The best and worst of 2011

Christmas was barely done when the media began rating 2011.  Best movie of 2011, best health news of 2011, best business moment, best style trend … you name it, there’s a list.  This was pretty much what inspired my survey this week – the one I post every Tuesday on my Facebook page.  “My 2011?” it read.  “I’d give it a 9 out of 10.  SPEEDY BD SURVEY #85 asks, how about you?  What’s your rating for 2011?”

A knitter never sleeps, but she dreams

I’m so bad when it comes to afterwork, like weaving in ends and making pompoms.  So I had six hats, all done but in need of finishing before I could send them off for the holiday.  After procrastinating much of last weekend, I ran out of time.  I had to mail them, or they’d never arrive on time!

The Patriots played Sunday.  What better time could there be?  I’m an avid fan, but I can’t bear to watch the game in progress.  Hey, I read the ending of books first, because I can’t stand suspense.  If you could tell me the outcome of a game, I could watch.  Since you can’t, I don’t.

Meatloaf recipes, anyone?

Eating has been a challenge, what with the oral surgery I recently had.  Finding things that work has been sheer trial and error.  Puréed soups work; oatmeal does not (too many little pieces).  Jello works; ice cream does not (too cold).  If you follow me on Facebook, you’ve already heard me mention fried eggs, which just kind of slither on down the throat without much effort at all.  But second to that comes meatloaf, which DH bought ready-made at the market in part because he likes it but, yes, also because he thought it would satisfy me.  It did.  It was just soft enough, smooth enough, hearty enough.  Was?  Try is.  I’ve been on a meatloaf kick all week.

My post traumatic weekend

I had oral surgery last Thursday.  I wish I could say that I’m an adoringly appreciative patient, but when I’m not feeling well, I just want to be left alone.  So here I had an army of friends and relatives wanting to help, and there wasn’t much they could do.  I couldn’t talk, couldn’t eat.  I slept mostly at first, until I switched from prescription meds to Tylenol, at which point I could think again.

DH was actually away with the grandkids for the weekend, a date arranged long before my surgery was scheduled and one that couldn’t be changed, since it involved tickets to the Patriots’ game.  So I was (dum da dum dum) home alone.

Little things that drive me crazy

I really, really want to complain about something, but I have a personal rule.  It started when my son went to college and, during those first weeks of adjustment, too often called with complaints.  I finally told him that for every bad thing, he had to first tell me something good.  That’s my rule.  So here goes.  Today’s subject is packaging.

The good.  I keep reusable bags my backseat and have trained myself to take them with me into the supermarket.  The bad.  If I have more groceries than bags, I ask for paper, which I then reuse to collect trash in my house.  Blithely, the bagger puts my excess groceries in plastic bags.  Four of them.

Life’s little surprises

I love unexpected pleasures.  Some hit me in the face, others are more subtle.  But each is a joy.

Take this blog.  I set out today to give an early December update of I write, I knit, I live.  And then, tucked into each paragraph, came a little surprise, turning what might have been just another blog into something really fun.

Should grammar matter?

So I’m working on SWEET SALT AIR, rereading Chapter 6 for the umpteenth time, and I pause on the following paragraph:

“By Oliver Weeks?” Charlotte cut in.  “Still?  What a character.  Major interview there.”

Charlotte and Nicole are talking about ramekins that are hand-thrown by a ceramicist on Quinnipeague, but there is not one complete sentence in what Charlotte has said.  I try revising.

“Were those ramekins made by Oliver Weeks?” Charlotte cut in.  “Is he still here on Quinnipeague?  He is a total character.  An interview with him will be crucial to our book.”

The right way to load a dishwasher or make a peanut butter sandwich

BEFORE

AFTER

Thanksgiving turkey is the best, except when it comes to cleaning up.  It’s big and greasy, and between that and the casseroles, salads, veggies, and pies, we use more pots, pans, dishes, and utensils than on any other single day of the year.  This being the morning after Thanksgiving, cleaning up is fresh in my mind.  So here are some thoughts.

First, flashback to Tuesday night.  As the official cleaner-upper after dinner, my husband had his work cut out for him.  With the troops landing Wednesday morning, we’d been waiting til the last minute to run the dishwasher, meaning we hadn’t run it in four days, and it was a tight squeeze.

How to research a novel

In theory, since a novel is make-believe, the idea of doing research is oxymoronic.  Isn’t it?

No.  I don’t think so either.  I’ve always done research.  Part of the appeal of my books is that readers buy into the story, so it has to be real.

It used to be that real came from the library.  I loved working there.  It got me out of the house, for one thing.  For another, I find the smell of old books both comfort and inspiration.  There’s nothing like endless rows of library stacks to make a girl feel like she’s joining an honorable profession.

Shopping for the holidays

I’m not thinking about Christmas catalogues, free shipping offers or Black Friday hours.  I’m still on Thanksgiving, and it has to do with food.  I’ve been poring through cookbooks, clipping recipes from the paper, and making lists.  The troops are descending next Wednesday morning, and they’re all staying here, so Thanksgiving dinner isn’t the only meal I’ll be making.  I have to keep bellies filled for four days, and my shopping list keeps growing. There are the unusual suspects – fruit, salad makings, cold cuts, bread, eggs.  There are also a bunch of staples we don’t usually buy: