Tag: photos

On writing

Tom always listens to NPR in the mornings. Today, Coventry (the real one in England, not the one I invented in Texas) was indirectly referenced twice. Campbell’s Soup currently owns Godiva Chocolates and is looking to sell (Anyone have a billion dollars?) because it doesn’t go with their health-conscious image. The chocolate company is named after Lady Godiva, one of Coventry’s more famous residents. My next Coventry novel (the one I’m trying desperately to finish–and the irony of that statement will one day be clear) references the candy manufacturer.

Coventry is also the birthplace of the late British poet Philip Larkin, who was in the news because his birthday is today. I don’t think Larkin and I would have been big friends based on his view of life as deduced from his poetry. (There’s been a lot said about Larkin personally since his death, but that doesn’t color my opinion of his work. I never expect writers to be flawless; they are human, after all.) Sad though his poetry may be, I think it’s stunning in its construction and imagery.

A couple of quotes:

“I think writing about unhappiness is probably the source of my popularity,
if I have any–after all, most people are unhappy, don’t you think?”
Philip Larkin

“It’s unthinkable not to love–you’d have a severe nervous breakdown.
Or you’d have to be Philip Larkin.”
Lawrence Durrell


Margot, who thinks a good nap in the sun is the best poetry.

Celebrate!

It’s Take Your Rat to Work Day!

Do you have a rat at work? Post your rat’s photo! But not if doing so will get you dooced. My rat was provided by Lisa in Iowa, along with some DELICIOUS strawberry rhubarb jam. Thanks, Lisa!

It’s also Jon’s birthday. Even though I don’t think he reads here anymore, happy birthday, Jon!

It’s not really Take Your Rat to Work Day. I just made that up. And if you DO get dooced, I accept no responsibility for your loss of livelihood, hair, spouse, or mental abilities.

I should have been in bed hours ago

I’m having a most difficult time writing these days. The spirit is willing, but the inspiration is flat. I sit and stare at the screen and nothing happens. So I just revise and revise what I’ve already written and try to think of the next thing. And the next thing never calls, never writes…

I’m sure it will work out. It has to work out. Because I’m looking at a big scary deadline and IT calls and writes all the time. I wake up in the middle of the night with the deadline looming over me. Everywhere I drive, the deadline jumps out of the shrubbery and startles me. I try to take my mind far away from what I’m working on by watching episodes of Absolutely Fabulous and I see the deadline sneering at me from Patsy Stone’s face. And when I do the other work I’m doing right now, I feel the deadline’s cold breath on the back of my neck. Or maybe that’s just better air conditioning than I have in the home office.

I hate the deadline.

On the plus side, after spending the day together with Rex at the emergency vet (cha-ching!), Tim colored my roots and I’m no longer the hideously graying beast bitch from hell. In fact, he had to use his color on me because mine vanished (I’m guessing Lazlo–since he’s been eating raw food, he’s really trimmed down, and I think he’s decided to wash that gray right out of his fur because he’s planning on looking for love). When I say HIS color, I mean the dark brown Tim uses, not his blue. I love the darker brown, so I’m happy with this color. I’d take a photo, but I don’t want to.

So here are the dogs. Their hair color is always perfection.


Sick Rex at the vet.


Guinness has developed a limp as a result of Rex going to the vet.
(That’s her “back to me” attitude toward life.)


Margot reminds Rex that the grass on the other side of the fence
is always the best kind to throw up.

Speaking of Valley of the Dolls

Johnnie was talking about the fun of reading Jacqueline Susann and watching the wonderfully dreadful movie Valley of the Dolls. Years ago, when I was prescribed my first Vicodin, Tim would often start humming the theme song to me. Eventually, the guys imitated me crying for “my dolls” whenever the V word was mentioned.

Even before that: On the trip that Jim, Steve, and Tim made to Houston in 1999, I inflicted the usual endless photo shoots on them. One afternoon they were sitting on the bed and I was snapping away when one of us said, “You know, this looks like–” and someone else finished, “Valley of the Dolls?” And I said, “Hey, why don’t y’all–” and BEFORE I COULD FINISH THE QUESTION, this is what happened:

It remains one of my all-time favorite photos.

