Suck It Up

Social Networking 101

2012-02-01T14:33:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, Significant Other and I attended a workshop on social networking sponsored by New England Sisters in Crime. The networking guru was Shawn Nicholls, who is senior digital marketing director at Harper Collins.

We learned a lot about Facebook, Fan Pages, and Content, until everyone's head was swimming. The lunch with yummy salads, mini wraps, fruit and cookies couldn't be beat. Then it was on to Twitter, Blogs and Websites. Sorry to say, but websites will soon be on your Facebook page, likewise blogs. Facebook is where it's at, using Aps and Tabs and parsing Insights. One has to run to keep up.

Barbara, Mo and Ro --ladies with laptops

Here are a few photos of the group. For some reason, Blogger is really slooooow to load photos these days. Inquiring minds want to know why.

We can make an executive decision. Barb, Sheila and Pat

Shawn said that fan are interested in the process of writing. Sometimes when one talks about that, one sounds kind of, you know, crazy, as in "my characters talk to me." Oh really?

Pensive Liz

The participants agreed they had learned a lot and everyone rushed home to Tweet, post, and review notes. All in all, a day of useful learning.

Unintended Consequences

2012-02-01T14:16:00.000-08:00

I have mentioned before that our oaks bore no acorns this fall. I've been importing them from Long Island, when possible, and I also bought 50 pounds of cracked corn. The squirrels have been indifferent to the cracked corn but the birds like it and I had fond hopes that the wild turkeys would discover it.

Hen and Rooster eating corn in the front yard

Not yet, but guess what? We are kinda sorta in exurbia, to the degree that some of the land directly around us in zoned farm land. Which means . . . chickens. Who found the corn. I'll be danged.


Uninvited Guests eating cracked corn

The rooster is a handsome fellow and knows it. He approaches one sideways in a half-threatening way. I just walk on by, saying, "nobody is afraid of you," and he loses his "attitude." Of course they managed to poop on the sidewalk.

Never a dull moment. The cat Thisbe likes to get on her perch and peer out the kitchen window. Her eyes were as big as saucers when she spotted these two. The biggest birds she's ever seen. Oh! Thisbe, they would probably run away. On the other hand. . . a rooster with attitude can be quite intimidating to a fraidy cat,

Testing one-two-three

2012-01-25T12:13:00.000-08:00

Thisbe is uninterested in the home office crises.
So long as the hated vacuum cleaner does not appear.

Changing email address. Hell on wheels. My whole life was tied to that email. It will take months to get everything squared away. I may set my hair on fire.

This is a test.

Clean Surfaces

2012-01-24T20:05:00.000-08:00

As anyone who has been following me on Facebook knows, I've been in a frenzy of desk cleaning, file organizing, even ploughing through an 8 page password list to bring new order.

Now I'm digging into the tops of some file cabinets that have one foot piles of "stuff" that must be sorted through. Mostly it's going to the dump tomorrow as recycled magazines. In 2008, I had still not seen the error of my ways, because I was still saving huge amounts of computer crime articles, magazines, clipping, ideas, etc. What is even odder is that I had begun to write a novel unrelated to computer crime. Granted there is a missing laptop, and Lojack for Laptops, and a hacker, etc., but those are peripheral plot points, not COMPUTER CRIME.

In the back of my mind there must still have been a wild hope that something would happen, like maybe I would sell a couple of novels to bring back the necessity to write more computer crime novels. In the meantime, however, not only did I decide not to write computer crime, I decided to get away from crime fiction completely and write other kinds of novels.

I'm still trying to sell 3 novels and will start on the 4th, but this current novel, my sixth, is set in 1928 Los Angeles area and it is not crime fiction, which is pretty liberating actually.

Which leaves me with all this paperwork. I already tossed a huge amount a few months ago. Old research. I felt like I was throwing my life away. Nonetheless, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results, like maybe if I just wrote enough computer crime novels, someone would actually publish one.   Well, someone eventually may, but I ain't writing anymore. This is a little awkward, because all of my writing friends are crime writers, mysteries mostly, and I still belong to all these organizations.

As I say, maybe I will sell a crime novel and it will all make sense again. Or not.   But what is happening is that the home office is in the process of being divested of hundreds of pounds (I am not making this up) of computer crime papers. One is always tempted to pause and read an interesting bit here and there.

No. I would be sitting here next year at this time. It's really a huge amount of stuff, because when I am in research mode, I am thorough. Now I am in "throw all this useless crap out" mode, and also thorough.

Technology changes so fast that 2008 news is probably old news which makes writing about computer crime so challenging.

I'm happy with the clean desk and one clean file. This will take a long time. I have lots and lots of writing magazines to go through as well. I think each novel generated at least 50 pounds of miscellaneous papers.   How does this happen?

In the meantime, my poor blogs are languishing. I haven't tweeted. Someone said twitter will die. I have to confess that most tweets look like gibberish,

Onward, as they say. Westward Ho the wagons.

Grapeshot

Readin' Writin' and Arithmetic

2012-01-17T12:59:00.000-08:00

Why haven't I been posting? After 2+ weeks of houseguests, there has been the laundry from hell, followed by the ironing from hell. Yes, readers, I actually iron napkins and pillowcases, linen hand towels and cotton handkerchiefs. Sometimes it piles up. I always watch the Food Network while I'm ironing.

And the house was piggy. We are in the process. Must have hauled 50 pounds of paper out of the office, with 50 more to go. Had to find a big error in my ibank accounting. No fun at all. (That was the arithmetic).

I read One Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley, a wonderful book. I bow to her writerly expertise. Now I have to get cracking on Sarah's Key for the new bookclub.

Reading and Arithmetic explained.

Writing: hey, I'm 14 ,000 words into my novel. Someone in my writing group said she didn't like the character and the book was boring, so I have been thinking about that. Did a little bit of tweaking what the character wants. Not what an author wants to hear. First drafts are hell. Is this the traditional shi__ty first draft? Probably. Anyway, I am on my way. It's been hard to get into. Much work to do. Exciting!!!

I read the Burning Man part of Festival Madness, and totally cannot understand why this book hasn't sold. The energy! The craziness! Dare I say the originality? So much fun. Kindle and POD, here I come. This novel just has to see the light of day.

Off to meet a friend for lunch. When we worked together, we ate lunch every day. That was one of the best things about work. Lunch. What does that tell you? Do I miss working? Hell, no. I miss the money, is what. True confession.

Been cooking up a storm of diet recipes. Found a kickass carrot soup (Asian) with practically no fat. Will post the recipe later.

Happy New Year! I attended MLK memorial service yesterday. Good to remember how far we've come and how much further to go.

Onward. Onward.

Grapeshot

Post-Christmas Blahs

2012-01-09T07:09:00.000-08:00

Decorations are all down and mostly put away with one last inspection of my great-grandma's old Victorian ornaments, my granddaughter's great-great-great grandma, a tiny little Mennonite lady who bore nine children, the last one younger than her oldest grandchild, my mother. But that's another story.

We used a holiday table cloth from Marshall Field in Chicago that I bought when the kids were little. Many ornaments from when they were little, including some decorated jars that are candle holders. For once, there is real continuity with the past, in Kansas and Illinois stretching to New England. We also had a new Christmas tablecloth purchased last year at the Crate an Barrel post-holiday sale.

Although I had much trepidation, having a half-grown kitten with one of the guests was a lot of fun, The older cats, even set-in-her-ways Thisbe acted energized. Thisbe even played with my bathrobe belt. We got out the little grey toy mice and the young cat enjoyed hours of play, and of course when the real mice came out of the basement ceiling the cats had a cooperative enterprise going with Thisbe finding them and the other two catching them. The two house cats taught the kitten to use the sharpening post, a major coup.

So why do I say blahs? Everyone is gone, the holidays are over, the house is drab after being festooned for the holidays. Rhododendrons are shriveled. It's way too quiet. Even the cats have noticed. Two loads of towel, two loads of sheets, x more loads of laundry. Larder is bare. Christmas bills to pay. Really blah. Have to start writing. Not blah, but intimidating.

The past week I read Jane Smiley's One Thousand Acres, a novel I cannot recommend highly enough, but it made my latest efforts seem paltry and I resolved to dig way deeper into my characters psyches. The home office looks like hell, needs a few days, days not hours of cleaning, then the file drawers cleaned out. Double blah.

We have an upcoming Handel & Haydn concert to look forward to, and I have a groupon thingy for a great meal at a cheap price. Well, we hope it will be great. Lunch with a friend next week. None of these events are blah, just the dirt and the mess and the need to do some serious cleaning. In Smiley's book, the women were always cleaning and it reminded me of my mom and my grandma, wonderful housekeepers, and even my friends and I am totally appalled at how the place looks. By the time one cleans up the mess, it will be hard to find energy to clean. I will feel virtuous, albeit exhausted. Ugggh.

Dogwood gets a cat tower.

Blah. Blah. Blah. Tonight we have a new Chinese recipe to try. Beef and snow peas. Lots of spices and basmati rice. I'll make a salad of lettuce and fresh orange slices. Will that cure the blahs? We'll see.

Pancakes Two Ways

2012-01-02T18:51:00.000-08:00

Our New Year's Eve dinner was potato pancakes or latkes. I got the recipe years ago from the Wall Street Journal of all unlikely places. Been making them ever since. We have a young guest who really, really likes them, and whenever she arrives, we make latkes. I serve them with BOTH sour cream and applesauce, and everyone also gets a couple slices of bacon. I know. I know. Not kosher, but we like it.

New Year's Morning, we had another kind of pancake, David Eyre's Hawaiian Pancake, a family fave since it was printed back when God was a boy in the New York Sunday Times. When Craig Claiborn was king. The recipe says serves 4 -6 but we made 2 recipes for 3 people and none was leftover. Maybe appetites are bigger now. My kids make a recipe and eat the whole thing. Cast iron skillets a must. Powdered sugar, lemon juice and nutmeg in the batter. The original recipe doubled the amount of butter, but after the correction the following week, lots of people wrote in and said, nope, the amount of butter was just fine, thank you. David Eyre's Pancake

We had plain and simple pasta tonight. It's been a starchy week. I am still at my pre-Christmas weight. A miracle.

Ann Seranne's High Heat Roast Beef: the Day After

2011-12-30T06:30:00.000-08:00

You made and enjoyed the fabulous roast from the 500 degree oven. So perfectly rare inside and perfectly brown and crunchy outside. It was like a miracle. If you planned ahead, you made extra potatoes. If not, make some more. Now.

Then click on this link: Ungodly Good Roast Beef Hash

A bit of patience is required for the stages of browning. It's worth every minute. Some say, just hold the beef for a day and make endless quantities of hash. This recipes redefines hash. Serve with a big green salad and maybe some fruit for dessert. Or the leftover dessert. We had a cranberry cake with an orange glaze and a cranberry-orange compote that was as good, in its way, as the hash. The holiday lingers.

Here is another photo of the roast. Just to inspire. Those at the table who aren't crazy about medium rare can eat the end cuts. We had just enough fat for Yorkshire pudding. These roasts aren't as fatty as they used to be. It was well trimmed but not fat-free, never fat free.

I noticed something in the paper this morning from a group called "concerned" something or other blasting Guy Fieri, Paula Deen and the Neelys, even Christopher Kimball for promoting fatty food. These people all promote vegetables, too. And not everything Guy and Chris cook is "bad for you."

Whenever any group has a "concerned" in its name, run like hell the other way. Fast.

Three Cat Day

2011-12-26T12:18:00.000-08:00

Thisbe, a tortoise worry-wart

Thisbe has met the visiting cat, three times. Does not seemed as freaked out as I feared.
Of course she would make 3 of the half-grown kitten who is sweet but frisky.

Beef Rib Roast a la Ann Seranne

Italian Apple Tart

All the presents have finally been unwrapped. Two days of laden tables have come and gone. The apple tart was beautiful. Tarte tatin de Meli. Italian. The beef was properly cooked. Ann Seranne's Rib of Beef Tonight we're having hash.

I watched Green Bay beat Chicago yesterday, kind of a bittersweet victory. A bit of shopping tomorrow and we want to see Hugo. Was just handed a nice glass of rum. Life is good.

Grapeshot

Happy Holidays to All

2011-12-24T13:51:00.000-08:00


Christmas Kitten says "merry, merry," or was what meow?

We have a house guest with cat now, who arrived with cat because the cat care pooped out at the last possible moment. The cat, a half-grown adorable kitten is napping in the guest room (where else?) after her long ride from NYC. The ginger cat, formerly known as the orange cat, is quite aware that there's another cat in the house. Thisbe, the neurotic cat, has disappeared, probably under my bed. A household with 3 cats and soon to hold 3 guests is a busy household, plus we're taking care of the neighbor's dog next door. 4 animals, 3 guests, 2 householders. We'll have to see how it goes. Some excursions planned too. I'm just hoping it's not too chaotic.

Comings and going at Logan tomorrow. Decent weather, still. The Pats won today after a fingernail-chewing first half. Food is under control, presents under the tree.

The first Christmas I remember, in Parsons, Kansas, I got a little toy cooking pot filled with pink mints. Odd the gifts one remembers. We also got a chocolate turkey and carved a slice off him every day. My juvenile mind didn't understand why we couldn't just eat the whole thing. Memory is weird, as Proust will tell you. For 2,000 pages he can tell you. Joyeux Noel, and Merry Christmas to all.

The best Mexican Wedding Cakes You Will Ever Eat

2011-12-20T08:20:00.000-08:00

My mother always made these cookies at Christmas time. This is the best recipe you will ever find for them, so don't lose it. I'm not being modest. Really.

Earla's Mexican Wedding Cakes
1 cup unsalted butter (do not under any circumstances use substitutes)
6 T. powdered sugar (this amount of sugar gives the cookies a not-too-sweet aura, and allows other flavors to come through)
1 t, vanilla (real good-quality vanilla of course)
1/ 4 t. almond extract (the secret ingredient)
1/4 t. salt
2 cups sifted flour
1 cup nut meats, finely chopped (I use walnuts)

Cream butter, then add powdered sugar, vanilla, almond extract and salt. Add sifted flour gradually and then add nut meats. If too stiff to stir, mix by hand, Refrigerate until the dough is firm.
Roll into ball the size of a small walnut. Bake in a medium oven (350 degrees) for 20 or so minutes. (175 degrees centigrade for any of my international readers. Watch carefully, as they burn quite easily on the bottom.
Cool slightly and roll in powdered sugar.

Isn't that easy? I notice most recipes call for more sugar (bad) and don't call for almond extract. They also have you toast the nuts which is not necessary in this recipe. Don't make the cookies too big.

Enjoy. They're easy to make, so don't worry if your family and guests gobble them up.

Happy holidays.

Best Novels of 2011 from Publisher's Lunch

2011-12-19T10:29:00.000-08:00

Publisher's Lunch has compiled the year's best novels from various sources. Here is their list to date. Some excellent reads here. Load up your Kindle or e-reading device or hie yourself to a bookstore and enjoy being snowbound, or just at home with a good book. We're looking ahead to the long New England winter, and a good read makes it bearable.

Publisher's Lunch

Top 10 Fiction
1. The Tiger's Wife, Tea Obreht (16)
2. 1Q84, Haruki Murakami (11)
3.The Marriage Plot, Jeffrey Eugenides
4. State of Wonder, Ann Patchett (10)
5. The Art of Fielding, Chad Harbach
6. The Sisters Brothers, Patrick DeWitt (8)
7.The Tragedy of Arthur, Arthur Phillips
8. The Sense of an Ending, Julian Barnes (7)
9.Open City, Teju Cole
10.The Stranger's Child, Alan Hollinghurst

The Next Contenders
The Cat's Table, Michael Ondaatje
The Submission, Amy Waldman
The Pale King, David Foster Wallace
The Night Circus, Erin Morgenstern

The Foxborough Casino

2011-12-15T18:38:00.000-08:00

Will Foxborough become Reno East?

