Hoppin' John

Stop by our house tomorrow, and you’ll find me cooking a mess of “Hoppin’ John.”

“Hoppin’ John” is an essential part of southern lore, especially honored in the Low Country, South Carolina’s coastal counties. If you stop in an area restaurant around New Year’s Day, no matter what you order, they’ll slip you a small dish of beans and rice—gratis. Eating Hoppin’ John on New Year’s Day is said to give a person good luck all year long.

The dish is believed to be first made by the slaves as a form of pilau. Black eyed peas, rice and ham hocks or bacon are traditional ingredients. The New York Times called the meal “a nutritional marvel, the culinary touchstone of the African diaspora and a hangover remedy without equal.” And the article goes on to say“the first known appearance of ‘hoppin' John’ in print was in 1838, in Caroline Gilman's novel ‘Recollections of a Southern Matron.’"

My version is lowfat, and only 6 Weight Watchers’ points. If you swap out bacon for Bacos, of course that number will change.

Hoppin’ John

1/3 C chopped celery
1 tsp. olive oil
1/3 C chopped onion
1 minced garlic clove
1 bay leaf
1 T Bacos (or bacon)
1 C chicken broth
½ can (1/2 C) black-eyed peas (cooked, from a can)
¼ C chopped lean ham (Okay, if you want to use a ham hock, who am I to stop you?)
1 C brown rice, cooked

Saute first 4 ingredients. Add to other ingredients, mix well. Put in 1 quart casserole dish and bake, covered, in 350 º oven for one hour.

**

Do you have a New Year's special recipe? Care to share?

Equal Opportunity Villains

I'm about to turn a Robert into a Roberta.

No, it won't be a serious medical procedure, just a matter of finding all the Roberts in my manuscript and replacing them with Roberta. Then I'll have to go through the whole text and change the physical descriptions, dialogue, and other gender-specific references.

All this because I just decided that my killer, formerly known as Robert, is actually Roberta.

It all came about because I have too many male killers in my crime writing past, and I like to have balance.

I'm a chart person. One of my important ones is a list of all my books, with columns for the method of killing, the gender of victim, the gender and motive of the killer, as well as occupations and other characteristics.

If I leave Robert as the killer in this new book, it will upset the balance.

As we enter a new year, I need to know: does anyone care about this? Do you writers try to vary the gender of the bad guy/girl? Do you readers care or notice this in a series?

Should one of my resolutions for 2008 be to throw away my charts?

Happy New Year's resolutions

For 2008, I have come up with some New Year’s resolutions.

I hereby vow that, starting on January first:

I will not launch a diet for five days, followed by three days of rationalization for over-eating, followed by 357 days of diet-memory amnesia.

I will not launch a five-day exercise regimen, followed by three days of rationalization for why I cannot exercise, followed by 357 days of exercise-memory amnesia.

I will not take a five-day battery of vitamins and mineral supplements, followed by three days of forgetting to take most of the pills, followed by 357 days of rationalizing that my vitamin-fortified milk will pick up most of the nutrition-gap.

I will not buy diet and cook books to kick-start my New Year’s resolutions, followed by relegating said books into a kitchen cupboard, followed by banishing them to the cobwebbed corners of the library, followed by dumping them in an end-of-year donation to Goodwill.

I will not buy pants a size too small as “inspiration,” followed by the bleak realization that I am not making progress toward a better fit, followed by 357 days of “disappearing” the offending pants into the depths of my closet, never to be seen again.


Do these resolutions sound too negative? Okay, here are some positive ones:

I will pay attention to hunger signals, and eat only after my stomach growls.

I will move my body each day, enough to feel my blood pumping through my cardiovascular system at a measurable rate.

I will incorporate three servings of high-nutrition vegetables and/or fruit into my daily intake.

I will spend money only on the clothes that make me feel fabulous, whatever size—and I will wear them often. I will wear them too often, in fact.

What about you? Do you have any New Year’s resolutions, negative or positive? Any that you make each January, and then abandon?

Holiday Stress

My holiday season has been a good one so far. But people I know--mostly business associates-- seem to be dealing with some genuine difficulties. In some instances, the problems evolve from relatives’ poor health. In others, it’s too personal to discuss... other than “family issues.”

The stress I’m feeling is more time-related than anything. I’d like to have additional time to write, but I want to be with family even more than I want to sit creating at the computer. My part-time outside job also eats into those weekdays when the office isn’t closed for the holidays.

At least the stress for me has been far outweighed by the fun of being with family. Our holiday celebration has gone on for nearly a week already. We just returned from a delightful get-together with some of my husband’s distant relations who live in Southern California. I got to talk killer hobbies with some of them. One of the attendees was wearing a lovely hat and scarf knitted by her mother, who was also there. Also, my mother-in-law is still staying with us, and our sons have been around part of the time--it’s wonderful!

Even so, I’ll definitely carve out some time to write, even as I continue to enjoy family. It’s what I do. But how will I make things easier on myself? I’ll turn to my main KillerHobbies topic: pets! They’re definitely great for easing tensions, by play and by snuggles. Lexie’s lying at my feet right now, ready to do either.

I wish all the best in this holiday season to my wonderful fellow bloggers and everyone else who reads this... including lots of family time and no stress!

--Linda

Kinship

Minnesotans like to think they’re special when it comes to winter. Our winters are harsh and we have learned to adapt. We laugh when we read about a southern state that closes down when an inch of snow falls. That’s why it’s so pathetic when we have a mild winter. Where’s the fun of living in Minnesota when the winter is like one in Tennessee? Last year we had a thin dusting of snow a couple of days before Christmas and were disappointed.

