Happy New Year!

Years ago, back in the 1970s, I was in a fancy Chicago club on New Year's Eve with a date.  The star attraction was Cher post-Sonny, pre-Moonlighting. I looked around me.  Everyone was obnoxiously drunk...and I wasn't. I had a drink now and then but never got tipsy. That's a terrible situation to be in. The drinkers were noisy and nasty.  I looked at Cher and could tell she wasn't having a good time either, struggling to be heard over the nightclub roar.

That was the day I decided New Year's Eve was not for me.  Since then I've made a point of staying home to get organized for the New Year instead of going out.

Today, I've set up a tax folder, put the 2012 photos and memorabilia in my scrapbook, set up my budget and goals for 2013.  Car maintenance dates and birthdays are on my new calendar.  I answered e-mails from months ago.  I wrote thank you notes.  I paid a couple of bills.  I laid out the tour dates for my Gulf tour.

As I approach midnight, I've finished everything  on my list.  Feels good.

Tomorrow, a new list.  I plan to clear the bulletin board, go through the filing cabinets and throw out old files. I'll plant the first forced daffodils for my indoor garden and set up a planting schedule.  I'll go through computer documents and delete old ones.  I'll save others on CDs.

So no hangover for me, just a great start to 2013.

Books

I watched another Bill Moyers program tonight on public television.  I admire Moyers for his intelligence and his grasp of the political world, but even more I admire him as an interviewer. Tonight, his subject was Junot Diaz, Pulitizer wining novelist, teacher and winner of the McArthur genius award. I was so impressed with the man, I went right to the library website to order his three books, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Drown, and his latest This is How You Lose Her.

It's always that way with Bill Moyers and with that other great interviewer Jon Stewart on Comedy Central's Daily Show.  Both of them read the books before they interview the authors. They ask brilliant questions that draw out even the shyest of interviewees.

Between them they introduce me to authors and books from around the world.  Not for these two the best selling novels, they select interesting subjects with something to say. I listen then go directly to the library website and order the books. Too many books.  Sometimes I can't finish them all, just get a taste.

One of the writers interviewed by both Moyers and Stewart was Doris Kearns Goodwin, Pulitzer prize historian who wrote Team of Rivals, the basis for the new movie by Steven Spielberg:  Lincoln.  

I've wanted to read Goodwin's book, but when there are waiting lists, and when the book is eight hundred pages of history long and with me so busy with other things, it didn't seem possible to get it done in the shortened loan period.

But to my surprise, I won Team of Rivals at the library Christmas raffle. Now I am working my way through the book.  It may take time, but the book is brilliant. I taught history and know a great deal about the Civil War, but Goodwin has done research and used sources none of the other biographers have touched.
I am so glad to have the book.

Homebound

Tonight, after a few days of gray skies in Illinois, I drove home to Seymour. I wanted to be home for New Year's Eve and New Year's Day because these are the days when I finish projects from the old year and set goals for the new year.  This would be impossible to do when I'm away from my files and computer.

Gary and I checked the weather forecasts in Dixon and Rockford in Illinois and in Beaver Dam and Seymour in Wisconsin.  It looked like more snow was on the way, but not until later in the day, so I made the decision to travel today. 

So as I drove here, I was running against time.  At Dixon, the skies were gray, but the roads were dry. By the time I drove past Rockford onto the toll road, it was sleet that hit me but not much and the highways remained clear.  Near Stoughton I stopped for lunch and noticed it was getting colder.  Instead of sitting down for lunch, I got a takeout and ate the sandwich as I drove. I flicked around radio stations to hear about the weather, but the roads remained clear all the way around Madison, past Beaver Dam, through tiny Rosendale and on to Oshkosh and Appleton.

At Appleton, I had to stop for gas.  The clerk told me her husband was a trucker and he was reporting bad weather in Wausau, west of us.  I kept on moving.

At Skunk Hollow, the snow began to come down.  It was wet, sloppy stuff, the kind that leads to black ice. There were few people on the road.  I slowed way down and crept into my hometown.  I stopped at the supermarket for Rascal's usual treat, broasted chicken breast which I shared with him for dinner.

For a brief hour, the sky cleared and for the first time in days, I watched our golden sun as it set in the west.  Then the gray skies returned.

I am home. For the next few days, let it snow. I'll be here in my little house with Rascal, working on 2013. 

Tending to Shirley

Today Gary had the flu so it was up to me to visit his Aunt Shirley. She has had at least one daily visitor since she collapsed in November.

She is in the hospital in Dixon as the staff try to build up her strength. There seems to be little wrong with her physically, but she is losing weight and is often dehydrated. She told me today she wants to go to sleep and die and that she wishes she had never been born. I told her the first would happen some day, but I wouldn't accept the never being born bit. “Who would have taken care of Gary when he was little?” That started her on memories of Gary as a toddler. He was quite a handful which is why his parents had her help out. Shades of “It's a Wonderful Life.”

I'm used to sitting with elderly folks in hospitals and nursing homes. Years ago, I was part of a group who volunteered to sit with the dying at the Good Shepherd Home. Our services would be requested when the family members couldn't be there, sometimes because there was no family or if the family lived too far away or the family was so small it was overstretched. This usually meant we were called at night to sit by the bedside and talk as needed or to read as the patient slept. If the patient was comatose, I would sing old hymns and lullabies.

So this afternoon I sat quietly working on this computer when Shirley was sleeping. When she was awake, she told me stories. When she went for a procedure I went along. I wrote down all the results from blood pressure to her swallowing tests. I commiserated about the terrible taste of barium, and made sure she was covered up properly as she slept.

She had a visitor while she slept and we chatted. I sent an e-mail to Gary to tell him how things were going and what I had learned from the nurses. He passed on the messages to his sister in Jamaica.

I was going home tomorrow but the weather forecast is not promising, Gary is still down with the flu and Aunt Shirley needs company. I may stay another day.

Meanwhile, at Black Coffee Fiction ( http://blackcoffeefiction.blogspot.com ) Wade has posted another one of his odd stories “The Interview”. Think I was naughty when I killed one cat in my last story? Wade is worse. It's good that no animals are harmed in the writing of these stories.

Daylight

If I were in Seymour, I would have only eight hours and 51 minutes of daylight this seventh day after the winter solstice. As I count down to spring, I wait anxiously for each additional minutes of sunlight but by the end of this month, I'll only see a gain of three minutes.

Yesterday, I drove to join Gary in Illinois. In driving south, I gained an additional eighteen minutes of daylight, but with overcast weather, I haven't seen any sun and tomorrow snow is forecast. Still a gain is a gain.

At the end of January I will be here in Dixon again. By that time, this part of Illinois will have about ten hours of daylight. Even better, I will keep on driving south for a southern tour. At Pass Christian, Mississippi, the sun will shine for ten hours and 45 minutes and with dawn and dusk, that will be extended to almost eleven and a half hours. With a long day and the warmer Gulf breezes, I should be able to pitch my tent and enjoy the evenings on the beach.

These winter trips south help me keep my sanity and hold off seasonal affective disorder...at least for a while.

Boxing Day

'Tis the day after Christmas.  I finally was able to hit the road to Dixon, Illinois and wished I had managed the  trip early on Christmas Day when people were mostly where they wanted to spend the day.

On the day after, or Boxing Day as the Brits call it, everyone here in the US seemed to be on their way home. I was passed by cars bearing license plates from the Deep South:  Florida, Georgia, Alabama.  The truckers were out in force, too, trying to make up for lost miles.  On a good driving day I would be able to set the speed using cruise control, but today was a knuckle whitening day with both hands firmly grasping the steering wheel.

Finally I am here with Gary in the farm house.  The longer he stays here, the nicer it gets though he really should consider throwing things away.  (Note to self: forget that idea.)

We visited Aunt Shirley in the hospital.  She now must be watched all the time because she tries to tear off her IV and escape.  The doctors and nurses are doing their best to build up her strength but she wants none of it.  Sometimes it is time and she seems to want the end to come soon.  Yet there isn't anything really wrong with her other than she is 92.

Tomorrow will be another day.  I volunteered to sit with Aunt Shirley for a couple of hours and listen to her stories, most of which I have heard, but it something I can do to help.

Gary still hasn't opened his present.  It is a calendar with photos of our favorite camping spots. I give him one every year.

"Why don't you open it?" I ask.

"I know how it ends."

Which is the truth. 

Merry Christmas!