The juggernaut of Steve Wynn and Bob Kraft are pressuring poor little Foxborough to accept a large casino/hotel/resort/spa complex in the area of Foxborough stadium. So far the arguments have been less than convincing. The word "bucolic" was bandied about. Now Route 1 (the highway that meanders from up north here to Florida) is not now and never will be bucolic unless you consider shopping centers, strip malls, biker bars, no tell motels, and 3rd and 4th rate restaurants "bucolic."To me, Gold's gym and Guardian storage are not "bucolic." The immense Ziggurat of the stadium looming over the acres of paved parking puts "bucolic" to rest.
We're on the other side of town with the Highland Scottish cattle, the rooster, the fox, the slough and various other wildlife species. Did I mention the wild turkeys? We are bucolic. We would like to stay that way, too.

The thing is, the juggernaut is hyping the spa and the hotel facilities and downplaying the casino. Now I ask you this: If you had the money to spend at a nice resort and wanted some spa treatments, would you go to Route 1 in Foxborough? I think not. I know not. I'd head for Wine Country or Palm Beach. Mohonk Mountain House. Even the Berkshires. But not Route 1 in Foxborough. No siree, Bob.

Someone mentioned turning the World Trade Center in South Boston into a casino. That got my vote right away.

I watched an advance preview of the HBO show "Luck," set at a California race track (Santa Anita, not the upscale Del Mar). I have never seen a better portrayal of race track characters. And Dustin Hoffman was great. I would be happy to watch "Luck" every week and not take my chances on any games of chance.

I have a scene from an as yet unpublished novel, Promiscuous Mode set at an Indian Casino in Wisconsin. It was one of the saddest places I've ever been. Senior citizens with oxygen sitting at the slots.

In Reno, we used to stay at the Hilton, now the Grand Sierra. On weekdays the rooms were cheap. Have you ever noticed how there are no slots called, "Losers Weepers?" Funny about that. Slots don't seem to take actual coins anymore. You have to put bills or a credit card in. No more dumping all my quarters on a "game or chance" on the way to the gate at the airport anymore. Just as well. One night we left the Hilton restaurant and passed a group in the bar. Maybe it was 10:00 p.m. The next morning, I kid you not, on the way out to get coffee before our flight left, the very same people were still at the bar. Stamina. Or maybe too drunk to move. I do not consider this a recommendation for casinos. And nobody has ever called Reno bucolic, although it does have a certain funky charm with its 50's motels and down-on-your-luck western ambiance. I set some scenes from my just finished novel in Reno, too.
Does Route 1 have that funky "eastern" charm? I think not. It's call urban blight. What do you bet that the odds are still in favor of the house? Even in "bucolic" Foxborough.
Dare I say, "let the chips fall where they may." Nope. Not anymore. And please Bob and Steve, stop insulting my intelligence.

The discreet charm of Reno, another small town with casinos

Grapeshot

A weekend in Columbia County

2011-12-07T06:58:00.000-08:00

House Party House with a great view of the hills and valley

New England never lacks for things to do, and that includes Colombia County, across the MA border into New York and even Duchess County, also in New York. We traditionally drive the Mass Pike for a country weekend over Columbus Day, but this year we had just returned from Spain and our host was on his way to Ireland.   So . . . we planned an early December weekend, hoping for the best, weather-wise. Of course, one might have planned a late October weekend and been in for a hideous surprise.

We saw lots of broken branches along the road almost all the way across Massachusetts. Finally, on the far side of Springfield, the damage was less. The leaves were gone, of course, and with them the color, but a wintry landscape of hills and bare trees has its own beauty.

On Friday the host cooked a lamb cassoulet, accompanied by green beans, scalloped potatoes, and salad. Mega-yummy. Our friend from NYC brought dessert, a bread pudding to die for. With it came a whiskey-caramel sauce that was so good one had to gasp. Yes, all this after the lamb and side dishes and plenty of cheese and good bread as hors d'oeurves.

Saturday we drove to Bard College to see the concert hall: Gehry's Fisher Center at Bard College    --almost but not quite as good as a trip to Bilbao but certainly cheaper. We also visited the Hessel Museum of Art on campus, Art Museum at Bard College which had some provocative art in a great exhibition space. You can study to become a curator there. Imagine my surprise to find a copper and aluminum work by sculptor by Carl Andre whom I had read about the night before in the New Yorker. Talk about serendipitious.

Saturday evening we participated in the Winter Walk in Hudson, MA. It was great, a nice family evening with a Santa Parade,   entertainment, food, and lots of open galleries. Hudson's Christmas stroll

Back to our hosts to a chili supper, provided by moi. The tapas appetizer was excellent, thank you New York Times. More good dessert and bread pudding the next a.m. for breakfast. Couldn't have been better. We brought bread at The Loaf in Hudson, a whole wheat bread called Miche.   Very dense and delicious and with no sugar. God, I hate whole wheat gunked up with sugar--a total abomination for sandwiches.   But don't get me started.

Geese always know when hunting season begins

We also visited the Aldi supermarket in Hudson and stocked up on Christmas Stoellen at a price you wouldn't believe. I stopped at Agway in Great Barrington and bought 50 pounds of squirrel food for our poor starving critters.

A good weekend, all told, with fun, culture, nature, good friends and good food. You can't ask much more than that. Hope to lose the 2+ pounds (eek!) staring back at me from the bathroom scale. A vegetarian lo-cal dinner last night. Curried cauliflower and chick peas. Thank you again, New York Times!

Hudson, NY: Christmas Walk

Grapeshot

Ugly Christmas Sweater Links

2011-12-01T11:54:00.000-08:00

I have never had a Christmas sweater. For years I had a red cashmere sweater that I wore to holiday parties, but when that wore out I never replaced it. Practicality or even frugality tells me that a sweater that you wear only six weeks a year is impractical. I mean isn't it January and February when you need a really warm sweater? And many of them are truly ugly, so I was amused a few years ago to hear about an ugly Christmas sweater contest. And then a party. What a hoot! It's nice when people can have some good clean fun and enjoy a few laughs. I have seen some humdingers for sale at Walmart this season. Just in time for the holidays. Marketing is all. I do wonder what people in other countries think of this particular way to celebrate. Good old American know-how or truly bizarre.

Ugly Christmas Sweater Links:

Make it Better Contest winners

My Ugly Christmas Sweater

Winner of the Ugly Christmas Sweater Contest

Yet Another Ugly Christmas Sweater Contest

Ugly Christmas Sweates on Ebay

Woman's Day Holiday Sweater Contest Winner

The Shadow Warriors on Multiple Reading Devices

2011-11-30T12:33:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, an item stays on one's "to do" list for a long time, and merging together the chapters of The Shadow Warriors and formatting the novel for Smashwords is one of those tasks. Finally got the MS together and did the reformatting. Lots of errors, and I was ready to set my hair on fire, then suddenly the doc was okay. I remember how much work the formatting for Booksurge (now Createspace) was. OMG. Then a year ago, Amazon offered to format the novel for the Kindle for chump change. But if I wanted The Shadow Warriors available on the Nook and other e-readers, well, there was Smashwords to smash through. The MS had been on at least five computers, maybe more, and as many permutations of Word. I suspect it was written on Word Perfect. You get the idea. Operate on the patient and there's a lot of adhesions from old surgeries, shall we say. Ick.

All of the e-publishers want basically the same kind of formatting now, so one has to suck it up (!) and learn good habits. Still, it's hard to break the bad old habits. I learned to write on a typewriter for cryin' out loud. So it goes. I want this to proceed well, because I am hoping to get the novel out there on all the various e-readers in time for holiday shopping. In the meantime, my own holiday shopping is falling behind. We did put the wreath up today, and the lights are up due to some excellent New England weather. So there is good karma all round. Let's hope it stays for a while.

Grapeshot

Earla of second best stuffing fame

2011-11-25T16:42:00.000-08:00


Earla and Grapeshot

My mom Earla, was a great cook, and I hope I take after her. Her fried chicken was second only to my Grandma's. Those Kansas ladies sure did know how to fry a chicken. As a kid, I loved her spaghetti and meatballs, which she seldom made. She made a lot of old standards: meatloaf, roast beef (well done) roast pork, chicken, burgers, casseroles (although I don't recall any.) Surely she made casseroles. In later years, she became a typical sixties cook with short cuts and Campbell's soup. She made a mean rum cake from a cake mix. The ladies who had always had to cook from scratch gravitated to short cuts. Who can blame them? These were the days before permaprest clothing and appliances that did everything. My mother belonged to Eastern Star, Woman's Club, Garden Club and she entered contests (and won) like crazy. If she had been born in my day, she would have had a career. She was the best gardener ever, and knew trees, flowers and nature. Could hook a trout with a fly. Cleaned like it was indeed next to godliness. Nagged me for my own good. Made me help at home. Big time. I cleaned the bathroom sink every morning, ironed everything except my Dad's shirts, mowed the lawn, painted the fence (like Tom Sawyer) and made meatloaf once every fortnight. Dried the dishes since I was old enough to until we (thank you, God) got a dishwasher. Cleaned my room. Picked the beetles off my Grandma's potatoes. Put upon, mind you.

We never appreciate our parents when young, only after they're old or gone. What a shame. My granddaughter (her great granddaughter) gobbled down Earla's stuffing like crazy. How I wish my mom were here to see that. She would have laughed, but been pleased. I'm so happy I found the recipe again.

A lost recipe is a terrible thing. Thanks for everything mom. I have you to be thankful for.

The Cat with Glasses

2011-11-24T07:18:00.000-08:00

The formerly orange cat, now perhaps the ginger or kumquat cat, maybe even the apricot cat, who has been somewhat feisty of late--the warrior cat? He will have a dinner of Fancy Feast Classic Tender Beef, Meow Mix, Fresh Catnip, water, and maybe a spot of milk. He doesn't eat people food except for an occasional tidbit of cooked chicken breast. All that good, lean protein, dontchaknow?

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T06:59:00.000-08:00

We all have blessings to be thankful for. Don't let tomorrow's shopping frenzy impinge on your holiday. Take time to be with loved ones and count the things you have to be thankful for: family, friends, maybe even a job, hobbies, talents, and nature. We just fed the cows who were waiting (and bawling) for the farmer who loads them up with stale bread and muffins. We also fed assorted squirrels, birds and the mouse under the front porch. Share your bounty. I hope you gave to the homeless. They deserve a holiday, too.

I still recall as a high school girl helping to take baskets to needy families. One woman cried. Some of the dwellings didn't smell very good. It was a real eye opener. I wore lots of hand-me-downs (including old hockey skates instead of figure skates) but this was a punch in the gut that I really had it good. Not everyone does.

Don't overeat. Small portions, and only scant seconds. Eat plenty of veggies. You can do it. Wine in moderation. Turn off the football while dinner is in progress, for God's sake. This sage (!) advice comes to you from Grapeshot who is on her way to the garden to pick sage, thyme, parsley and oregano, all that is left, but what a harvest! It all goes under the turkey's skin.

Pensées and other thoughts

2011-11-23T19:34:00.000-08:00

The bad cat Thisbe is staring at me with love in her eyes. She just hurled on the sofa and is asking forgiveness.   That sofa was around when God was a boy.   We're actually thinking of having it reupholstered and put it back in the living room. It is an old down-filled Dunbar that we bought years ago ($65) at a house sale in Deerfield, Il.   You are forgiven, Thisbe.

Yesterday I trekked through the Braintree Mall with a 12-year-old young lady, and the term shop til you drop was never more apt. I was dropping. She was still raring to go. We arrived home with lots of parcels, including 2 pieces of cheesecake from (natch) The Cheesecake Factory, and a whole bunch of stuff from The Body Shop til you drop.

I barely had energy to make lentil soup garnished with homemade croutons and kielbasa.   Tasty. Today was Turkey Day - 1, and I did the cranberries, the pumpkin tarts and prepped for the vegetable and the dressing.   Cooked up two kinds of tacos for dinner.    The guest said that they are better than restaurant tacos. I do a whole rigamarole with reconstituted pepper, black beans, red pepper and red jalapeno, 8 garnishes, the whole nine yards. Now I am yawning, but well situated for the morrow. We have a mildly ambitious menu, so I should be able to cope. Now it's bedtime.

I'm reading two of my manuscripts on my Kindle--you email them to your Kindle account and they load them onto the device for chump change. It is really easy to find typos on the Kindle. I bookmark them, and then do a scan on the MS as I go thru the bookmarks. Works like a dream. Highly recommend.

The formerly orange cat can also be described as kumquat. This is not the cat who vomited on the couch. The cats are happy with a new catnip plant. Many nibbles.

We are feeding the poor starving squirrels. Our oaks produced NO ACORNS this year.   A friend brought me a bushel basket of them from New York. We also bought corn and have been throwing out stale bread.   And the pumpkin has been chewed up royally. An opportunistc mouse has taken up residence under the front porch to partake of all the sudden delicacies. I love it.

Happy Thanksgiving to all. Tomorrow I'll have a photo of a cat wearing glasses . . . and cattitude. Can you wait?

Grapeshot

Thanksgiving food thoughts

2011-11-16T06:45:00.000-08:00

A few years ago, I published the New York Times old recipe for turkey stuffing, and it must be (even more than Mary Seagull) the most popular post ever, so I'm providing a link below.

We writers are a picky bunch when it comes to word usage, we like le mot juste. It drives me crazy to see embryo and foetus universally misused. Didn't anyone ever take biology? The other word constantly used wrong, even in food magazines is stuffing and dressing. If it don't go inside the bird it ain't stuffing, it's dressing. Sometimes one needs bad grammar to emphasize a point.This may become my new battleground. I mean are you stuffing your freaking stove top?
This year, with a vegetarian at table, we have had to make some accommodation. No disgusting Tofurky, of course. Turns my stomach to think of it. Kierkegaard said, "sin bravely," and I feel the same way about vegetarians. If you don't eat meat, well, then don't eat "faux" meat. Have the courage to stand for your convictions. This year, therefore, I'm not doing the world's best stuffing (and at our house, except for this year, we stuff), but rather a dressing. "The world's best" contains meat. I'm using the second best recipe. My mom's. Except I lost it, or maybe I tossed it. Last year I searched all over the Internet and couldn't find. This year, I found it in spades, and all the comments all said, "my mother used to make this." Amen.

Now I was a godawful squeamish eater as a kid, and I didn't like any kind of potatoes except French fries and chips. Can you believe that? But I did like my mom's stuffing (it was inside the turkey cavity). So I am going to give you
1) The World's Best. It originally called for ground veal, but since I am not eating baby animals anymore, I substitute ground turkey or chicken and can't tell the difference. When I say I'm not eating baby animals anymore, that means lamb and veal. I don't buy it or order it, but if I'm a guest in someone's home, I eat it without comment. Like the lamb in Portugal in the little hill town of Monsaraz. The potatoes were cooked in the lamb broth. I felt so guilty enjoying every bite.

Significant Other likes to say, "In an emergency, the devil eats flies." Make of that what you will.

Here's a link to the original blog post: The World Best Turkey Stuffing Recipe

First of all, the holiday menu Chez Grapeshot I found a bunch of Ina Garten recipes in Good Housekeeping and am using three of them.

Thanksgiving Menu 2011

Ina Garten's Herb Roasted turkey with Pan Gravy

Wild-Rice Stuffed Squash (Martha Stewart)

Earla' Old Time Potato Dressing

String Beans with Shallots (Ina Garten)

Cranberry Fruit Conserve (Ina Garten)

Pumpkin Chiffon Tarts

Wine and/or Cider

Now to the second best. Earla's Old Time Potato Dressing (may also be eaten as we did in my childhood, as a stuffing). Ready in one hour. Serves six or more. From allrecipes.com by Lauren Buckner with a few changes by moi.

Ingredients:
1 large onion, chopped fine
3/4 cup finely chopped celery
1/4 cup (or more) butter
1/4 turkey or chicken broth. I'm using vegetable broth.
8 slices day old white bread, cubed with crusts removed
3 cups mashed potatoes (you can cheat and use prepared dry potato flakes to make 3 cups)
1 egg, beaten
1 1/2 t. poultry seasoning (I'll used fresh thyme, summer savory, and the herbs that constitute poultry stuffing).
1 t. kosher salt
1/2 t. freshly ground black pepper
1/4 t. ground nutmeg (I always do fresh)

Directions:

1. In a skillet, saute onion and celery in butter until tender. Remove from the heat; stir in broth. In a large bowl, combine bread cubes, prepared potatoes, egg and all seasonings. Sir in onion mixture. If mixture seems dry, add more melted butter or broth. Transfer to a greased 2-qt. baking dish. Cover and bake at 325 degrees F. for 40 minutes. Uncover and bake for another 15-20 minutes until the top is browned and a meat thermometer reads 160 degrees. You can also put a little extra butter, salt and pepper on top and place under a broiler until browned and bubbly.

Hint: put in a shallow dish and you will have room for the stuffing AND the turkey in the same oven. A little extra onion or some shallots or green onion would not be amiss.

I will post the recipe for pumpkin tarts in a subsequent post. Another lost recipe, except I lost it last week. So annoying. It's not like anyone broke into the house and stole it!

We are off to Roche Bros. to buy groceries. Larder is bare with no trips to the store since the 6th. Yikes. I always buy whatever I can in advance. Cranberries have been in freezer already for a spell. I have a big sage plant and some thyme and oregano, even parsley and chives that are still thriving in the garden. It is such a pleasure to have a late harvest.

Eat well.

Grapeshot

New England Crimebake: another rip-roaring success

2011-11-13T15:17:00.000-08:00

So here I am, sleep deprived, stomach full of sort-of-junky food, wine-soaked, high on energy and the excitement of an entire weekend devoted to learning about writing, talking about writing, writers, agents, editors, celebrities, write, write, write. Met wonderful authors like Nancy Pickard and Barry Eisler whom one doesn't rub elbows with every day, So great making new friends and seeing old colleagues. Believe it or not a big ballroom full of writers, all with egos is still a magic place. So cool to connect with old friends that one doesn't see often enough and learning good news about others, (way to go, Edith) and hearing fascinating talks on forensics and art thefts and all the stuff we crime fiction writers get off on.

When you're on a committee you are always aware of the white underbelly of the event, praying that nothing major goes wrong, and hoping to smooth over the little minor unavoidable things that do go wrong. No crises of note.

I found a bunch of new authors that I MUST READ, and was reminded of others--got to get that book or in the case of some, got to read that book I already got.

We've had a tough fall with Irene, big trip to Europe, bad colds, the Halloween storm, and then busy, busy with the Crimebake event, winterizing the garden, and now, ye gods, Thanksgiving is upon us but at least I have a menu, which will translate to a bill of materials, AKA grocery list, and eventually a meal.

The weary will have little rest because along with playing catch up, we gotta write now, that the energy is pumped, the ideas are percolating, the advice is still in memory, and all systems are go. Gotta write!!!

And I'm thinking of changing the name of this blog from Suck It Up to Crazy is Good. As everyone knows, the definition of insanity is to keep doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. And yet a writer may write book after book after book expecting, well, expecting to find an agent, a publisher, readers, you know. And sometimes this doesn't happen. So we are crazy, but in a good way. That's how I'm looking at it now. Crazy in a good way. Crazy in a persistent way. Okay, maybe just crazy.

No food in the house, 4 weeks behind on Boardwalk, house not passing the white glove, hell, maybe not even the gray glove test, desk the usual mess, filing piling up. Yeah, well, gotta write!!

How To Get the Most Out of The New England Crimebake Mystery Conference

2011-11-09T17:54:00.000-08:00

From the Crimebake committee:

Welcome to Crime Bake

Top Ten Ways to Get the Most from Your Conference

#1. Be Prepared. Make a list of your goals, outlining what you’d like to achieve while you are here: Talk Kansas and Kalifornia with Guests of Honor Nancy Pickard and Barry Eisler, talk art and artistic thievery with Anthony Amore, pitch Terri Bischoff your charming Maine lobstah cozy, etc. Get ready to make the most of every hour!

#2. Do Your Homework. Read the program. Know which sessions you’d like to attend, and why. Study the panelists and their bios—note the agents who represent your sub-genre, the authors who write the dialogue, plot, character, etc., you came here to master.

#3. Make Friends. A stranger at Crime Bake is just a friend/agent/editor you haven’t met/pitched/flattered yet. Introduce yourself to everyone hanging at the bar, sitting next to you at the panels, lurking around in a trench coat at the Banquet. Anyone with a Crime Bake badge is fair game.

#4. Participate! There’s a time for discretion—and this is not it. Ask questions during the Q&A at every panel; sign up for a pitch session with an agent (if you’ve got no particular project to pitch, ask a market-related question); network big-time at Breakfast with the Authors.

#5. Meet Everyone. (And we mean everyone, living, published, and unpublished.) Don’t be shy. This bears repeating: Don’t be shy. Approach anyone and everyone you ever wanted to meet: Ask Hallie Ephron about Hollywood’s take on her thriller; treat John Willig to a martini (the bar is where the agents and editors hang out—truly, madly, deeply); buy Michael Palmer’s novel and chat him up while he signs it. If you really are shy, grab the nearest Crime Bake staffer and wrangle an intro.

#6. Ask for Assistance. The conference and hotel staffers are here to help you—whether you need an introduction or a blanket, a last-minute pitch session (because you’ve finally gathered your courage) or a cab to the nearby new mall, Legacy Place (but why shop when you can buy John Willig a martini?).

#7. Keep an Open Mind. The agent you pitched doesn’t do paranormal cat mysteries—or does cozies and just signed one too much like yours. The author spelled your mother’s name wrong when s/he signed the book you hoped to give her for Christmas. You spilled a drink all over that agent you were wooing at the cocktail party. Whatever happens—good, bad, or contractual—remember that this is a learning experience and rejection is an inevitable part of the process. Nothing worth spilling blood over—except on the page.

#8. Go for Blood, Er, Broke. This is a jam-packed weekend—don’t miss out on anything. Spring for a master class, stay up late in the bar, dance the night away Saturday night. This is an immersion experience: Immerse yourself in the writing dream. You can sleep when you’re published.

#9. Buy Books! Buying books for your favorite Crime Bake authors to sign is not just fun, it’s another smart way to network. Buy them early (that is, before the given author’s panel) so you don’t have to stand in line so long. Remember: Someday we’ll be buying yours.

#10. Stay in Touch. Exchange business cards and e-mails, join MWA and SinC, form your own writers’ group. Set yourself up for a great year of writing, networking, and publishing…until next year’s spectacular 11th Annual New England Crime Bake!

Andy Rooney, R.I.P

2011-11-05T18:22:00.000-07:00

I always liked Andy Rooney. The more curmudgeonly he was, the better I liked him. There's something appealing about a grumpy old man, at least one that you only have to listen to a few minutes every week. The Daily Beast had a write up about Rooney, and I was horrified by some of the snarky comments.

No one was abashed or ashamed to speak ill of the dead. Rooney was not universally beloved. One would think those who didn't care for his weekly rant would have had the courtesy to shut up, but they didn't. From the "handles" on the Daily Beast site I would guess that most of the negative comments were made by young men. Youngish men.

Old people have a hard row to hold in this country. No one likes them or likes to be around them. Maybe they remind young people of the future coming their way like a freight train. Hollywood ignores them except for an occasional comedy about The Bucket List or Grumpy Old Men. Nothing really believable. They're anathema on TV. When was the last time you saw a senior citizen in an ad that wasn't for false teeth fixative or Depends? The best an old person can hope to be is invisible. Rooney, of course, was not. He spoke his mind, always a dangerous trait.

In England, they've always had cool television shows about seniors, and frequently they are even the stars. Of course they are not rocket scientists or brain surgeons, but they have weight and occupy space.
The Republicans who have a lot of rich old people, want to dismantle Medicare and Social Security. They have no clue, and the middle class folks supporting the Tea Party have even less clue. One could even say they are clueless.

I have a friend who is impoverished. I mean he has zilch due to bad judgment in the market and too many ex-wives. Yet he always identifies with the Republicans and the upper classes. Thinks he's one of them. Go figure. Without social security and Medicare he would not have the proverbial pot.

Andy Rooney was a true patriot who never was shy about speaking his mind. We need more Andy Rooneys in this country, more loud old curmudgeons. People who bravely shout, "Horsefeathers!" or "Balderdash!" Rooney was never afraid to put a stake in the ground and he didn't hide behind anonymous screen names. Today The Daily Beast really was a Beast. Slouching toward wherever.

Grapeshot

What I Wore: an exurban matron confesses

2011-11-02T18:48:00.000-07:00

Every Sunday the New York Times Style section has a column entitled What I Wore. Naturally what one wears in Manhattan is totally different than in suburbia, or exurbia, especially when the snow snaps the branches and the power goes out for days. Ya gotta stay warm.

The New York Times: What I Wore

What I Wore

Thursday, 8: a.m. aerobics/weight training class. First time in my gray New Balance Cross Trainers. Black mid-calf gym pants and a Beefy T from Bruno's in Gerlach, Nevada, "Where the Pavement Ends and the West Begins." Later I changed into a new Vera Wang white, navy and black tie-died effect cotton shirt, and navy Chaps corduroy slacks and a vintage Jaeger navy wool blazer. Maybe too matchy-matchy? Off to visit my friend D. who recently broke her arm. It was raining, so it tossed on a tan Burberry rain waterproof windbreaker. Arrived with a plant, fresh muffins and chocolates.

Friday: to run some local errands, I pull on the navy Chaps cords again and a grey long-sleeved shirt I bought years ago in Hudson, NY. Kind of fleecy but not fleece. Wore my black Nike walking shoes from Nordstrom's. Love their practicality.

Saturday: grocery shopping. Would you believe the Chaps navy cords again? I tossed on a purple Gap t-shirt and a pink sweatshirt with Palm Beach in green script on the front. Purchased at the late, lamented Wellesley used clothing sale, the year before it closed. To dine at the neighbors, I decided on brown NYDJ jeans and a cotton sweater with big blocks of various shades of brown and tan. Wore a vintage Neiman-Marcus thick cashmere cardigan. Brown Sperry oxfords, because we were on foot and the snow was coming down like crazy.

Later that night we hear the branches cracking and falling. The power goes off.

Sunday: power still off. Decide I can really get one more day out of the navy corduroy Chaps. Jockey long undershirt with a thick greige cable knit cashmere turtleneck from Neiman-Marcus provide more layers. This is yet another vintage sweater. Cable knit is good again as is the color. Yowza! Smart Wool socks from Clarks to keep my tootsies warm in the now chilly house. Bjorn sheepskin slippers are amazingly toasty, especially in front of a roaring fire with the snow melting off the broken branches outside. Cat is on my lap. We decide to have berry pancakes and bacon to keep Jack Frost at bay. I spend the rest of the day reading the manuscript for my latest novel on my Kindle.

Monday: Brrrr. Power still off. House cold. Finally ditched the Chaps navy cords for my faded green cords from Lee. Topped them with the white Jockey undershirt and a pale green tweed cashmere sweater, thick and soft, a vintage from Brooks Brothers. It retains body heat, especially when topped with the brown cashmere cardigan. A fresh pair of Clarks Smart Wool socks with the right shades of brown and green complimented the selections. Monday night is writing group. To go out, I wore my Barbour quilted brown jacket. Not too shabby. Charged my cell phone. Whoopee!

Tuesday: Still no power at home and not at the 'Y' either, so I had to skip my workout. Wore the green Lee cords and the Brooks Brother's sweater again. We drove to the Volkswagen dealer in North Attleboro and I recharged my Kindle and picked up email on my IPOD while the car was serviced. I wore a red Lands End Fleece pullover. We decided to see The Three Musketeers, and were getting ready to leave when voila, the lights came on, and the various appliances began to beep or hum. Music to the ears. Was able to ditch the red fleece pullover as the house warmed up.

Wednesday: nada on the calendar. I love Wednesdays. I stayed in my fleecy tan Nautica robe and P.J.s all morning, making chicken soup from the thawed breasts. The tree men came and ground up the fallen branches. I took a shower and washed my hair, glad for the balmy bathroom. For a walk around the neighborhood, I wore blue denim NYDJ jeans and a black cotton sweater from Land's End. Almost 70 degrees outside. My New Balance sneakers felt good. Wore the Barbour coat without a clutch of sweaters.

So it's been a week of various fashion statements, all of them in casual pants and vintage cashmere sweaters. Isn't that what living in the country is all about, even when the lights are on? Oh yes, one last thing. When I say "vintage," well, that's a code word for "old."

Climate Change

2011-11-02T09:27:00.000-07:00

Oak in front yard took a hit, limb-wise

Anyone who doesn't believe in the current climate change has to be living in a cave for the past few years. In August, Hurricane Irene roared up the East Coast and left us with tree damage and no power for 4 days. At least it was warm, but the contents of the fridge/freezer had to be quickly cooked or tossed. We grilled (and ate) a lot of chicken breasts.
Now in late October, a Nor'easter ripped into us and the power was out for 3 days. It was cold, but the upside was we just shoveled some icy snow into the cooler. We also shivered and cowered (cats, too) in front of the fireplace. Oddly enough, I slept very well in the 52 degree room with a ton of bedding.

Beech tree destroyed in the neighborhood

It was so sad to see so many gorgeous, mature beeches with no limbs. Our neighbor lost a beautiful Japanese maple, now forever misshapen. In August, we had some warning, and I did all the laundry, ran the dishwasher, and did all the "storm tasks" in advance. Sunday morning, we were digging out the candles and the hurricane lamp. Another casualty was the discovery that the globe of my grandparents hurricane lamp had broken. Beautiful etched glass. I wanted to weep.

For some odd reason, the kitchen phone, which had been on the fritz since early October, decided to start working again when the power came back on. And S.O.'s old watch, bound for the repair shop, also began to work. Is that crazy or what? Maybe some of you read the Sunday New York Times Column in the Style section, "what I wore." Stay tuned for a not-quite-so-upscale take on What I Wore by an exurban dweller in the style-deprived South Shore.

I had a chance to read my novel (no title yet) on the Kindle and did some editing. Man, it is almost impossible to get the typos out of a MS. The Kindle is a great way to check on your formatting and catch other errors. Easy to see problems. Very happy I had the time to read it. AND I found some passages that can be cut, too, a joy since the word count is, shall we say, kind of high.

