College Football 2013 is Underway!

And once again we’re breaking in a new, reorganized conference

It’s called the American Athletic Conference (a spin-off or something of the Big East) and last night my husband’s alma mater U of H squared off against a school we’d never heard of: Southern U.

And because the University of Houston is in the throes of building a new stadium, the Cougars have done some hectic horse-trading for places to play. Last night it was huge and intimidating Reliant Stadium, home of the Houston Texans.

SU, arriving from Baton Rouge en force, proved to have a few slick plays – enough to post 13 points on the board. But they lacked the athleticism and physicality to beat the band. Yes, the band. SU won half time hands down. How such a huge group of students carrying unwieldy instruments could dip, swerve, and high-step in perfect unison without missing a note is utterly beyond me. Their performance brought down the house. One of their in-the-stands numbers made YouTube. Surely their field action will be there soon.

And the dancers! The fact that they way out-twerked Miley Cyrus was out-weighed by the precision choreography with which they did it.

Wait – I’m not knocking the U of H band. Let’s just say it’s like comparing the Mormon Tabernacle Choir to Glee. Class vs. Crazy.

As for the game, Houston gave two QBs equal time – Piland the first half, O’Korn the second. Neither has the long bomb in their arsenal but obviously both are effective. The Coogs won the night most convincingly: 62-13. I did my part by jumping up and down and screaming.

It was midnight by the time we got home – quite an experience for a couple of homebodies who never venture out after dark. But this year, Husband got season tickets – something we haven’t done since the kids were born. Yep, Grampa and Grandma gonna shake things up…

“You spent HOW much on your stupid coffee habit??”

Non-coffee drinkers don’t understand

Actually, I don’t understand how I could bring myself to spend so much on such a basic apparatus. I am by nature an extremely frugal person. In most cases, downright cheap. But I do love coffee.

No, I don’t haunt Starbucks. Again, against my nature. I prefer experimenting with flavors on my own. The shining exception is Fresh Market in Montgomery, AL where my daughter’s family lives. There you can get such exotic combinations as maple vanilla, chocolate cherry, or things I can’t hope to imitate like crème brulée and tiramisu. But their

Birthday loot including packets of
Fresh Market coffee from Alabama

prices are so prohibitive I satisfy myself with just a handful of these primo beans, and only brew them on Sundays.

But back to the coffee maker.  This last replacement (I burn through them every 3 years or so) was the cheapest Mr. Coffee at Walmart. It never was very satisfactory. Chief among the aggravations was having to tape the filter to the edge of the basket to keep it from collapsing and dumping the grounds into the carafe.

And then – since I’m a slow coffee drinker, the sort that sips and savors – the brew sits on the heating plate until mid-afternoon, gaining strength, losing flavor, and generally permeating the premises with a stale, scorched odor.

The answer, my wise BFF kept telling me, was the Keurig. The K-Cup system. One freshly brewed cup at a time. No fuss, no muss, no coffee left standing.

Besides cringing at the cost, there was the matter of operation. My BFF went through Baylor Med. She holds a master’s degree in clinical psychology. She can face a control panel that resembles the cockpit of Boeing 747 unfazed.  

The turning point came when Husband handed me an unconscionable wad of money for my birthday. That,

My Keurig with even more coffee
faves from my son's family

plus another major disagreement with Mr. Coffee, set me to searching. It seems that Keurig doesn’t just make those counter-consuming mega machines. They make minis. In pretty colors, too. And you can get refillable cups for using all the coffee I got for my birthday instead those expensive, prefilled disposables.

So I took the plunge. I got me a little red Keurig that cost more than all my previous coffeemakers combined. And I can operate it. And I love it. So I guess me and my conscience will learn to live with it!

There just comes a time when ya gotta say it:

“I’m too old for this!”

For some reason the floor of our master bath perennially looks like a herd of elephants just tramped across it. I don’t know why. We rarely even wear shoes in there. It gets washed and waxed at least once a month. Yet the grimy crud that defies normal household cleaners asserts itself within hours of an all-day stripping job. The floors of our hall, kitchen, or other bath and a half aren't nearly so difficult.

But this time, as I trudge sweating and aching back to the kitchen lugging rag mop, bucket, industrial-strength stripping solution, scouring brush, broom, wax, sponge mop, and rubber gloves, I’m ready to admit it. I’m too old for this. I’m totally ready to throw in the towel. And all the other afore-mentioned items. It’s got me. I surrender.

Happily, the day did have its rewards. Husband cooked up the most incredible batch of fajitas I’ve ever tasted – and topped it off with a tall drink. I’m actually still a bit buzzed.

Even so, mellowed and rested though I may be, I declare unequivocally that I will never strip another floor. For whatever reason the bathroom floor looks like the path to a watering hole, I’ll move before I tackle it again.

I’m just going to admit it. I’m too old for this.

Time out for a memorial

Even if you’re not a Rizzoli & Isles regular, the death of actor Lee Thompson Young is a terrible loss

His publicist confirmed the death at 11:40 AM, 8/19/2013. According to TMZ, Rizzoli & Isles staffers called Young’s landlord when he failed to show up for work. Young was then discovered with what appears to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

The quote from the Rizzoli&Isles fan site:

"Everyone at Rizzoli & Isles is devastated by the news of the passing of Lee Thompson Young. We are beyond heartbroken at the loss of this sweet, gentle, good-hearted, intelligent man. He was truly a member of our family. Lee will be cherished and remembered by all who knew and loved him, both on- and off-screen, for his positive energy, infectious smile and soulful grace. We send our deepest condolences and thoughts to his family, to his friends and, most especially, to his beloved mother."