This year I think one or two too many people were singing "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas" around here, because we got pretty well clobbered. There was already snow on the ground when it started in again on Sunday. It didn't seem to be snowing very hard, especially at first. Just those little tiny flakes we sometimes get. (A few days before that, the temperatures were in the upper twenties, and we had a very quiet, windless snowfall of huge flakes that put about two inches on the ground. It was the stuff they show on television when they want us to think snow is beautiful.) But on Sunday it just kept on snowing, all day. And it was windy, so there were drifts. And the temperature was falling as if someone had broken the bottom out of the thermometer. We were to go to my husband's sister's house to exchange presents and have a Christmas dinner. There was seven or eight inches of new snow on the ground when we set off about five o'clock -- it was dark by then, of course. There was not much traffic and everyone was moving slowly, going about forty mph on the freeway. We’re Minnesotans, but we’re not crazy. A snowplow had made a pass, but the road was still covered with packed-down snow that was very slippery. The wind was blowing hard enough to rock the car and send thin little drifts of snow ("snow snakes" we call them) wriggling across the road in twisty waves. The exit ramps and the side street we went down to Margaret and Steve's house was deep with snow, and slippery. But we made it all right. And once inside, divested of six layers of coats, sweaters and scarves, we were laughing and proud of ourselves. Other members of the family arrived soon after, all laughing and proud to make little of the drive over. Snow – ha! We're Minnesotans!

It’s exciting when I’m doing research and find a new angle on something that fits perfectly into the plot. For example, I’m writing about a piece of silk embroidery that is very, very old. I'm using an actual piece of silk. It was found in a Chinese tomb that belonged to a woman of noble, but not royal birth. A photograph of it was very intriguing and I'm using some details from it in the story I’m writing. But recently I stumbled across an article that gave more information about the tomb. Sometimes it only takes a couple of facts to give a story a new and better angle. The woman’s tomb was small but she was wrapped in layers of exquisite silk, of a quality higher than that to which she was entitled -- sumptuary laws are not only European. More, she held rolls of silk in both hands. One article describes it thus:

The Mashan lady was from a lower aristocratic class, yet she was buried in patterned silk garments that normally would have been restricted to the upper nobility. In addition to her clothing, her face was covered with cloth, and she held rolls of silk in each hand. Like Zenghou Yi (see More About Excavations at the Tomb of Marquis Yi), this woman was apparently intent, despite the rules governing dress, on displaying her taste and wealth through the objects she chose to be buried with. [http://www.nga.gov/education/chinatp_sl14.shtm]

It seems to me that this woman might well have been the supplier of silk to the upper classes. She owned a shop or factory that spun, dyed and wove the silk and hired workers to do the exquisite stitchery – that’s why she had all that silk on hand to cover her body; that’s why she was holding rolls of silk in her hands! A woman proud of her occupation, and willing to show off her accomplishments. And since my sleuth owns a needlework shop, she would feel a kinship with this woman.

Did I mention that the tomb was built in the second century BC? A feeling of kinship, a sympathy of feeling, across cultures and centuries -- there's a story worth telling!

Sometimes I feel that kinship when I’m making bread. I stand at the table kneading dough, pushing with the heels of my hands, feeling the dough come warm and alive – pleasantly aware that I’m standing at the head of a line of women making these identical movements, a line that reaches, unbroken, back to the earliest human civilizations.

Life is good.

May these final days of the year bring peace and happiness to you and yours. See you next year.

Deb

Wishing You a Joyful Season!

Wishing you a Joyful Season!

From the Slan Family:

Joanna, David, Michael, Victoria and Rafferty.

Ornaments, part 2

By special request from a poster: one photo is an ornament arrangement from a couple of years ago. Three rings are filled with ornaments; the fourth (between the smallest the next smallest) hadn't been decorated yet when the photo was taken. This predates digital cameras, so the quality isn't great, but you get the idea.

The rings are simply wire wreath frames bought at a crafts store. The string, which is nearly invisible until you wrap lights around it, is fish line. The whole assembly is hung from the ceiling on a hook like the kind you'd use for a hanging plant.

Warning: the line-up of the fish line is tricky and requires some juggling to get the rings perfectly horizontal with respect to the floor.

A NON-ORNAMENT

The second photo, a close up of this year's arrangement, shows an unusual "ornament" it's a piece of the interior roof of my husband's '74 blue Chevy Nova … our "dating car" if you will.

Over the years before he got rid of it, the car fell apart piece by piece. Finally, the whole ceiling came down one Christmas. I cut a piece and hung it on the tree and now it has a place every year.

Next to it is a standard car freshener, to give my grid the scent of the holidays.

Do you have any ornaments that are pieces of your life?

Holidays can be murder

Why does Santa Season beat down your diet and exercise resolutions like a peppermint stick battering ram?

I was doing pretty well until yesterday. That’s when the UPS man delivered his annual installment of Texas treats, sent to me by relatives who have long since left the Lone Star State, but who reach out with the sugary arm of temptation, once a year.

So of course I had to dive into Gus’ Gourmet Pecans, which come in a gorgeous gold tin. The pecans are glazed in yummy flavors such as Cinnamon Toast, Chocolate Fudge, and Praline. (If you would like to spread the temptation, their web site is http://www.allpecans.com/).

The fruit cake also arrived. Don’t laugh—I actually love fruit cake. I usually yield in short order to the fruitcake from the Collin Street Bakery, which has been making them since the 1800s (http://www.collinstreet.com/).

Of course, a price must be paid for all this sweet mayhem. For those of you who will continue to forget for another ten days, the Season of Regret kicks off on January first. That's when, as a nation, we will rediscover old friends: Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, Curves, et al.

Out anti-chubby buddies are sitting back right now, biding their time. Waiting for us. Not to be a seasonal spoilsport, but here are their web sites, too: http://www.jennycraig.com/, http://www.weightwatchers.com/, http://www.curves.com/

Happy New Year.

What about you? Do you have any holiday diet-busters that trip you up, year after year? Or do you simply ignore the "D" word until January?

Out of My (Today’s) Element

I did something today that is possibly a nonevent for some of my fellow bloggers: I visited a Jo-Ann Fabric and Crafts store. I was both impressed and overwhelmed! As well as nostalgic, and maybe even a little sad.

I went there today because we have relatives visiting, and one asked if we had a Knit Picker. That’s a little gadget that helps pull a snag back through sweaters and other knits so it doesn’t show on the surface. We couldn’t find our gadget, and the Jo-Ann shop was in the direction we were heading for another errand. The visit worked out well--we found what we were after--and I had an opportunity to look around. And sigh... at least a bit.

Now, years ago, I was absolutely handy when it came to at least some of the crafts represented at Jo-Ann’s. As a teenager, I sewed a lot of my own clothes, just for the enjoyment of it. I knew how to knit, crochet and embroider--not adeptly, perhaps, but not too awfully, either.

No more. The total extent of my creativity is channeled these days into my writing, which I utterly enjoy. But there are days, like today, that I wish I’d kept up with the rest. I don’t even indulge in hooking rugs, the creative pastime I’ve mentioned before that I used to enjoy while vegging out in front of the TV at the end of the day when too tired to think of what to write. Even if I got inspired today, they didn’t have rug-hooking fixings at Jo-Ann and suggested I try Michael’s. Which I might... or not. These days, I spend my vegging time doing crossword puzzles, since I still don’t generally want to concentrate fully on the shows.

So, I’ll probably just remember the good old days, and let others sew and knit and create handcrafted stuff.

Me? I’ll just sit at my computer with Lexie on my lap and create books. Preferably with pets.

--Linda

A Writer's Life

Well, life is getting better again. The book has untangled itself and is trotting obediently down the road to the revelation of the murderer. Mostly. Still some kinks. But that’s all right, I think I have it by the tail now. But my warning of last week stands: don’t try this at home.

Christmas is all but upon us. I am so grateful our family decided to give just token gifts this year. It has become a nice custom to give to one another’s favorite charities and we’ve made it formal this year. Give to charities in one another’s names, and buy a five dollar gift to hand around. I would not have thought anything fun or clever was available for that small an amount, but there is. Two of my in-laws are getting one of those toy weapons that fires foam disks and I’m giving those last as the living room will become a battleground as soon as they are opened. But I also found a very pretty knit hat with a bill for the sister in law who loves to walk, and a tiny statue of a rat for the other SiL who collects them.

A newer tradition I've gotten into: Compline. My church, the Episcopal Cathedral of St. Mark in Minneapolis, offers a Compline service Sunday nights in Lent and Advent. Compline is the "bedtime" set of prayers that dates from medieval times in abbeys: Matins and Lauds, Prime, Sext, None, Vespers, and Compline. It's a very short service, about twenty minutes. Our church does it in extremely dim light, with everyone holding a taper. The prayers are very old: "Keep watch, O Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep." And our music director selects a very old hymn he sings with two other voices a capella. This past Sunday it was a fifteenth century hymn about Adam lying boung four thousand winters and yet was content, for "ne had the apple taken been, then had our lady abeen Heavene queen. Blessed be the time that apple taken was."

My writers group meets here tonight. For those of you determined to ignore my advice and try your hand at creative writing (is there any other kind?), join or form a writers group. I’ve been very lucky with my writers groups – I’ve been in just two. I have heard of groups that only praise each other’s work, and those that form cliques, and those that only disparage. The purpose of a writers group is to get each member published. Praise is important, and should be handed out by the bucket, but criticism is handed out with the goal in mind of adjusting a piece of writing so an editor will want to pay money for it. My writing has improved enormously since I joined my current group – and I was already published when I was invited to join. Writing is a lonely profession, and editors, deluged with submissions, look for reasons to reject our offerings. It breaks a writer’s heart to pour his or her soul out onto paper only to have someone say, “No, thanks.” Sometimes without even the “thanks.” So getting someone involved in the process who will say, “You know, this is a great idea. All it needs is a more likable partner for your sleuth.” Or, “I need to know more about the feelings of Joe as he finds out what Mary’s been doing.” Very, very helpful.

Excuse any typos in this, I'm writing it on the fly.

Merry Christmas!

Holiday Traditions

by Deb Baker

Ralphie Parker’s family wasn’t the first to have their Christmas meal in a Chinese restaurant. The Bakers have been doing it since the 1930s.

It all started with my husband’s grandfather, who was an orchestra leader in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Since he always worked on Christmas Eve, the family would join him afterwards for dinner. The only eating establishment open in the entire city was a mom-and-pop Chinese restaurant. They were the only diners (Except for the year that Ralphie’s mom burned the turkey).

The first year that I joined them in this tradition, I thought they were crazy. We had the restaurant to ourselves. Everyone else was home that Christmas Eve. But the food was good and our hosts were welcoming and appreciative. After all, the Baker family was almost large enough to fill the restaurant.

Today, the Bakers are spread across the country. Yet on this Christmas Eve they will all be eating Chinese. So will we. It’s one strange tradition but it’s ours and it feels right.

BTW, these days if we want to get in, we have to make reservations.

Do you have any special traditions? If not, you still have time to begin.

Season of Darkness and Light

This is a photo my husband took tonight. It started snowing a couple days ago, and it's absolutely beautiful outside. Can you see the white sugar sparkle of the snow? And our tree through the window?

For me, this is a difficult time of year. My father was an abusive alcoholic. I now think that perhaps he was bi-polar and used alcohol to "medicate" himself. During the holidays, he would “misbehave.” So, I have a lot of sad memories.

Our society promotes this myth that if you “believe,” that if you are good, that everything will turn out all right. But that’s a childish world-view. You can be terrific, you can be as perfect as is humanly possible, and sh*t happens.

