THAT CRAZY, WILD NEW YEAR'S EVE DAY

I know crazy and wild. That, I'm afraid, is how I live. I have so many things going on at any particular moment, and given I'm not a computer but a flawed human being, I tend to get a little disorganized.

I'm trying to think how this crazy New Year Eve Day started. First of all, I guess, is the fact that I had it handed to me rather casually. We hosted this event and I had nothing whatsoever to do with that part of it. My husband did.

We have dear friends who always host it but things have been difficult for them lately so Jerry offered up our home for the event. I wasn't about to say no to that. My husband has the smarts in our family when it comes to doing the Right Thing, the Kind Thing. Thank God for that because I like Kind and Right in a big way and these are very good friends.

I have another dear friend, Max, who, when faced with an important event, prepares for it weeks in advance. We go on adventures together when our husbands are off skiing somewhere. Some of those adventures have been just that--like being thrown out of Slovakia--but no matter what, she's prepared. Sweaters go in plastic bags, ditto for everything else and when she needs to pack she just throws in those sweaters in those plastic bags along with everything else needed in neat, tidy, order.

Me--I don't pack until the day before. Hey, the truth be known, I usually am scrambling around the day before frantically trying first to find what I want to take along and then to wash it or get it to the cleaners and then I pack. Frantic is the name of the game here. I often wear black and maybe it's because spots aren't as easily seen on black.

So, here we have this New Year's Eve event we're hosting. Do I even think about what's going to go on the table? Yes, I actually do. I figure it's going to be served on our lovely everyday wear, which is clean. This would have been perfectly acceptable. Our everyday wear isn't really used for everyday. I put it out for special dinners. This is a set I finally got after forty years of marriage and we paid a mint for it. Jerry complained but now he loves the set. It's Italian, and based on the dinnerware prevalent in homes in the 1400's. It's gorgeous.

No, Jerry is not planning to use this gorgeous dinnerware; he's planning to use our good china and crystal and sterling silver. He doesn't mention this until he starts hauling it in on the day of the event to wash it. Yes, wash it. That's how seldom it's used.

I should have taken a picture. He hardly knows his way around our kitchen and he actually washed and dried everything he put on the table: that good china and crystal and sterling silver. We have all of this good stuff put away carefully but everything is dirty--not put away carefully in plastic bags. The sweet guy--he washed everything!

What am I doing while he's washing the dishes? Earlier I had put on two pots with yams and they're happily boiling away on the stove; ditto with a pot of cranberries; the ham we bought yesterday is in the refrigerator--but at the point when Jerry's washing dishes I'm looking at our dog, Plato, out in his pen in the back and getting concerned. (Plato is relegated to the pen during events like this because he has a bad habit of peeing on our rugs when we're busy and not paying attention to him). Anyway, there's this huge, unsightly lump right next to his eye. I remember I saw it the day before but then it was much smaller. He didn't seem concerned about it but I didn't like it at all. It looked yukky and maybe even dangerous. And then I'm thinking again, yesterday it was smaller--yuck, it's a tick!--and I'm going into my panic mode, things are boiling on the stove and Jerry's not at all happy with me when I come running in because he's now discovered one of our myriad water thingies is spurting water down by the street and all of this is happening just hours before the guests are to arrive. The only thing to do is turn off our entire water system to the garden and I'm now begging him to go look at Plato and the unsightly lump which he does, after I turn off the water, which I have to remember to turn on again and with my track record--good luck.

The water's off but Jerry's still working with the water thingie down by the street which is still spouting water and I'm talking to our son, Glenn, on the phone about the lump. He thinks it could be dangerous--is obviously a tick--and should come out but I think you have to burn the buggers out and how can I do that when it's right next to his eye? He suggests calling the vet, which I already have but they're closed since it's a holiday. Their automated system gave me the number of the Emergency Vet People so after I say goodbye to Glenn I call them and a gal I talk to says, yes, it should come out and they could do it for me but I've got stuff boiling on the stove and Jerry upset with the water spouting on the street. She says you could do it yourself. You just reach down as close as you can to his skin with your fingers, grip it, and pull and twist it out at the same time. I said that would be disgusting and she laughed and said they could do it but that was patently not going to happen and Jerry is absolutely hopeless with that sort of thing so guess who gets to do it?

