Tag: photos

Of no relevance whatsoever

I have long looked for photos of a house my family lived in when I was growing up. It lingers in my memory as my favorite of all our homes (there were many: Army family), and that’s why I used it as the model for the Boone home in A Coventry Christmas.

While going through some of my mother’s photos, I found two of the house. The summer shot was taken using a Polaroid Swinger–after the picture developed, it had to be coated with some kind of protective liquid film. (Shut up; I’m 35.) Either too much of the liquid or not enough of the liquid apparently yellowed the picture over time.

The winter shot, taken with a mystery camera, is better, but I apologize in advance to my readers who are snow-weary.

The house was two stories, though we only used the first floor, and there was a basement that I never even saw. (I don’t like dark, damp underground places.) The rocks were hand-picked from fields by the original owner (a dentist) and his hired man. The dental office, also covered with rocks, was to the left as you faced the house. I believe his son, who leased us the house, was either a dentist or a doctor, but the dental practice had long been closed by the time we moved in, though all the old dental instruments were still inside. (We managed to find keys to take us inside many of the forbidden places on the property.)

There was a lot of acreage, much of it forested or overgrown, and it was heaven for a child to explore. Hummingbirds hovered outside my bedroom window. Bees hummed inside the walls in the back of the house. We even had a friendly ghost (and maybe an unfriendly one, too, which made my sister not quite as fond of the house as I was).

Anyway, I changed the Boone property into a veterinary practice, leveled the trees (sorry, Todd) for the clinic and large animal treatment facilities, and made it all several decades older. The Boone house will always exist within the pages of my novel. The real house was torn down, the trees felled, the many flowering shrubs and wildflowers vanquished, and a Quincy’s steakhouse built on the property. Now there’s a motel on the site–my sister and I stayed there a few years ago and THEY, unlike the upscale hotels that house me in larger cities, HAD FREE INTERNET.

I’d rather the house was still there…

Good things from the Midwest

This morning when I woke up way earlier than I wanted to, my sister had already baked biscuits. I’m not a good biscuit maker; in our house, Tom bakes the best biscuits. However, only my sister makes biscuits that can compare to my mother’s, so waking up to them is a wonderful event.

On these biscuits, I used almost the last of my Amana, Iowa, strawberry rhubarb preserves that Lisa sent me. In honor of that deliciousness, I had my coffee in a mug she brought with her in February:

The Midwest, via Lisa and Debby, has been very good to me today. I’m not sure any of that can compare, however, to what has to be my all-time favorite text message that I received while driving through West U last night:

From: Timothy
Rex’s ass exploded.
8:04 pm 3/19/08

Bet nobody else got one of those.

Thinking about the process


Nobody has ever measured, not even poets,
how much the heart can hold.
Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald

Born in Montgomery, Alabama, in 1900, Zelda Fitzgerald died on March 10, 1949, when she was trapped by a fire at a mental hospital in Asheville, North Carolina. Her creativity stifled, her independent personality punished, and her illnesses misdiagnosed–the wife of F. Scott Fitzgerald is probably one of the least understood and most fascinating women of the previous century.

Creative people will create in the face of enormous obstacles, but how wonderful it would be to live in a world–and even in families–where creativity is valued, respected, and nurtured. I marvel at the jealousies, fears, and resentments that led Scott and Zelda to tear each other down rather than nourish each other’s talents.

It was good to sit on the roof of the wonderful Hotel Monteleone, seventeen stories above New Orleans, and ponder writing and relationships with Marika a couple of weeks ago. The hotel is one of only three in the United States that has been designated a literary landmark because it has either housed famous writers or been written about in their works. These writers include Ernest Hemingway, Truman Capote, Rebecca Wells, Walker Percy, William Faulkner, Sherwood Anderson, Tennessee Williams, Richard Ford, and Eudora Welty.

The day had been gray and cold, but just before Marika arrived, the sun pushed its way out of the clouds. We were able to enjoy sitting next to the heated pool on the roof for a few hours before the wind finally drove us inside. (Visitors be warned; the plugs on the roof don’t work, so there’s no power source for your laptops.)

I’ve put photos behind the cut–I hope they offer a bit of spring to my snow-weary friends.

where we can see heaven much better

Houston AIDS Walk

Today was the nineteenth annual AIDS Walk Houston, hosted by AIDS Foundation Houston, sponsored by Chevron, and partnered by other organizations as listed here.

Tom has been volunteering with AIDS-related organizations for thirteen years. First with the NAMES Project, then with a transitional care facility where people with HIV/AIDS lived between a hospital visit and the time they began receiving assistance to live independently. He’s been a volunteer with AIDS Foundation Houston for about six years, and this is his third time to participate in the AIDS Walk. Interestingly, the job he took this year brought him full circle, as he helped oversee a group of Quilt panels that were on display.

According to Tom, around fifteen thousand people participated today, and they surpassed their fundraising goal of one million dollars. So many people walk together with groups of coworkers, and many of their companies offer matching funds. It’s truly a community effort that involves countless volunteer hours and cooperation from many agencies.

