Category: Blog

Reflections on Food

I’m taking a little bit of ribbing over on Facebook about my initial reluctance to eat something referred to in the menu as “gyro meat.”  So far as I know, there is no gyrobeast from which this meat might be harvested. If the meat in question was simply spiced lamb, why not say “spiced lamb”?

So, a few minutes of soul-searching out of respect for the girl who watched, with fascinated horror, as the Pollack Johnny hot-dog-making machine at Lexington Market made hot dogs.  The same girl who, yes, still happily ate scrapple, even knowing what it was.

In any case, my gyro was perfectly tasty and I’m glad to add a new foodstuff to my repertoire.

Last year, through the kind offices of Mem Morman and Kent Bloom, I added beignets, which were also very tasty — and therefore amazed people who could scarcely believe that this was my first experience of the food.  Mem is also, I fear, responsible for my discovery of Greek food in general, back a couple years when we were GoHs at CoSine.

Anyhow, I got to thinking why I’m such a food illiterate.

Part of it — a good deal of it — has to do with having been born Rather A Long Time Ago to people who had been raised by people who had survived the (first) Great Depression, who were themselves very frugal, and unlikely to experiment with something so vital as food.  You bought what you knew you’d eat; otherwise, you might not like it, and food would be wasted.

It was Very, Very Bad to waste food.

When I reached adulthood, some of my friends were able to help me expand my food horizons, but when Steve and I moved in together, we were — not to put too fine a point on it — bitterly broke, occasionally rising to the point where money was only extremely tight.  We bought basics that we knew we would eat, because it would be Very Bad to waste food.

We (Steve’s family was similar to mine — trad blue collar, where the father worked the Real Job; and mom took care of the kids.  In his case, things were a little tighter still, because there were five kids — four of them boys.  My parents only had to feed two girls.)  But, yeah — we might have experienced varied and different foods by going out with groups at conventions, except, again, we were poor to the point of carrying our own cheese sandwiches with us, and eating out of our room.

Anyhow, it’s good that life is easier now, and that there are so many different things to sample.  Even if some of it isn’t immediately and intuitively understandable.

What delicious food(s) have you recently discovered?

* * *

Progress on Carousel Seas:  1,733/100,000 or 1.73% complete

This was the tricky part — well. And not burning down the carousel.

Guest Post: Steve Miller

Yesterday, we went to the ocean.  Yes, yes; we are grasshoppers.  But it was sunny and warm and we had cabin fever, and…Well.  Let Steve tell it:

A tale in several parts.

We went out to go to the store yesterday, (starting with breakfast out) with a car load of redemption cans and bottles in the car — which needed to be turned in before we could do grocery shopping.

We arrived at redemption center, which was too busy to get into the parking lot, went to the vets and picked up some needed meds for Socks, went back to redemption center and stood in line.

We eventually redeemed bottles/cans/lottery tickets to the tune of $17.45. It was, as we noticed, a very pretty day out and since Sharon had begun the morning with “Hey, let’s go to the ocean!” and suggesting a breakfast there … and said the same when the bottles were redeemed (and hey, we had Socks meds so that was the really important part of the day’s agenda) … so we stopped at Julliete’s bakery and bought some cookies (matched set of peanut butter cookies and chocolate chip cookies) and with sustenance in hand and Sharon still suggesting the ocean before the grocery store, we set off to do that. I’ve been needing an actual cabin fever type break from being in the house too long and since driving long distance at highs speeds lowers my blood pressure appreciably, we got on I-95 South and went with the flow, which seemed to be running seventeen miles an hour about posted speed limit.

Very good to get a drive in, and at that pace we looked to arrive in Old Orchard beach in considerably less than the usual two hours and five minutes from Winslow.

* * *

So we took a rest stop between Gray and Falmouth, got back on the road, and saw … slow traffic ahead of us. And slower. And emergency lights. And then, slowest traffic.

In fact, for around forty-five minutes we sat there, car off in the midst of I-95, listening to Pandora on my phone and then stored tunes on Sharon’s phone, simply letting the breeze come through the window.

Others needed to be somewhere and began backing up, and some of them turning around(!) to escape the back-up by illegally crossing a very tiny (maybe one and a half yard deep) opening in the divider between north and south bound. This opening was so short that a car on our side that was half on the emergency apron on the south bound side would be sticking out into the high-speed travel lane of the northbound side.

A number of cars made this escape — but having years ago covered (as a newspaper editor in Maryland) a multi-fatality car crash where someone did such a u-turn on Maryland’s portion of I-95, I can say I wasn’t much in favor of this whole process and i did nothing to aid those attempting it. We were just considering starting the car up to recharge devices (we carry a charger in the car for just such necessity) when Sharon, from her special vantage in the shotgun seat, said “I think an ambulance is trying to get through!”