But growing up, I’d watch all the holiday specials and wish, and think, and dream that maybe I could make my dad change. That’s exactly what an alcoholic wants: Someone else to take responsibility for his/her drinking. So, in concert with the television specials and wistful ads and happy cards and overblown sentiments, I had my father suggesting that if my mother was a better wife, if his job was less stressful, and if I were a better daughter, he would be different.

Which was...baloney.

My dad died at age 48 of alcoholism. His death was a relief.

Today, most people think I live a charmed life. And I do. But on these dark days, I fight to be positive. I work hard to live in the moment, to appreciate my blessings, and to enjoy how wonderful my life is. After all, it’s good because I’ve done everything in my power to make it this way. Back in college, I made a conscious choice: I didn’t want to live my life the way my father did. When I learned counseling was free at Ball State University, I made an appointment. Over the years, I worked HARD and I realized I was not to blame for my father's behavior. I spent so many hours in therapy, that I've calculated it cost BSU more money to treat me than I paid for my education.

The lights of this season have special meaning to me. They are the lights that interrupt the darkness, the cheer that struggles through the weight and cold of the snow, and the reminder of the spark within.

I try to surround myself with holiday items that speak to the child in me, like the cheerful ice skating Snoopy who lights up my office window. I do this because some days, the little girl in me forgets she’s a grown woman, and she worries. She worries that her daddy is coming home drunk. That he's going to ruin yet another Christmas.

I’m curious. Do any of you have sad holiday memories? How do you cope with them?

(N)O Christmas tree

I love my Christmas ornaments but my husband does not enjoy wrestling with the before, during, and after of a lop-sided tree that weighs more than he does. Neither do I.

So, a few years ago, I decided to find ways to display my ornaments, without a tree. It turns out they are much more visible without those pesky branches.

A recurring method has been to hang the ornaments on the meshes that are meant to be used to cover an outdoor bush, for example. These are grids of lights that are generally 4' x 6'.

In the photo on the left you can see my husband, appropriately dressed in a CSI T-shirt, tacking the bottom of the grid in place. The top is attached to standards that are nailed to the window frame.

The second photo shows the grid (actually 2 grids, tied together) fully laden with ornaments.

In case you think we miss the smell of a tree—one of the "ornaments" is a car freshener. And when we miss needles, we pull a few off the (real) wreath on the door and sprinkle them on the carpet.

QUIZ

Ever the teacher, I like to quiz my guests. Over the years I've given a prize to the person in each set of guests who comes closest to guessing the number of ornaments. They don't know ahead of time—at some point during the gathering, I announce the quiz. The guests then have three minutes to look over the display and come up with a number. It's not enough time to count, so players have to rely on another way of determining the number.

Now that so many expect that one, I've had to come up with different quizzes, such as how many New York ornaments are there? Or how many acorns?

Mean, huh?

Another arrangement I like is the following: Take 3 or 4 circular metal wires of different sizes. You can find them in a crafts store (they're meant to have garland wrapped around them). Arrange the circles from smallest on top to largest on the bottom and hang the arrangement from the ceiling. Hang the ornaments all around each ring. The effect is of ornaments "floating" in space, in the general shape of a tree. If anyone is curious, I'll pull out a photo from that year.

Does anyone else have a way of displaying ornaments without a tree? I'm open to something new for '08!

Incoming!

It had to happen.

My book got a negative comment in a public forum.

This wasn’t a formal review, mind you, but a comment in one of those reader feedback forums at an online bookseller.

The Dear Reader in question didn’t simply pan the book; she actually stormed back to the bookstore and returned it! Now, if that’s not being mightily offended, I don’t know what is. DR accused my heroine Kate of being snarky and condescending. (And come to think of it, maybe she is.)

Generally I’m of the opinion that it’s a far worse sin to bore readers than to offend the odd one with excessive cheekiness. But even so, I would like to do what I can to mitigate any future storming of booksellers.

To that end, I’m considering putting a blanket apologia in the front matter of every book.

The disclaimer would go something like this:

The author apologizes to the following people or groups who may be offended by irreverent depictions within the novel:

Gym bunnies
Muscle men
Men who drive muscle cars
Viking blondes
Biker chicks
Mean girls
Medical assistants with a grudge
Compulsive exercisers
Compulsive dieters
Compulsive gamblers
Loan sharks
Plastic surgery junkies
People who hate cats
People who love purse dogs
High-powered boyfriends
Low-powered boyfriends
AWOL boyfriends
People with AWOL waistlines
TV women who teeter around on stilettos
Women with flip bobs
News directors
Drill Sergeants
Show horses
Horse’s asses
Devotees of low carb diets
Devotees of M&M’S and Snickers Bar diets

Phew! As you can see, it’s a long list of potential offendees that I need to accommodate. And the list will be getting longer with each book.

I only hope that when any of the above-named aim their flamethrowers at me, they spell my name right.

Nostalgia and Creativity

My writing time on weekdays is generally in the afternoon lately, since I go to downtown L.A. mornings for my “temporary” law job. I wouldn’t have lasted this long at it (over a year so far) if I had to drive, buck traffic, and pay for the expensive parking in the area. Instead, I take the Metro --L.A.’s subway system.

Yesterday, when I got on the subway, though, the driver got on the P.A. system to say there was an emergency at the next station and the power was out. Since I haven’t found anything more about it on-line or heard any news reports, the emergency was hopefully not too serious, other than disrupting service. In any event, I was fortunate enough to have an alternate plan. I called my husband, who came with Lexie to pick me up.

And where did we meet? Well, we both thought of a location a little easier to get to than most, since it’s not directly downtown. It’s where I used to work, the former Unocal Center, which is now Los Angeles Center Studios. Years ago, as an in-house attorney with Union Oil Company of California (Unocal), I was involved with many real estate issues concerning that site, including its sale, and attempted lease of a major part of an office building that was planned to be built on part of the property but never was, thanks to a downturn in the L.A. real estate industry. I think often of the irony that Unocal Center, which was supposed to be torn down, still exists, while Unocal no longer does. It was merged into Chevron a couple of years ago.

I don’t get to that area often, so it was a real kick to walk up the hill over the 110 (Harbor) Freeway the way I used to. I saw the streets, many now blocked off as part of the studio complex, where I used to hang out. The old outdoor parking lot is mostly still there, but part of it is now a park, and another part, all fenced in, holds prop vehicles for the studio--cop cars, emergency vehicles, Border Patrol cars, and more. The building itself appears in many TV shows and commercials, which still delights me.

Because of tight security at the studio, I couldn’t just walk in and look around. Instead, I stood near the entrance I once used to drive into the underground parking lot, and just looked at the place. I recalled many lunchtime walks with friends on the street where I stood. I remembered driving into the parking lot and standing in the courtyard outside after the Whittier Earthquake. And then there were the many, many happy days I spent inside just doing my job with a group of wonderful, caring people--including the time when the company was under siege by a potential corporate looter, and Unocal managed to stave him off, although at a tremendous cost. The financial effects may have contributed, even years later, to the company changing its focus and, ultimately, becoming a friendly takeover target.

So why am I describing all this on a writers’ blog? Well, I admit it has nothing to do with my primary topic here--pets. But it has a lot to do with creativity, and the birth and nurturing of writing ideas. The other day, while walking from my Metro station to the building where my current law job is, I got an idea for another mystery series. This trip down memory lane gave the idea some additional perspectives.

Will I ever plot even one story in that possible series? Write it? Who knows? But it has been fun thinking even more about the idea, especially in the context of giving even more import to this delightful nostalgic episode. Amazing, how ideas just flow and multiply at times if a writer lets them!

--Linda

Good News - Bad News

The signing last week went well. We had about two dozen people show up, and I read the portions of the new novel in which the crow appeared. The cake was beautiful, if I do say so myself. I still don’t know how to get a photograph up on this blog, so if you want to see it, go to Monica-Ferris.com and you’ll see it right up front. Marzipan turned out to be a delight to work with, and now I’m thinking I’ll very likely do it again.

A friend and I went up to the Rum River Tree Farm in Anoka last Thursday and cut down a beautiful little balsam for a Christmas tree. Balsam is supposed to be the most fragrant of the evergreens but while this one filled the car with the wonderful smell on the way home, it now sits in olfactory silence in the living room. It has water – and it’s drinking – and I put a little humidifier behind it, and I even spritzed it with water yesterday. But nothing is working. The one reason I wanted a real tree is so I could have the fragrance. No artificial source even comes close. The tree could hardly be fresher, and indeed its needles are very flexible, so why doesn’t it smell up the place? Anyone have any idea?

I am about ready to take all my files on Thai Die and delete them, and burn every scrap of paper on which any of it, or notes about it, are printed. I hate this book, I really do. I am convinced I’m missing something obvious, but I can’t think what it might be. I just know that if I could figure it out, suddenly the book with unwind itself and all will be well. Meanwhile, I get cranky and depressed whenever I sit down to work on it. My writers’ group meets Wednesday evenings, and it’s my turn to read, so I’ll find something from it to read, then spend the rest of my time kvetching uselessly. Because this isn’t something some brilliant person can make a helpful suggestion about. This is my own private hell – though it will be merely Purgatory if I can find the way out.

Anyone who is not already a writer should take these words to heart and decide never to become one. You are miserable and you make anyone around your miserable. You say cruel, truthful things about yourself, find all helpful suggestions totally worthless, and rip the guts out of any friend who dares come near. You can’t eat, you can’t sleep, and you want to go out and firebomb a house in which lives a totally innocent old woman who knits afghans for charity. I say this as someone who is totally committed to the craft, and who, if she could just get this monstrous load of old codswallop out of her life, would recommend it again.

And how was your day?

On the Home Stretch

by Deb Baker

Today is going to be a glorious day because this afternoon I will finish the first draft of my fourth doll collecting mystery, which is due January 3rd. Since I write methodically slow and revise as I go, two more revisions should wrap up this tale.

When I started the series, I tackled third person POV for the first time, telling the story through two characters – Gretchen and her mother, Caroline. I discovered that I love writing multiple points of view and added more of them in books two and three. Using different characters as narrators can really drive a story and create more tension because the reader gets to know more than the protagonist, and that ratchets up the suspense.

I’m writing about a murder that has already happened and one that is about to happen if Gretchen doesn’t put the puzzle together very quickly. The reader knows what’s up, but poor Gretchen doesn’t. I get to explore the minds of the suspects, what they are thinking and doing every step of the way. And until yesterday, I thought I knew who the killer was. What a surprise I had when it turned out to be a different character.

Tomorrow I’ll start following each character from the beginning and make them all come together at the end. If this ice storm lets up, I’m treating myself to a cocktail dress. Hope I look as good as Joanna.

Black Tie: White Knuckles

When I’ve been asked my scrapbook “style” for various industry publications, I usually answer, “Eclectic.” However, I think I could be more honest and say, “Experimental.” You see, I love to try new things—and I especially enjoy incorporating "magpie" elements in my pages. "Magpie" elements is a British term for found items, stuff you happen upon which normally would not be part of a scrapbook page. (Think about magpies. They are scavengers who pick up and save shiny objects. See?)

