Gratuitous Dog Photo

January 21, 2024 / J. F. Riordan / 4 Comments

Eli keeps watch on seven of his good friends.

Riches

January 21, 2024January 21, 2024 / J. F. Riordan / 19 Comments

For many women, chocolate is a passion, but I can take it or leave it. My passion is for flowers. There is not a day in my life when, given the choice, I would not choose flowers over candy, and probably over jewelry, too. (But not over dogs.)

I got my love for flowers from my mother. When I was very tiny, she would take me to the vacant lot next to my Grandmother’s house to pick violets. The property was carpeted in purple, and it was almost frustrating to pick, because I wanted to scoop them up all at once, but instead, had to painstakingly reach beneath the big leaves to find the tender stems, one at a time. I remember not being very good at it, which tells me I was probably three at the most, but together we picked masses of violets. I still feel that same frustration when I pick violets, but I never miss an opportunity to have a bowlful in my house. I allow them to grow even though they spread so recklessly in my garden beds. People say mint is bad, but in my little ecosystem, violets are far more aggressive.

My mother also grew zinnias and big purple and pink asters in her garden. I loved the deep, vibrant colors, and the way they jostled one another in a brilliant haphazard jumble. Later, she grew sweet peas, and they grew in a jungle of coiling stems against a big stone wall. She gave me seeds for them every year, but somehow, I never planted them, and now I regret it deeply. The only plant I have in my garden that came from hers is the centaurea montana, a big purple relative of the bachelor button. She and I picked lilacs together every spring, and when she got older, I would pick them for her, filling a large purple vase with them. I planted her window box with geraniums for her, too. She could sit in her chair by the window and look out at them all summer long, and that gave her a great deal of pleasure.

I always have flowers in my house, usually in every room. At the moment I have white amaryllis and hyacinth bulbs growing in a wooden box of moss and ivy on the dining room table; various colors of tulips: orange in the hall and kitchen, purple and white in the living room; orange alstroemeria in the library and purple in the powder room; cut white hyacinths and lilies in the bedroom; and two brilliant red amaryllis on the edge of the bathtub. In the depths of winter I love the contrast of the fragile blooms indoors and the bitter cold outdoors. They make me feel that all is well. I like almost all flowers.

But never give me a poinsettia.

My mother always said that if she were rich she would have fresh flowers and clean sheets every single day. I feel the same way, and I suppose, that–and her tender care for animals—is her legacy to me. Riches, indeed.

I go a little crazy at the farmers’ market.

They’ve discovered they like Chex Mix

January 20, 2024 / J. F. Riordan / 22 Comments

Thinking makes it so

January 20, 2024January 20, 2024 / J. F. Riordan / 19 Comments

Who’s your audience? It’s a question asked of writers all the time. Agents want to know. Publishers want to know. Even book club readers want to know. Most writers know how to gauge our answers to meet our business needs. Of course, to be published, a book needs to meet customer demand. But, to be honest, most of the time that’s only a guess based on what has sold before, and demand can also be created by marketing teams and media campaigns.

So, while I am delighted to have my books published, I don’t think about any of that when I’m writing. I really only write for an audience of one: me.

I write the kinds of books I want to read, and to be honest, while I do read for information, I mostly read for comfort and companionship. When I had high-pressure, stressful day jobs, I didn’t want to come home to read high-pressure, stressful books. I taught in the inner city. I didn’t want to read about suffering, murder, crime, drug use, and lost opportunities. I lived with that every day. When I moved into an executive position, I still spent a great deal of time thinking about human misery and how to help alleviate it. Again, I was often in the inner city, visiting schools, homeless shelters, prisons, half-way houses, and addiction centers. I also had many uplifting experiences in the fine arts world, to be sure. But what hung with me was always the human traumas that went on before my eyes every day.

I don’t think I’m alone in that. Many people have intense, exhausting, high stress jobs. And some of them find catharsis in reading about intense things, perhaps because at the end of a well-written book, there can be a release of the built-up strains.

But that’s not for me. I want to go to a world where there is a group of characters who feel like friends I can hang out with. I want to look deeply at the small miracles of daily life. I want to feel enmeshed and revived by the creativity and joy of an ordinary day. And so, both in the novels I write, and in my books of essays, I linger on the hope, the joy, the beautiful and all the ways in which frustrations, unkindness, and misery can be diminished—although never eliminated—by the way we focus our attention.

And so, when I’m writing, my incentive is the pleasure I take in joining the worlds I’ve created. I write (mostly) about characters I want to be with, who live in a world I enjoy being in. Maybe that’s selfish. I don’t know.