Steve has worked for the same company FOREVER and he’s lived in his apartment in San Diego almost that long. Periodically, he pretends that he’s going to buy his own place, and Jim always says, “Don’t listen to him. They’ll have to dynamite him out of that apartment in forty years.”

It could have happened that way… But his company offered him a promotion that meant a move to Denver. He’s already been there once, trying to learn to breathe above sea level, and Sunday he starts the drive on his second trip there. There’ll be one more return to San Diego to empty out the Eternal Apartment, then he’ll be settling in to his new place in Denver.

When he sent photos of the apartment he hoped to get, I noticed that it seemed a little familiar. No, he didn’t find another hovel apartment like the one in San Diego. Steve said he wants this apartment because, among other reasons, it makes him think of our house at The Compound. It was also built in the 1920s, but it was originally a hotel. When it was converted to apartments, the renovators kept many of the features that are similar to those in my house. It makes me happy to know that Steve thinks his new place has a little feeling of home because it reminds him of being here.

As you start your drive tomorrow, Steve, may it be in the spirit of Miss Dionne Warwick singing, “Gotta get off, gonna get–need to get–on where I’m bound.”

For any of the rest of you who need a blast from the campy past, here it is.

Bear with me

There will be a real post soon, because I had quite a day on Wednesday. I just need time to put words and photos together.

Now that I’ve given you that teaser, here’s this:


I always wanted to write a book that ended with the word “mayonnaise.”
Richard Brautigan

Photo: Buildings of downtown Houston glimpsed in the hazy distance between buildings of uptown Houston.

Farewell to the Dowager Doberman

I have loved teasing you about your age, accusing you of being anywhere from 200 to 857 years old. But I admired you for hanging in there without trying to convince us you were 35. Sometimes it was a lot of work for you to drag your stiff old self out of those cozy blankets and do your part in guarding Green Acres and The Compound, but you did it. You suffered through the occasional indignity like diapers with a look that clearly said, You humans; what foolishness will you think of next? And even though you were never a cuddly dog, and there were some things that made you timid, you were always ready to stand still for a pat on the head and an ear scratch.

You were loyal and loving to Craig, and when he died last year, because your own health had been failing, most of us thought you’d soon follow. You stayed behind for more than a year, maybe because you knew you needed to teach some manners to those pups Sue and Minute, but also because you still had love and comfort to give to Lynne. You understood what Laura asked from you, and you will be missed by her and Jess, who you helped take from childhood to the fine man he is today. You were his friend for fifteen years!

You were unfailingly kind to Margot and Guinness, for which I will always be grateful. And you let Seig and Rex know that it’s best not to annoy a female of a certain age because nobody can quite put you in your place like a tough old broad.

We were happy to offer you River’s crate so you could have a safe place to sleep. Tim was glad to take care of you when Lynne traveled. (He told us how, when you thought no one was looking, you sometimes summoned up your inner puppy and played well with others.) And Margot was delighted to sneak onto your pillow whenever she found it empty during your visits to The Compound.

I personally will always think of you under Lynne’s oversized, glass-topped coffee table, where you could keep an eye on everything and feel safe from the frisky dogs and many feet to be found in a home that is always open with warmth and welcome to friends and neighbors. I will think of feeding you by hand whenever I had the care of you. Yeah, I knew you were pulling a fast one on me, but I loved those quiet minutes just the two of us spent together, me talking, you listening and offering wisdom in a way dogs can.

Goodbye, Greta. I celebrate your living and the best of the spirit in you. I take comfort that you’re out of pain and “now you’re sleeping peaceful.”


Greta, Craig’s Dog
Companion to Lynne, Jess, Laura, Sparky, Minute, Seig, and Sue
Run free with Heidi, Hershey, Bubba, Pete, Stevie, and River

On writing

I had just clicked on “Post to beckycochrane” on this post Tuesday when LJ went down. Don’t blame me and William Styron; it was due to a San Francisco power outage. Nice of LJ to restore the post when I could access the site again. So…anyway…

The actual process of writing…demands complete, noiseless privacy, without even music;
a baby howling two blocks away will drive me nuts.
William Styron

Photo: The Compound, 2007