There are two days of the year that I set aside for doing as little as possible:  Christmas and my birthday. Those are days I watch old DVDs, read humorous books, and take long naps. I eat what I want, no matter how bad for my constitution.  There are 363 days to be ambitious, but not on my two big holidays.

This year, Christmas Day was to be different.  The plan was for me to drive five hours down to Dixon, Illinois to join Gary, taking with me a Christmas dinner.  No lazing about.

I woke up with an ague this  Christmas morning after a long night's bout with insomnia. There is no way I will be driving anywhere.

Instead, if health permits, I will join Gary on Boxing Day.

So here I am, not feeling that well.  Nothing to do but watch old DVDs, read humorous books, and take several naps.

Merry Christmas to all!

Christmas Eve

I had my Christmas after all.  Chris, Tisha and Evan were able to come here for our traditional Christmas Eve.  Evan was still out of sorts, lethargic.  His appetite was poor so he didn't eat much of the meal I had prepared. Later, all he wanted to do was sit in the living room to watch cartoons and play video games.  He wasn't up to decorating the sugar cookies I baked yesterday, so Tisha and I did that job instead.

We exchanged gifts.  My favorite is always the calendar Tisha prepares for me each year with photos of Evan.  This year I showed up, too, hugging Evan in front of the Christmas tree, showing him my keyboard, sitting with him on the platform at the Shiocton marsh, watching him collect Easter eggs, decorating Christmas eggs.  It is a reminder of what a good year we had. And always pictures of that dear, dear little face.

Chris drove us to the cemetery where once again, Tisha charged over snowbanks to place our Christmas candle on my parents' grave.  Two days ago I had been there and thought no one could accomplish that but nothing stops my excellent daughter-in-law.

We did a little shopping:  fever medication for Evan, dish detergent for me, mending tape for the badges on Evan's Cub Scout shirt.  The stores will be closed tomorrow so we needed to do our shopping today.

Next we went to the children's Christmas service at the United Methodist Church.  Evan was not feeling well enough to sit with the other children at the front of the church but when the pastor quizzed them about the Christmas story, there was one little voice at the back of the church who called out the answers when no one else could.

Afterwards we drove around looking at the Christmas lights, especially the many at the museum on Depot Street, then we drove past the cemetery to make sure that candle was lit. Then I sent my little family home. Tomorrow is a big day for that little boy.

And that was my Christmas. Tonight, I am watching the old Alistair Sims portrayal of Scrooge and planning my journey to meet Gary in Illinois tomorrow.  The Christmas lights are glowing.  I drink herbal tea and think about the year to come.

Christmas Interrupted

This was not the Christmas I expected or planned for.

First, right before Thanksgiving, Gary had to go to Illinois to take care of his aunt and the family farm. I was left here to decorate for the holidays.  Usually, he does the lights and my work comes after with the ornaments. I was on my own.

Next, there was my annual Winter Solstice Party.  I invited everyone I knew, cleaned, decorated and cooked.  Then came the blizzard, and I had a turkey, a ham and plenty of other food for the three friends  that were able to get here.

So for the past two days, I've been taking all that leftover food and figuring out ways to use it.  I made turkey noodle soup, turkey sandwiches, turkey on salad, and finally, ground up the rest into treats for Rascal. I prepared the ham for scalloped potatoes, setting some aside for bean and potato soups.    

There was still Christmas Eve to come with Evan and Those People He Lives With.  I had already bought some presents and this morning baked sugar cookies to decorate with my little grandson.  This afternoon I drove to Oshkosh to meet my best friend Norma who joined me in shopping for last minute gifts for Evan.

It was right after I dropped her off at her sister's house when I got a cell phone call while waiting for a freight train to go by.  It was son Chris who called to tell me that Evan has the flu and he isn't sure they could come tomorrow for our usual Christmas Eve. Instead of supper here, church services, trading gifts and a trip to the cemetery to light a candle with my little family,  I may drive to Appleton to deliver Evan's presents.

Then on Christmas Day I'll drive to Illinois and Gary...if the weather permits.

It feels like Christmas Interrupted. Gary says think about next year.  

Attribution from Snopes

Friends on Facebook often post things and ask the rest of us to share by re-posting.  The problem is that these tidbits are not always what they seem to be.  Before I re-post anything, I check it out on the marvelous urban legend web site www.snopes.com

Today someone posted something by George Carlin.  Except George Carlin never wrote it. Snopes revealed the essay,The "The Paradox of Our Time", was written by Jeff Dickson in 1998.   It was a great piece and sounded like Carlin, but no, it wasn't his. Carlin himself denied over and over that he wrote it, but it keeps wandering around the Internet with his name affixed.  Even odder, along the way someone added a bit of grunge that might have been written by Erma Bombeck or maybe even Helen Steiner Rice.  Carlin material?  Absolutely not. 

So I posted a reply to the sender revealing the truth.  I've done this before.  It is always resented.  "Why not send it on?' they ask.  The friend thought it was a nice touching piece.  What harm could it do? 

What harm?  We live in a media world full of misinformation. People listen to Fox News and find web sites that agree with whatever they want to believe. They listen to people who stretch the truth for a living. I don't want to contribute to it.   

Besides, I taught English, worked as a librarian and for years was a journalist. Checking sources becomes a habit.  I want attribution before I share anything.  

The people who get the angriest with me, as it happens, are writers, librarians and teachers.  Shouldn't they be at the forefront of correcting errors, misconceptions and outright untruths?  

I think the Mickelsons at Snopes are heroes valiantly struggling to keep the Internet honest.  

 

Solstice

Last night, I didn't clean up or do the dishes after my party on the chance the Mayans were right.  They were wrong, it seems.  We're still here so I spent the day freezing up food and hiding the cookies from myself.

It is the Winter Solstice, however, the shortest day of the year and the beginning of my winter depression which will begin the day after Christmas.  I hold on by taking Vitamin D3 and St. John's wort, using a light board and thinking about spring.

I began my spring countdown on Facebook two years ago and my friends liked it.  So today I announced it was 90 days until the spring equinox.  The 21st marks the shortest day of the year.  Here in Seymour the sun rose at 7:27 am and set at 4:16 pm. meaning we had 8 hours and 49 minutes of daylight.  If it were true daylight it would not be so bad, but our winter days are often cloudy and gray if not filled with snowstorms. Add to that the cold that keeps us inside and not out exercising.  

Not much changes through December.  We will gain only four minutes of daylight in this month.  January is better. By January 31 we will have another hour of sunshine.

This year, I will gain some time outside by heading south and doing a small tour in Mississippi, with a possible foray into Alabama.  Today, I found more work so the trip is a go.  I will drive down to Dixon, Illinois first to spend time with Gary before going south.  It is my plan to camp in some of the national forests if the weather permits.  By keeping housing costs down, the trip is affordable plus I really do like camping.  I am working with the national forest service to select my campgrounds.

There will an extra hour of sunlight in Mississippi and more important, warmer weather. I've done these winter tours before and they do make the winter more livable.  When I return it will only be a little over forty days until spring.  That's do-able.

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Today, Bettyann Moore added "The Old Man", her latest short story to Black Coffee Fiction http://blackcoffeefiction.blogspot.com

I seem to have a bad affect on Betty and Wade Peterson, who both have been adding to our collection of depressing Christmas tales.  By next December we expect to have another collection of short stories.

I also am well on my way to re-publishing Yesterday's Secrets, Tomorrow's Promises, a romance novel I originally published as an e-book at Amazon.com under another name.  Unfortunately, I made some errors, and I want to correct them.  I hope to have that done by mid-January and then make it a paperback.

The Storm

The blizzard came exactly as predicted with around 10 inches of snow.  Next door neighbor Scott ran his snowblower down the sidewalk early in the morning, but then he had to go to work so for the rest of the day, the shoveling was up to me.  I did it carefully, doing ten to fifteen minutes of shoveling at a time to avoid back strain or a heart attack.  I was still shoveling at 5:00 pm when Scott was back.  It was a great relief because the city snow plows had closed in the driveway. That kind of wet snow is heavy and it is even heavier when compacted by the plows.  Scott quickly dealt with it and we agreed that I could call on him this winter while Gary is gone.

During the day, I vacillated on what to cook for my Solstice Party, since the roads were so bad. At one point in the afternoon, I was in despair, wondering if there would be any gathering at all, but I ate a couple of snickerdoodles with a cup of hot chocolate and all was right in my world again. How could I get upset when we will have a white Christmas after all?  I listened to music on the stereo all day and watched my little world turn magical.