But honestly, I don’t know any other way to write; I don’t think I could write a horror story if I had to. “Write what you know” is the old adage, and I really don’t think there’s any better advice. Luckily, based on my readers’ comments, the kinds of books I like are also liked by other people. And that’s a pretty good system, I think.

So now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to go hang out with some old friends.

Cheers.

***

Turkey in the Sky Addendum

Many of you couldn’t find the turkey in the photos yesterday. That’s because I don’t have a good zoom lens. But here’s the best I can do.

Today’s Gratuitous Dog Photo

Turkey in the sky

January 19, 2024 / J. F. Riordan / 10 Comments

Since I took this photo he’s awake. I will never understand how such big birds can perch on such tiny branches.

Ears Up!

January 18, 2024January 18, 2024 / J. F. Riordan / 37 Comments

There’s a moment in the life of every German Shepherd puppy when, somewhere around five to eight months old, their ears are permanently up. Until then, they have adorable floppy ears, and for weeks, as they grow, there’s a one-day-up/next-day-down process which is both fun and suspenseful. For some individual dogs, the ears never fully stand. I don’t know if it’s genetics, nutrition, or a lack of ambition. Some owners obsess about whether their dog’s ears will stand straight, but it doesn’t matter to the dog, and it shouldn’t matter to anyone who loves him.

Auggie, two days short of eight weeks old.

German Shepherd ears are not merely for hearing. They are deeply sensitive instruments of expression and state of mind. If he is showing pride, joy, or dominance, his ears are straight up on the top of his head, slightly rotating to take in data like a space radio telescope. If he is running fast, or swimming, his ears lay flat for aerodynamic advantage. If he is submissive or doubtful, the ears slide down the back of the head. The ears slide back and flatten completely in extreme situations, particularly if he is demonstrating love. A mama GSD will flatten her ears when her puppies approach, perhaps to show she is receptive to their feeding. We call these “love ears,” and we see this daily with our own guys when they want a scratch or a kiss. A fearful German Shepherd will also flatten his ears, and, like any dog, his tail will drop.

Moses, who was the only musical member of my pack, also laid his ears back and stomped his front feet while singing. He loved to sing.

In my experience, no German Shepherd likes his ears touched. Unless you have a deep personal relationship with him, don’t even try. If you belong to a German Shepherd, he may enjoy being touched on his ears, but only when they are flat, or, with my dogs, if they know you are protecting them from a biting insect. German Shepherds will do almost anything to please those they love. But, unless there is life-threatening cold, do not ask them to wear a hat, a hood, or a costume that covers their ears. They will mope and become so depressed you will want to rip your heart right out.

Auggie is a particularly energetic and proud German Shepherd, and has always kept his ears ramrod straight unless in situations as noted above, but also when he plays his favorite charging game. Then, he will wait for my signal to speed toward me at top speed, ears sharply flattened. When he reaches me, growling in mock fury, his eyes sparkle and his ears pop up, straight and tall.

But when he came home from his nearly month-long stay at the veterinary hospital this fall, something had changed. He was cheerful, energetic, and delighted to be home. We had to drug him to keep him from running, and refuse to play his favorite games. “Not now, baby” is a phrase he understands, and he was hearing it an awful lot.

But he was not his usual self in two key respects: his left ear sagged slightly down the side of his head, and his lip on the same side had a droopy spot that caused him to drool continually. I spoke with the vet. Could he have had a minor stroke? Nerve damage? Was his lip just stretched out from having a breathing tube for so long? He didn’t know; it was possible. I felt sad, and slightly confounded by Auggie’s newfound capacity to spread NASA-grade sticky saliva on walls and ceiling (seriously), but I was so grateful that he was alive and home and doing well, that I didn’t care too much. Still, it nagged at me: a signal that he would never be the same.

He’s been home for more than two months now, and he continues to thrive. He is always hungry, and has consequently gained nine pounds. He is still slim, so that’s okay. It’s good, even, because it means he is thriving. Come spring I imagine—unlike me—the weight will fall away. But the ear and lip continued to droop. Until this week. I noticed first that I wasn’t constantly needing to wipe his lip with a paper towel. Then, my husband noticed his ears—perfectly straight and perfectly normal, even when playing Charge.

Had he been he depressed? Was it the crazy regimen of nine different drugs? Had his body been using the calcium to restore something more important, just as when GSD puppy ears flop while they’re teething? I will probably never know.

But Auggie’s back to his old self, and that’s all that matters.