Last Sunday night, (Oops, I lost my concentration because there’s an ice storm outside and I spotted a brilliantly bright cardinal sitting on a branch…his vibrant feathers alive against the silver of the frozen rain and the brown of the nude branches) my husband and I went to Opera Theatre of St. Louis’s annual holiday celebration. Because it’s a black-tie event, I am always struck with terror about what to wear. I’m curious: Does dressing up worry you? I would rather be beaten with a baseball bat than have to shop for a formal gown. It’s worse than shopping for a bathing suit, I think. You see, I think a formal gown is a statement about how classy you are, and a bathing suit, well, it’s just about whatever you can find to hide your jiggly bits and emphasize what hasn’t gone South for the Winter. Conversely, a formal gown is supposed to display your jiggly bits, but in a tasteful manner. I mean, am I the only person who gets panicky about this? Hence the title of this post: Black Tie, White Knuckles.

David promised to help me make the decision. He was a half an hour late for our shopping, That upset me…big time. While I waited, I wandered into Saks Fifth Avenue and the skinny young thing at the formal dress department looked at me like I was nuts when I asked if there was still time for them to hem a dress for me. After David arrived, and I had a melt-down (Do you do that? Is it just me?), we went to the formal dress department and God had ANSWERED my prayers. A woman of respectable age was there. She took pity on me and helped me find this dress. Then she and David ran downstairs to buy shoes so the alterations lady could put in a proper hem.

Okay, and here’s the Magpie part. When it was all over, I fell in love with the Saks Fifth Avenue shopping bag. It’s black with white snow flakes and inside there’s a classy border of lovely words. So, I used the bag as a portion of my Black Tie: Red Letter page. That part of the experiment worked. What didn’t work is I bought more ink from a refill place. I think the quality of the photo leaves something to be desired. (And this was especially disappointing after I used the clone stamp tool to remove a vase from the side of David's head.)

So, dish! Does buying fancy duds intimidate you? Is there somewhere you go, but it’s a struggle until you get there? If I hadn’t have gone, I’d have never heard Meditations by Thais. (Go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2yyNSUoe3E and you can hear it. It’s absolutely divine—and a moment of beauty and spirituality in a hectic, commercial time of year. You NEED this.) But getting gussied up is hard for me. How about you?

Keeping Frosty warm

Like most of us crafters, I make my holiday cards each year. And like most of us, also, I make it harder for myself every year.

This year's design, pictured above, includes a hand-knit scarf.

Yes, I'm knitting each one. That's 200+ three-and-a-half-inch scarves. Granted, they're only two stitches wide … And I have some fallback ideas, like a braid or a ribbon if I'm even more behind in another week.

The drawing is printed on cardstock. I make a hole on each side of Frosty's neck with an awl and use it also to push the scarf through one side, around the back and out the other side. I glue it down if needed, or just let it hang if it falls right.

I like to include a religious context that's general enough to cover the breadth of spiritual leanings of the people on my list. This text for 2007 has a subtle religious meaning, or not, as the recipient chooses.

A FROSTY QUIZ

My husband developed and produced a CD, to be sent with the card to a select couple of dozen people on the list. The CD has 25 versions of "Frosty the Snowman," by different artists. It comes with a list of the artists, labeled A through Y … your job is to match the artist with the track on the CD. Is number one by The Jackson 5? Leon Redbone? Willie Nelson?

Want to play? I'll send a copy of the CD to the first 3 people to ask for it. Of course, you'll then be eligible for the prizes that go to those with the most correct answers!

A dangerous, lonely place

Life has an amazing way of giving you perspective.

To start with, I must mention that I had a bad week this week. I mean, I had a ba-a-a-d week. I’ll hoard the rarer elements of the events of the week for later retelling in a fictionalized version, but let’s just say it was: a Week. That. Sucked.

On the last night of Le Week Terrible, I had to jump in a car and drive seven hours from Los Angeles to a neighboring state. I had to do all the driving, because my husband, who got nada sleep during the previous days, was too tired to drive.

So there I was, bemoaning my suckola week, which was being compounded by a drive-from-hell through cactus country, when we pulled into one of those gas station-food store combo joints at an interstate exit.

I looked at the well-lit but deserted environs and said to my husband, “This looks like the kind of place where a guy with a gun comes in, herds the employees to the back, and shoots them to steal fifty bucks.”

My husband barely rolled his sleepy eyes at me, because he’s used to hearing these types of pronouncements from me. This is because, ever since I started writing murder mysteries, I’ve begun to look on the dire side of life’s probabilities (or maybe that's why I started writing murder mysteries).

When we walked into the store, it was empty except for a grandmotherly looking clerk. I noticed that she was talking very fast into a phone. And she looked upset.

She hung up the phone and said to us, “I just had a grab-and-run.”

A grab-and-run, it turns out, is when a patron simply grabs some merchandise and runs out the door.

I could practically see the woman’s heart beating through her uniform. I stayed with her for a while and we talked. It turned out that this lady had been robbed—sometimes at gunpoint—repeatedly, at various jobs.

“If this keeps up, I’m simply going to tell them I won’t do the nightshift,” she said.

We had a longer discussion about why she kept this eight-dollar-an-hour, highly risky job.

“It pays my bills,” she kept repeating, almost to herself. “But I can’t keep doing it. I can't live through it again.”

As I drove away later, I found myself getting enraged that a grandmother has to risk life and limb to make a lousy eight bucks an hour to keep a roof over her head. And that there is nothing there to protect her except a security camera. And as always, I am blown away by the impact that even a hint of real-life violence brings.

And then I consider how we, as writers, try to convey the power of that impact--how best to describe an old lady's heart beating visibly underneath her uniform; how, as a model employee, she chased after a teen-aged thief to try to get the license number of his getaway car; how, in the affluent retirement community in which she lives, she's probably already been "made" by the criminal element, as an easy mark; how, I'm so afraid that one of these days, one of these assholes is going to actually pull the trigger; how, the megacorporation that owns the store where she works would probably fire her on the spot if she were fifteen minutes late to work.

But that's just what I thought I saw, or what I imagined, when I looked at her face. And that's why I write.

So anyway, my worrying about the grandmother clerk completely obliterated my ability to wallow in my own woes, at least for today.

And I’m going to check in on her during the drive back. I'm hoping she'll have found a different job by then.

Dog Show Delight

Last Saturday, I visited the Eukanuba National Championship dog show at the Long Beach Convention Center. It was loads of fun, and I’m delighted I was there.

I don’t show dogs--not even my beloved Cavalier King Charles Spaniels. But I admire people who do--who have that kind of dedication to their favorite breed. And I did watch some of the conformation challenges, but I admit I had other primary goals in going.

So why did I attend? Well, for one thing, I was doing some research into dogs I wanted to include in my next Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mystery. Some of Kendra’s best friends are mixed breeds, but some are purebreds, too. And of course, coincidentally, Kendra’s own pet is a Cavalier named Lexie... just like mine.

Speaking of purebreds, one of the enjoyable things about this show was a booth dedicated to the movie “Underdog,” which will soon be out on DVD. It wasn’t just a plain booth with sample DVDs and movie hype. No, sitting there were a couple of the stars--a beagle who was probably the real Underdog... and a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel who played his love interest, Polly Purebred. Of course I introduced myself... to the trainer as well as the dogs.

One of the highlights of the show to me was the plethora of other booths, each of which featured a dog breed. I picked up information on several I’m considering introducing Kendra to. And the best booth of all was... you guessed it! The one that featured Cavaliers.

Well, okay, I’m partial. I admit it. But the booth was a work of art. The breeders who staffed it were all dressed in period costumes, possibly from the time of King Charles II, who popularized the little spaniels that were the forerunners of today’s Cavaliers. In the background was a lovely, functioning fountain. And in the front were Cavaliers--one of each of the four colorations--Blenheim (red and white), Tricolor, Ruby and Black and Tan.

I’m not the only one who admired the booth. A lot of attendees stopped and oohed and ahhhed over the pups. And petted them. And probably fell hard for them.

Plus, like the dogs, the booths at the show also were pitted against one another, and the Cavalier booth won in the toy dog category. Definitely well deserved!

I was really happy that I met a few of the really wonderful Cavalier breeders there. I’ve started to contact some by e-mail, and it was helpful to associate names with faces--although I admit that I’m really awful at that and have always been so. That means I probably mistook at least one person for someone else I’d tried to start a correspondence with. Mea culpa!

And why have I tried starting such correspondence? Well, as I reported in earlier blogs this year, we’ve been mourning the loss of our older Cavalier. But I think it’ll soon be time to get Lexie a new Cavalier puppy as an eventual friend... once she gets used to sharing the household again. Okay, I’m projecting here. The pup’s for me, too, and not just Lexie. And for my husband as well, although he’s leaving the quest primarily to me.

I’m finding the search this time a bit difficult, since patience is not my middle name. But I definitely want to go only to reputable breeders who care about their Cavaliers and provide health exams to minimize the health problems that sometimes appear in the breed. I want to make sure people know how to contact me if they happen to have a potentially suitable puppy for me to meet and fall in love with.

Some people reading this may be disgruntled that I’m not considering heading to a shelter and adopting an orphan pup--at least not right now. I understand that, but hope they’ll be understanding of me as well. I’m happy that there are as many opinions about mixed breeds and pedigrees as there are dog lovers. Diversity is generally a good thing.

But I’ve loved Cavaliers for over 30 years, and though each one’s different, I know in general their characters: sweet, loving, cuddly lap dogs. To me, Cavaliers are always winners!

--Linda

THINGS LOST - AND REGAINED

This is being written Tuesday afternoon, while the snow comes down so hard outside it’s like a fog. Perfect time to be indoors with a mug of cocoa and a warm computer.

Funny the things we miss once they are gone, sometimes even more than we thought we would. Every year I’d get out my Christmas tree ornaments and, as I put them on the tree, would get all nostalgic. I’m in my sixties now, and I’ve been gathering ornaments since I was in my twenties. Of course some have broken or been worn out or been lost along the way, but I still had a few from way back when. Note the word “had.” Some weeks before we moved, I took out more than half my ornaments and distributed them among my nieces and nephews, because from now on we’re having a little tree, not the big one our much bigger house allowed. But I saved my very favorites, many of which were like a toddler’s “bankie:” more precious than beautiful. But others were both precious and beautiful. We moved the last week in June, and only now did I go digging in our storage room for the box of ornaments. And found them gone. I looked in every box – twice. But no ornaments. I was deeply disheartened. How could that have happened? It was, of course, far too late to go have a word with our movers.

After a few days of mourning, I decided I must either cancel the tree or buy new ornaments. No tree? Unthinkable! But on my first trip down the Christmas aisles at Super Target my eye was repeatedly caught by ornaments almost, but not quite, like my old ones. In a few minutes I was near tears and had to go away.

Then I considered: What would I have rather lost than the ornaments? My favorite books? My good dishes? My computer? My boxes of photographs? Or, worst of all, my 200-piece Fontanini collection? (Go to e-Bay and type in Fontanini and you’ll see what I mean.) I have about 200 pieces if you count every sheep – and I have six or seven shepherds, so I need a LOT of sheep to make them not look ridiculous.

So I went back to Super Target, and then to the Mall of America and even Walgreen’s. This time I smiled as I found some really beautiful ornaments. And a friend from my water aerobics class brought me two hand-made wooden ornaments. Already I’m building happy new memories.

This past Saturday I had a special early book signing for Knitting Bones out in Excelsior, which is the little town this series is set in. Usually we get a good turnout, but this Saturday we also had our first serious snowstorm and only four people braved the slippery streets and icy wind. -- and one of them had no idea who I was or what I was doing there. Wednesday evening we will have the official “pub party” at Once Upon A Crime mystery bookstore in Minneapolis. The owners are paying for a half-sheet cake and I will make marzipan decorations shaped like knitting for the top of it. I’ve been practicing with Sculpy, my efforts at least suggest a knitted scarf and ball of yarn, perhaps mostly because there isn’t much else they could be. It’s snowing very hard right now, but it’s supposed to stop by nine this evening. This is Minnesota and very likely the streets will be clear by tomorrow evening.
Time to go play with the marzipan. Life is good.