O.K. Enough. Have to perform stage two of the chicken soup. We always eat well during these weather crises. We ate a whole quart of thawing coffee ice cream. Ice Cream Soup is actually pretty good.

Remind me to stock the freeze with something besides chicken breasts.

As ever,

Grapeshot

The Roaring Twenties

2011-10-29T06:04:00.000-07:00

Grapeshot has neglected her blog, sad to say. After the trip to Spain, and recovering from the head and chest cold that did not want to go away, there were, shall we say, a myriad of tasks on my plate. Probably hundreds. Hunkered down and got many out of the way.

Gritted teeth and reformatted two novels for ebooks. Every publisher wants different formatting, including scene breaks, chapter headings. God, is it tedious, mindless, boring and totally necessary. Got going on my 1928 California novel. The twenties were soooo interesting. I was ready to begin the novel a few years ago when the woman who became Maxine began talking to me, telling me her story, and I put 1928 aside and wrote a new novel. That wouldn't have been so bad except that I am a slow writer and when you aren't writing to a deadline, well, let's just say I am somewhat dilatory.

Portugal: Al Fresco lunch at the museum. The chicken empadas were soooo good.

Now I'm back to Such Stuff As Dreams and of course in the intervening years I forgot 75% of all my research. Still have the books, just have to read them again.   Last night I discovered I only had a vague idea of the houses my characters lived in. Of course, they lived in California Bungalows! How could I not have known that. Found some old old notes about the book that didn't make a lot of sense. Change. Change.

I am also in the throes of some work for a writing conference. Winterized the garden. We're supposed to get serious snow tonight, so undoubtedly the nasturtiums and whatever is left (morning glories, cleomes, and a few other annuals) will be frozen. Got out the fall and winter clothes. Spain was warm. It is no longer warm in New England.

Cooked some decent meals: enchiladas verdes, roast chicken with mustard sauce, etc.  Roasted chicken in mustard and garlic sauce by Jacques Pepin

The marinade for the chicken would be delicious on the grill or with pork chops, steak, fish or lots of other meats.

And now we're roaring into the roaring twenties.   Trying to figure out where the conflicts will be. Hadn't really had a handle on the novel yet. Which is what you discover when you start to write. So there is work to be done.   Why am I not surprised?

Southern cornbread, Puerto Rican Rice and Beans

Note the cast iron skillets, a cook's best friend. Cooked the chicken in mustard sauce in it, too.

A Long Slog to the Finish Line

2011-10-19T08:17:00.000-07:00

After much procrastinating, I finally completed the final (I hope) edits to my suspense, woman-in-jeopardy novel, tentatively titled In Flight. An editor friend had kindly gone through the supposedly final copy, and then I cut 3,000 words (sigh), and went through yet another series of edits, and voila! The final word count in 111,000 and I have decided that I can't really cut anymore without eviscerating the book. I like to read big meaty books and that's also what I usually write. No novellas for Grapeshot, no indeed.

It was hard to step out of a series, where I knew most of the characters and start from scratch. In fact I never would have, but this woman leaned over my shoulder and started telling me her story, and then her antagonist stepped up and began telling me his. This lasted for quite a while and then in mid-book, they both stopped, as if to say, well, you figure the rest out.

And I had to do just that.

I had also never done a book in 3rd person or with two points of view. The novel has some elements of the picaresque tradition, and is both a journey and a quest. How do you like them apples?

Now I have to write a query letter, my least favorite task, and a synopsis, my even leaster favorite task. I know. I know. Leaster?

I wrote about South Florida and the Reno area, also suburban Boston, places I know well. Even took a trip to Miami, Boca Raton and Key West to get some more local color. A trip to Reno solidified the story. Does anyone still write picaresque? Do you even know this word? Here is the wikipedia entry: The Picaresque Novel
Interesting that I come upon this word having just come from Spain and an immersion in Spanish history and culture and even a visit to Don Quixote's famous windmills.

Are my main character's flawed? Oh my yes, but of course it's hard to them to realize this. The heroine talks about the "bad angel" on her shoulder who has way too much influence.

This is my last crime fiction novel, at least for a while. I am preparing to format The Shadow Warriors for the Nook and other e-readers besides Kindle using Smashwords. Then World of Mirrors will get the Kindle/Smashwords treatment, too. I have to figure out what to do with my so-far unsold series novels. We'll see how the World of Mirrors fares. And I've started my 1928 California novel, Such Stuff As Dreams. Winter will fly by in a flurry of writing and publishing.

Publishers, agents and editors are running scared. And authors know what self-publishing is no longer a shameful option. It's a whole new world out there. How Do you like them apples? Are we in a new garden of Eden and if so, who is the snake?

Grapeshot

The Language Barrier

2011-10-14T11:46:00.000-07:00


Parador at Carmona, a former Moorish ruin

For our recent trip to Spain, I tried to relearn a bit of my old Spanish from high school. So long ago. I also read all the signs on a city bus trip through Spanish Harlem and realized it wasn't the reading that was the problem, it was the spoken word.

I went to high school in a community full of migrant workers who spoke Spanish (Mexican Spanish) at home but of course didn't know how to read and write. The first day that the teacher (a Phi Beta Kappa) opened her mouth and lisped away in her Castillian accent, the Hispanics rolled on the floor holding their sides they were laughing so hard Truth to tell, she did sound ungodly effete. Everyone else laughed, too, although we weren't in on the joke.

The Anglos excelled in reading and writing and the Mexican kids were masters of conversation. But speaking is what you want to be able to do. Speak and understand. After I married, we made several trips to Mexico and could communcate a little bit, especially Significant Other who studied 5 years of Spanish and has a bit of a knack for languages.

In the meantime, I had three years of French at university, and learned German at Berlitz. Spoke lots of German and some French during trips. Picked up a little Italian after a few jaunts to Italy.
So naturally, whenever I opened my mouth to speak Spanish, German, French or even Italian words presented themselves to my tongue. After two weeks, I had remastered my vieho espanol a bit, and was making valiant efforts at menu Spanish. We sure as hell didn't want to order an omelet of pig brains. With a cheat sheet and the good will of waiters, we muddled through. Jamon Iberico (forgive the lack of accents) three times a day.

Saw the windmills Don Quixote jousted. High on a windy hill. Zowie.

At night in my dreams I am still in Spain, not a bad place to be. A cat that looked very much like my tortoise Thisbe ran through the Alhambra gardens.

In Carmona, just before the bus took its last hairpin curve into town, there was a cat house. No, not that kind. Grapeshot runs a clean blog. This was a house surrounded by a wall with a nice courtyard that was full of cats of all sizes and descriptions. They slept in the garden and on top of the wall. A quick glance into the window of the house showed a man with a cat on his shoulder and two on his lap. Was this the home of a crazy cat man? You always hear about crazy cat ladies, but I did know a crazy cat man once. Anyway, the dogs barked like crazy down the hill, but the cats were silent. Sometimes a rooster crowed. That's what happens when you sleep in an old Moorish palace, now a posada.

All for now. Hasta la vista, buenos tardes, arividerci, ciao, auf wiedershen, schuss, adieu, and so long.

Grapeshot

National Book Award Nominees Announced

2011-10-14T07:56:00.000-07:00

Here they are. Congratulations to all the authors.

National Book Award Nominees

Fiction

Andrew Krivak, THE SOJOURN (Bellevue Literary Press)
Tea Obreht, THE TIGER'S WIFE (Random House)
Julie Otsuka, THE BUDDHA IN THE ATTIC (Knopf)
Edith Pearlman, BINOCULAR VISION (Lookout Books)
Jesmyn Ward, SALVAGE THE BONES (Bloomsbury)

Non-Fiction

Deborah Baker, THE CONVERT: A Tale of Exile and Extremism (Graywolf)
Mary Gabriel, LOVE AND CAPITAL: Karl & Jenny Marx and the Birth of a Revolution (Little, Brown)
Stephen Greenblatt, THE SWERVE: How the World Became Modern (Norton)
Manning Marable, MALCOLM X: A Life of Reinvention (Viking)
Lauren Redniss, RADIOACTIVE: Marie & Pierre Curie: A Tale of Love and Fallout (It Books)

Poetry

Nikki Finney, HEAD OFF & SPLIT (Triquarterly)
Yusef Komunyakaa, THE CHAMELEON COUCH (FSG)
Carl Phillips, DOUBLE SHADOWS (FSG)
Adrienne Rich, TONIGHT NO POETRY WILL SERVE: POEMS 2007-2010 (Norton)
Bruce Smith, DEVOTIONS (University Of Chicago Press)

Young People's Literature

Debby Dahl Edwardson, MY NAME IS NOT EASY (Marshall Cavendish)
Thanhha Lai, INSIDE OUT AND BACK AGAIN (Harper)
Alfred Marrin, FLESH AND BLOOD SO CHEAP: THE TRIANGLE FIRE AND ITS LEGACY (Knopf)
Lauren Myracle, SHINE (Amulet/Abrams)
Gary D. Schmidt, OKAY FOR NOW (Clarion)

The Boston Book Festival

2011-10-12T11:23:00.000-07:00

Books, books, books! Bostonian bibliophiles, writers, agents, and bookaholics are attending the Boston Book Festival, Saturday, October 15th. The Boston Book Fest on Saturday, October 15th

There will be loads of events for fiction, non-fiction and kid lit. It's always wonderful. And it's free! Yowza! Get thee to Copley Square in the heart of the city for a great literary fandango.

The New England Crime Bake

2011-10-11T05:05:00.000-07:00

Haven't posted much about writing lately, but I'm down deep in the trenches with my 6th novel and half-way through a difficult short story. Writing groups and conferences make the lonely life of a writer less so and can give one heart and inspiration after being rejected. One such conference for crime writers is the The England Crime Bake. Yours truly was on the first (and many subsequent) committees ten years ago when the event was born. Check out Lindsay Down's blog to read first-hand how one of these events gets off the ground. How The New England CrimeBake got started

We've been sold out for many moons, but check it out. Great panels, guests, agents, editors and an entire weekend that's all about crime writing. Yowza. Official website of the New England Crimebake

It's a fun weekend for old writing pros and beginners alike. Very friendly and accessible.

Grapeshot

Viva España!

2011-10-10T08:21:00.000-07:00

Incredible Parador in Carmona

So where, you may have been asking (or not) has Grapeshot been for lo, these many weeks? Truth be told, she was swanning around Portugal and Southern Spain, sampling the wines, the cheeses and especially the Spanish hams. Viva Jamon Iberico! She saw Moorish castles, Roman ruins, Spanish cathedrals and palaces and 40 million of the 80 million (or is it 800 million?) olive trees. Cork trees, too. Bulls outstanding in the field. Sheep. Goats. Jacaranda trees in Lisbon. Umbrella pines. Listened to Fado.

I never knew what a Spanish breakfast was. Take a slice of good white bread or slice a roll. Spread with fresh tomato pulp. Add a few slices of good Spanish ham. Drizzle with olive oil. Eat. Yum!

Iberico hams displayed

The scenery, the history, the accommodations and the company couldn't be beat. We ended the trip in Madrid in an orgy of museum visits. Then, we got head/chest colds to die for, yes, and we thought we were going to. Came home with two weeks laundry to find the washing machine crapped out. 30 pounds of junk mail and lots of bills awaited. A bare larder. Cats who needed lots of attention. Waking at 3:30 a.m. two days running. News of the Red Sox debacle. Maybe we are dead and this is hell. No, just the yin and yang of life.

Two books I should mention. Before the event, we read James Michener's Iberia, a non-fiction record of his travels in Spain many years ago. I also began reading Washington Irving's Tales of the Alhambra, which turned out to be sort of an early Michener-style book with many good stories and digressions. The book, Food of Spain, came out during prep for the trip and we read Traveler's Tales of Spain, also good.

I can't remember the last time I immersed myself into a culture or activity so deeply. Well, when I wrote my last novel. Significant Other kept the trip diary and took the photos, and I took notes on some curiosities that caught my eye.

Settle in for a few weeks of more traveler's tales from Spain. Right now, I have to put another load of laundry into the new washer. We didn't even have to visit the laundromat because Sears delivered it so speedily. There is food in the house and we are pleased to discover that our little hummingbirds have finally migrated. Wish them godspeed on their long journey. The slough has turned red and the early fall light is fantastic. But everything looks so different. Where are the olive trees? I did find the ham in Garden City, New York, but it will have to wait until I'm in the neighborhood. Of course we packed on a few pounds in spite of all the walking and climbing of stairs. And my last word today is that there must be 100 recipes for Gazpacho, but the best we had was in Cordoba. And it had little bits of ham! Viva España! Where flan is on the breakfast buffet along with hundred's of other delicacies. I did other activities besides eating, really I did.

Grapeshot

In a Writing Funk

2011-09-21T06:35:00.000-07:00

My writing seems so stale, so . . . blah. It's like I've lost my mojo, fiction-wise. The short story set in the 1950's? Every word is like pulling teeth. It's a bit autobiographical--should be easy to write. Not. The 1928 California novel? I've been doing research for a donkey's age. Have pages of character descriptions, settings, but no plot details, just an overall story arc. That should be enough. Again, each word has to be pulled out of my head like a high-forceps delivery and it comes kicking and screaming. I don't know if this is writer's block or just the feeling of a long-haul slog to publication that is taking forever, so long in fact, that my enthusiasm has, well, shall we say waned?
Should I start a totally new project while waiting for these others to show some life or should I write poetry for a while, something totally different? Must admit I'm flummoxed.
Here's hoping an upcoming European vacation will inspire and encourage. Need to scrape up the stamina to format my East German book (World of Mirrors) for Kindle and Smashwords. Need to put the last edits of my fem jep novel. Those books didn't exactly write themselves, but hey, they're complete and I'm more or less happy with them.
Last night at a meeting a writer friend announced he had just completed a first draft, 70,000 words. Normally that seems like a thin little chicken sh__ of a book, but today it seems huge. I would kill for 70,000 words. A year has passed and I've not done much at all. Mostly editing. If you edit long enough you forget how to write, is that it?
This week I was actually wondering if I could drink and write at the same time in the mode of Hemingway and Faulkner. Don't think so. Would fall asleep at my computer.

The author perhaps musing about a terrible first draft?

What to do? I believe the answer is the title of this blog. Suck It Up and plant butt in chair. Give myself permission to write a sh__tty first draft. Yup. Onward.

The Pain of Changing Computers

2011-09-19T05:28:00.000-07:00

A while back, I switched from PC to a MAC, a move that still seems right. There was pain involved, mostly from having to get off my old version of Microsoft Money and find a new financial tracking system. I tried the "lite" version of Quicken, which was, frankly a piece of crap for the MAC. After a lot of research I opted for I-Bank, which has been o.k. except when I did a conversion and for some reason the system decided Euros rather than dollars was my "currency." Once this happens, you can't go back, and I had to do a ton of work to bring things back to a working state. I have learned to do the reporting, and I still have the ancient PC and the ancient Money which I can run old reports off of as needed. We have a small rental property out of state and I treat my writing as a business, so there is much financial info to keep track of, and I also help out another relative with finances. This is a time suck, and for unexplained reasons I make more mistakes using I-Bank than Money. It does have some good features, but I loved Money most, one of the best products Microsoft ever made and then they discontinued it. Go figure. Beta vs. VHS all over again. The best product doesn't always win out.

When I switched computers, the Apple folks saved my emails and my bookmarks, but they were always hard to access and now I can't remember where I stashed them. A computer search turned up nothing. The worst thing is that for my 1928 California book, I had done enormous amount of research and without the bookmarks it's, well, it's gone. I can probably find it again, but it's going to be difficult, and another time suck. Fortunately, a few things are saved directly to my hard drive, and those gems are still available. Getting back to the novel now, and I have to recreate the research.