In the end, I never made the scones, did little about vegetables, but did cook up ham and turkey on the theory that I could use them as leftovers and cook them up into something this next week.  Rascal was in heaven with good smells for him to enjoy all day.

It was a small gathering.  The Manzkes reported they wouldn't dig out until tomorrow.  The Greggs said the same. The Green Bay and Appleton folks I warned off. So can you believe that Doris drove all the way from DePere anyhow?  Colette and Elaine were there, too, and that made four of us.  We talked for hours.

Next year, another attempt at a Solstice Party...unless I cave and do an Equinox Party instead.   

Snickerdoodles

The blizzard warnings are dire. The Seymour school district almost never has snow days, but the they have already cancelled schools for tomorrow and it hasn't even began to snow yet.

I am moving ahead with tomorrow night's Solstice party whether anyone comes or not. There is sure to be someone who shows up.  We've been through ice storms, flu seasons, and heavy rains.  Someone always comes anyhow.

It's no big deal for me to get ready since our little family will be celebrating on Monday night. Today I got groceries including a nice sized ham.  I've defrosted a turkey breast. The ham will be baked in the morning and sliced by tomorrow night.  The turkey will be roasted and ready by 6:00 pm. The leftover turkey will go into turkey soup.  Leftover ham will be used for scalloped potatoes, potato soup and bean soup.

Tonight I boiled eggs so I can make deviled eggs at a moment's notice.  I have the table ready.

But the biggest decision was making the snickerdoodles.  They are just about the best cookies ever.  When I got out the ingredients this afternoon, I remembered that I used the last cream of tartar last Christmas. Was that a sign that I should not make cookies?  It's no way to lose weight.  Was the blizzard a sign that snickerdoodles should not be in the picture?

I expressed my doubts on Facebook, but my friends (especially the women) told me to go to the supermarket right away and get that cream of tartar. Gary told me to pray for strength and stay at home.

I made four dozen snickerdoodles.  

Well Laid Plans

Over a month ago, I began inviting friends to my yearly party, the One Size Fits All Winter Solstice Sing for Your Supper Party and Precursor to the Mayan End of the World. The date was set for December 20th, or this coming Thursday.  A good sized contingent sent acceptances.  It looked to be a lively party.  I cleaned and decorated the house and made out a menu.

So much for plans. A blizzard is likely to deposit 8-12 inches of snow starting Wednesday night.  Now the problem is...do I cancel?  Many of the people live here in Seymour.  Then there are some who will show up no matter what the weather.  And maybe the storm won't be as bad as forecast, or will be over by say, noon, giving the highway department a chance to clear the roads.  And to tell the truth, I can't remember everyone I invited so I can't exactly cancel.

After thinking it over, I decided on a new menu, a sort of cook it as they come series of courses. There will be appetizers at 6:00, turkey breast and trimmings later on. Turkey breast is a good leftover. Next, if necessary, there will be a ham if needed. I bought the ham for Christmas Eve but I can always get another.
There will be popcorn, caramel corn, peanuts, cookies and candy.  There's plenty of stuff in the refrigerator and freezer, things like frozen pizza, stir fries, vegetable soup.

The Sing for Your Supper part of the invitation states that the attendees much perform, be it music, a story, a piece of art.  Those who opt out of that can bring food instead.  That usually means something like fruit, vegetables, or chips.  So there should be enough food.

If it is indeed a really bad blizzard and no one comes, I'll have plenty of food on hand for the holidays.  On Christmas Eve, Chris, Tisha and Evan will be here.  On Christmas Day I will drive to Dixon, Illinois to Gary in his farmhouse.  I'll have a big cooler of leftovers for him.

Unless, of course, the Mayans were right.  Then I have no problem at all.

Frustration

Back in January 2011, I self-published an e-book, Yesterday's Secrets, Tomorrow's Promises, a romance so trashy I published it under a nom de plume.  It took me a week of frustration and tinkering before I got the thing done and even then it was filled with typographical errors and one big error in logic.  It was my first experiment in self-publishing and I never got around to fixing the problems.

I thought I would do that this week and get the e-book in good order then publish a paperback version in time for Valentine's Day. As usual, there is a help desk that you can e-mail but the chance of getting an any useful information is zero.  I even wrote a snail mail some time ago, but no answer there either. Telephones?  They don't exist.

I found a set of instructions and set to work. First on the list was to go to my account but somewhere along the line, Amazon.com and I lost track of each other. I haven't gotten a report of any sales in a year and I can't access my files. I spent two hours this morning trying everything to do so and got nowhere. I have yet to get to the files.

When Wade and I published Black Coffee Fiction, he did all the publishing work because he is much better on computers than I am. Even he got frustrated.  He told me he took to screaming at the computer screen!  That is exactly what I did when I published the romance.  I decided I would try to do this book on my own.  Screaming has already become part of the process.

I'll give it another try tomorrow, but if after a week I haven't repaired the e-book, I will forget about it and just publish the paperback.  The instructions for that look a little easier.

Concerts

On New Year's Day, PBS always broadcasts a concert of waltzes by the Vienna Philharmonic. Years ago, it was hosted by Walter Cronkite and lately by Alec Baldwin.

This year it will be more meaningful to me because I will be there...at least in my imagination.

I've been walking on a map for decades now, marking the miles I walk each week on maps.  I began in Seymour, headed west and kept on going.  My trek has taken me south to Texas, west to California, up to Alaska, across the Bering Strait to Siberia and all across Russia into Europe.  As of today, I have 29 miles to walk to reach the center of Vienna.

If I average a mere two miles a day, figuring breaks for holidays and bad weather, I should arrive in Vienna in time to enjoy the concert. I call that timing.
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A Seymourite informed me that people are angry with me this year, but assured me that he was defending me.  My great crime?  The lack of a Christmas concert this year.

For over twenty years, I worked on an ecumenical Christmas concert with around 100 singers.  I began working on it in August all the way through the concert and beyond.  I was the chair, the publicist, the stage manager and the treasurer.  We gave wonderful concerts and gave thousands of dollars to our local nursing home.

In time, we aged, dwindled and finally called it quits. At that point, I revived the United Methodist Concert and that went on for a few more years. In May I quit as choir director and that was that. No concert in Seymour this year.

What bothers me is that after thirty years of volunteer work, I am getting not thank-yous, but blame for not continuing to work on all the projects from tree planting to putting up posters. I am 68 and intend to finish my life as a writer.

The way I see it, if the community needs that a concert, someone else should step up and take over the task.

Bread, Books and Enchildads

We were about to run out of bread so I decided I had better bake some. I had already started when Gary woke up and asked if I would like to go out for breakfast.  Sorry, I said, I'd already eaten, besides I had that bread to contend with.  "Go ahead," I told him and off he went to Kary's Restaurant out on Highway 54.   

I finished the bread off and went to work on another writing project.  I have so much to do before the end of the year if I want to meet my 2012 goals. 

This afternoon we held our local writers' book signing at Sissy's.  We enjoyed our customers and each other, ate desserts and had tea and coffee.  In the photo, two customers talk to Colette Bezio, Wade Peterson and Susan Manzke.  Janice Kaat had to work late so wasn't in the photo. She came in later.

In the end we all sold some books and went home with money in our pockets. In addition, another customer came in and asked us if we would like to do another book signing in August. It will be held here in Seymour, so we agreed.  By then I expect to have two other books to sell.

Chris, Tisha and Evan came to the signing, too.  I had already given Tisha her book but she wanted Wade and I to sign it.  While she was at it, she bought Colette's book for Evan.

Afterwards, Gary joined us for a second round of eating at Kary's Restaurant.  Kary's family are Mexican-Americans so even though the menu includes American cuisine, I always order from the Mexican page and am well pleased.

It was a day of literature and food.  What could be better?

Of Cats and Christmas

Gary is home for a few days but is concerned about his Aunt Shirley's cats, Mommy and Lily.  They are farm  cats who live in the chicken coop, but in the short while he has been staying on that Illinois farm he has become fond of them.  Lily is not all that friendly but Mommy warmed to Gary right away.

So, to come here for a few days, Gary talked his sister and his niece into taking his place.  They will visit Aunt Shirley in the nursing home, continue to clear some of the years of "collecting" from the house, and give the two cats some attention.  On Monday, Gary will go back and resume his duties.

