Cold Day Cooking

When the weather turns nasty, my thoughts go to the kitchen.  When I got up before the automatic thermostat upped the temperature in the house, I started to think of what I could cook.

I began with the apples my neighbor Elaine gave me yesterday.  I'll be picking more tomorrow with Evan and Those People He Lives With, but this was a good time to start.  Using the corer/slicer we got at a rummage sale last year, I quickly filled the trays of the dehydrator and turned it on.  It takes twelve hours to make dried apple chips, one of our favorite snacks, so I let it run all day and started a new batch tonight.

Then I checked the refrigerator, freezer and cupboards and found I had everything to make Kansas City steak soup, my all time favorite.  The ingredients went into the crock pot and that was left to work its magic, too. Tonight, individual servings are in our freezer.

On a whim, I made double chocolate brownies with walnuts, thinking I would freeze them, and I would have but every time Gary wanders through the kitchen, another one disappears.

For supper we had tuna casserole, made with my special white sauce, lots of tuna, peas and noodles. It isn't in my recipe description, but Gary claims it isn't real tuna casserole without being topped with potato chips and that required a separate trip to the grocery store.

I was going to finish the day with banana bread, but that will have to wait for another day when I am not tuckered out.  

See, I can be domestic!  Really!

First Short Story Posted!

I am pleased to announce that my short story, "The Rapture" has been posted on Black Coffee Fiction, the blog Wade Peterson and I set up this week, http://blackcoffeefiction.blogspot.com/

Wade reported that two days ago, we had received 90 "hits" so we assume that our stories are being read, which is, after all, the first goal of writers.  (The second goal is to be paid and we think that will come with time.)

I first began thinking about this blog when I was in Augusta, Montana, population 284.  The head librarian there had instituted a short story reading club, which fit more into the time constraints of most of her patrons who didn't have the time to read full length books each month   I liked the thought.

Short stories aren't published much any more.  Decades ago, almost every magazine had a short story section. Over the years they've disappeared.  Even Redbook discontinued its short story contest. This has left the Internet as one of the few places where one can regularly read short fiction. The problem is that most of the sites don't pay anything.  There is something truly awful about having a piece rejected by a publisher that wouldn't pay us anything anyhow. 

So Wade and I hatched the idea of doing our own blog.  This way we have total control over our work and in time, we can monetize the site and perhaps make a few dollars. Best of all, we are being read.  I often think of Emily Dickinson who wrote, "This is my letter to the world that never wrote to me."   These are the stories we want you to read.

At present, we each are writing a story every other week.  That means I must write 26 stories over the course of a year. I have a few stockpiled, but I can't wait until I run out. What this has given us is something we both require:  deadlines.  

We assume that after a year or so, we'll have enough stories for a collection or two.  Then we'll think about self-publishing. 

(Note that Wade and I are not editors, so we are not accepting submissions from writers other than those in our critique group.) '

Hey, we're being read!  Life is getting better and better.

Major Prize

When I got back from my storytelling tour towards the end of July, I signed up for the adult summer reading program at the Muehl Public Library here in Seymour.  I do this every summer, but this time, I was about six weeks late in starting.  I had to read six books centered around travel but in six different categories. It was easy though, because I read the books at Laura and Lost Lakes beside campfires.

The day I drove back from our campground at Lost Lake, I was able to stop at the library with my sixth book.  It was August 31st, the last day of the program.  I just squeaked in with my list.

Today, I picked up my prize for completing my books, a little notebook.  It fits in my purse, so I could use it for scribbling down ideas and reminders.  However, the cover is a design of stamps and stickers from foreign countries.  Perhaps I should save it for my next tour.

Notebooks are wonderful in so many ways.  I have them for journaling, listing, ideas, camping notes, all kinds of things.  There are stacks of filled journals in my closet so this was a perfect prize for this writer.

It was not the "major prize" from Jean Shepherd's "A Christmas Story" which is a relief since that was a plastic leg topped with a lampshade...and there is one of those on our head librarian's desk.

You never know what a major prize is going to be.

Lifeguards

I exercise in the "small" pool at the aquatic center, which is really a heated pool used mainly by us old timers during the day.  I often am the person in the pool, yet the rules require that I have a lifeguard.

The lifeguards are young people, either seniors in high school or college students. They change stations every fifteen minutes, and I am usually there about 45 minutes, so that means I get to talk to three of them almost every day.