There was a wonderful group of painters in California in the 1920's and I'm using some of that history in my book. This book is NOT crime fiction, and I'm having little trouble with that. After six crime fiction books, one just tends to keep writing it, whether anyone buys it or not. (See the title of this blog). One of these days I will trek to Southern California to do the remaining research. Once I have a first draft manuscript. Maybe I'll try Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month). Naturally this book will be longer than 50K words, and Nanowrino tends to produce shitty first drafts, but at this point, any draft is better than no draft.

The new novel is also an "historical" which I've never written. But I have characters and a setting and a plot. That should make the writing easy, right? Right? Wrong. Guess I'll just have to plunge into it and put the period stuff and the slang and the music and the rest in later. Or not.

The Writer's Desk Top, Inordinately Neat

Someone said there are three rules for writing a novel, but no one knows what they are. Amen.

The Grade School Lunchroom in All Its Yuckiness

2011-09-17T07:21:00.000-07:00

Grade School Cafeteria

I went to school in Northeastern Colorado, the part of the state where there is dry land farming, sugar beets, and no skiing. Because there is farming, the farm kids were always bussed into town to the schools, which were larger than the ordinary small town schools.
My school always had a lunchroom with hot lunches. I suppose the government subsidized these lunches. They were cheap and they were terrible, served up by plump ladies with red faces and hair nets.
As a kid, I was always a picky eater. Usually I didn't actually eat the lunch; I ate a piece of bread or a roll (always white, of course), drank a carton of whole milk and ate the dessert, usually clear Jello, but sometimes something better, a piece of sheet cake or maybe pudding or tapioca.
The worst of a bad progression of entrees was a disgusting white hamburger gravy served over mashed potatoes. As a kid, the only potatoes I liked were French fries and potato chips. And I hated anything in a cream sauce. Yuck! The second worst thing was stewed tomatoes, where canned tomatoes were heated up and a bunch of saltines were dumped into them. Tasteless tomatoes mingling with soggy crackers. Some kids actually liked it, but I can feel my bile rising just writing about these culinary abominations.
We never got junk food. I was a skinny little thing, due to being sick a lot and I didn't usually care if I ate or not. If that were true now, I would be incredibly svelte.
Wednesdays they actually served something I liked. First of all, Wednesday was chocolate milk day! As if that weren't wonderful enough, they served what we in New England call American Chop Suey. It's ground beef, macaroni, tomatoes and seasonings baked in a casserole or even cooked up in a skillet. It actually tasted good.
In high school, things were not much improved, but we could go into town and grab a burger. Once, in junior high, we had a food fight, making a huge mess and bringing down the wrath of practically everyone. What can I say? It was fun. We were rebels without a cause.
In college, in the great state of Texas, they served margarine. Texas was always big on margarine, a faux food if there ever was one. You will never see "all natural" on a package of margarine. This, of course, was before people knew that it was margarine that was lethal and not good healthy butter. In college, the cafeteria put mushrooms, which I hated, into the meatloaf. I learned to eat mushrooms when I first ate them fresh and not the slimy gunk that came out of a can or jar.
The college cafeteria also served broccoli and Brussels sprouts which I finally learned to eat. My favorite lunch at college was grits and gravy with sausage and cabbage. By and large the cafeteria food was bad, but by then I was discovering restaurant food, albeit cheap, and learned to love thin-crust pizza, Mexican, Asian, Middle Eastern, Indian, and seafood.
A word about seafood. The college cafeteria served such old leathery shrimp tasting of iodine and not much else that I stopped liking shrimp, a heretofore favorite food for the longest time.
As a worker bee, I discovered every cafeteria had something one could eat, even if it was the salad bar, especially if it was the salad bar. At one place, they used to dump the old salad bar into the vegetable soup and one would encounter the occasional raisin. Finally I got smart and frugal and began to pack my lunch most days, shunning the burgers and pizza, too, too dull and ordinary and the bad entrees that reminded me of being back in school.
One cafeteria did make a terrific grilled roast beef and provolone sandwich. Who knew? And it was in New England that I discovered the macaroni casserole I had been eating my entire life was called "American Chop Suey." I add plenty of garlic, onion, herbs and spices to mine. Dump a lot of Parmesan on top. Viva Italia.
What is your worst food memory as a kid? Gloppy hamburger gravy on watery mashed potatoes, anyone?

The Best Homemade Tabouleh by Pat Deuson

2011-09-15T06:40:00.000-07:00

Today's post is by guest blogger and fellow writer Pat Deuson! Pat has a new novel, Superior Longing, coming out today. What could be more exciting than that? Well, maybe food. Food is endlessly varied, tasty and it gives us writers the energy to keep going.

Pat Deuson, Novelist and Cook

Tabouleh is a tasty, nutritious Middle Eastern dish that Pat has recently discovered. Here's what she has to say about it.

Tabouleh, so colorful and fresh. . . tasty, too

Food is a big part of the lives of Neva, Linnea and all those who live and work at Cooks Inn. It's a big part of my life too. I'm an avid cook and spend as much time cooking [sometimes more] than I do writing. This week-end I rediscovered tabouleh.
Like all folk recipes there are as many as there are cooks. It's got a flexibility that allows creativity as much as use it up, don't throw it out thrift. So when people were unexpectedly coming for lunch on a beautiful California afternoon, sandwiches, veg beans from the freezer, tabouleh with garden tomatoes and fresh peach and raspberry compote came to mind. So how do you make tabouleh ?
You start with kasha. What is kasha? Cracked grain. There are a lot of grains that can be cracked and I've tried several. The one I prefer is wheat. I think it takes a special kind of person to eat buckwheat groat kasha, but it's often the one find you find mentioned.
Raw grain is tough to chew and needs to be softened, which will take a fairly long time. You can do this yourself or buy kasha in a processed form so it's as easy to cook as processed couscous. I've seen couscous made by hand in Morocco many times. It is a lengthy and involved process, the cooking even more so. Processed couscous and kasha are much much easier and faster. But even processed kasha needs to be softened and hydrated. The easiest way I've found is to bring 1 3/4 cup of water to a boil, add 1 cup of kasha, a pinch of salt, reduce heat and cook for 5 minutes, remove from heat and let stand for about 10 more minutes. Fluff lightly with a fork.
After that the fun begins. Do you have some grilled or poached chicken to dice, a little roasted corn, or some diced tomatoes just dripping with summer time goodness? Or some arugula and toasted pecans with cukes and sweet balsamic vinegar mellowed by some savory olive oil? Season with salt/pepper and serve it warm or room temperature. Or do you want a summer salad - tabouleh - for those impromptu guests who you know will set the table while you chop garden tomatoes, cukes. a bit of fresh mint, some green or red onion all sauced with some good olive oil, lemon juice and salt and pepper? They will love it.

For more of Neva Moore and the doings in and about Cooks Inn, the first book in the series, Superior Longing, published by Echelon press, is out today! The first ebook of this series is available on Kindle, Nook, Omnilit and Smashwords. Pat is currently writing the next book, Collective Instinct.

Neva blogs and post around the net at these sites:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Superior-Longing/130098057083303?sk=wall
http://cooksinn.blogspot.com/
http://superiorlonging.blogspot.com/
Pat is also found blogging or posting:
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1229310389
http://twitter.com/#!/pdeuson

Try the recipe and pick up a copy of Superior Longing from Echelon Press.

Remembering September 11th and the Warrior Grandma

2011-09-11T08:55:00.000-07:00

To a degree, I think we all have 9-11 related PTSD, and the photos and remembrances bring it all back. I have been dreading this date. I heard planes flying over the house late last night and wondered, "what is that all about?" Then I heard Amtrak, running late, and thought it was yet another plane. Always the paranoia, and the images burnt into one's mind.

I remember flying shortly after 9/11, and psyching myself up to kill with bare hands, telling myself I could do it. Ludicrous, but I was ready, because the phrase, "we fought them tooth and nail" was in my head, and if tooth and nail are your sole weapons, then that's what you use. I debated wearing pantyhose. They would make a good garrotte. The energy required to psych myself up was exhausting. I told myself I came from a long line of warriors and I could be one, too, if necessary. Now it seems a little crazy. But not totally crazy, because two of the planes left from Boston, the ones that hit the towers.

I flew into Baltimore and drove to Hagerstown for a programming course, because a colleague refused to fly. All the anthrax paranoia in Washington added to the general paranoia. In Hagertown, my cell phone didn't work, and I drove aimlessly through the town and took a walk around the duck pond in the park. Ate alone at a Mexican restaurant. Had that strange feeling I was the last person on earth. I could not concentrate on the course.

At home, I found a old flag pin, probably my Dad's and bought another one. Whenever I run across them in the drawer I remember. Whenever I fly over New York and don't see the towers, I remember.

No one was able to write fiction for a while, and we all wondered if we would ever write again. We read "cozy" type Miss Marple mysteries, because they had little violence and in the end justice was always done. I wrote some poetry and bided my time. The weekend before September 11th, we had gone to see Apocalypse Now Redux. The audience was a weird mixture of Viet Nam Vets and Cambridge and Boston academia. Violence and especially the threat of violence permeated the movie. I wouldn't have been able to watch it a week later.

Writers finally began writing again, but anyone passing through airport security today knows we're not back to normal. Still, it's been a long time since I boarded a plane ready to kill. The Warrior Grandma. How stupid is that?

Since Irene, the hummingbirds in our garden are my heroes. Even in the worst wind, they swooped and flew and defied the storm. When the tree fell, they came to investigate. Sometimes they buzz the dining room window when we're having dinner, like they're saying hello or bon appetit. I like their aerial acrobatics and their pugnacious spirit. They aren't afraid of anything. We could do worse than imitate the hummingbirds.

2011-09-08T12:10:00.000-07:00

Will my iPod post to blogger? Let's see.

New Blogger

2011-09-08T11:38:00.000-07:00

Trying to use the new blogger screen. Jury still out. Old one more graphically satisfying. Print too fine on new screen and I would always have to increase the size. Crashing bore. Couldn't find stats at first. Love the stats. Maybe later.

Goodnight Irene and Hello Lee, you SOB and Hooray for Hawaiian Breakfasts

2011-09-08T10:22:00.000-07:00

The rains came, and came and came. It pour buckets and then cats and dogs. Cold, icky, omnipresent rain. From Lee, I understand. Irene didn't dump nearly this much on us. Phooey!

We want to go into town tonight to a PEN event. Looks like it may have stopped. I do hope so. Can I make a confession? Last night we ate canned corned beef hash and Spam the night before. The "confession" is that both tasted wonderful. Low salt Spam, of course, with baked beans (vegetarian) and a salad of asparagus and cucumbers. Last night we had asparagus and tomato, looked so lovely, and fresh broccoli, buttered. Hit the spot with the salty corned beef hash. I sauteed extra onions and cleared a spot in the center of the skillet for a fried egg for S.O. Then we had homemade peach ice cream for dessert.

Sometimes I see elderly people who have that "lean and hungry" look. I think they are leading the low-fat lifestyle. No one will ever say that about us.Sometimes we even have wine with lunch with occasional forays into forbidden pastures. Yup. Ah, and the leftover Spam sauteed with eggs was delish. Our whole family likes Spam, and my youngest was pleased to discover that a Hawaiian breakfast was Spam, rice and eggs. Spam is very popular in Asia. Go figure. One of the New England travel writers was always complaining about that. So be it.

Off to the post office, now the the rains have abated. Feeling somewhat frisky.

Grapeshot

My New Heroes are the Hummingbirds

2011-09-06T08:55:00.000-07:00

This is a great site with lots of wonderful facts and information about hummingbirds.

The World of Hummingbirds

They are so feisty and fearless. I love to sit on our deck overlooking the wetlands and watch the hummingbirds in the edge of the woodlands and on the feeder in the flower garden.

Burning Man and I wasn't there

2011-09-05T19:57:00.000-07:00

The Man burned Saturday and the Temple on Sunday, and I wasn't there. And my name was selected for the airport food service, Bites of Passage. The Burning Man theme for 2011 was "Rites of Passage." Ha. Ha. They always pick a great theme. 50,000 burners. Hard to imagine. From space the city was beautiful, so orderly and so neat, but we know the view from the ground was much different. Ah god, I missed the fire dancers, and the vehicles belching flames and the techno music and waking at dawn half-frozen and center camp and the general ambiance, which must be experienced to be understood. Not there! Crap.

And our Internet service was down for 8 of the last 9 days, so I could not query literary agents about Festival Madness, my Burning Man novel.

However, good things can still happen. Will happen? Must happen? Whatever.

What is normal, anyhow?

2011-09-05T19:39:00.000-07:00

They say a picture is worth a thousand words and that is true. The first photo is the big oak that fell across my wild flower garden, and destroyed the lilac and another lovely bush. No power for 4 days, then a day of scrambling to do laundry, run the dishswasher, etc., and the freakin' Internet went out completely or slowed down to a molasses in January crawl.

The second photo is on Long Island where the foxes lived. Three at one blow.

After Irene, we were troopers, out scouting for ice, scouting for Wi-Fi and "D" Batteries, a rare commodity. The wind rose at 6:30 Sunday morning and I jumped out of bed and made a batch of pesto genovese. Ran the dish washer, and settled down to watch the storm on CNN. At 10:30 a.m., before the storm actually hit us, the lights went out, not to be seen again until Wednesday night. As bad as Hurricane Gloria in 1985.

We have a gas stove and since I am squeamish about pilot lights, I lit the gas with big long fireplace matches. Gas also meant hot water to hand wash dishes in, and hot showers, all Good Things.

For Sunday dinner we had a delicious orzo salad with olive, anise, eggplant and zucchini. By Monday the steak in the downstairs freezer was beginning to defrost so we had two nights of shish kebabs on the grill with lots of nice veggies. By Tuesday, the chicken was thawing and I cooked a huge amount of chicken breasts for -- you guessed it chicken pesto. I also cooked some chicken tenders a la chicken parm and we ate those one night. We had the presence of mind to finish the ice cream on Sunday.

During the storm, the hummingbirds were swooping around like crazy and they actually drank all their nectar. All the birds were very interested in the fallen tree, and the thistle seed feeder and 2nd suet feeder were practically dragging the ground, but the birds immediately found these feeders and like the cozy feeling of being incased in leaves.

Of course some big mean hawk showed up, but I don't think he caught anyone. When I went out early Monday morning to bring in the paper, a turtle dove was sitting on the front porch, looking a wee bit lost. My garden proper was relatively undamaged and the flowers did like the rain, and the cucumbers kept us supplied with salad.

We fed the cows and the calves were leaping all over the pasture and having a great time. S.O. took a movie which i will post. The Muscovy ducks that hang out with the cows have two cute ducklings. The rooster crows every morning and we do realize we live in a neighborhood where there is still "agriculture." Hooray for agriculture.

I will post again soon now that the lights and the Internet are back. Reading by candlelight is no fun, but we did have 5 flashlights, 2 camp lanterns, a hurricane lantern, and 16 candles. We just cursed the darkness a little bit. Saw The Help and The Debt, both good. Movies are a wonderful way to spend an evening when your house is darker than a tomb.

We aren't eating any chicken this week, no siree. Total O.D. on chicken. Hamburgers and pork tenderloin and yummy swordfish. Even during the storm, life was good and it was lovely sitting on the deck for days and just watching the birds, squirrels and chipmunks. Hardly anything beats watching the birds. Well, maybe the Red Sox.