How do these cats train us?  Rascal is certainly in charge in this house.  He decides what time I have to get up since the whole point of my rising from bed is to give him his breakfast. This is followed by his hairball medicine which he expects daily. He also has to have a treat for lunch and at night he has to have a share of whatever I am having for dinner.  Tonight it was fish.

Around nine in the evening he begins to tell me that it is time for me to go to bed because he wants to go upstairs with me to snuggle.

This morning he was being particularly bossy, meowing a plaintive half-Siamese yowl over and over while I was trying to write a short story for Black Coffee Fiction http://blackcoffeefiction.blogspot.com There soon was a cat in the story, a half-Siamese cat who made a nuisance of himself on Christmas morning.

As Rascal kept bothering me, I became more and more irritated.  Writing is difficult enough without that constant MEEEEEOOOOOOOWWWWW.  Finally, I locked him out of the office but I could still hear a distant meeeeoooowwwww through the door.

When I get angry with someone I often put them into one of my stories....and kill them off.  It's all fiction, but it can be so satisfying.  I was now angry with Rascal so it was inevitable that the cat in the story came to a bad end.

If you want to find out what I did to that cat, read "A Perfect Christmas" at Black Coffee Fiction.  It's one of a series of depressing Christmas stories for people who hate the holidays.  By next winter I'll have enough for a book.

Keep in mind that I actually love Christmas...and Rascal is still alive.  

Use By Soup

As the year winds down, I take inventory of my goals, my projects, my life, but also of my kitchen cupboards. I check the expiration dates.  In a very few cases, there are things that must be thrown out, but there are also some things that need to be used up very soon.

Today, I made what I call "Use By Soup". In the cupboard were the following:
one can of chili
two cans of cream of mushroom soup (bought to make a sauce, I think)
one can of tomato soup
one can of diced tomatoes
one can of sliced potatoes (canned potatoes comes in handy on camping trips)
one can of mustard greens (why those were there I have no idea)
one can of green beans
one can of creamed corn (I figured its sweetness would balance the bitterness of the mustard greens)

What they all had in common was that the expiration dates had just passed or were about to.

Into the big soup pan they went.  I added onions and okra from my garden, the very last bit of cabbage from the farmers market, some carrots and celery close to going bad, some garlic cloves, and one potato I found at the bottom of the bin. I threw in some herbs, including farmers market basil that I had dried.

The soup simmered all day and tonight I had it for supper and deemed it incredibly good. I doubt that I will ever replicate it.  Twelve individual containers are now in the freezer, good nourishing food made from things that I could have thrown away.

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Tonight there is supposed to be a meteor shower, so I went for a walk, but with all of Seymour's lights I couldn't see any shooting stars.  Instead, I wandered around town looking at the holiday displays until I got to the Seymour museum and the memorial trees.  Families donate and decorate trees in memory of those who have gone before.  Most are for parents but sadly one or two are for the children who died too young.  It is a forest of trees, much nicer than a cemetery, I thought. Every year there are more. All of Depot Street is awash in Christmas lights. I take visitors over to see them during the holiday season.

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Wade e-mailed the good news that we have earned our first royalties from our Black Coffee Fiction e-book. My share isn't much, no more than three ice cream cones at Sissy's, but it is only the first. Next month's royalties will include the print version as well.  These small monthly checks will be welcome.

We will be signing books on Saturday at Sissy's on North Main Street in Seymour from 3-5 pm but anyone can order the book from Amazon.com
http://www.amazon.com/Black-Coffee-Fiction-Stories-Volume/dp/1480131571
  

Winter Birds

This morning, my cat Rascal was on my lap sleeping.  My feet were up on the desk and there was no way to work on the computer.  The Toni Morrison book I've been reading was upstairs beside my bed.  The sudoku puzzle was out of reach.  I was listening to Christmas music on the stereo. 

Rascal does not take kindly to being disturbed when he has a good napping spot. There was nothing to do but sit still and look out the window to watch the birds at the feeders.  

The robins, hummingbirds, house wrens and starlings are no longer hanging out in our backyard.  The mourning doves and house sparrows are always here, but now the winter birds have returned. In the course of the morning, I saw both downy and hairy woodpeckers, red-breasted and white breasted nuthatches, cardinals, goldfinches, chickadees, house finches, blue jays, and dark eyed juncos. 

My old friend, the red-bellied woodpecker is back after two years away.  Dan, the city's all around handyman, claims that the bird has been in his yard and that the only reason he returned here is that Dan has been too busy to keep his feeders filled. 

Winter and cold weather brings the birds to us, that and the many seed-laden plants in my back yard. Most of the neighbors carefully clear their yards, but I like the look of the colorful birds with the backdrop of the snow covered shrubs.  

It is good of Rascal to slow me down enough to enjoy what goes on right outside the window.  Lovely. 

Candlelight

After a warmer than average fall, the temperatures are dropping here in Wisconsin. Winter is on us. 

The trick is to trick myself into thinking the house is warmer than it is and that calls for candles. Over the summer I visit rummage and garage sales looking for them. I don't care if they are so old the scent is gone.  It is the flickering flames I need in the winter. 

This summer I came up with two 50 count bags of tea lights and a dozen large jar candles at rummage sales.  I found a dozen smaller jar candles on clearance at a retail store for 25 cents each. That's enough candles to keep me going into February at least.   

We set the temperature very low at night. I am the first up.  Until the furnace kicks into high gear, I wear a sweatsuit over long underwear topped with a jacket. The first thing I do is to walk around the house lighting candles that will burn until the sun comes up. A good cup of tea to warm my hands and I can work on this computer. 

Around the time the sun is shining, the furnace kicks in and soon after, I blow out the candles.  

In the evening I do the same, using the tea lights that burn for a little over two hours.  I put them in ceramic holders that hold the warmth.  When the candles burn out, it's time for bed. By then I've had an electric blanket heating up the bed.  I crawl in, turn the blanket off and I'll be warm until the next morning.  

With a little bit of planning, the heat bills are low.  I'll survive until spring. 

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I am on Twitter now.  You can find me by going to Colleen Sutherland@MathomGardens.  I am new at this and I'm not sure that anyone really wants to read more than this daily blog.  I'm on Facebook as well.  

Shoveling

I woke up early this morning to go out and shovel snow.  That's something Gary usually does but I guess I can use the exercise.

I wanted to get the sidewalks done early because once the school children go by they trample on the newly fallen snow. Not only does that make it more difficult to shovel it leads to icy pavement.  By seven, I had the the path shoveled and salted.  Then I had breakfast but was out working again soon after.

Around eight I had the driveway cleared and went back inside to do some computer work but by 10 I had to have the deck and steps done so that my mail would be delivered.   I have an ergonomic shovel to make the job easier on my back, but I don't like to push too hard.  If I throw out my back, shoveling would become impossible. So I do incremental shoveling.

About the time I finished my neighbor Scott came home from his factory shift.  He got out his snowblower and did his property.  That seemed a little excessive to me, since we only had 2 or 3 inches of snow.  I've observed that guys just love those first two or three snow falls because they can get out their machines and make a lot of noise. One of the problems with those infernal noisemakers is that they leave a film of snow behind that turns to ice.  Sure enough, later that day, I walked downtown and couldn't use the sidewalks. Instead I used the roads, watching carefully for traffic.  I had a choice of slipping on an icy sidewalk and breaking some part of my body or being hit by a speeding car.  I opted for listening for traffic.

I managed to walk three miles today and most of the time I was on the streets. There's a long winter ahead and more snowstorms, but I don't intend to let it stop me.

Snow and Soup

With snow coming in fast from Minnesota, I had no plans to leave Mathom House this morning.  It was soup day.

I still had squash from Seymour's farmers market.  Squash is a wonderful vegetable that stores beautifully, but it is December, time to cook it.  I had delicious squash soup at Sissy's and thought that would be the best thing to make. Sandy told me a little about the recipe but I have a terrible memory so all I remembered was that it contained chicken broth and I had plenty of that in the cupboard.

No problem, I could Google a recipe. However, when I began to search through the many recipes I found that all required butternut squash and chicken broth, that was certain, but all the recipes required items I didn't have on hand.  As usual, I would be making up my own version, using this and that.

I was supposed to core, peel and cube the squash and boil it, but I like baking it because it is so much easier to peel plus the oven warms up the house.  After about 90 minutes the squash was done.  I put it in a pan with two cans of chicken broth and a chopped up onion. I remembered that some of the recipes called for garlic.  I didn't have that but I had some garlic and pepper powder that Gary puts on almost everything. I added a liberal dose.  Marjoram would add something, I thought  That went in, too.