I call Glenn again, who is probably responsible for Plato getting the lump to begin with as their property, Wild Horse, is heaven for ticks and we were just there. Maybe I'm thinking he'll volunteer. Heck, he's only forty minutes away. Wendy I trust with questions like--what do I do with this unsightly yukky thing that's undoubtedly a tick other than pull and twist it out, which would be disgusting? Glenn I don't trust so much with questions like that but he's the only one there. He agrees it would be disgusting. Actually, he says, I have a perfect way to get that tick out--you do it with your teeth. That nearly makes me upchuck. Jerry, by this time, has looked at the lump and agrees to hold Plato which I pull and twist it out and voila! it comes out just like that! I should have killed it--I could see something wiggling at the top of the lump--but I just threw it. Dumb, as I'll probably have this happen all over again.

I go back to the stove, happy with Plato sans lump, and inspect the cranberries, which cooked fine until they did that obligatory popping noise and then just sat in the water. I enlist Jerry with the job of transporting them to the refrigerator where they're to get cold. I then look at the yams, which given that I was busy with the Plato lump, I didn't check as often as I should have. They are so soft it's really tricky getting them out of the pan and into a bowl. They mash very easily but given that I boiled them with the skins on they're full of these rather large lumps of skin which, given they're hot as blazes, I can do nothing about. I say to hell with it and mix the whole mess with sugar and a little sherry and pop it in the oven to cook.

Jerry has now finished washing and drying everything, the table is set and we go up and shower and dress while the sweet potatoes cook. Everything settles down, I could have even had a glass of wine it's so relaxed but I decide to wait with that--smartest thing I did that day. Jerry has finally figured out why the water thingie had been incessantly spouting and fixed that. Life is good. Our guests come and it's all worth it. We finally sit down together to that glass of wine and it's all good.

The table looked amazing. Oh--the sweet potatoes with all the lumps of skin--I still had to pull all that skin off with my fingers to serve them but at least they weren't boiling hot coming out of the oven.

They Come With The Rain.

What, you ask, comes with the rain? Blossoms, thunderclouds, slick roads and pavements? Yes to all those things, but all of them have some redeeming feature: blossoms are wonderful to look at and smell while thunderclouds are marvelous to look at and they bring rain. OK so I can't think of a redeeming feature of slick roads and pavements.

What I'm talking about walks on six legs and is unbelievably persistent. You guessed it--Ants.

When my youngest son, Glenn, was six or so he used to get rid of ants in a very creative way. His line of ants used to come up the drain in the bathroom he shared with his brother. He would run for a plain ordinary kitchen knife you use to round out a place setting at the table; then he would tap it near the drain hole and voila back down the drain they'd go never to be seen again. I think somehow they associated that tapping with a Giant right out of a storybook. I'd try that approach but the drain in the kitchen leads to the garbage disposal and as much as I'd like to turn them into mulch they'd find a way to get around the blades or they'd die and come back to haunt me.

These pesky invaders are unbelievably persistent, to the point that I now find them everywhere: I'm sitting in an overstuffed chair in a room down from the kitchen where ants traditionally make their inroads and suddenly one of the pesky creatures will appear crawling on me. I feel like I'm in the middle of the movie The Birds only with insects the terrifying spector.

One of the major problems has been I can't locate a trail (just found one crawling on my laptop). If you can't locate a trail you can't get rid of them. They used to come in through a window in our kitchen, down the wall below it ; then parade across the floor toward the refrigerator with a stop at the kitchen counter. My husband said he thought they came in a window over the kitchen sink and I dutifully sprayed around it but they came in anyway--but not from around the window, of course.

Speaking of the refrigerator. Never did we have these things inside the refrigerator. Now we have a fancy new model, a side by side with the freezer on one side and the refrigerator on the other with a little place where you can load up a glass with water and ice on the freezer door. I mean this is an expensive machine--gorgeous--the latest in technology but can it keep out ants? No. I spray the doors with ant spray and the next morning find a pile of dead ants at the bottom of the freezer door. They are pretty dumb creatures after all. They go for the freezing temperatures and ignore a much more nifty source of goodies next door.The old refrigerator, while a lot less nifty never let in an ant.