See above cars trying to illegally turn? Some of them were having a Real Hard Time and so were stuck sideways across the road …

* * *

A policeman having arrived suddenly from the south, he (with some anger apparent), pulled his car long way into the opening sealing it. There were many complaints, and an advancing ambulance that most people couldn’t see or hear (cars running, radios on, cellphones to ears, all watching for a sign of progress in the traffic a half mile down the long hill in front of us …

Sharon was right, there was an ambulance, and it wasn’t getting much help. I pulled our Subaru as close to the median wall as i could, and got out of my car, yelling at the person in front of us to move out of the way (they were about 1/3 of the way into their three point turn becasue they didn’t realize the cop had sealed the illegal turn behind us…) …

So then I turned and made like a windmill, which got a lot of people’s attention, and some of them even opened windows and heard me say — “To the side, clear for an ambulance! to the side, clear the way!”

The tractor trailer rig which had been being a good neighbor already was able to facilitate things by nosily revving his engine and then people heard him do something, saw me, and eventually (both behind and in front of us) started moving cars. As Sharon put it “That ambulance driver is amazing!” …

I got back in the car, saying words about stupids ….

And then we waited some more. The officer called out to people that it would clear soon, and about fifteen minutes after the ambulance got through there was minor motion ahead. Five minutes after that I turned the car back on and we were able to proceed to the ocean …

* * *

And so,…

This is what the fuss was about

* * *

Tale not being so much of an issue — just later yesterday…

So, after we got out of the traffic jam we motored on in fine style to OOB (oh oh bee) (that’s local talk for Old Orchard Beach!) we drove about town looking vaguely at houses, considering buying a motel to turn into a co-office spot (with a residential unit for us) … and then we pulled into the Skylark, where we parked and went for a mile walk on the beach and then a return trip via East Grand Avenue….

But before we get to the eat part I should point out that the ocean was wild yesterday, coming off the same storm that’s tearing up the Massachusetts
coast .. and OOB was experiencing a “clam tide” in which thousands of live/fresh clams were thrown up onto the beach. Many locals were carrying buckets among these deposited creatures… I didn’t do that, instead just admiring the waves, foam, mist, and sound of incessant thundering surf. Very, very impressive.

and then we decided to eat.

Alas, the new downtown spot, Hoss and Mary’s, has no restroom, so we didn’t eat there … instead driving up Saco Avenue to Jimmy The Greek’s .. where Sharon had (she promises me!) her first-ever gyro. I was more pedestrian, going for the Chicken Carbonaro Sandwich on Garlic and Herb Bread with Sweet Potato fries while Sharon’s meal came with regular potato waffle fries. Sharon pointed out much later that 1) she’d had potatoes at all three of yesterday’s meals and 2) that all three of yesterday’s joint meals, with tips, cost less than our recent Friday morning breakfast at Boskone — at the Westin Sauciety restaurant.

Then a leisurely drive home up the expressway, watching for a comet in our rearview mirror and seeing none, and then getting off the highway at a vantage point and still missing out. Have you see the comet?

A quick stop at Hannaford’s for a bit of groceries, and then a quiet evening. So, after that refreshing rejuvenating ocean experience I have a busy couple days ahead of me and you likely won’t hear from me much.

In which Socks needs solving

As you know, Bob, last April we drove to Connecticut to pick up a new member of the family, a recently retired Maine Coon stud, Upper Valley Bahzell P of Blueblaze, call-name Socks.

This is Socks:

Socks at home, November 12, 2012
Socks at home, November 12, 2012

Socks is polydactyl (that means he has extra toes; this is pretty common with Maine Coon cats, who trace their Lines all the way back to the barns of Maine, where they sometimes need to open doors and operate equipment.  I know some people think that extra-toed cats are “deformed;” this is not the case.).  He has papers to go with his fancy name, from TICA and from the Cat Fanciers’ Association; and his official color designation is Silver Mackerel Tabby.  Socks will be seven years old on April 12.

So, that’s the technical stuff.  What you really want to know is that he’s a sweet and attentive individual.  He likes to watch movies with his people; he likes to read, and he likes Classic Rock. He likes to help, and can pretty much be counted on to be in the middle of whatever it is that’s going down.  Despite being a rather large cat (Maine Coons are called The Gentle Giants of catdom), he’s often a lapsitter and a sleeper-with-people.  He takes his flying mouse play Very Seriously.  He has a charming, growly little voice, rather than the classic Maine Coon squeak.  Think Humphrey Bogart.  With extra toes.