Food With a Difference

by Deb Baker

This year at Magna cum Murder my panel assignment was…well…uh, I can’t remember the precise title, but we discussed the difference between New York authors and Midwest authors. None of us knew what might separate us other than distance, since no one on the panel except the moderator was from New York.

Is there a real difference in the way we write or only a perceived difference?
We still don’t know.

But then, toward the end of the hour, the topic of food came up. Our wonderfully witty moderator, Julia Pomeroy, author of COLD MOON HOME, clued us in to one vast difference between east coast and Midwest that has nothing to do with writing. According to her and others in the audience, we eat differently. And disgustingly.

Who knew?

Did she mean that she doesn’t eat mashed potatoes with a dollop of canned creamed corn, that she has never salivated over porcupine balls when growing up (those ground beef balls with rice popping out), wasn’t nursed back to health as a kid with a hot toddy, brandy and all? In the Michigan Upper Peninsula we grew up arguing over which kid would get the chicken heart as the prelude to the weekly chicken dinner. We ate pasties drenched in ketchup. Pasties, as you MUST recall, are a mix of ground beef and/or pork, diced potatoes, onions, carrots, rutabagas ( an important addition if you are Finnish or Swedish) and whatever secret ingredients your family is known for, all wrapped up in a sort of pie dough, then baked until brown.

What’s wrong with New Yorkers? What’s wrong with Julia?
I bet they don’t even dunk their toast in hot chocolate, for cripes sake.

Great Gifts for Scrapbookers and Papercrafters

If you have a scrapbooker or papercrafter on your gift list, you might be baffled about what to get her. Here are some great ideas:

1. Paper: I’m a charter member of the “she who dies with the most paper wins” club. However, one sheet of several patterns never works well. Instead, buy a “slab” of paper or a package with a variety of co-ordinating papers. That way the crafter will have enough to do a project. Do be careful, however. Some kits promise hundreds of pieces, most of which are garbage. Look at the back of the package to see what it contains. You want a good mix of embellishments and paper.

2. Letter Stickers: You can NEVER have too many or enough! No matter how they look, or what color, letter stickers are essential to almost every project. A great idea is to buy two packages. That way your crafter will have enough for those pesky words like “proofreading” or “bookkeeping.”

3. Ribbon: The trend is lots of ribbons in all sorts of colors. Choose a color family or two and buy a variety—solids, patterns, stripes. Don’t go thicker than ½ inch width.

4. Stamps: I would say “rubber stamps” but the new clear ones aren’t rubber. (Who knows WHAT they are.) Right now, the coolest stamps are alphabets in foam. Also hot are any clear stamps with a doodling style and journaling stamps (stamps with lines on them where you can write your story. These are products that can be used over and over.

5. A Cricut or a QuicKutz System: This is the next step up from letter stickers. With these you make your own letters. The equipment is expensive, but worth it. If she already has either of these, give her a Cricut cartridge with another alphabet or cool shapes like tags or a QuicKutz font.

6. Storage Systems: I particularly like Cropper Hopper’s paper storage containers which are like magazine holders. You can see all your paper, take them off the shelf and easily find what you’re looking for. Also their "page planners" are cool. You can put all the pieces of a page or two in one and keep your stuff together. Make sure everything is sized for 12" x 12" paper, otherwise the containers will be too small.

7. Canon Selphy: This is a unit that allows you to download photos from the memory card and print them. It’s very convenient, quick and economical.

8. A Subscription: Keep the ideas coming all year long. I give a lot of subscriptions as gifts because I think they are a monthly reminder of my love. The top three scrapbooking magazines are (in no particular order): Scrapbooks, Etc.; Memory Makers; and Creative Keepsakes.

Now, where should you go to buy all this? I suggest Archivers. (The Canon Elphy might be best purchased at Best Buy.) Right now if you make a $50 purchase at Archivers, you get a pad of holiday paper FREE. (Yeah, I meant to make it in today, but the weather turned nasty. I'll see you there tomorrow! Of course I need more PAPER!)

A hobby shared

One of the best things about a crafts hobby is that it's a natural source of gifts.
You get to create something — a piece of needlepoint or a page in a scrapbook or a miniature scene, say—and then give it away. This leaves an empty spot on your counter or worktable, so you can make something else.

In the past year, I've taken several scenes to the silent auctions we usually have at mystery conferences, and also created a couple of one-of-a-kind presents.

The dollhouse in the photos above is one that will be leaving my house tomorrow. This was a bought house, but a fellow crafter and I added paint and holiday lights to the outside. We made sheets, blankets, pillows, and rugs for the inside to add color and texture to the plain wooden furniture.

The house will go to a nearby school for their annual raffle, the proceeds of which go to a children's breakfast program. We've been doing this for a few years and it's a lot of fun, especially when we get a photo of the winner, usually a little girl with a bright smile.

This year I'm most happy with the dolls I found (no, not the caliber of your dolls, Deb! But good for five-year-olds) … three families, one Asian American, one Caucasian, one African American. The three cultures represent in large part the composition of the neighborhood where the school is, in the San Francisco Bay Area.

The purple rug in the living room on the lower floor was made by a woman I've never met. Nettie is a resident in a retirement community in a small town in Kansas where the mother of a friend of mine, Julie, lives. Julie (who lives in Portland, Oregon) was visiting her mother in Kansas and talking about my miniature projects; Nettie overheard, and a steady stream of knitted goods has followed. A circuitous route, but that can be the best kind.

A hobby shared is twice blessed. Did I hear that somewhere? Well, whatever the math, it's most rewarding.