I let that simmer for a couple of hours then remembered something about cream cheese.  Eight ounces went into the pot for another hour of simmering.

Finally, I was supposed to put it all through a blender but mine broke a few years ago.  I tried a hand mixer but the soup was still lumpy.  I found a battery operated hand held blender in the back of a drawer and used that instead (miracle of miracles, the batteries were still good) until the soup was smooth.

The soup was wonderful, smooth and so rich it was like eggnog.  I divided it into smaller portions to freeze.

Then I went out to shovel snow.

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Old cat Rascal has been sleeping under the Christmas tree.  When he wakes up refreshed and feeling like a kitten, he bats ornaments off the trees.  But I know his tricks by now, so all the decorations he can reach are unbreakable. Re-decorating is my first job of the morning.

Home Alone

With Gary in Illinois, and likely to be there for some time, I'm alone here in this house. Not lonely, however.

I lived alone for years so I am used to that, certainly more used to living with a man.  Gary, too, lived a solitary existence before he came to this house.  We adapted by having separate offices on different floors.

Still, he was always around. This week I came to the realization that I liked having the place to myself.  Gary is a packrat and stuff kept spreading.  I like simplicity. Having so many things in the rooms made me feel claustrophobic. I avoided the living and dining rooms almost entirely. The kitchen was becoming almost unworkable.

Since Gary is gone for now, I set about doing a clearance. I cleared out the tools he left lying about, threw out newspapers and magazines, and put dishes and pots we weren't using in bins. I took out the extra leaf in the dining room table so the room isn't so crowded.  

The most important thing was to clear the floors so I can walk through a room without fear of tripping on things.

All of Gary's things are now in boxes in his basement or in his office.  Eventually, I suppose he can sort things out.  But for now, the house is more comfortable....at least in my opinion.

The house is ready for my yearly solstice party.  

Planning for 2013

It's been a happy day.

Yesterday, after weeks of looking, I found the 2013 calendar I wanted, exactly like 2012's.

On the right side is my list of things to accomplish that day. Nineteen check marks is about right. On the left side is where I write my calories during the day.  If there are any specific appointments I need to make, they are noted in the area by the date.

Each morning as I wake up I do the Sudoku puzzle.  By the time I finish it, I've had my first cup of tea, meditated a while on the quote of the day and am ready for the day.

Today I began by marking upcoming trips and performances.  By New Year's Eve, I'll have jotted   birthdays, car maintenance schedules and deadlines down.  Yes, I am pleased with the calendar.

Today was also the day I finished every bit of decorating.  I found strings of lights I didn't remember and put them on the honeysuckle bush outside. I gave up on the fiber optics trees because the rotating disks didn't work. Instead I used the extra lights on them.   I figured out how to use the timers so that the lights go on automatically.

Tonight, I walked the streets of Seymour looking at the lights.  Tomorrow night I'll be out again, but there could be snow which makes Christmas that much lovelier.  Another joy.

Finally, Wade Peterson filed his latest short story, "The Envy of the Neighborhood"  at Black Coffee Fiction http://blackcoffeefiction.blogspot.com  When we started the blog, I was writing my "seriously depressing Christmas stories" for people who hate Christmas.  Wade's initial reaction was that I was crazy but then he began to write them himself.  Today's is setting the bar high.  How will I top this one next week?

The funny thing is that although we write these stories, we both love Christmas, the season, the lights, the music, the whole shebang.

In a week, on December 15, we'll be holding our last book signing of the year at Sissy's Treats and Treasures. We hope to see some of our local readers there to talk books, enjoy the charm of Seymour's own coffee shop, and wish us a Merry Christmas.

Endurance

Years ago, when I was in my late 20s, my mother told me that I should have my children while I was young enough to enjoy them.

My older sister who was sitting nearby. Her four children were tearing around their grandparents house screaming. Karen was pregnant with her fifth. She looked exhausted.

“Is that true,” I asked her.

“No,” she said. “You have to have your children while you're young enough to endure them.”

I was thirty when Chris was born and sixty when he presented me with my only grandchild.

Tonight, I was babysitting with Evan while his parents were at a company party. It was literacy night at Highland Elementary School.. It was up to Grandma to take Evan to the event. Highland School is only a little more than a block from Evan's house. Even before he was conceived, Chris and Tisha picked out this house because they knew that Evan could walk to school and that is what we did on a warm starry night. At least I walked. At seven Evan is a little dynamo. He tore ahead of me to the corner. He waited until I reached him, crossed and tor ahead to the school.

I was tired just watching him.

The school served a simple lunch of hot dogs, vegetables and fruit. Evan went manic on me, running around with other boys, with me chasing him down to finish his lunch. His teacher sat down and talked with me. Evan had had a bad day at school, combining word sounds to make new words and coming up with “swears”. But we agreed that he was a smart boy, top of his class. He's an excellent reader and good at math, too. There's a lot of his father in him, I told her, and he turned out fine. I have faith in Evan.

We had a sing-a-long with the children in theory taking turns at the mic, but instead the boys crowded around and belted out the songs. Loudest of all was Evan, but I didn't mind because he was right in tune.

Next came a chance for the children to make trail mix following a recipe they had to read. Evan was first in line which was a shame because then he had nothing else to do but wrestle around with his friends. Before I knew what was happening, he had bounced over to another group of children that were doing a climbing exercise on the wall. I had to rush over to get him back to his own group.

I was tiring out.

When it was finally his group's turn to go to the climbing wall, he was right at the front of the line again. He climbed like a monkey then came back in line to do it again. I let him stand in line because it kept him busy though this tricky grandmother knew he wasn't supposed to get another turn. He enjoyed waiting this time because his friends were with him. They told silly jokes from a joke book he liked. He is a comedian in training. I tell Chris that he has a young Robin Williams on his hands.

Finally we were led into a room where a reading instructor explained to parents how to teach children to read, showing them strategies. Evan had let every other child go before him because he had figured out that there wouldn't be enough chairs so he would be allowed to sit on the teacher's swivel chair and turn it around and around and around until I put a stop to that.

There was a smart board in the room, which is essentially a big, big computer screen. The instructor showed all the tricks: putting a list on the screen, marking it with a “magic pen” that uses no ink and erasing the whole thing with her hand.

Evan was so excited. He wanted to play with this new technology. I was impressed that he later talked the instructor into letting him try it and was able to find new things to do with it.

There there was one more exercise, but I said, no, it was time to go home. Evan has a strict bedtime. Besides, I was winding down myself. We collected our free book and walked home. I rushed him along so fast I forgot my gloves and hat but it was a warm evening and I hadn't exactly spent a fortune on them.

We still had to get him in his pajamas, and of course there was reading time. I read him a Pokemon book and we started a second, a Batman book, this time taking turns on the paragraphs. He reads precisely and with great expression.

Now he is asleep and I may soon be myself if Chris and Tisha don't come back soon. It is past my bed time.

I really should have become a grandparent while I was young enough to endure him.

Lights, Action,Christmas!

Once the lights were on the tree it was time to put on the ornaments. I've been collecting them for six decades, starting with a glass ornament my grandmother gave me.  I still have it.  There's the red bird that always was near the top of my mother's tree.  Now it's near the top of mine.  It's battered and scratched but it means the world to me.

The ugly Styrofoam gingerbread men are a reminder of a time when Chris was very small and I had very little money to spend on a tree. We made popcorn strings, paper chains and folded snowflakes, and spent $1 on a dozen gingerbread men.  Only  three are left.  Those ugly things go on the back of the tree where no one can see them but I know they are there and what they stand for.

There are the ornaments that my son and I made together when he was a child.  There are teddy bears I bought on a shopping trip with my mother.   There are knit and crocheted pieces made by sisters.  And now there are the things from my grandson. He recorded on one of them:  "Merry Christmas, Grandma".  That was when he was three.

Each year there are two dozen candy canes.  Evan will sneak one or two off on Christmas Eve, just like his daddy used to.  There are soft unbreakable ornaments that Rascal will swipe at and knock off so he can bat them around. I know he'll do that, so I provide some he can enjoy, too.

Friends know I love ornaments so they show up from time to time. As the ornaments arrived, I had to have larger and larger trees.  This is the result.

Let anyone else have a modern, stylish tree.  This is my tree of memories of Christmases past.