Maine Coons are known for their good nature, but Socks goes above and beyond.  I have never, ever heard him growl or hiss; he has never, to my knowledge, lifted a paw in anger.  In fact, if fault could be found with such a sunny little person, it would be that he’s a little too unassuming; he tends to disappear into the crowd.

Socks came to us as a semi-rescue — he was recently neutered and out of a job; he had a sniffle, several bad teeth, and he was seriously skinny.  We figured to get the dental situation fixed, feed him up, get the sniffle under control, do a little immune system boosting.  We have managed the teeth (he lost seven); we’ve fed him up; and he’s markedly less. . .depressed than he was when he arrived.

The chronic sneezing, despite daily doses of antibiotic (which he takes with minimal protest), continues.  Lately, he’s developed a constipation problem — apparently, in order to accommodate his long trips from harem to harem, he developed a larger than normal colon.  When he was a young guy, in top athletic shape, he could bring the necessary muscle to bear to operate this organ, but as he’s aged, he’s let his stomach muscles go (don’t laugh; many of us here today have let our stomach muscles go).

All of this is to say that, though Steve and I love Socks, we’re looking for another situation for him.  Ideally, this situation would be with a person who was home more than away, and in which he would be the Sole Companion and Supervisor, or one of two.  He does like the company of other cats.  We do not believe that he is a dog lover, nor have we seen him with small children.

We have spoken to the cattery with which he was last affiliated, and the owners have said that he can go to them.  We’re reluctant to do this because of Socks’ extreme good-nature and his ability to fade into the crowd.  I think the reason that he got into the shape he was in when he came to us was that he traveled from place to place and was so compliant that no one really paid attention to Socks, as Socks.  So, we’d rather try to find him a better condition.

Please pass this note around to people who may be interested in acquiring a really special friend.  And if you can help, please let me know.

Thank you for listening.

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, in proving foresight may be vain

So, no early writing session for me today, other bidness having called.  It’s a legitimate call, but…grr.

I mention, for those who care about such things, that the Nebula final ballot is now available, and that SFWA members may vote.

And, speaking of awards, for those who missed it yesterday.  Fake Hugo Award Categories.

Have fun; and I’ll see you all later.

In which the writer is lazy

I was at the Winslow Library this morning slightly before 10 a.m.; a little later than I’d wanted — OK, a lot later than I’d wanted.  I’d chosen Winslow, out of the two libraries available to me locally (which is to say, there are other libraries in nearby towns, but they have less-than-full-time hours, and are further away), Winslow opens at 9 a.m. on Monday (Waterville opens at 10 a.m. M-F, which foolish consistency I very much appreciate), and I knew I had a Full Plate of errands, so I wouldn’t be able to work but what a couple hours, so I thought I’d get an early start.

*cue laugh track*

I settled in to a table, opened my summary file and began to type, and lo!  I have a bunch of notes, and two opening scenes (I’m going to have to break viewpoint at least once in this book.  The great weakness of first person narratives being that the narrator can’t know everything, because, if she does, there’s no tension, but the reader has to suspect that there is more going on with the other characters, behind the narrator’s back.  It’s a tricky balance, and it’s why I take issue with those who maintain that “I” books are across the board “immature works”.  “I” books are dicey; I’d rather head-hop any time.)

So, anyhow, back on topic — it was a good work session, if only a little longer than an hour — and I have a place to actually start writing on what looks to be, at this point in the day, tomorrow.

So. . .yay! progress!

I then betook myself, in the snow, to the bank, and the post office, and to Penney’s, where I found that, it’s true, after years of being my place to go for tall jeans that don’t cost the earth, towels, sheets, and various else, Penney’s has made itself irrelevant to me.  I had suspected as much from the website, which is…sparse in terms of items of interest to me — and the store is even more frightening — there’s so much space on the floor, you could hold a roller derby in the place; the amount and kind of stock has shrunk that much.  Apparently Penney’s doesn’t want your business if you’re older than 12 or wear greater than a size 6.

Note to self:  Find new source for cheap jeans.

Continuing with the errands, I was back home by 2:30, bearing groceries and a Subway sub, aka dinner.  After grocery stowage and dinner, I took a four hour nap, which was obviously much needed, but not exactly convenient.

I have some few chores to do around here, and then I do believe I’ll read for a bit and go early to bed, *sigh*.  Tomorrow, I’m planning on doing the early day work shift at Waterville, after which I hope to come home and be Rather More Productive than I was today.

Shameless Self-Promotion:  The nomination window for the SFSite Readers Choice of Best SF/F Novels of 2012 is open until March 8! Here’s your link to the rules.  The self-promotion part is this! reminder! that Dragon Ship by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller was, of course, published in 2012.

