Tag: compound

Button Sunday

Some way overdue thank-yous here. First, to my buddy Rob E in St. Louis, who sent me a scarf with a bold print for possible doll fashion along with bottle caps for my paintings. The scarf is already packed away with my fabric, but it sat on the desk next to me for a couple of days before I really scrutinized it, and then I started laughing because I was reminded of Diane Wiest’s character in the movie The Birdcage as she puzzled over a provocative design on some dinnerware. The scarf depicted people doing all kinds of naughty things, so the fabric must surely be used for some future fashion event. Thanks, Rob.

Another friend, writer Jeffrey Ricker, has temporarily relocated to Canada to pursue his MFA. But he sent me a couple of St. Louis mementos to add to my collection:


Pressed pennies from the Missouri Botanical Gardens. Thank you very much, Jeff! And the dog card makes me happy, too.

It’s funny how old and dear friends come back into our lives when we need them most, and such is the case with a good friend from my high school and college years, Jim S. I won’t embarrass him by describing how much our ongoing conversations mean to me. Recently, he sent the most wonderful package of goodies to Tom and me: these clever steeping tea mugs, along with some tea blends, and honey from BACK HOME to sweeten our tea.

The honey is from a beekeeper in a rural area where I lived many years ago, though I don’t think Jim knew that. Check out the tea products and blends from The Tea Spot. If there’s not a retail supplier near you, you can also order from them online. Saturday morning provided the perfect chilly weather for Tom and me to enjoy the Bolder Breakfast blend of Black Tea, Pu’erh, and Chocolate. It was divine and went well with our brunch of eggs, grits, bacon, biscuits (with more honey!), and grapes.

By the way, from The Tea Spot: Our full leaf teas include organic and Fair-Trade Certified™ estate teas and signature blends. Committed to giving as we grow, 10% of each sale is donated in-kind to cancer wellness and community programs. A gift with heart from one of the best hearts I know; thank you, Jim!

Our friend, writer and blogger Josh Helmin, was in Houston last week and came by The Compound to have dinner with us. He and Tim graciously agreed to pose for a Reading Is Hot photo holding two new novels by other author friends of ours.


Josh is holding Greg Herren’s Timothy. Greg sent me a copy before anyone else could buy it, and I was honored to read that he dedicated the novel to me because of our shared love–as teenagers and beyond–of romantic suspense writers like Victoria Holt, Phyllis Whitney, the incomparable Mary Stewart, and Daphne du Maurier. Tim’s holding Famous Author Rob Byrnes’s third in his hilarious caper series featuring Grant Lambert and Chase LaMarca and their entire gang of misfits, Strange Bedfellows.

To bring this full circle, I received a photo from Rob E who reminded me that reading is also sensible WHEN it’s hot, as this was what he was enjoying in the middle of the Midwest’s recent drought.

Y’all know how I love writers, and I want to share Indiegogo projects from a couple of my writer friends.

Author, webmaster, and columnist Linda Gentile founded Markeroni in 2003. Markeroni is the oldest website that helps people find and record historical markers and landmarks. Markeroni is a history resource with more than 150,000 landmarks in their database and 31,000 with a Catalog entry. Markeroni is in need of an upgrade, so Linda’s raising funds at this Indiegogo site. If a few people contribute even a modest amount, this resource can be updated and made more accessible to the public. If you can’t contribute, you might become a Markeroni member, or share the link on your Facebook and Twitter sites. Linda and all the Markeroni volunteers are a fun and passionate group, so thanks for any support you can give them between now and October 31.

Another Indiegogo project with funding that will close on October 31 is Michael Thomas Ford’s prospective novel Lily. Here’s how Lily begins:

On the morning of her thirteenth birthday, Lily kissed her father and knew that he would be dead by nightfall. The image of his death dropped into her mind suddenly and without warning. As her lips touched his she saw behind the thin skin of her closed eyes his face, pale and wet, rising up from the waves surrounded by caressing fingers of sea grass, and she screamed.

Mike is an award-winning novelist who’s written more than fifty books for both young readers and adults, in genres ranging from humor to horror, literary fiction to nonfiction. He’s one of my favorite writers, so I really want to see Lily happen. It’s a bold new endeavor that won’t happen without funding; you can read more about what you’ll receive at the different levels of giving at the Indiegogo site. Again, if you can’t give, please share the link on your social networking sites.

Thanks on behalf of Linda and Mike.

Legacy Writing 365:263

People who’ve met my dogs as they’ve gotten older have no idea how much they used to play as youngsters. I do have some photographic proof from their early years with us. We’d adopted Margot in the fall of 2000 after we lost Pete and Stevie in August of that year. We hadn’t planned to get another dog so quickly, but not only was I going crazy when I worked at home in a silent house, but our friend Denece sent the link to Margot on a rescue site, we went to meet her, and the rest is history.