I have now taken to religiously cleaning up the area around the sink before we head up the stairs for the night, as well as spray areas where I've found them (with a spray safe for food, children and pets no less) and they still come in.

OK Reader--wherever you are--Help!

"Have I got a story to tell you!"

You may think I'm overally fond of Halloween or these kids but I have such a wonderful story about this particular picture I just had to post it again.

After snapping the picture and seeing it on my camera I said to my husband, Jerry, how wonderful it would be to be able to give the picture to these kids as it came out so well. Not by any God given talent, you understand. I just literally did the old point and click routine.

The next weekend Jerry came back from getting us our coffee and muffin fix and said "Have I got a story to tell you!"

He had gone into our favorite cafe, Belforno, which we've been going to for years. They have marvelous coffee and the muffins--well they are beyond compare. A very nice gentleman has been waiting on us there all these years. I thought he owned it he was there so much but it turns out he simply works there.

I suspect he is from Mexico; I often hear him talking Spanish with the other customers. I've tried my lame Spanish on him occasionally and he always smiles and talks to me back in Spanish. Since he is careful to use only the simplest of words, I can sometimes answer back in Spanish which of course makes my day!

Jerry walked in and got into line at the counter. The gentleman started waiting on him and then he started talking to him about Halloween. At first Jerry didn't understand but then the man asked whether he could have a copy of the picture and the light began to dawn.

The man had come to our door with those kids. Whose they are I don't know, but I'm assuming at least some of them are his and the rest are most certainly relatives or neighbors. I saw him with a mask covering his face, leaning on a cane, pretending to be infirm. Of course I ignored him totally and went for those adorable kids! He told Jerry he was so shocked seeing a customer of the cafe at the door he almost fell down the steps.

Well, I'm going to get a copy for every one of those kids and one for him and he will distribute them. In the meantime, I gave him the address of this blog so he could at least see the picture before he actually had one in hand.

Vive La Story!

What Happened To Halloween?

My family gathered for Halloween, except for my daughter-in-law, Wendy, and new Grandbaby, Nicholas, who were sick. Our son, Jeff, took a train from Palo Alto, which is down the peninsula from San Francisco; then caught our local commuter train which brought him all the way into Berkeley where he was picked up by my husband, Jerry. Our other son, Glenn, came on the freeway with our Grandson, Theo, a trip of some 40 minutes. This was going to be a big Halloween; the first one that Theo would remember so we were gathering.

We had every expectation that we would have a big turnout. Our neighbors see us on the street or heading up our steps these days and they corner us and ask if they can see our garden. Here was a chance to see it without having to grab one of us when we started up the steps. Our lights were on and that means we were well lit.

No one came, except for this adorable bunch of kids--and one other bunch about the same age--and that was hours later. No one was on the sidewalks, none of the house were lit that you would expect to see lit, even a house across the street from us who had gone to the trouble of putting out a really adorable Halloween exhibit was dark. I thought of Halloween nights in Minnesota when I was a kid--the smell of burning leaves, the crisp Fall air, groups of kids darting across dark streets. Halloween was a big deal way back when.

Glenn took Theo over to another neighborhood earlier to be with the other Grandma and the two of them went from door to door. They came back in plenty of time to see the festivities. We waited and waited. Nothing.

My husband had gone down to our neighborhood shopping street to pick up some things which were needed for dinner. He said the merchants had all opened their doors and were handing out treats. This explained part of the mystery. It seemed very strange that they would do that, actually. I have always thought of Halloween as a neighborhood thing and merchants were opening up their doors to hand out treats? It also turned out that families were having Halloween parties in their homes. The final thing suggested as an explanation was that Halloween this year fell on a Saturday when people would naturally have time to throw a party. If it had fallen on a weeknight we might have had a totally different story. I'm wondering if we're not afraid of Halloween now. Too many scary things have happened so we keep our kids close to us. Parties are fine, going to neighborhood merchants are fine, but going door to door is Verboten.