As Ever,

Grapeshot

Irene Cometh and Beantown Clobbered By Motown

2011-08-28T05:37:00.000-07:00

The rain woke me at 6:30 a.m. Not my usual Sunday wake-up time. No wind yet. Decided to get up and make the pesto sauce in the blender before the power went out. Nice fresh basil picked yesterday. You never know how the garden will survive a storm. My flowers are just at their peak again. Sigh. All the heavy pots are crowded together in a protected spot.

Decided to take a shower while I could still see. Too weird to shower in the dark. Cats seemed calm. Reading New York Times Book Review to find Kindle books for an upcoming trip. Looked at "combined" best seller list and saw nothing, and didn't even find anything on the hard cover best seller list. Maybe I will just read what Obama did. Looked like a good list in spite of the sniping. So far as I know, almost off the recent presidents have liked mysteries and crime stories.

Thought about cleaning a few leaves and crud out of the storm drain, but that is probably a lost cause. Still considering. Last night's Boston baseball was too tedious with all the rain delays in the double headers. The Sox did well. Not so with the Patriots. What happened there? Beantown clobbered by Motown.

Now I am running the dishwasher to get the last dishes. Laundry done. Food prepared. By the way I make the pesto for a chicken pesto dish. It's just bite-sized pieces of white meat chicken dressed with Pesto Genovese. My recipe is from the old Time-Life Cooking of Italy series. Best Pesto Ever! In addition, we're having the rest of the orzo salad, a Mediterranean salad that was delicious. I first ate the chicken pesto at Bertucci's, a Boston restaurant chain that started in Kendall Square and always had the best food. It was part of an antipasto platter. I don't think they have the dish anymore. It is alas, gone, like the stuffed clams and the mussels au gratin at Legal Seafood. So chez Grapeshot we have delicious foods that require absolutely no prep tonight. And wine. Leftover peasant plum tart for dessert. Lots of Sunday papers to read and the necessary light to read by. Plenty of cat food. Yes, the cats must eat.

The serious part of the storm is to get here in a few hours. We're ready, but of course, nature can play some nasty tricks. Very nasty. Stay safe.

Goodnight Irene, Goodnight

2011-08-27T07:04:00.000-07:00

At chez Grapeshot, hurricane preparations underway.   This mostly involves taking everything off the deck, the porch and out of the yard that could become a missile. Stowing away plenty of ice and water.

We had food in the house but I decided not to bake focaccia today--too much to do, so I popped into the store early this a.m. More folks that usual, some with carts really piled high. Everyone but me buying potato chips. What is that about? However the young guy behind me in the checkout line had lots of water and three loaves of bread, so he'll be ready.

On the way to the store I noticed that most houses had not taken down the hanging baskets of decks and porches. Hmmm. Maybe later today. We did a flashlight drill and discovered two without batteries. We have 7 flash lights (I took some out of the car) two battery lanterns and one kerosene lanterns, plus a lot of candles. Everything ready to go.

I'm making an orzo salad and some chicken pesto. Stuff that doesn't require heating, although our gas stove will work if one lights a match to the pilot lights. A gas stove is a huge plus, unless, of course, a gas main ruptures. Last hurricane when we lived in Wellesley, the electricity was off for four days and we   used a camp stove and the charcoal grill to cook stuff as the freezer defrosted. Definitely some bizarre meals.

Charging my Kindle. Doing the laundry because we are sure to lose electricity, always a bummer in the evening. I suppose I could write with pen and paper. Now there's a thought.

The air is so still and sultry. Not a leave stirring. The calm before the storm. Woodpeckers feeding like crazy. Do they know? I put out fresh nectar for the hummers yesterday. They had eaten the feeder almost dry.

Sky full of confused gray clouds. All different kinds in layers. I need to observe to make sure I have my storm in the Florida Straits right. And for something related to my latest novel, see the next post. It was really eerie.

So battening down the hatches with a sense of purpose and determination. We had a good little neighborhood where people will help each other. Onward,

Grapeshot

Some Things I Am Wondering About

2011-08-25T17:28:00.000-07:00

Why are there so many tanning salons? How can the multitude of nail salons survive?   I don't use either, although at one time I did tan a bit.   Nails? I have gardening nails, which is to say short, broken, dirty and best hidden behind gloves.

Why do the #%*^@ chipmunks eat the tomatoes this year? I had to pick them all green and bring them into the house before they nibbled all of them. Grrrr.

How does the cat always know if someone is sick or under the weather? He acts extra lovey.   Cats just know. Interesting about the zoo animals anticipating the earthquake. Now there's another riddle.

I am reading Death and the Maiden by Gerald Elias and enjoying it immensely. Also on my third reading of Proust. Reading great works at different life stages is always rewarding.

We had a Thai beef salad this evening, and Significant Other has decided he does not like rice noodles which are slippery as eels.

Into the city tomorrow night for a nice dinner before the storm hits.
I'm writing a short story that is like pulling teeth. Double grrrr.

Onward,

Grapeshot

Make Mine Meze

2011-08-19T10:48:00.000-07:00

Tonight we're having a meze platter with homemade hummus, shrimp salad and cucumber salad. I've been prepping off and on all day and can hardly wait to dig into these goodies. The garden has yielded LOTS of ripe cucumber, and I've been using them up but now it's time to be generous to the neighbors.

Mostly we eat a cucumber salad I created. Dressing is made with sour cream, mayo, and a little white vinegar. One could also use yogurt. I chop up scallions, dill, a small clove of garlic, parsley and even cilantro in the food processor and mix it with the dressing.

Empty the processor and get out the slicing disc. I peel the cukes, cut them in half and scoop out the seeds with a spoon. Feed them into the Cuisinart and mix in with the dressing. Lots of dill makes it extra good. If you like, sprinkle a little kosher salt on the cukes after slicing and let them drain for 40 minutes or so. They come out extra crunchy. This is a great salad, even if you have to buy the cukes. Dill and parsley from the garden, of course.

The meze platter recipes are at this link. Meze Platter for a Warm Summer Night

Use tomatoes from the garden if you have them. Ours have succumbed to chipmunks and blight. Alas! The mint and the oregano and rampant. Parsley not so good. But the cucumbers reign.

Onward,

Grapeshot

Daniel D. McCracken Obit in New York Times

2011-08-15T07:20:00.000-07:00

My first COBOL class, back at the College of Lake County in Grayslake, IL required us to buy McCracken's Simplified Guide to Structure COBOL programming. It was the best manual I ever had, bar none. McCracken was God. I had one Other Manual which better explained the obscure Usage is Index business, but McCracken made the obscure Clear as crystal, and by the time I finished My COBOL career, the book was beat up and dog-eared. I never knew who McCracken was until I saw his obituary today, but he was my mentor and my right arm. He started writing computer manuals in 1957, long before I ever came into EDP as it was often called in those days. Electronic Data Processing. Part of a lyric from Hair. Then it was called MIS, then IS, then IT, and having been retired for lo, these six years, I don't even know what it's called anymore. Totally out of touch. Don't own a smart phone. I have an IPOD touch that I use on the road for email, calendar and address book. My small friend keeps asking, "don't you have any apps?" No dear, I don't. Once upon a time, McCracken's paperback COBOL manual was all I needed.

At one time, I could make COBOL along with a few ventures into Assembler subroutines do anything. Bar codes? No problemo. Manufacturing, retail, logistics. Yowza! I could make tables read tables with fancy indexing routines that were awesome. I could "go to, depending on." All thanks to McCracken. I actually knew everything there was to know about COBOL. Makes me feel like the last living dinosaur. McCracken helped "ordinary practioners improve their computing skills." The term "reference bible" was bandied about. Yup. That was McCracken. Wish I had hung onto my book, just for the hell of it. Now I'm sorry that I didn't write him a fan letter telling him how much I had learned from his book and how it had helped me

Today I discovered he was a fellow Montanan, born in Hughesville to a mining engineer father. Not too many people have been born in Montana. He was a father to seven children and always kept up with his field, going on to teach Java programming. I recall discussing with a colleague whether we should learn Java. Android was perhaps his last teaching endeavor. What a giant among techies. He taught until he died at 81.

Daniel McCracken, you were a hell of a teacher.

New neighborhood denizen: a Scottish Highland Calf

2011-08-11T15:19:00.000-07:00

I've been waiting (in vain) for a new calf to make the scene. We've had a succession of young bulls come and go. Maggie and Iris are so obstreperous that they must intimidate bulls who are not, well, bullies. There are two other cows who came in the fall or maybe a year ago last fall and still seem tentative in their relationship with the two queens of the pasture. Now one of the diffident cows has become a mom. In all the commotion of going and returning from Nantucket we somehow missed the big event and the calf must be at least a couple weeks old. He/she likes to lie in the tall grass with his ma.

The little critter looks just like this but without the muzzle. Don't know what that was all about. Here is a poem I wrote a couple years ago about my favorite calves. It's called "Calves Together."

That summer, we were calves together in the tall grass.

You came first, to brown Mary Anne.

Golden Iris is my mother.

They dropped us in the tall grass.

We grew together, gamboled together,

Licked each other, slept together,

Lay flank to flank in the tall grass.

The milk we suckled tasted of summer and green apples.

In the heat of the day we found shade

The rain kept the flies at bay.

We frolicked in the pasture, bleating and kicking our heels,

Calves without a care.

Glad animal spirits, nursing and nibbling the tall grass.

Drinking from the creek.

Seeking the green shade

Calves together.

I just love the cute little critters. August is not such a great month to be born, as the flies really bedevil the cows. I saw all my fruit and vegetable scraps for the cows, as well as any stale bread. No meat. No dairy products. Their hunger is insatiable. Mooooo.

Far Away Isle Revisited

2011-08-07T07:14:00.000-07:00

I discovered this great article about the late, lamented Opera House restaurant in Nantucket.

The Opera House, Nantucket

The Far Away Isle

2011-08-06T07:04:00.000-07:00

Dressed for dinner in days of yore. Dolphin Guest House in background

We were in Nantucket for a couple days, and I've decided that July and August are not the months I want to be in Nantucket. Hordes and hordes of people. Almost as many vehicles, mostly SUVs, pickups and trucks. Lots of trucks. Bumper to bumper. Bicyclists on the sidewalks avoid the street. Restaurants so loud you need earplugs. Everything expensive. Too many people. Oh god, the people. We spent a ghastly amount of money, just 4 people and 2 days.

When lobster was cooked outside by the docks. Site of current Ropewalk Restaurant

Of course some things never change. The Nobby shop, Murrays, Tradewinds, Barbara's Bookstore and the Hub. The Ropewalk seems the same, but I still remember the year they boiled lobsters in huge iron pots in that spot and a folk singer held her guitar and sang.

The "traditional" ferry hasn't changed THAT much, except for, well, the airline type seats and wi-fi and did they always have an elevator? Leaving the harbor in Hyannis hasn't changed except that the houses look very well cared for and there are so freakin' many of them, like two feet apart. I love the house with its own lighthouse. The big monstrosity with the moorish arches is soooo out of place. What were they thinking? Where was the zoning board?

Coming into Nantucket one sees the familiar breakwater and the jetties. Big fat grey houses where some more modest ones used to be at Brant Point. A couple hold outs. When we first arrived in Nantucket, the harbor had rotting pilings and a ramshackle ferry dock. Everything up to date now, of course. In the old days when you returned from the beach in late afternoon and climbed into the shower, the power usually went out as half the people on the island did likewise. Now there's a new water tower and a new power plant. Lots of new stores. The Mad Hatter is gone, the Opera House is long gone. Ralph Lauren has a glitzy store where Nantucket Looms (now moved) used to be.

One never did and one still does not cringe at the sight of men in tank tops and black socks, so that is still a Good Thing. Downflake Donuts are now "mid-island," whatever the hell that means. Mostly powerboats at the slips, and a few atrociously big sail boats and I wonder if the sails on the current monstrosity are ever actually, like, unfurled.

When the poet asked, "where are the snows of yesteryear," he could have been speaking of The Far Away Isle. It's airport is the second busiest in Massachusetts. Private jets, don'tcha know. Just like East Hampton. Lots of trophy wives, flaunting their blond hair and skinny legs. Is this sour grapes? I used to have blond hair and skinny legs too. Without the bling, of course. Definitely without the bling.

There are still blond little kids begging for stuff at The Sunken Ship, and lined up for ice cream. Those places haven't changed either. Captain Toby's seems a shadow of itself and 21 Federal is now a pricey Italian restaurant that refers to itself as "affordable." One man's "affordable" is open to debate. It's the thought that counts, I guess. Ice cream cones are $8.00+ if you want large. Our local dairy store sells them for half that, but then when you see the trucks trundling on and off the ferry you understand why everything costs so much. Our former boarding house is now a private home, a duplex we think. The landlady's daughter baby sat for us. Ah, paradise, enow! I lost a good pair of sunglasses sailing over the Tuckernuck Shoals. Wonder how barnacle encrusted they are now. Those are pearls that were her eyes.

The Ropewalk Restaurant on Nantucket's Dock

Okay, I am getting maudlin. It's just that the wonderful place, Nantucket, has become a little too wonderful. I miss the ramshackle restaurant over the water where the seagulls mooched part of your fish, the old Nantucket lightship, the possibility of giving the oldest kid $10 and telling him to take the little kids to dinner, or sending the kids off to a movie while the grownups have dinner. I even miss the man selling popcorn OUTSIDE the theater. He put some bright orange goo on the popcorn, and when I asked if it was butter (or course it was not butter) he adamantly declare it was "real butter" and always had been for 30 years. I don't know what they are building on the old movie house lot. Looks like another movie theatre, but it will probably cost $12 a head. I only hope they'll have some g-rated movies so the parents can have a noisy, expensive dinner somewhere without the kids. Some things never change.

One can thank the many preservation societies for acquiring so much open land, and not letting weird architecture and chain stores (except Ralph Lauren) get a foothold. By the way, the RL store Is Not your Macy's RL dept, but rather the store of the full page ads in the New York Sunday Times. Yowza!

A more charming downscale Nantucket

The upshot of this post is that the Far Away Isle that I once knew has disappeared into the mists of time, now further and further away, but never actually . . . gone.

Dumb and dumber

2011-07-28T16:28:00.000-07:00

For at least three years I've been searching all over for the family wedding rings: my mother's, her mother's, and the two great grandmas. To the best of my recollections, I had seen them since we moved into this house, but I couldn't find them. Searched everywhere. I do mean EVERYWHERE. Especially the cedar chest where I had a vague memory of seeing them.

Finally, I gave them up for lost in the move, and beat myself up for being a bad daughter, a bad granddaughter and a very bad great granddaughter. How could I have lost these heirlooms? I had already lost my mother's beautiful Christmas pin, for which I can never forgive myself. Now I lost ALL the wedding rings.

I kept searching the same places, but they were never found. Hung head in shame. A few weeks ago we had reason to visit the safety deposit box and there, along with assorted envelopes was a little jewelry box. Inside it were all of the rings. Safe and secure. I wanted to weep with relief.

I returned home and checked the inventory sheet of the deposit box, and they weren't on it, which must mean that I found them and put them in the box having no memory of doing so. I remember once my mother took off her wedding rings and they disappeared to be found much later in a tea cup in the cupboard. Does it run in the family?

Of course, I have no idea of the eventual fate of all of these rings. They'll probably be melted down in some gold frenzy, although I have resisted doing that to really good or sentimental stuff. I recall a popular song, maybe from the Fifties about "a little band of gold." How do I remember the stupid song but not taking the rings to the lock box for safe-keeping? Arrrggghhh.