We had to travel a lot that fall, which meant boarding for Margot, but she was a good girl and never held it against us. Then in January, Lynne told me about a friend who’d rescued a dog from a street in her neighborhood. Aimee had a Jack Russell, Bandit, who was not amused about a second dog in the house, so Lynne, knowing we were eventually going to get Margot a companion, asked if we’d take a look at this stray. We took Margot with us, and while Bandit repeatedly jumped several feet off the floor to see TWO dog invaders to her backyard through a window in the door, Margot and this dog got acquainted. Actually, I should say that Margot and this dog greeted each other like long-lost sisters, because their bond was immediate and forever from the first moment they met.

So Guinness came home with us, and in all their years together, they’ve exchanged harsh words only once, and that was when Guinness dashed across the bed and trampled Margot, who was sleeping under the covers. They played together, got in trouble together (it was two years before I could stop buying new bedding on a regular basis because of two little chewers), and Margot trained Guinness to walk on a leash, to go in and out of the crate without complaint, to sit on command for treats or on walks, and to inhale her food.

But the playing… As they’ve matured, Margot will romp only in the early mornings or just before bed, which means no one sees this side of her but us. Everyone else thinks she’s All Emo, All The Time. Guinness and Margot both still play with toys, but it’s a solitary activity now. When other dogs play, Guinness has earned the moniker “The School Marm” because she stands next to the boisterous members of the pack and barks, as if scolding them: NO MORE FUN! I believe she thinks she’s playing, but the other dogs ignore her and from us she just hears, Shut up. SHUT UP. shutupshutupshutup

Tuesday night, our world was turned upside down when Tim came home with a new dog toy for Pixie and Penny to play tug with and this happened:


It’s Margot! She darted from behind my chair to get in a standoff with Pixie! So shocking that I grabbed my camera immediately.


Pixie is all, “WTF? What am I supposed to do about this?”

Legacy Writing 365:240

Look! I finally got my beat-up red truck!

And the Universe laughs, because I didn’t specify size or function. But that’s okay. My other car is a super cool hippie van.


Peace and love!

I got those vehicles at a thrift store and cleaned them up to toss into the small box of toys for youngsters who spend time at The Compound. It began when Hanley was a wee one and Tim would bring her over to visit. There was nothing Hanley-friendly for her to enjoy. So I gradually collected some baby toys for her and Lila. Even though over time I’ve added older child toys to the box, I always laugh when they go for the baby toys with an excited “I remember this from childhood!” attitude. As Hanley told us in Target the other day when we passed the aisle of infant toys, “I’m not a baby anymore.”

Lila likes to play with cars from the movie Cars. I don’t know if she and Hanley will have any interest in the toy-box cars. But I like playing with them! As you can see from the photos below, no matter what we threw into the mix for the grandkids–all toys being available to all kids–my camera seems to have caught them falling into “boy/girl” choices. Maybe it’s for the best, since Gina used the gender-neutral croquet mallet to bash Daniel in the head.

Josh and Daniel
Gina and Sarah

ETA: Frequently after I post something, I’ll see an article about it within a couple of days. I hesitate to link to articles anymore because the comments are generally so deplorable. If you’re interested in reading more at your own risk, from cnn.com, When Kids Play Across Gender Lines by Emanuella Grinberg.

Legacy Writing 365:236

Most of The Compound has privacy fencing around it–the kind of wooden fencing that I never saw until I moved to Texas, where it’s practically standard except in the poorest or wealthiest neighborhoods. You see it in those, too, just not as abundantly. However, the area where we live also has many homes with iron fencing, and when we had work done on the property in the summer of 2000, we decided we wanted an iron fence at least across the front and down one side of the house (the other side already had it).

The contractor we selected for all the other jobs agreed to install the fencing, too. He went on a hunt for vintage or salvaged fence that would match our house and the existing fencing. When he couldn’t find exactly what he was looking for, he finally hired an elderly man, who did welding jobs for him, to custom-construct the fence. This gentleman came to measure the property and talk to us so he’d know exactly what we wanted. He did an outstanding job, and when it was completed, he told me one of the specifications he’d set for himself. He’d met our dachshunds, Pete and Stevie, and this was how he made his decision for spacing the pickets. As he told me, “I wanted to make sure your little ones would stay safe inside the fence.”

Sadly, Pete died on August 18 of that year, and Stevie died five days later on August 23. I remember sitting on the front steps and staring at the new fence that would have enabled them to spend so much more time running around the yard chasing lizards and squirrels or checking out the other dogs and their people who passed by. In the years since, I have often thanked the two of them for their legacy. Many Compound dogs and fosters have been able to enjoy playing, exploring, and sunning while also keeping an eye on the world around them. And thanks to one tradesman and his pride in his work, only Lynne’s Paco is able to slip out–and when I call him, he promptly walks to the gate and waits for me to open it so he can come back in. Apparently that space only works one way.

Legacy Writing 365:213

Tuesday was a mellow day with Jim at The Compound. There was a lot of sitting around the table reminiscing and making one another laugh. It was also spaghetti day (Jim’s favorite). Tim and I polished the introduction (his) and the afterword (mine) to Foolish Hearts, and it’s officially been sent to the publisher. And yet with all that cooking and book finalizing stuff, I still managed to make time to watch Breaking Dawn: Part 1 with Jim and Tom. Jim pretended that he wasn’t crying over Bella’s travails, but I know inside he was.

For many years, we’ve kept a Compound guest book. It includes photos of and brief notes from all of the visitors here. Sometimes I forget to force ask people to sign it. Such was the case when Jim visited last year, so I dragged that thing out and helped him remember what we did on his 2011 visit. Actually the guest book has proved invaluable when we say, “What year was it Jim said Greg could eat the dog-gnawed roll?” or “When was that time all the TJB writers were here and had publicity shots done and Becky’s hair looked like crap?”

In April of 1999, Jim came to Houston from his mountain in California (yes, his very own mountain!) and Steve C came from San Diego. They happened to be here on April 28, which is my late friend Steve R’s birthday and the day I always bake and decorate a cake in his memory. That day, Jim and I were listening to country music while I was cooking and baking in the kitchen. Steve C borrowed my car and left to work out at a Houston branch of his gym. When he came back, I was in the dining room. Steve joined me.

“How was the gym?” I asked.

“It didn’t really work out like I planned,” he said. “But…I did pick someone up.”

My mouth dropped open. I mean, I want to be a great hostess and all, but I don’t remember that chapter in Miss Manners about what to do when a house guest brings home a stranger he picked up at the gym. So I finally managed something like, “Uhhhh…”

And then Tim followed him into the dining room. They’d been plotting all along for him to visit from New York and managed to keep it a secret. It was the first time Jim and Tim had ever met in person, as well as the first time Steve had met Tim in person–and he had to pick him up at the airport. Steve still swears I practically pushed him through the window to get to Tim and hug him. I don’t usually like surprises, but that one was thrilling.

Steve C, Becky, Jim, and Tim

Legacy Writing 365:205

Because of Aimee and Kate and their homemade laundry detergent, I made a batch a while back, and it worked out so well and has lasted so long that I decided to do it again.


This is one version–Aimee’s. Half a box of 20 Mule Team Borax, four pounds of baking soda, and two bars of pure castile soap (I chose bars scented with essential oils of lavender and tea tree, but there are other scents and unscented, if you prefer). I use the grate/shred plate on my food processor to flake the soap, mix it all together, and presto! A detergent that not only does a great job with clothes, but managed to get some ink and other stains off of surfaces in my kitchen. I liked it so much I’m making a kitchen cleaner without the soap because I think the Borax and baking soda will work well enough.

Next time, I’m making a batch using Kate’s recipe just to walk on the wild side.

Mother rarely used a detergent other than Tide. If she ever attempted to save money or try something else, she was inevitably disappointed. I don’t have brand loyalty to a detergent; I just want something that doesn’t smell too sweet and doesn’t make me itchy.

What I remember liking best about laundry as a kid was playing at her feet or trying to climb into the basket while she was hanging clothes and linens on the line. Or sleeping on line-dried sheets and loving their crispness and fresh-air scent.

I tried in vain to find a photo of my mother at the clothesline. But I did mention on here once before that in our Army quarters in Ft. Benning, the clotheslines were in fenced enclosures at the ends of each building. Here’s a photo of David outside or inside that area–I’m not sure. But I’m certain he’s working hard to keep Daddy from burning whatever’s on that grill.

Legacy Writing 365:198

I first began playing Yahtzee with Lynne and her sister Liz in the months and years after their mother died. Drawn closer together by that event, we formed many of our “friend traditions” then: making bad home movies, baking wonderful holiday goodies, taking road trips to Atlanta and Birmingham to shop, haunt record stores, and see concerts. And then there was Yahtzee, where we honed our table repartee to the point that all one of us had to do was look at the others with a certain expression on her face, and someone would mutter, “I know, I know…” and finish the sentence with the intended insult.

Those days meant I’d already played with the fiercest of opponents by the time Debby and her friends began visiting us in Houston. But with her posse came a new language–for example, when rolling the five dice, Connie would shout, “Yahtzee!” then sadly comment, “Not-zee.” After her rolls, Debby would say, “Holy shit the bed Fred.” Dottie was adept at “assuming the Yahtzee position,” which meant magically trying to roll a Yahtzee by imitating the manic expressions of the family pictured on the Yahtzee box as they watched someone roll the dice. My mother wouldn’t play with us–games brought out her paranoid conviction that we were all out to get her, including the dice–and Tom just tried to breathe through the cigarette smoke.

I would laugh at their comments and stories until my face hurt. We called Connie “Trailer Trash Connie,” a name she embraced with gusto. Dottie would be all quiet and sweet until out of nowhere she’d crack us up with a stream of profanity like I’d never heard–even when I knew hard-livin’ cowboys on the rodeo circuit.

The house was filled with raucous laughter, smoke, and great scents from the kitchen. Off of The Compound, Debby and her friends were always in search of The Perfect Margarita or a good night of bingo.

And trips to Galveston. It didn’t matter if it was bitterly cold November, we always went to Galveston to walk the beach or Christmas shop on The Strand.

Connie, Debby, Mother, and Dottie in Galveston

I miss these crazy girls.