Christmas Lights

Not only had I never set up the Christmas tree before, I hadn't put lights on a Christmas tree in years.  That was Gary's job.  Once he was finished, I put on the ornaments.

I managed to put the tree up before I left for Illinois, with only one branch left over.  Today was light time.

The red lights I used for years finally finally stopped working a year ago. I bought replacement lights in January at an end of the year clearance.  It was a great deal at 50 cents a box.  However, when I opened the box, I found out the wires were white instead of green and were meant to be used outdoors.

I rummaged around and found two more boxes of clear lights. They weren't red, but the wires were green. I would adapt.  I tested the lights to make sure they worked and set to work.  The tree is seven feet tall so I got a step ladder.  I started winding them around and around the tree until I got to the bottom boughs.  Then I plugged in the lights to see the full affect.  Half of the top lights didn't work. I had tested them!  No matter what I did, I couldn't find the problem.

I went to the hardware store to get more lights but they were out of clear ones.  So I began to shop.  It was the third store before I found a string of lights that would work.

Back home, I had to remove the top string, move the second string up, then add the final string on the bottom. Then I moved the lights around and until they were evenly spaced.  Then I plugged them in and hallelujah! they worked.

The project took almost all day.  I'll put the ornaments on tomorrow.   

Home Again

It was a five hour drive from the Illinois farmhouse to my house. I like driving, it gives me time to think and now it was about the two houses.

My little house here in Seymour started out as a farmhouse, probably much like the one in Illinois and maybe even older, it's hard to say.  A carpenter named Schultz bought the house and moved it into Seymour around 1949.  Then he cut it in half.  One half is the beauty parlor on the other side of the street.  Mine was just the kitchen and perhaps a parlor, now the living room, topped by two bedrooms.  What what once was a pantry became a bathroom.  Later, a garage was added to the north side and a dining room to the south, making it a seven room house.

I have no idea of the location of the original farmhouse.

Shirley's farmhouse has four bedrooms upstairs, and a kitchen, dining room, sitting room and parlor downstairs.  Cut it in half and take the kitchen and dining room downstairs, two bedrooms upstairs, and it would be very close to my house about the time it was moved.  

But I prefer my little half house the way it is.

I've always liked little places. I prefer a tent to the fanciest camper. I like my little office, just the right size to work without too many distractions.

I once lived in a two room house trailer, so narrow that there was no couch, only a love seat.  The bedroom was so tiny the double bed reached the walls on three sides. That house was perfect for me.  I liked that I could clean it from one end to another in fifteen minutes.

So the Illinois farmhouse?  If I am to stay there much this winter, I'll select a little corner somewhere and set up there.....

What Would Shirley Do?

This weekend, Gary kept saying "WWSD?" or What Would Shirley Do?

His aunt Shirley is in the nursing home but she tries to keep informed about what Gary is doing here at the farmhouse.  The first thing on her mind is her two cats Mommy and Lily, a mother and daughter.  They are farm cats and are not allowed in the house but neither does Shirley want them roaming around to be preyed on by coyotes.  She keeps them in the chicken house and tends to them daily.  They've been in that chicken house for about thirteen years.

So as soon as Gary took over he let them out and started spoiling them with special treats.  He found out if he opened a can of cat food they followed him anywhere, so at night he is able to bring them back to their domicile.

However, you cannot fool Aunt Shirley so when we visited her this morning, the first thing she said was, "You're letting those cats outside, aren't you."  Gary had to admit she was right but said he got them back in at night and she was satisfied with that. He didn't tell her that Mommy was now spending part of her day inside the farmhouse.

Gary was relieved that was her only question because he told me not to mention the big one.

Over the past few summers he, his sister, his niece and his nephew have been clearing brush from the property and stacking it in one part of the yard.  It was an enormous pile.  They wanted to burn it but Shirley insisted that they would set the house on fire so there it stayed.

Last night there was a bit of rain so the ground was wet.  There wasn't a breath of wind.  It was a great day to burn brush and so he did.  The flames went about ten feet in the air.

While he was at it, he burned bags and bags of garbage and papers that had been around for far too long.

The deed is done and Shirley is none the wiser, but I tell Gary I am capable of blackmail. If he doesn't do whatever I want I can tell her about his misdeeds.  He says Shirley knows he was always a naughty boy so it wouldn't surprise her any.

We'll see.

Dixon conversation

Years ago at some family gathering, my relatives were talking about people they knew and how they were related to so and so and what happened to somebody's children, and on and on.

My sister-in-law suddenly got up to leave.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Oh," she said, "it's just another Seymour conversation." She is not from Seymour and didn't know what they were talking about, and didn't care.

Today, I knew just what she meant.

Gary and I visited his 92 year old aunt at the nursing home.  We took along the Dixon newspaper.  She immediately turned to the obituaries and commented on the people she knew, how they were connected to her family, where they lived, what they did for a living, and how their children turned out.

My eyes glazed over.

Later, we visited Gary's cousin Donna, now in her 70's.  She talked about a friend who is in an assisted living facility that Gary's aunt might like, but that led to the friend's daughter and how she is related to Gary's family and what her children are doing and so on.

My eyes glazed over.

These were Dixon conversations, impossible for an outsider like me to follow.

It makes me realize that while I don't mind visiting Dixon, at my age I don't want to start over in a new state. So for the time being, Gary and I will be living in separate places, visiting each other whenever we can and waiting for the situation down here to resolve itself.

The Farmhouse

Today I drove the 250 miles to Dixon, Illinois to be with Gary, whom I hadn't seen in three weeks. That is a five hour drive and I won't do it weekly, but since he is likely to be here for much of the winter, we are trying to work out how to do this.

We are on the farm his family has owned for 140 years. His aunt Shirley, now 92, is in a nursing home recovering from a fall. It is unlikely the family will let her live here alone again, so someone must be on hand to run things and that someone is to be Gary who is a young 69.

Gary's family claims they are collectors, but it sure seems like hoarding to me. When her cans of tuna were way past the expiration date, she simply marked them “old” and put them back in the cupboard. The house is full of stuff like that: cottage cheese containers, Kleenex boxes stuffed with used Kleenex, bins of rags, and on and on.

I am enjoying myself here in the farmhouse which is much like the one I grew up in. The wainscoting is original as are the woodwork an doors. The furniture is a hodgepodge of epochs. There are Victorian dressers, arts and crafts rocking chairs, overstuffed chairs from the 1950s, and an Eames chair.

Tonight we read and listen to music. It is a vacation from the “real world”. I'll be here until Tuesday.

We've agreed that we will take turns making the trek to the other's domicile during the winter.. He thinks he will be in Seymour over Christmas and I will return here for New Year's and again when I am en route to the Gulf of Mexico for a tour at the end of January. Somehow we will work this out.

I tell Gary we now have two homes, only one short of the Romneys (or maybe two). What luxury!

Christmas Trees

Gary asked me to come to Dixon, Illinois to keep him company.  He's living alone in the family farmhouse and visiting his aunt daily at the nursing home. He's been there for three weeks and I think he is getting lonely...and bored.  I'll drive there tomorrow.

So I had to get busy. I had all the Christmas decorations in the dining room. I needed to clear the room so Elaine can come in to check on Rascal, but I didn't want to take all the boxes back to the storage area upstairs.  It would be better to put everything up and be done with it.

Today I put the last Christmas tree together.  I say put together because I am allergic to conifers so have to have a fake tree. This is a big tree that takes up almost a eighth of the dining room, but I need a big tree for the ornaments I've accumulated over the years. Gary has always constructed the thing but with him gone, I had to figure it out myself.  I think I did OK except for having one branch left over. That was in the back of  the tree so I'm not going to start over.

The lights and ornaments will have to wait until I get back from Illinois. When I looked at the strings I bought for 90 percent off last year after Christmas, they turned out to be white lights and I wanted red.  I have some red lights from previous years but some don't work, so I have to do some bulb swapping.

I already have some other Christmas trees inside and some outside, too. All told there are eleven trees.

Gary's little tree has been up for almost a week. It's the one that belonged to his father. That one glows satisfactorily in the evenings.  Because it is dark when I get up I turn it on so the school children have something pretty to look at on a cold morning.

When I get to Illinois, I think we need to find a little Christmas tree for Aunt Shirley.

Another Milestone

Today, with the help of Polish readers, Black Coffee Fiction, the blog I began with Wade Peterson, reached its 7500th "hit".  We started Black Coffee Fiction http://blackcoffeefiction.blogspot.com in September, 2011.