Feng Shui to the Max?

2011-07-23T14:34:00.000-07:00

Our old house in a suburb west of Boston was a "raised ranch," a split level of no particular distinction. It had big rooms and lots of space and a sunny front yard with woods bordering the back yard, which sloped down the hill. We moved in when it had been newly decorated and lived there twenty years, only putting a great huge deck off the kitchen.

When we prepared to sell, the realtor said, OMG, you can't have this old-fashioned 80's wallpaper! Nine months of sweat equity later, the walls were newly painted (mostly), the old rugs rolled up and hauled off to the dump. The bushes and shrubs were freshly pruned and the hole the woodpecker pecked in the home office wall (exterior) was patched.

Then comes some sad history of a young couple buying the house, fixing it up with new kitchen, baths, and a California feeling. Now this is New England and people like their center colonials and their Capes. Small windows with 24 panes, no problem, small dark rooms, hey it's cozy! Old timey decor, now you're talking. New Englanders were the original "Early Americans." So when the nice young couple split, the nicely fixed up "California" house
did not sell. And did not sell. And still did not sell. Finally, it sold to a California couple for barely more than we had sold it for.

The California couple believed in Feng Shui, and ALL the landscaping except for one (1) rhododendron was pulled up. The nice front yard red maple tree that shaded the house in summers was chopped down. The bare concrete foundation is still exposed. No replacement trees planted. It looks kind of stark.

We drive through the old neighborhood every so often and gasp at the number of tear downs that have occurred, and gape at the ugly-as-sin McMansions that have replaced the modest homes. Yesterday we took a drive-by again. Ye Gods! Our former house is canary yellow, a bright canary yellow. S.O. immediately dubbed it The Yellow Peril. Words cannot describe how ugly it is, with it's naked concrete foundation and it's hideous loud color. It almost shames one to have lived in such a monstrosity.

What were they thinking? The house across the street is for sale. Do you think the neighbors couldn't stand to look at the Yellow Peril one more day?

Do you think maybe the current owner looked at a teensy-tiny paint chip and didn't realize how LOUD an entire house would look?

Do you think Feng Shui ran amok and created major ugliness in our little neighborhood?

There's a lot of bad karma there, and I'm glad I live here, now.

What were they thinking?

Great Camp Sagamore

2011-07-16T20:31:00.000-07:00

Main Lodge at Great Camp Sagamore

I had a great week with a young relative at Great Camp Sagamore near Raquette Lake in New York's Adirondack Mountains. We canoed, hiked, studied nature, did craft projects, ate, swam, played, danced, sang, petted owls, and had a wonderful time. This was the Great Camp of the famed Vanderbilt family, on a beautiful lakeside setting with spectacular old crafty wooden buildings. Food mighty tasty, too. Simple but toothsome. Plentiful.

Yours truly went into "The Zone" where what one wore, how one looked hair and makeup wise had less and less importance. Pretty soon I was using bug repellant as hair spray, and wearing an odd assortment of old funky t-shirts and shorts. Before I left for this adventure, an ungodly attack of sciatica laid me low, and the Dr. prescribed some steriods and a muscle relaxant. For a couple days, I became totally whacko and inadvertently substituted melatonin for the steriods. Kept waking up REALLY EARLY in the morning. Seemed to leave no permanent damage. So far, the only thing which keeps the pain in check is Tylenol.

The women had wine in the evening with dinner. Wonderful conversation. Totally civilized. Two planes overhead all week, and other than that, no noise of cars, trucks, aircraft, sirens--just the laughter and squealing of children. Can you imagine such a thing? I think we all went on Burning Man Time. The black flies and deer flies and mosquitoes were hungry and everyone got lots of bites, taken in stride. I forgot about sunscreen. Bug spray (which didn't help much) became my moisturizer and my foundation. I ate whatever I damn pleased, not piggy, not not conscientious either. How nice it was. Lots of walking maybe prevented a large weight gain. Whatever, my jeans still fit. Had a blast doing the crafts. They all looked like an aging hippie had done them. What does that say? Dunno.

I even wrote a little ghost story for "talent night." Not very scary. Only one incident of violence.

So, it's good to be back. We were in the Big Apple last night and ate at a darling French place on Madison and 92nd? First time in years I've had soft-shelled crabs and were they ever good. To die for. Quite a change from the simple tasty fare of the Great Camp. In the old days when the Vanderbilts came for the season, there were six workers for each guest, which of course included laundry, cooking, cleaning, managing the farm and the livestock. There was even a bowling alley and a root cellar. And LOTS of animal heads on the wall hung as trophies. Somewhat disconcerting to some of the little kids. I think it was the thoughtful expressions in the taxidermed eyes.

Whatever. Whatever. God was it great to have no radio, no TV, and no newspapers. No cell phone coverage, and wi-fi only in a couple places. Nice to step out of the daily orbit for a while. Nice to decompress.

Today we took the ferry from Orient Point, NY to New London, CT instead of the trek all the way on I-95. Ate lunch in Saratoga Springs ysterday. Wonderful Chicken Caesar. Burgers on the ferry this evening. Bought carrots, beans, corn and tomatoes at the Farm Stand in Orient Point. Not enough time to eat at Claudio's in Northport, alas. I do like making the scene at Claudio's.

Time to stick another load of camp clothes in the dryer. I did not see the loon, but we saw lots of deer.

From sun-burned, bugbit, fat and happy,

Grapeshot

An Obscenity

2011-07-08T15:56:00.000-07:00

Someone has come up with a "middle grade" version of The Great Gatsby. You probably wouldn't want your kid to read it and you sure as hell don't want to read it.

This is Roger Ebert's take on this hideosity. Roger's Ebert's Blog on Great Gatsby dumb down

I don't know what things are coming to, she said.

Wilson's Barbeque

2011-07-04T18:13:00.000-07:00

We've been taking a lot of car trips from Beantown to the Big Apple. Via the Food Network and Guy's Big Bite, I discovered Wilson's Barbeque in Fairfield, CT. The last trip was at a time not conducive to stopping for barbeque, but yesterday was, and so armed with instructions, we pulled off of 95 and travelled a short distance to Wilson's.

We got one pulled pork platter with sides, to share, but the St. Louis ribs looked so toothsome, I got a half side of them, too. We were still full from breakfast, so we stuck the bag in the trunk and headed for home. with me salivating all the way. As luck would have it, there were "rain delays" on the road and we got home late and hungry. Heated up the pulled pork, the beans and the ribs. Put everything on the dining room table and dug in.

Yowza! This was good stuff. The pulled pork was primo. We had enough left for a modest lunch, because we are on a perpetual diet and didn't eat everything although I could have, easily. The sauce was kickass, but one didn't really need it. The mark of good barbeque is when you don't need sauce.

The cashier and the guys behind the counter couldn't have been nicer. Place was busy, and the reason was obvious once we tasted the product. Oh my! Died and gone to heaven.

We will certainly put Wilson's on our travel map. It was very close to the Interstate and was easy to find and even easier to get back onto 95 North and keep on truckin.' An amazing find in Fairfield, Connecticut.

I brake for barbeque!

Writers and their Cats

2011-06-27T08:31:00.000-07:00

Tortoise Cat Thisbe - a 'fraidy cat

Orange Cat Rulon, a power napper

Friday is traditionally cat blog day, but I wanted to offer a link an alert reader sent about writers and cats. Above are my two. Rulon thinks a friendly act it to give chase with maybe a few swipes of his paw. Thisbe thinks otherwise. Mostly they ignore each other. He always horns in when I try to groom Thisbe. "Horns in." A great expression which has been reinforced by observing the feeding antics of the Highland Scottish cows. But I digress.

The Masterpiece Mystery last night (Hercule Poirot) showed a flat with a crazy cat lady. I haven't reached that stage yet. In my dotage, perhaps.

In the meantime, here is the link to writers and their cats. Writers and Kitties.
We enjoyed touring the Hemingway House in Key West and seeing all the cats with an extra toe.

The Suet Wars

2011-06-26T16:53:00.000-07:00


Naughty Raccoon Raiding Suet Feeder


Baby Squirrel on the Suet Feeder

This is getting to be expensive. Every night the raccoon takes $1.75 worth of suet from the feeder. Every day, the blackbirds eat a whole cake, amid much chasing by moi. Another $1.25. That's three dollars a day times 30--eek! This is becoming expensive.

We will try the suet cakes with hot pepper to determine if the mammals don't like it. For the blackbirds, we may stop using the suet cakes with seed and just use plain old suet. Last night something took down two suet feeders. One with suet , one empty. The poor baby woodpeckers are having a hard time. A bluejay tried to chase the baby red squirrel, whom I do not really begrudge his portion. I begrudge the big squirrels, raccoons and blackbirds big time.

Why doesn't one of those damn bigs hawks carry off a squirrel of a jay? Every year it's a battle. In the meantime, the American Goldfinches are draining the thistle seed. That's O.K. There are territorial battles and the males don't get along at all. As usual, the women and children do.

The garden is water-logged from all the rain and the thyme looks sad. Too much agua.

I prepared a fine dinner tonight--broccoli quiche, homemade herb bread, grapefruit and avocado salad, and now the guests blew a tire and will be late, late, late. Yeast bread waits for no man. Oh yes, there's also fresh blueberry bread and berries for dessert. We'll eat it whenever. And enjoy it. Just like those #*!!*% raccoons.

Empire, Nevada R.I.P.

2011-06-24T13:32:00.000-07:00

Empire Nevada is now officially a ghost town.

Shopped at the little store (no allergy meds, eek!) and drove thru the village streets. Someone was having a big birthday bash. Looked like fun with people, balloons, children and normalcy. The town seemed to be two towns, having well-to-do and not-so sections, like all towns. Management and worker-bees. During Burning Man, cars, trucks and campers were lined up on both sides of the highway.

I am so sad about this, and now poor Gerlach, next door will just have a one room school, probably like the one I attended in first grade in a little Colorado mining village.

The Empire store had lots of Burning Man books for sale, and I always hoped that Festival Madness would join the collection, but alas, it's not to be, because Festival Madness is still in search of a publisher, and the store may close after this year's "Man."
Read all about Empire's closing on this link. The death of Empire

Someone should erect one of those sad little gravestone crosses that mark someone's misfortune in the desert.

The road to Empire, Nevada
Sad, sad, sad!

About Blogging--the new united nations

2011-06-22T08:37:00.000-07:00

Blogger has stats, now. I used to have to put html code into the blogs for stats, and now Blogger provides them. The most interesting stats are the ones that show which countries your readers are from. I now have four blogs, and these are the countries with readers this week, in no particular order :

U.S.
Germany
Hungary
Macau
Poland
Russia
Thailand
Ukraine
Canada
France
Austrailia
Turkey
Iran
Spain
South Korea
U.K.
Netherlands
Brazil
Belgium

Why do I find this so amazing? I noticed that Google Images has picked up a few photos from the blog, and this obviously helps. I have never had Afghanistan or North Korea or few countries from Africa except Egypt, but maybe there will soon be those, too.
Welcome everyone, I wish I knew how to say welcome in all these languages. I have always been interested in other countries and cultures, since our 4th grade teacher brought her niece from Puerto Rico into our class. In college there were some interesting foreign students, and something I liked very much about working in IT was that we were a united nations of cultures. I made friends from Russia, India and Israel. How cool was that?
My Toastmaster's Club is also very diverse, and that, too, is fun and rewarding. Some people who have never travelled or ventured beyond their neighborhoods seem uncomfortable around those of different backgrounds, but others are interested and open to strangers.
So welcome, blog readers. I wish I knew you and could talk to you.   I'm sure we would find much in common and also some interesting differences.

We all know the world is becoming connected thru Facebook, Twitter and blogs. That is, as Martha Stewart, our cooking and household guru, would say, "A Good Thing."

New England Painted Turtle

2011-06-19T09:33:00.000-07:00

The tomatoes look like they're getting blight again. Big disappointment. When we moved one of the pots. this guy was hiding behind it.

New England Painted Box turtle

He didn't hang around, and must have taken off at a pretty good clip. This is a New England painted box turtle, by the way.

Ten Minute Dessert

2011-06-19T06:57:00.000-07:00

Happy Father's Day! Don't overfeed Dad, but make something he likes. Last night we had the strawberry tart for th 2nd day because it was so delicious the first.


Free form strawberry tart

I buy Pillsbury pie crusts in the dairy department. Almost as good as homemade and no mess. I put some baker's paper (parchment paper) on the cookie sheet so as to avoid the "runny fruit" mess.

Unroll the room temp. crust onto the parchment paper. In a bowl put strawberries (I eyeball them. 1 1/2 - 2 cups. If you make too many, just eat them), a little grated lemon or orange rind, a squeeze of lemon or orange juice, some sugar to taste and a sprinkle of instant tapioca (to thicken the juices). Mix well and dump into the center of the pastry. Crimp edges around the berry mixture. If you like, brush the pastry with a little cream or egg wash. Nice but not necessary. Put into a 425 degree oven until the pastry is cooked and golden. Let cool, cut into 4 services and eat, preferably topped with whipped cream (canned is all right, just don't buy "topping.") or vanilla ice cream. I cut up the berries a bit if they are large.
This goes together in a flash and the bang for the buck is huge.

My character Emma would cook this up for one of her many lovers. Even her husband. When The Shadow Warriors first came out in 2001 (ye gods!) some book web site had it slotted under "spicy romance." La di dah!

Girl Geek

2011-06-14T11:14:00.000-07:00

Recently I attended the District 31 Toastmaster's Conference in Dedham, and one of the speakers, Rory Vaden, gave a dynamite talk on procrastination. Now I am sort of an average procrastinator, the kind who will diddle away the day doing stuff low on the priority end of the list to avoid tackling Big Projects. I recognized myself right away and vowed to do better.

One of the big items on my to do list was the updating of my website. In the fall of 2007, I did a brand new site, all by myself, including some pretty sophisticated stuff. I vowed to keep it up to date, but guess what? Holy Schmoley three and a half years passed, and I was still vowing to update. I really needed to promote the kindle version of The Shadow Warriors, and here I was, a first class slacker.

The problem was, this could be a formidable task because I had changed computers, from PC to MAC and I needed new FTP software. Went onto the web and bought Filezilla. What a nom! Read the instructions and it seemed like pretty vanilla FTP, except that none of the ids, passwords, etc., that I plugged in were working.

I looked at the web site, and made a list of updates, long but not overwhelming, and some of them quite simple, fixing broken links, updating some photos, yada. yada. Now being a once and forever geek, I do my site in HTML, which of course I had forgotten, and a cloud of gloom settled above my head. Seemed like a hard task.

Got out the nice red leather box with the web site stuff, and looked at the old HTML pages. O.K., some of it I remembered.
Brainstorm! Yes! I downloaded the Taco HTML editor and pulled up a simple page. Looked like duck soup. And so easy to check if (make that when) mistakes made the page all weird.

With my list of updates, my new editor and Filezilla, there were no further reasons to hesitate. The whole thing only took two days, make that 1 1/2 days and that was with some serious debugging. I have to confess that I entered the home office early Sunday morning, and stayed until 6:30 at night when everything was working. At that time, I went upstairs, showered, brushed my teeth and got dressed. I think we must have eaten leftovers from Saturday. Maybe I cooked a simple meal. It's all a blur.