 

In which the author fails to outline

So, last night, after work, I broke out a new! yellow pad, drew a black pen and a red pen from stores and retired to the sofa to consider Carousel Seas, Socks sitting as consultant.  Since I’ve now heard from two beta readers to the effect that Carousel Sun makes sense, I feel reasonably confident in moving on with the story.

Now, usually, I work outline-free.  Which is to say, I’ll sketch in some notes, some bits of dialog, some questions that the narrative ought to address,  but that’s pretty much it.  At some point, I’ll feel like I have Enough Stuff to start typing. I type for the first, oh, third of the book, then I read what I have and see what the threads are, and consider where they’re going.  From that point on, I’ll make chapter-going-forward (or scene-going-forward) notes and so on until the thrilling conclusion.  This method is somewhat uncertain, and can become a little hair-raising in the face of serious auctorial illness or a severe bout of depression, but in general it Works for Me.  And, no, it’s probably not how grown-up writers do it.

Having said all that, I will confess that I have worked from an outline once or twice — for values of having produced an outline, which I then threw away when the story took a left turn.  After all, I’m usually under contract for a novel, not an outline, so the outline is, IMNSHO, disposable*.  From these early experiences, I learned that outlines (for me) are pretty much useless.  That scene-sketching, writing bits of dialogue, and being open to SFoG (Sudden Flashes of Genius) is much more useful to what we’ll dignify as My Process.

The trouble with all of this being that, due to mostly having day-jobs during my formative years as a writer, I’ve been pretty much a Night Writer.  Brain turns on at 5:00 p.m. and we’re off to the races.  Early in the day, I’ll edit what I wrote yesterday, and maybe noodle out some notes, but the actual work happens late in the day.  This needs to change, at least somewhat, due to Reasons, and it occurred to me that it might make the transition to Day Writer easier if I had a road map to assist my daylight-shocked brain.

And I sat there on the couch, with my pen poised over the nice, new yellow pad, with Socks, remember, consulting. . .and wrote down the questions left over from the previous book; other things I think need to be addressed, going forward…and flipped the page, thinking, “Outline.  It’s not hard.” . . .and got nowhere and, finally, gave up, because, yanno, how can I outline something that hasn’t happened yet?

*sigh*

This would seem to be a bigger conceptual change than I had thought.

So, writers who read here — outline or no outline?  And!  If outline, how do you outline something that hasn’t happened yet?

—————

*I was at Boskone on a panel with a writer who swore that he produced 130-page outlines.  Which, full disclosure, seems nuts to me.  He then went on to explain that he’d gotten to the point in the current project where he realized that the outline had misled him, and was in the position of having to tear out 9,000 words — or possibly start the book over; it was Sunday afternoon, I was tired, and he was heated — and the deadline was looming.  Which only serves to reinforce my own feelings regarding outlines:  They’re only going to betray you in the end…

In which Rolanni lucks out

So, the snowfall called at 8-12 inches came to an overnight splat of 2-ish inches of white rain, which I swept off the steps, and which was already oozing off the cars.  It’s now Actually Raining, and I can live with that.

Steve remains among the walking wounded.  To address this, I made a Big Pot (bigger than I had intended, actually) of chicken-noodle-with-garlic-and-and-veggies soup.  Today’s dinner is baked pork chops.  I think.  (Note to self:  Teach Mozart to cook.)

In other news, only 68 pages left to proof for Constellation One, which I shall commence in to do while waiting for a big project to hit the desk.

Hope everyone is having a pleasant Thursday.

Gonna get a big dish of beef chow mein

Today was far too long.  Also, there were vampires.  It was, in retrospect, Not A Good Day for vampires.

On the plus side, I am now half-way through the galleys for A Liaden Universe® Constellation Volume One.  

We here in Central Maine continue to reside beneath a Winter Storm Warning, starting at 1 p.m. tomorrow, and ending at about 3 p.m. on Thursday, after 8-12 inches of snow have been tastefully deposited on the surrounding countryside.

Maybe I’ll make grilled cheese sammiches for dinner.

Everybody stay warm.

Books read in 2013

French Fried, Chris Dolley (e)
My Father’s Dragon, Ruth Stiles Gannett (read aloud w/Steve)
Fair Game, Patricia Briggs (e)
Nymph, Francesca Lia Block (read aloud w/Steve)
Oh, Myyy, George Takei (e)
Hunting Ground, Patricia Briggs (e)
Cry Wolf, Patriacia Briggs (e)
Alpha and Omega, Patricia Briggs (e)
Miss Buncle, Married, D.E. Stevenson (read aloud w/Steve)
Agatha Heterodyne and the Hammerless Bell, Phil & Kaja Foglio
Moonrise Kingdom screenplay, Wes Anderson & Roman Coppola (e)