Lee Thompson Young’s star started to rise as Disney’s Jett Jackson. He went on to play running back Chris Comer in the movie “Friday Night Lights,” and was currently appearing as Boston police detective Barry Frost on “Rizzoli & Isles.”

He was born in Columbia, SC and attended USC. He later enrolled in the School of Cinematic Arts on full scholarship, graduating magna cum laude in 2005.

Lee Thompson Young was 29 years old.

August 18, 1983 – a date which will live in memory

The only thing between our family and Hurricane Alicia was Kenn and the shuddering patio door.

It was a Category 3 hurricane. Not the biggest, but given its slow movement and the number of tornadoes it spawned, it felt much worse.

As the winds went from a roaring 90 mph to high-pitched howling gusts of 112, my husband Kenn and I drew the kids, aged 6 and 4, to the stairs against an inside wall of our Texas City townhouse. Because of the darkness and the noise, we couldn't know that a tornado was ripping through the apartments across the street, or that the roof had briefly separated from the kids’ room upstairs. We did hear debris crashing through their window. After that, the wind screamed under the closed door at razor-sharp speed.

But the worst sound was the rattling, violently vibrating patio door. That door was pretty much the entire back wall of our tiny unit. If it went, so would we.

Kenn told us to hang on where we were and made his way across the room. Placing his formidable body against the quaking plate glass and grasping the frame and handle with all his might, he stood fast as our shield against the storm. I don’t know how long he stayed there wrestling the wind. Hours. All through the night. And it wasn’t just wind. Fences, patio planters, tree branches, roofing, and much more were thudding against the glass.

During the brief calm when the eye of the storm passed over, we managed to fetch the plywood we’d been unable to secure to the brick wall surrounding the patio door. Hauling it inside, we braced it against the glass with the easy chair, adding the coffee table for good measure. Moments later the wind came screaming back; this time from the opposite direction.

Day finally dawned. Kenn lay exhausted on the couch while the rest of us tentatively explored the wreckage.  Out front the willows that ran the length of the townhomes had gone down like dominoes. It was the same out back with the fencing that separated each unit’s patio. Across the street, the second floor of the 2-story apartment building had been sheared off. In some places it was leveled to the foundation.

The weeks that followed went by in a daze of candles, flashlights, camp stoves and forays for ice, water, and laundromats. We tore out the wet carpet, patched holes in the roof, and gingerly tried to salvage a few things from the shattered kids’ room.

But my most vivid memory is the image of my hero husband placing himself between his family and the storm.

So you really want to be famous?

The thoughtful, eminently satisfying harmonies of DavidArkenstone are playing in the background. It’s a CD entitled Valley in the Clouds – very atmospheric New-Agey stuff leading me to ponder a topic that’s come up several times lately. Just casually, of course. It’s one of those what-if deals. Fame.

There’s always the occasional friend or reader asking when my books will be available again. And last week my BFF reported her daughter had remarked that “Mary isn’t as famous as she should be.” Recently when I came to the brink of a break (that could still, at this writing, pan out), my dear husband commented that he’d love to see me get famous.

Most of you know how my writing career came to a crashing halt after I switched publishers. (The first one was no prize, either. They’re still in litigation for fraud.) The changeover meant severing ties with the entity printing my books, so even the momentum developing by word of mouth was halted. When it became clear the new publisher was unable, unwilling, or not interested in reissuing my books, I was pretty much left dead in the water.

But “what if?” What if an agency sees potential in my submission? What if they find a publisher and things start to take off? Am I so eager to be famous?

Actually, no. I’m a background kind of person. An observer, a supporter. What I want is for my books to be famous.

Immersed in Oz, Never-Never Land or Narnia, the names L. Frank Baum, James Matthew Barry, or C. S. Lewis never popped into my head. I just wanted to be in the worlds they created. That’s the way I want it to be with Ammanon. Don’t think: Mary Odle Fagan. Think: great empire of Ammanon, its beautiful capital city of Ephaeleon, the confident but love-challenged warrior-emperor Galan and his beautiful, scholarly captive bride.

I want readers to live in this world the way I did when I created it. Walk the winding, cypress-lined road up to the palace; join the hard-riding imperial guards, find the startling messages in the silence of the temple scriptorium. I want you to share my adventure like a companion on an exciting journey.

So please - don’t break the spell by thinking of me! I’m just a nerdy grandma sitting at a computer!

The Fascination of Fish and Dinosaurs

An adventure with the grandsons

They love dinosaurs. They have dinosaur puzzles, books, and herds of plastic figures. They order Jurassic Chicken at the Rainforest Café. Two helpings. What is it about these prehistoric animals no man has ever seen? Perhaps it’s the fact that this isn’t fairy tale or sci-fi stuff. They were real. And they were huge.

And they’re not too young to remember the wonderful Don Bluth animated movie “Land Before Time.”  And no doubt they’re aware of  serious adult dino flicks like “Jurassic Park.” Especially since it just keeps going.

So for an end-of-summer fling I took them to Moody Gardens on Galveston Island to see the animatronic Dino Alive display. It was quite something, but not as much as I expected.  We walked through the exhibit twice and only burned about 20 minutes.

That’s why we ended up at the Aquarium Pyramid.

It was hardly their first trip to an aquarium, but this was by far the biggest one they’d ever seen. I was amazed at the way they stood transfixed, leaving nose and hand prints on every inch of glass they could reach. No TV show ever captivated them like this.

And they missed nothing. “Grandma, look at this one!” “Grandma, look at that little one over there!” “Grandma let me take a picture of the white one on the bottom!” “Hey! Here comes a shark!”

In short, discovery with kids is pure joy. You see through new eyes. You see things you’d never notice otherwise. And you experience an excitement long gone from jaded adult life.

I wanna do it again!