I passed 25,000 "hits" on this blog a couple of weeks ago, but but that was over two years ago and I post daily. At Black Coffee Fiction we post weekly with a short story every Friday so 7500 readers in only a year is impressive.

I began a Twitter account a couple of weeks ago posting as Colleen Sutherland@MathomGardens.  It takes time to build readership.  So far I have five people following my tweets. I would be discouraged, but I know that consistent and regular posts are the secret of success. I stop in at Twitter several times a day to leave "tweets".

We began Black Coffee Fiction with five readers.  I began this blog with two.  I fully expect that after a year, I'll have the same success with Twitter. 

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One thing that helps those of us that mess around with social networks is the advance in internet translators.  In the past I could only read the comments in English or French, but now I can chat with people from all over the world no matter what their language.  I am now reading comments from Spanish and Icelandic followers.

What a brave new world!

Christmas at the Retirement Home

I performed at a retirement community today. It was a beautiful place, decorated from ceiling to floor with Christmas decor.  There were lighted trees in all the lounges and a big one in the lobby where I performed. Christmas music was playing through the sound system.  I asked that it be turned off.

This likely was my last performance of the year.  I never get called for December gigs because there will be many groups coming in to sing Christmas carols: scouts, school classes, church volunteers. Every so often there will be a competent choir, but most of the time enthusiasm tries to make up for lack of talent. Sometimes the volunteers bring cookies and hand them around to everyone...even to the diabetics.  The staffs have to be ever vigilant.

Years ago, I had a performance at one of the nursing homes a couple of days after Christmas.  As I was setting up and tuning my autoharp, one of the residents asked, "Are you singing Christmas carols?"

"No," I said.  "I'm a storyteller."

"Good.  If I hear one more Christmas carol, I'll puke."

Residents of these homes are deluged with attention that one month of the year.  Then in January, no one comes to see them.  That's when I am called to do performances, to lift the spirits of the elderly.  I tell funny stories and do sing-a-longs, and some of the songs are a little naughty.  They like that.

Today, I told my story about the hired man who was hit with manure. There was the story of the dog's election. We sang "Sweet Violets" and "Lambing to the Wool".  Then there was the "King's Storyteller".

My audience was receptive and wanted me back...just not in December.

Bad Luck

Because Gary is still in Illinois, I decided I would have to decorate the house for Christmas by myself.  That means crawling into the cubby hole to drag out the trees, lights and ornaments. The first step into that hole is thigh length downward.  Gary put a plastic step in there, but it wiggles too much when I step onto it. I would much rather go in backwards with my stomach on the bedroom floor.  

The cubby hole is a space over the garage. There are no lights in there, so I have to go in with a flashlight and gingerly step across the floor which is just a few pieces of plywood that creak under my weight. Somewhere down there is the concrete garage floor.

I take along the cell phone set to 911 in case I get in trouble.

I kept thinking there would be some kind of accident, but in fact it happened while I was asleep.  There was a mirror affixed to the cubby hole door that fell off and smashed.

Seven years of bad luck?  Or not?  I didn't actually break the mirror, but perhaps it was all the opening and closing that loosened the glass from it's backing. If I didn't break it but it was my fault, does that count?

So tomorrow, I'll get a strong pair of work gloves, clear up the broken glass and continue climbing in and out of that cubby hole.

I'm not superstitious. There is no such thing as bad luck. On the other hand, if I break my leg, if I fall through the plywood floor, if I electrocute myself while working on the lights....it was probably the mirror that did it. 

A Disgruntled Kitty

We woke up this morning to a white world.  It was only half an inch, not even worth shoveling.  The streets and sidewalks melted by noon. It was enough to upset Rascal.

He went to the back door as usual and asked to go out so he could check out the perimeter of his property. Since neighborhood cats Koala and Mittens moved north to the village of Abrams, things have been quiet in Rascal's territory, but he still checks in case a growl or two is needed to chase off any interlopers.  He put one paw out and it hit that nasty white stuff.  He gave me a dirty look.  Once again, I had failed to stave off winter. He was not amused. Humans are so disappointing.

It got worse.

I started bringing down Christmas paraphernalia. Soon there were boxes and cases of ornaments, lights and holiday bric-a-brac all over his favorite sleeping spots, especially the sunny place on the easy chair. By mid-afternoon, I had Gary's tree (the one he brought with him when he moved in) set up and was stringing the lights.

It was too much for Rascal.  He swatted at me, turned, stuck his tail straight up and headed up the stairs to hide from the insanity.  He knows that for the next month strange people will be showing up. He hates strangers. There will be parties. He hates parties. Gary and I will leave the house on some days to go places. Rascal hates being abandoned.

When he was younger, he would go out and kill something in the backyard and drag it in.  We found dead starlings and baby bunnies stashed under the Christmas tree.  Gary told me he was just trying to give me a present.  I think he was getting even.

Now that he is an old cat of nineteen years, he can't catch anything.  He shows his disapproval by hiding from it all and waiting for spring.

I am with him on that.

......
Wade Peterson, Colette Bezio, Susan Manzke and I will be having a booksigning at Sissy's in Seymour on December 15 from 3-5 pm.

Popcorn

Today I met my friend Norma and her family in Oshkosh for a Thanksgiving meal at Primo, an Italian restaurant.  Primo's gave us a long table in front of their big southern facing window.  There's a garden out there and the remaining hardy mums shone in the sun. We didn't exactly have the traditional meal, we all ordered a wide assortment of food off the menu from salmon to pork loin.

It isn't the food that's important, it's the conversation.  We caught up on gossip, talked music and books, and remembered the old days.  Norma and I have been friends for 54 years so those days are old indeed.

Our intention was to go to the big St. Vincent de Paul store next door, but by the time we were talked out, St. Vinnie's was closed.  Instead we went to a nearby thrift shop and looked around.  I found a lovely pair of sandals. It's too late to wear them this year, but they will be perfect for summer's travels.

On the way back through Appleton, one more stop.  Evan is now a Cub Scout and the primary rule of scouting seems to be "Thou shall sell things to the public."  Girl Scouts sell cookies.  Boy Scouts sell popcorn. Evan is handicapped by small family connections.  His father was an only child.  My relatives are scattered in far away places.  His mother only had one brother.  Tisha's family is small and most of the relatives are in Montana.  It was up to this grandmother to buy popcorn.

I will be serving popcorn at my yearly Solstice party.

Black Friday

It's time for my annual seriously depressing Christmas stories. When I first suggested the idea to friends several years ago, they thought I was crazy, but they've come to love them. My thought was that people who hate the holidays or become depressed should know that not everyone has a good time on December 25.  In time, even my writing pals who love Christmas came to find the stories funny.  

Today it was my turn to furnish a story for Black Coffee Fiction  http://blackcoffeefiction.blogspot.com

I had the story outlined but I needed some more information on Black Friday, the shopping day after Thanksgiving.

I don't think I've ever shopped on Black Friday. For one thing, I don't believe in standing in long lines. There are better things to do with my time.  For another, I've found that whatever is on sale on Black Friday will be available again the week before Christmas and usually on sale then, too, but without the crowds.  

These days, my family doesn't really give presents. At my age, I have enough of everything and Chris and his family have more than enough money to buy whatever they want.  I make a big meal at Christmas and buy a gift for Evan, usually books.

So I had no idea what happens on Black Friday.  The answer was social media.  I asked my friends on Facebook for the worst things they had seen.  Teresa had a great story about a sixty year old woman crawling past people to get to whatever treasure she wanted.  Gary remembered a woman going berserk at the Appleton Menards a couple of years ago and found a cellphone video of it on YouTube.  

Then the Georgia Walmart experienced a shopping melee when shoppers went wild over a cellphone.

It was all I needed and after I threw in a Santa Claus, my story was written.

Thanksgiving Day

Instead of having a big Thanksgiving meal at home, Chris, Tisha and Evan suggested we eat out instead.  That seemed a good idea to me.

When I was a child, Thanksgiving was a true harvest day for those of us on a farm. With the exception of the cranberry sauce, we grew everything on the table.  It was a fun day with lots of cousins and friends around.

The last few years, I've come to think it is just too much trouble, so eating out was exactly what I wanted.  The food was perfect from the turkey to the cherry pie a la mode.  The conversation was good and afterwards there were no greasy dishes, and no turkey carcass to deal with. (I usually make soup.) There was no televised football. This was so much easier.

After we ate, Chris and Tisha introduced me to a new Thanksgiving tradition.  We drove around Appleton to see the big chain stores and observe people lining up for the Black Friday sales which in some cases start tonight.  At Best Buy there were even three tents with people that had already been waiting for two days to rush in for bargains.

It was a warm day, so it probably wasn't all that bad, but Tisha told me she's seen it much worse. People line up in blizzards to save a few dollars on a toy. She and Chris always spend Black Friday morning watching the crazy people.

I'm writing a short story about Black Friday so I was mentally taking notes.

When I got home I spent the afternoon decorating the house.  I finally got the lights working on the six little Christmas trees that go on the front deck. At an end of the summer sale, we found some glass lanterns marked down 90 percent.  Gary bought two, I bought two. At a rummage sale, I bought six big red ribbons for fifty cents.  Now the lanterns are decorated and are burning tea lights in the front yard.

With Gary in Illinois, I thought, why bother?  For the last few years he has done most of the decorating. But once I began putting out lights, I remembered how much fun it is. Even if I will be alone in this house for most of the season, I love the smells, lights and music. Why not enjoy myself?

After sunset, I took a two mile walk around town looking at other houses.  With warm weather, many people started early this year.  Down at the Seymour museum, the memory trees were lit up.  Each Christmas tree was decorated as a memorial for someone.  There are probably two dozen trees down there.
I love these late night walks.

So Christmas comes.  I intend to enjoy every bit of it. 

Christmas Cards

I always start addressing Christmas cards the day before Thanksgiving, sometimes even earlier.

Years ago, my neighbor Traci and I started a competition to see who would mail our cards first. In time it only was important that we send each other a card. Traci moved away years ago, but we still carry on the tradition. I mailed her card today.

There was a time when I sent about 75 cards a year. I moved around so much before we lit in Seymour that I had friends and neighbors all over the United States, and we kept in touch once a year by Christmas cards. Over the years I pared that down to about forty because of the advent of the Internet.  No need for yearly messages, I was writing e-mails to friends all the time.

Then Gary moved in bringing his family and friends.  Suddenly I was back to almost 60.  We pared a bit.  Last year there were 54 on our joint list.  Then Gary decided to send cards to all the friends we met during our camping trips.

I've ordered photos to enclose and will probably write the dreaded Christmas letter because I can't possibly hand write that many letters.

Add to this decorating and baking, at the same time I am working through the third draft of my novel and writing a short story.

It's way too much to cram in a day.

---------------
Keep going to Black Coffee Fiction http://blackcoffeefiction.blogspot.com
Wade has a short short story this week, so it won't take much time to read.
Next week I begin my yearly seriously depressing Christmas stories for people who really don't like the holidays.  Believe it or not, they are usually humorous.

It's Upon Us

Two days ago the Christmas cactus I bought at Don's Quality Market two years ago burst into bloom.

It has thrived ever since I brought it home, blooming every year in November and hanging on almost to Christmas. I enjoy it so much I may buy another.

But then it hit me that Thanksgiving is Thursday. How did we get here so quickly? It seems like we were just sunning ourselves at a summer beach. How did we swoop past Halloween into the holiday season?

It isn't even Thanksgiving, it's that I am not ready for Christmas. Gary is the one that usually puts up the Christmas tree and the exterior lights.  He goes absolutely crazy with decorating, works on it for a week, then says "Bah, Humbug."  But Gary is in Illinois taking care of his aunt, so it's up to me.

All the Christmas decorations are in a cubbyhole over the garage. There are no lights in there, so I have to crawl in with a flashlight to find things. With Gary's aunt in mind, I take the cellphone in there with me in case I get trapped under boxes.

Then it's a matter of figuring out what works and what doesn't.  The wheel on the little fiber optic tree here in the office is not turning.  I don't want a fire so for now, I can't turn it on. Gary thinks he can fix it when he comes home. The tree in the bedroom does work but I'm not sure about that big Christmas tree that goes in the living room. I've never assembled it before. 

I still haven't found the wreath for out at the cemetery, the one that goes on my parents' graves. Perhaps when I get to the bottom of all those boxes, the ones Gary put in there.

I am decorating one room at a time so I should be done in another four days.

Two Years and One Month

October 19, 2010 and I was in a Fox Valley Technical College workshop on blogging, taught by Nikki Kallio.  I don't remember exactly why I took that class. I hadn't had much experience with blogs except for an article I wrote about them for a young adult financial magazine, back in the days when the word "blog" was still new.

I started the blog the first day of class and never looked back.  With five exceptions, I've posted every day since.  In the beginning I had two followers, Nikki and another student in the class.  I was writing for myself, not the world.  It was a journal.

But over the years, I've gained followers. These days, I average about 225 "hits" a week.

Some time during this night, I will reach another milestone, 25,000 "hits" from around the world.  I wonder who it will be.

I joined another piece of social media a week ago:  Twitter.  I already have six followers who followed me from Facebook. I'm not sure why anyone would be interested in brief messages only 140 characters long, but here I go again. So far I've "tweeted" seventeen times.

All of it is part of publicizing the short stories Wade and I write at Black Coffee Fiction.  I now spend an hour on PR each morning, no more no less.  I set my oven timer and go of to the world of social media. We can't sell books unless people hear about them.

So who will be my 25,000th visitor?

Dental Skyping

When I met Gary's Aunt Shirley, one of the first things she did was ask to see my teeth.  She was proud that she still had her own teeth.  She had always taken good care of them and showed me her front teeth which had no fillings at all. I had to tell her about my dental work, too. I got a kick out of that.

Shirley is in the hospital this week.  She remembers falling in the kitchen and crawling into the living room.  She said the next thing she knew she was in the hospital but thought it was only a couple of hours later.  She is happy enough to be there.  In a few days, she'll be in a nursing home as she gets her strength back, but she still thinks she will be going home eventually.

Gary says if she is to go home (he has doubts), someone will have to live with her and it could be him until they find someone else. I wait and wonder what our future will be. He's talked about us moving down to Dixon to take care of things for a year or two before.  I don't like the sound of that. It's hardly a good place for a Democrat like me!

For the time being, I'm on my own. There is nothing to do but go on with things. Tomorrow I'll start getting Christmas decorations out and put the exterior lights on the house and shrubs while the temperatures are still warm. I am still debating about having a Christmas tree.

This afternoon, I got a Skype call from Gary, down in Illinois. He was at the hospital and said there was someone who wanted to talk to me and there was old Shirley on my computer screen. She was amazed. She knows next to nothing about computers. She has an old telephone and one television that barely works in her old farmhouse.

She was mostly interested in how she looked.  She said her nose looked awfully big. The nurses had wrestled her into a tub and given her a good washing. It looked like someone gave her a hair cut, too.

She wanted to know about this room. Behind me was the bulletin board, covered with papers. \What were all those things?

Then she started to look at my face on the screen....and asked to look at my teeth.  

Craps Shoot

Years ago, when Jason Goes to Show and Tell was published (my picture book for children) I did a lot of book signings.  Some were fine, but every so often they were terrible.  I would sit alone at a table with a stack of books in front of me and wait for someone to come into a book store...and wait...and wait. On some of these occasions, I would sell one book and a couple of times, none at all.  Worse, customers would come up to me to ask where the Dr. Seuss or Disney books were located.

So when Wade and I decided to do book signings, I warned him that it was a "craps shoot", a roll of the dice on how well it would go.  On Wednesday we had a super signing, with many people stopping by to say hello and bye books. When it was done, the four authors participating had sold 26 books, which is phenomenal.

Today, Wade and I went to the Copper Rock North to sign books. I thought we had picked a good time but the coffee shop was almost empty and certainly the few people there were not interested in buying books. I did give a couple of them the card containing our Black Coffee Fiction blog site.  

Tim Meier came by and bought a book, as he should since he was mentioned twice, once in our introduction as the Fox Valley Technical College teacher who started us writing short stories and second in our acknowledgment of friends who helped along the way.  We enjoyed good conversation for almost an hour.  He said he would read the book and review it for Amazon.com. Reviews are a plus in selling books like ours.

After Tim left, Wade and I tallied up and realized that Tim's purchase had put us into the black.  We've recouped our initial cost in self-publishing the book. From now on we'll be earning a profit.

Yes, book signings are a craps shoot, but we're going to roll the dice one more time, just before Christmas. I will go ahead and set up another signing.  The date, time and location have yet to be determined, but it's our last chance because Wade and his family are moving to Arkansas in the new year.