced cook. My husband has a new job and the corporate brass is coming into town from Rochester. We will invite them to dinner. What might be worthy of the occasion? What could I make in advance and heat up quickly after getting home from work?

Sunday’s New York Times recipe provides the answer. A venison ragout. It sounds delicious, with a long marinade and 28 different ingredients. I’ve never cooked venison, but a friend, a bow hunter, has given us a leg of venison which has been in the freezer ready for such an event. Before leaving for work on Monday, I put the package on the counter to thaw. I have actually never looked at the venison, which was wrapped and frozen when we received it.

Monday evening after a dinner, a most unpleasant experience ensues. I have to cut the meat off the leg, and there is lots of blood and the leg looks like, well, a leg. There is much bone and little meat, barely a pound. Enough to feed two but not six. Still game, no pun intended, I make the marinade with its 19 ingredients. Then I race to the store and buy a pound of round steak and add it to the marinade with the venison.

I have to admit that even half-soled with round steak; there will not be enough meat. The next day at work I tell my colleagues of my dilemma and one of them asks, “Haven’t you ever been to John Dewar’s meat market in Newton? They have all kinds of stuff like venison and buffalo and game birds.”

John Dewar has flown under my radar, but moments later, I am on the phone to the market. Do they have venison? Yes, but it’s frozen. I order a pound and a half, and tell them to put it out to defrost.

After work, I arrive at John Dewar’s astounding market. The man behind the counter hands over the thawed meat. I fork over $27.00. Who knew that venison was gold-plated? I could have served filet mignon for less.

Back home, I cut the meat into cubes and into the marinade it goes. A day before company arrives, I cook the ragout according to the recipe. It smells divine. The next night, we serve it up to many accolades. The guests don’t realize that part of the venison ragout is round steak, and I don’t tell them.

Our friend stops hunting, much to my relief. I never cook venison again.

What wisdom did I acquire from my misadventures in cooking?
· Buy mom a blender.
· Avoid muslin.
· The folks running the supermarket and the meat market are your best friends.
· Be humble.
· Unwrap and inspect frozen foods before making menu decisions.
· Learn from your mistakes.
· Leave your comfort zone and be adventurous.

We were having a big party, and I was baking my mom’s old standby, Bisquick and cheese bits. I forgot they were in the oven and burnt them. Not wanting the smell of burning food all over the house and it being winter, I threw the charred cheese bits off the deck into the snow. My son’s dog discovered them. Ate every one. Then the dog kept looking up at the sky as if these delicious cheesy morsels had descended from heaven.
No matter what you cook, someone will love it. ©

Stumping for Obama in New Hampshire

This is the first election ever when I have given money to a candidate. This is the first election ever that I have actually got involved.

Today, for the second time, I drove up to New Hampshire, this time with three other women I had never met. We had a ball!

The enthusiasm for Barak Obama is so contagious, so real, so heartfelt, that I feel like I am a part of something pure and good and forward moving. How often does that happen?

At campaign headquarters in Nashua, as in Salem, the people were organized, pleasant, and snacks and water were handed out, we were given good directions--it was like clockwork, but clockwork with a heart.

In the neighborhoods, the first man we spoke with said his family was for Obama all the way and they were voting a democratic ticket. Which mean Jeanne Shaneen would also get a vote. Seniors told us they had already voted for Obama. A man who said he was a Republican was voting for Obama. O.K., it wasn't all beer and skittles.

Someone announced he was for Sarah Palin, who is obvious getting the "babe" vote. Someone else told us he didn't like Biden. We said, as to the Palin person, Palin/Biden is not running for president. Some people watch too much Fox TV. Whatchagonnado?

Overall, it was a positive experience, and some people had already voted. Some were prepared for long lines. The weather was cool but pleasant and the sun shone most of the day. I walked a lot and talked a lot, and for all the people not home, we left literature.

It feels good to be doing something positive, making a contribution to change. We heard Obama was ahead 10-12 percent in New Hampshire, and if that's true, I feel just a wee bit responsible.

To be truthful, I am a basket case about the election, and just want it to be over and for my candidate to be the victor. Then we can move on and forward. Everyone is totally paranoid, thinking the Republicans will steal another election. Like the did in 2000.

I'm hoping all the young people vote. They were at HQ today in droves. Clean cut, too, not a bunch of bearded socialists and anarchists and whateverists. This is so great.

Tired and windburned, but happy,

Grapeshot