When these kids showed up I was so excited I grabbed my camera. Halloween at last!

Untended Children Will Be Given a Double Espresso And A Free Puppy.

Untended children can be cute but oh my. I thought this restaurant's bar had a funny solution.
Who would want to have their child given a double espresso and at the very same time--a puppy? Chaos would reign.

One of our group, next year, will join the number of us with children. We're so happy for you, Jen! I'm at the top of the heap having two sons over forty, but it is not always a good place to be because of the regrets. It is awesome being close to young women now bringing up their children. I wish I had done some things differently: first and foremost I wish I had fed my children in a more healthy way. Hot dogs and hamburgers and pizza are easy choices but not healthy ones. Would I change either of my sons, despite the sometimes harrowing things being a parent has brought? No and I doubt most parents would. It's like that ancient Greek story about being offered the chance to change your own set of problems for somebody else's. Most of us wouldn't change our lives, if given the choice.

Here you see my son, Glenn, pretending he's an astronaut. He took his three and a half year old son, Theo, (who now insists he's four) to the Discovery Museum in Sauselito. My husband, Jerry, joined them and took this wonderful picture. He is a wonderful, imp like creature, my son. This picture picks up that imp like quality wonderfully. He has a way with children. Before he had his own, he and his wife, Wendy, were with some friends and their children on a day of driving to one spot or another. Glenn was in the front seat of the car (not driving, which turned out to be providential). A little girl in the back asked him what the little dark spot on the back of the neck was. (I'm sure he must have a mole back there although that's not a insight gained through observation). He said it was his "On and Off Button." That of course precipitated a whole series of pushing the On and Off Button which in turn precipitated a whole number of whole body collapses by Glenn and a whole series of howls from the children seated in the back.

I would hate to have had anyone give Glenn a double espresso and a free puppy at any age, but at age four? That was the age he went tearing through our house, grinning that imp like grin, totally naked, in plain view of a host of our friends. One of my friends still remembers that exhibition with a bit of shock. I thought it was hilarious. He hasn't lost that wonderful, imp like quality and I hope he never does.

Strange and Inexplicable Event Posts--Whenever!

My husband, Jerry, and I have been taking a trip down the Sierras starting in Tahoe, finally ending up in LA. As we were leaving Tahoe we couldn't get over the fall colors. I had left my camera at home but since I had my iPhone with me I started snapping pictures madly with it's amazing built in camera. Given we were driving at 60 miles an hour or so, all I could do was point out the passenger side window or through the windshield and snap the picture. Later, when perusing them at leisure on the iPhone, I came across this strange picture. I'm adding it to my Strange and Inexplicable Event Posts because of the strangeness and beauty of it and because it was totally a mystery. Once I put it on the computer and blew it up I solved the mystery.

It will become clear very soon that I took a picture out the passenger window of the side view mirror. What do you see?

How Much Detail?

I have been told that I don't put in enough detail into my stories. I have come to think that this is mostly true. I have been working on writing the last chapters for my middle grade/ Young Adult novel RUN!! and have run through them quickly, as is my typical approach. When I've gone back through them I've been dissatisfied with what I've read. I've finally come to understand that there isn't enough detail in the story to engage my attention.

Recently I had a critique on RUN!! that mentioned I had too much detail in the manuscript and that the detail slowed down a very important part of my manuscript--the first page. I went back and unhappily cut out the offending paragraph, only leaving what was absolutely necessary which I often found was in the story further on anyway. I'm now writing with more detail and enjoying it and it is difficult cutting it out. I am pulled more into the story as the writer and that, in turn, makes any further writing I do more true to the story. What my wonderful 4Corners writing friend pointed out was all too true, however, so I cut!

I used to write short stories and in those I found myself easily weaving in the necessary detail. Then I turned to writing for children. Writing for children is--contrary to a lot of people's beliefs--a lot more difficult than anyone could imagine. You can put in too much detail, as I just pointed out. You can leave out necessary detail to give the breath of life to a character. You have to think of your audience.

If you write for children, which child do you write for: the four year old, the eight year old, the twelve year old or the teen and how does that determine how much detail you bring into your story?