One Houstonian is infected with HIV/AIDS every eight hours. Many thousands of Houstonians are here to offer assistance to ensure their quality of life and be there during times of illness. I’m proud to be married to one of those who helps.

You can see the full set of Tom’s photos here on Flickr.

Of birthdays and other things

Hey, Timmy, here’s your sign:

Yes, today is the birthday of my writing partner, Timmy. Note: That is NOT the same person as Tim/Timothy, who does not want to be called Timmy. EVER.

Timmy probably actually prefers Timothy, as well, but I’ve been 35 too long to change that habit now.

March 4 is a big day in my life, because it’s also That Old Woman’s birthday and my agent’s birthday. This evening, I’ll be taking That Old Woman some chocolate cupcakes. Anybody want to come with me?

When I was in New Orleans recently, I saw that birthday sign on the side of a non-working streetcar and shot it for the express purpose of wishing Timmy a happy birthday with it. I wish I could be with you, Timmy, celebrating your birthday in your new home, but I’m sure that Paul and your many friends will celebrate in style.

Now, about this streetcar thing… I remember how excited Greg was when the St. Charles streetcar began running again. Although I’ve driven down St. Charles into the Garden District on other trips to New Orleans, I never rode the streetcar. Since Lynne and I had limited time before we needed to leave the city, we decided to jump on, ride it to the end of the line, then catch one coming back.

I can’t recommend this enough. I’ve always loved seeing those rattling old cars; this was my first opportunity to ride one. Riding the entire length of the St. Charles line ($1.25–exact change, please–the machine takes dollar bills and quarters) is a good way to get a glimpse of the beautiful Garden District. You also see Loyola, Tulane, and Audubon Park. You can hop off to explore, or go to the end of the line, where you’ll be asked to exit the car and pay another $1.25 for the return trip.

Instead, Lynne and I exited and headed for a place she’d heard about, the Camellia Grill.

A little backstory here…

In our youth, Lynne managed and cooked at a small restaurant with a grill and food prep stations completely visible to the public. I hung out in the restaurant so much, talking to old friends and making new ones, that even though I had two teaching jobs at the time, I also did a little waitressing there. Lynne and I both have tons of memories from that place, so grills hold a special place in our hearts.

The Camellia Grill wasn’t affected physically by Katrina or the levee failure, but it had apparently been struggling for a while prior to the hurricane. The loss of tourists and New Orleans residents probably wouldn’t have helped matters, so the restaurant didn’t reopen. Some people said it was for the best, since the owners hadn’t been reinvesting to improve the place. Others were sad about its apparent demise; all of this was summed up better on the blog The Third Battle of New Orleans, which posted the following photos of former patrons expressing their disappointment:


Photo permission pending from The Third Battle of New Orleans.

Happily, after being closed for twenty months, the Camellia Grill was bought by a new owner who gutted the grill area and rebuilt it and replaced the countertops, but otherwise pretty much left a good thing alone. Apparently, there is often a line to get in, but Lynne and I stopped in for coffee and chocolate pecan pie between the lunch and dinner crowds. We wished we hadn’t already eaten when we watched the burgers travel from a sizzling grill to the customers next to us, who said that yes, they were as delicious as they looked.

I liked the pie. The coffee was good. And I loved feeling nostalgic about old times with friends while sitting on a stool at the counter and watching the cooks.

If you like looking at beautiful old houses, I’ll put the rest of my St. Charles Avenue photos behind a cut. There are also a couple of pictures of trees still full of Mardi Gras beads. Please note that the white dot you see in the sky in some of the photos isn’t an early moonrise, but the reflection of the streetcar’s interior light on the window I was looking through to shoot photos.

Enjoy!

Button Sunday

I’ve always envied people who are clever with a needle, whether they are sewing, quilting, cross-stitching, embroidering, crocheting, or knitting. I don’t have the patience for that, but it’s very calming to watch people do it–and I assume calming to do it, as well.

I have a lot of embroidery work from my mother and Tom’s grandmother that I treasure. And I also have many examples of Lynne’s talent with a needle. Whether I need a quilt mended, or curtains and throw pillows made from favorite Ralph Lauren linens, she’s the person I call. I also have cross-stitch pieces she’s done, which I should put on here one day, and an afghan she crocheted and gave me as a wedding gift nearly two decades ago. (I was a child bride.)

Saturday, Timmy told me he’d been knitting recently. A lot of men knit these days (Joel Derfner even wrote a story about knitting for the anthology that Tim and I edited, which I’m sure you’ll be reading one day). My friend Geraldine is a gifted knitter, although I don’t have any of her work to photograph and share. Many celebrities have been spotted knitting, as well. I think it’s wonderful when these traditional crafts are taken up by new generations.

Back in 2005, Lisa knitted a couple of scarves which she sent to The Compound, and either Tim or I published a photo of River and Guinness modeling them.

click here for photos and more