The thing is--it was fun. Bugs and problems and all, I was having a wonderful time. How weird is that? I like (some) technical stuff, and after 25 years in IT, experience still counts in problem solving. The site looked great. Now to tackle Filezilla.

I called the hosting company this morning and got some crucial information, and learned what to plug in where. Can you believe Filezilla worked the very first time and I had a connection? Whooeee!

Moved everything over and went out and looked at the site. Same old. Same old. Wha????
Yes! Refresh! New stuff all over the place. One image and one page missing, so the old one came up. Went back onto Filezilla. Duck Soup! Tested out the whole site. Totally amazed that "hey! it worked "and I didn't have to bug Filezilla and my web host with a bunch of stupid questions.

Feeling totally smug. So, take a look. The coolest thing is the table on the home page where you click and it brings up the pages. It's an image map. So cool! My finest hour with graphic help from Significant Other.

I have promised myself to do a recipe every month, add a few links and continue on with 25 years in Information Systems, the story of how a suburban housewife learned to program mainframe computers and had a real career.

Yowsa! My Updated Website

For the non-technical, FTP is the process that gets the data from my computer to the server that hosts the website. File Transfer Protocol.

So good we nearly fainted

2011-06-10T04:52:00.000-07:00

Chocolate Ice Cream To Die For

Last week, I wrote a post about the ice cream maker crapping out at a bad moment and the emergency trip to Williams-Sonoma for a new one.
After a proper time to chill the bowl (much less than the previous bowl, by the way), I poured the custard into the frozen bowl and pressed the "on" switch. This ice cream maker is about 100 times easier to use the the old one. You pop in the bowl, pop in the top (no weird fitting and twisting and turning and having pieces pop back off again). Pour in the mixture (a nice wide opening, too!) . Let 'er rip.
It's easy to see how the ice cream is doing, i.e., is it ice cream yet?
It was, and quicker than the previous one, too. Things just got better and better. I did have to find a container to put it in. You can't store it in the bowl, and as a veteran saver of "containers," I had an old plastic half gallon container with a lid from days of yore that fit the bill.
Froze for 30 hours. It was so dark and rich looking that well, it screamed for the delicate Orrefors Illusion crystal dishes. Hand washable, and so fragile that if you look at them cross-eyed, they break.
OMG! Never tasted anything like this. Dark and rich and creamy and died-and-gone-to-heaven ice cream. Worth the custard and the caramel and the hassle of five steps in a half-hour and sweating not to screw up.
The whole table almost swooned. It was that good.
Tonight, there are two piddly helpings left, and I must remember to photograph. Gauche to whip out the camera in the middle of a dinner party. I will definitely be making this again. Remember, it's in the June issue of Bon Appetit.
Chocolate Ice Cream
Yowza!

Rote Grütze: An American Take on a Favorite German Dessert

2011-06-08T06:56:00.000-07:00

One of the best things about being a tourist in Germany in the summer is eating the dessert Rote Grütze, literally translated as "Red Groats." The best is found at Leysieffer in Osnabrück, Sylt and Berlin. You can even buy a container to take home.
Now this delicacy is made with red currants, and maybe some currant juice as well as raspberries, strawberries and even blackberries. I don't know if you have a currant bush, but we do not and the little red buggers are $4.99 for a piddling small box if you can find them at all. Sooooo. What to do?
I have solved the problem by devising my own Americanische Rote Grütze.   This is not authentic but it's very good.
Take a cup or more of frozen cranberries, 2 cups of rhubarb cut in 1 inch pieces and cook together in a few tablespoons of hot water with a squeeze of lemon juice and maybe 1/3 cup sugar. Cook until the berries have popped and the rhubarb is soft but still in recognizable shapes. Add a cup of so of red cherries and a 1 1/2 cups of fresh strawberries or a mix of strawberries, red raspberries, etc. Add sugar to taste and cook until the berries are soft. Cool, chill and serve with whipped cream.
This is a dessert called compote, which is high in all those good-for-us red fruits, hell, it's all red fruit except for the necessary sugar. Don't over-sweeten. A bit of tartness is good.
This time of year with cherries and strawberries on sale is a good time to make Rote Grütze. I keep cranberries frozen from year to year. Raspberries, if reasonable, are a tasty addition. Antioxidants up the yingyang. Soooo healthy.

Rote Grütze: a summer dessert on a seasonal tablecloth- the good life

Seven Suspenseful Sunday - June 5

2011-06-05T19:02:00.000-07:00

When the drug runner runs:

A spasm of anxiety grabbed Lotto. Why would the Coast Guard fly in this miserable weather, harassing innocent sailors? Alberto’s tan face looked calm, but the waves were worse now, and Lotto wanted him to concentrate on the goddamn navigation. They almost took a hit broadside. Lotto felt like he rode in his son Christian’s bathtub boat, except now the devil laughed and splashed and created havoc in the water. Fear dwelt in the back of his mind like a bear in a cave. More danger--more betrayals--he would never set eyes on Cuba.

Visit all the Seven Suspenseful Sunday Blogs at 7 Suspenseful Sentence Sunday

Looking for a cool Kindle read? The Shadow Warriors, a novel of international intrigue with technology run amok. Here is the link: The Shadow Warriors on Amazon, Kindle and Trade Paperback

We all scream for Ice Cream

2011-06-02T18:11:00.000-07:00

Bon Appetit's Recipe for Chocolate Ice Cream. OMG!

Adventures in ice cream.

The June Bon Appetit mag arrives about the same time I decide to have a small dinner party. Menu finalized, and I have chosen a somewhat complicated but decadent chocolate ice cream for dessert. Buy dark organic chocolate! Whole milk? I mean, who has whole milk? The process involves about 5 fairly complicated steps executed right after each other. Pretty much destroys the kitchen. The chocolate custard is supposed to cool for 2 days. So. . . . today we get home from a long arduous shopping trip, the shop and eat lunch and drink wine till you drop kind of trip, and it's time to make the ice cream which needs to "age" for two days.

A few years ago we bought an ice cream maker which was always VERY hard to assemble. The brand shall be nameless (it has been discontinued for some time) and every time I made ice cream, not very often, it was hell on wheels to get the stupid machine put together. Click this piece into that piece into the knee bone connected to the shoulder bone.

The ice cream was always first rate.

Today the paddle did not want to snap in, no way no how. It had issues. Significant Other gave it a goodly whack and the paddle snapped in except it also broke a little bit. We got out the super glue and fixed that sucker, but when it was time to complete the assembly, well, the paddle had somehow snapped out again and did not want to go in.

So I've got seven dollars worth of chocolate custard on the counter. To the web! With two days to go, I can't buy it online. I call Williams Sonoma at Legacy Place and they have a Cuisinart there. We race over through rush hour traffic. Time is of the essence, because I know from experience that the bowl has to chill for, like, days.

Mission accomplished. The ice cream maker is even on sale for Father's Day. We do some shopping at Whole Foods and get into a huge traffic mess going home. Plus every gas station advertising cheap gas means "for cash." We pull in and out of half the stations on Route 1. Stop at Stop 'n Shop for the on-sale cherries and a few more items. The sun has set. Race home and I pop the bowl into the freezer and put the getting long in the tooth chocolate custard in the far corner of the fridge. The bowl should be cold in 24 hours. The party is in forty-eight.

I'll let you know how the ice cream turns out. The chocolate custard tastes remarkable. Deep and rich and not too sweet.

My favorite flavor is rum raisin, although once I ate some Grand Marnier ice cream that almost made me change my mind. We whipped up some Port Wine ice cream in house that was also pretty remarkable.

Well, time to chill, in more ways than one. Never a dull moment here chez Grapeshot. And thank you, friendly helpful folks at Williams Sonoma. By the way, the best pot roast recipe ever was devised by Chuck Williams. Just thought you might want to know.

Onward.

Seven (7) Suspenseful Sentence Sunday - May 29

2011-05-29T18:16:00.000-07:00

The narrator, Emma, is having an uncomfortable lunch in Frankfurt, Germany with an old friend.

"Think of this little favor as a reward for my never having blabbed about you and that lifeguard." She looked squarely into my eyes, and I blushed protesting, "But that was when we were in high school!"

"We haven't changed much, have we?"

            The waiter presented our entrees. The sight and aroma of the food beckoned, for the Bordeaux had condensed my appetite to a burning hunger. In wine-drenched sentimentality, we clinked glasses to the strong, binding old ties and memories. Then we dug into the meal like the Kansas farm girls we used to be.

From The Shadow Warriors. The novel has scenes set in Singapore, Hong Kong, Cambridge, MA, Frankfurt, Baden-Baden, Brussels and Göttingen, Germany where most of the action occurs at the University.

Visit all the 7 Suspenseful Sentence Sunday authors at: 7 Suspenseful Sentence Sunday

Looking for a cool Kindle read? The Shadow Warriors, a novel of international intrigue with technology run amok. Here is the link: The Shadow Warriors on Amazon, Kindle and Trade Paperback

Tornadoes and Home Canning

2011-05-25T16:38:00.000-07:00

In central Kansas where my mother grew up, tornadoes were a fact of life. My grandfather believed in a state of readiness. The basement of the two-story farmhouse had a room within a room, built of cement blocks. It was the "storm cellar," and it contained an ax and a kerosene lantern as well as a couple flashlights.

This was also the room where my grandma kept her home-canned goodies. Now we think of summer as a time to relax and enjoy life. Consider making your own ketchup (she spelled it catsup) piccalilli, and jams of every flavor. She also put up peaches, pears, and apricots. And tomatoes from the big garden. Quarts and quarts of tomatoes. Grandma did all of this on an electric stove that we would sneer at, in a galley style un-airconditioned kitchen.

Whenever a thunderstorm blew up, my grandpa went outside to assess the situation. If he didn't like the look of the clouds, we were be trundled out of bed and sent traipsing down to the storm cellar. The storms always seemed to come at 2;00 a.m. when one was snug in bed. Didn't matter. There were benches to sit on, and we sat. And waited. When the wind died down, grandpa would go upstairs and take another look at the sky. Either we went back to bed or we stayed put. His word was law.

Years later, when I was grown up and living in Massachusetts a tornado did hit the town. In an old box of black and white photos there's a picture of a twister. Scary to the max. I feel so sorry for the folks whose homes and lives were ripped up by the funnel clouds. Makes me thankful for grandpa and his cellar. The memory of grandma's homemade strawberry jam makes be salivate for a spoonful. What's priceless are the memories.

The house looks much smaller than I remembered, and there were tricycles and toys outside last time I drove by. The storm cellar is undoubtedly still there. I doubt if it's full of home-canned pints and quarts. I hope the people living there now use it when the sky blackens and the winds howl.

7 Suspenseful Sentence Sunday - May 22

2011-05-22T09:29:00.000-07:00

The opportunistic Bulgarian, Georgi Balakov, one of the bad guys in The Shadow Warriors, has seated himself with Emma, our narrator at a cafe in an outdoor garden. This is part of his soliloquy about life in West Berlin from an Eastern European point of view.

The tranquil garden, with orange nasturtiums cascading along the fence, and subdued classical music soothing the diners, emphasized the unreality of this encounter.

Balakov, sitting as impenetrable and in-your-face as the Wall dividing Germany, continued to talk. "When I first traveled to the West, my earliest business took me to Berlin. It was February, so cold and dismal, and yet, I wondered if I had arrived in a time machine with everyone, men and women walked about wrapped in leather or fur. What a wonderful Stone Age tribe—so elegant, so brisk. I was eager and raw then, an underdog hungering for the opulent capitalist bone, so meaty and full of fat. There would, I hoped, be no more gristle to chew.

Visit all the 7 Suspenseful Sentence Sunday authors at: 7 Suspenseful Sentence Sunday

Looking for a cool Kindle read? The Shadow Warriors, a novel of international intrigue with technology run amok. Here is the link: The Shadow Warriors on Amazon, Kindle and Trade Paperback

Flown the Coop!

2011-05-22T09:07:00.000-07:00

The Luna Moth came again last night to beat against the window

The big green Luna moth woke up from her all-day slumber on the window sill and beat against the window last night, but with much less energy than before. What is the most aggravating, galling saga of life on the slough is the fact that the birds are gone, well, not all of them, because there is a pair of hawks patrolling the woods and they've scared the bejesus out of my birdies. Everyone is in hiding or even left the neighborhood and I worry about the deserted nests. Haven't seen my cardinal pair, or the catbird. Goldfinches scarce, even the woodpeckers have left the suet for the big thieving raccoon who raids it every night. Where are my titmice, chickadees and nuthatches? Whither the mourning doves? There's not even an English sparrow on the front feeder, much less the cute little pair of marsh sparrows. Everyone mated up and then vamoosed.

The hawk swoops through the woods at least daily. Haven't seen the hummer either, but I did scour the feeder and change the water yesterday. One dove appeared in the bushes next to the front porch where I put out seed for the baby chipmunks.

In the middle of town last week, I saw a Kildeer far from any water. And we have young geese (watch out for the hawks!) and wild turkeys about. And mosquitoes big time with all the #**! rain. And sometime is eating all the oak leaves AND the newly set out petunias. Sometimes being a gardener is for the birds. Ooops! They have all disappeared.

I have been getting a manuscript ready to send to a publisher who may or may not like it. Yesterday I did the dedication, acknowledgements, a one page bibliography of sources that "informed" the writing, and brief write-ups of the history and technology at the time of the novel. These days, you can't assume anyone know jackshit. Sorry, but it's true.

Can't wait to see the new Woody Allen movie, which doesn't explain all. You have to know who Tom, Ernie, Gertrude and Scott are. Do YOU?

Grapeshot, in a somewhat bad mood which will soon pass.

Last night's green guest

2011-05-21T08:45:00.000-07:00

Luna Moth resting on Window Sill

We're in the living room watching the Cubs/Red Sox game and I hear a noise against the window. "Eeek!" I say , "the hummingbird is trying to get inside." Nope, it's not my little birdie, but what is it? Significant Other thinks it's might be a small bat. Finally, we realize the critter is a bigass moth, a huge green moth, bigger than any I've ever seen. I pull the shade so the poor creature won't beat herself to death against the window.

This morning she's resting on the next window's sill, very still. Is she alive? We still don't know. Do not disturb is the watchword. When I googled "big green moth" her image popped up. Isn't the web grand? We don't have an insect book. You can read about her on Wikipedia at Luna Moth

The amazing thing is that just an hour before our green guest appeared, I was reading an article in the National Wildlife Magazine about keeping a "yard journal" with jottings, sketches and photos of all the wild life that appears in one's yard. And we have it in spades! What a great idea. And I can start with Ms. Moth. See the next post for more on our wildlife situation.

7 Suspenseful Sunday - May 15

2011-05-14T07:20:00.000-07:00

These sentences are from my stand-alone suspense novel in the final throes of polishing. The protag, Maxine is between a rock and a hard place.

Maxine peered around--no trees, not even a tumbleweed. If she got the children away from the tracks and lying down, maybe he would drive by. She unzipped the pocket and felt the nubby handle of the Smith & Wesson. This time she must screw up her courage. She tried to visualize the scene: the pickup, the dust, El Tigre climbing out, tramping toward them. His ferocious face, his incredible bulk, his horrific intention. She would hold the gun. . . aim at his body, right at the heart--shoot to kill.

Visit all the 7 Suspenseful Sentence Sunday authors at: 7 Suspenseful Sentence Sunday

Looking for a cool Kindle read? The Shadow Warriors, a novel of international intrigue with technology run amok. Here is the link: The Shadow Warriors on Amazon, Kindle and Trade Paperback