I greet each one with, "What's new?"  I expect them to entertain me because face it, exercise is just plain boring. So they tell me their plans, about their boyfriends or girlfriends, about the cars they drive, the sports they play, and what they expect out of life.  

One young man has two sailboats, one he bought and one he just finished building.  He told me in the winter, he likes to sail iceboats on Green Bay. He plans on sailing around the world some day.

Another is going into the Marines in January. I worry about his future, but keep my concerns to myself.  One is just completing his EMT training and soon will be working with the fire department. An Oneida was working on the grants he can expect from the tribe. Casino money will pay for his education.

The girls tell me of the struggles to pay for their educations. They have so many choices to make, which universities to attend, which careers to pursue.  My generation opened doors for them.  I am glad to see them walking through.

Yesterday, two of the guards were having a push up contest to see how many they could do.  Every five minutes they did ten, which interrupted our conversations but amused me.  I am still not old enough to stop admiring muscular young men.

These hours at the pool keep me young.

Black Coffee Fiction

For a few years, I've been trying to write fiction, first in classes at Fox Valley Technical College in Appleton under the tutelage of Timothy Meier, then as part of a critique group meeting at the Copper Rock North.  The members have varied, but two of us, Wade Peterson and I, have stuck with it.  We've written dozens of short stories, but the markets for them have dried up over the years.  Still, we love the genre and keep up with it.

Finally, Wade and I decided that we would self-publish.  Today we launch our blog, "Black Coffee Fiction", at http://blackcoffeefiction.blogspot.com/

Our plan is to publish one short story a week which will appear on Monday mornings in time to be read at breakfast with a cup of coffee.  For the time being, we will swap weeks, first with Wade's story "Betty was a Race Car Driver".

Other members of our group will gradually join us, we hope.  We are not editors, however, so are not accepting submissions.

Check us out!

Shopping

I haven't been home much this summer.  While I was gone, things have been happening in my home town.

The new ShopKo chain store opened in Seymour today.  I went over to investigate but didn't find much to buy since there is nothing I need at the moment. Still, I am glad it is here for the few things I've had to get in the big city, sixteen miles away.

I can now get printer cartridges.  Before, I had to get in the car and drive to Walmart or an office supply place whenever I had a writing emergency.  Now those cartridges are a few blocks away.  ShopKo carries the shoes I  like and surprise of surprises, my favorite cappuccino mix is there, too, at a better price than I've seen before.

Downtown, I noticed some activity at Cheezy Jim's pizzaria which had closed when Jim died last summer.  I heard it was to be turned into a Chinese restaurant, but nothing had happened since early spring.  Today, I called over to the workmen who were installing a new side door.  The two were Chinese and spoke broken English, but they managed to communicate that the restaurant will open in a month.  I'm salivating already.

Another new addition to the community is a senior residency complex.  These apartments are open to those 55 and older.  Just across the street is an assisted living facility and just beyond that is the nursing home. One of my choir members moved into a senior residence apartment this week.  She'll still have a car and should be back singing in the choir once she's established.  

I wonder what else I missed while I was gone.

Packer Day

Another Packer day and I loved it.

I have no idea what team the Packers were playing nor did I care.  What I do liked was that almost all of the residents in Northeast Wisconsin were stationed in front of television sets and were not out and about.  On Packer days any activity is better.

I went swimming this afternoon in an almost empty pool at the aquatic center.  It was just me and the lifeguards having chats about colleges they plan on attending, parties they've been to, and whatever I have been up to.  My knee exercises go so much better when I can talk to them.  That almost never happens on the weekend but on Packer day, we talk and talk and talk.

Sometimes I go on hikes through nature centers on Packer day.  No worries about hunters with their guns.  They are all watching the Pack. Other than the leaves crunching under my feet, the forests are silent. I wallow in autumn.

Then comes the holiday shopping season.  The stores are crowded and tiresome...except when the Green Bay Packers are playing.  If there are any men around, they are stationed in front of television sets.  The few women are like me:  get in, grab your purchase, pay for it and get out.  I can do all my shopping in less than two hours, thanks to the Green Bay team.

Once a friend asked me why I don't watch the games.  I never watch anything but the last quarter, inning or period in any sport, I told her.  That's the only part that really counts.

"Oh," she said.  "You like to cut through all the crap."

She got that right.