The Red Planet

I grew up reading about Mars -- H.G. Wells's War of the Worlds, Robert Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land, Ray Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles come to mind. All those fantastic and, in Bradbury's case, poetic evocations of another planet with other forms of life seemed so real and infinitely preferable to what turns out to be the dull reality.

NASA's Pathfinder tells us there are no canals, no towering spires, no shifting ghosts, and gliding creatures. (No monsters bent on destroying Earth with a death ray, either; so that's good.)

I didn't take this picture; it's from the NSSDC website .

But I wanted to alert you to an upcoming/ongoing event. (Nancy M. sent me the following, after my post on the Perseids.)

*****

The Red Planet is about to be spectacular! This month and next, Earth is catching up with Mars in an encounter that will culminate in the closest approach between the two planets in recorded history. The next time Mars may come this close is in 2287. Due to the way Jupiter's gravity tugs on Mars and perturbs its orbit, astronomers can only be certain that Mars has not come this close to Earth in the last 5,000 years, but it may be as long as 60,000 years before it happens again.

The encounter will culminate on August 27th when Mars comes to within 34,649,589 miles of Earth and will be (next to the moon) the brightest object in the night sky. At a modest 75-power magnification Mars will look as large as the full moon to the naked eye.

Mars will be easy to spot. At the beginning of August it will rise in the east at 10p.m. and reach its azimuth at about 3 a.m. By the end of August when the two planets are closest, Mars will rise at nightfall and reach its highest point in the sky at 12:30a.m.

That's pretty convenient to see something that no human being has seen in recorded history. So, mark your calendar at the beginning of August to see Mars grow progressively brighter and brighter throughout the month.

NO ONE ALIVE TODAY WILL EVER SEE THIS AGAIN

*********

If that's not enough excitement for you, check out this really so-bad-that-it's good B-movie: Mars Needs Women

EEEK! I've just found out that the info about the close encounter is false! (See comment below) As always, it's good to check snopes.com -- but I didn't. Mea culpa.

I'm going to go stand in the corner for a while.

Which Vicki Lane?

I've known for some time there were other Vicki Lanes -- quite a few actually. I did a blog on the subject on my Amazon page a while back.

But recently I had a wonderful e-mail experience -- just because I'm not the only Vicki Lane.

The following popped up in my e-mails: (I've removed names and other particulars.)

Just a reminder, the "reunion/party" will be August 31 this year...the Sunday before Labor Day and we are all looking forward to seeing you there! Come anytime that day and all will be welcomed. ______ will be doing his usual wonderful job on the grill and we'll have other goodies ready to eat. There will be volleyball, horseshoes, and more....pool and hot tub will be open to ease those sore muscles and plenty of rockers on the porch just for relaxing.

Please feel free to ask any others I have missed.

PS, _____ broke her hip this year but, as you know a broken hip won't keep her from talking with her friends and family so she will be here with bells on.

Looking forward to seeing you soon...______

To which I replied:

Okay, I'm intrigued. Do I know you? How come I'm getting this email?

And my unknown correspondent answered:

I'm _____'s sister. One of the "evil hoard" This is a party we have every year. We always invite _____'s but for some reason they never come. Hope you change things this year.

Also, how is your husband? _______

I answered:

I don't know ____ -- I don't know any _____s. I'm baffled.

Vicki Lane

And she came back:

If you're serious, then I'm worse than baffled. Sorry for the mix-up...I was emailing a relative in ___ whose name is Vicki Lane also. Excuse the email please.

To which I returned:

Ah, so that's it! Hope you all have a wonderful reunion.

Yet another Vicki Lane

http://vickilanemysteries.com/

And she said:

And you're THAT Vicki Lane. I get your newsletter every month and guess when I pulled up you as Vicki in the address block, I never looked at it again.

I met you at the Friends' luncheon a couple of years ago and really enjoy your books. Thanks for being nice about my mistake. _____ _____

So I told her:

I thought that might be it. I've gotten quite a giggle out of the whole thing. Almost feel like one of the family.

And I'm so glad you enjoy my books!

Say hi to ____ and _____ and ____ for me. :-),

Vicki

The Vicki Lane who writes mysteries

And she replied, quite sweetly:

In a message dated 8/12/2008 9:38:34 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time, vicki_lane@mtnarea.net writes:

Almost feel like one of the family

Well, you have your invitation... come and bring the family! You may even meet some new "characters" for your books...I guarantee you'll meet some "characters!"

But I had to decline:

Aren't families wonderful? I'd be tempted to accept -- which would really confuse matters -- but alas, too many other commitments!

~Vicki (the mystery one)

What a fun mix up! I really was tempted to show up at the reunion.

Jewel Weed and Jewish Melungeons

Jewel weed is in bloom now, its delicate blossoms trembling on wispy stems. Bees crawl deep inside the flowers, making the whole leggy plant shake. Also known by the lovely name, Lady's Earring, around here the plant is called Ol' Touch-Me-Not for the seed pods that, when fat and ripe, explode at the slightest touch.

My boys used to enjoy popping these pods as they climbed the half mile of our road after the school bus had let them off at our mailbox. That walk could stretch out well over an hour when Jewel Weed seed pods were ripe . . . or mulberries . . .or wild raspberries.

Orange is the most common variety but Pale Jewel Weed grows here too, its yellow blooms shining out in the dappled shade. Jewel Weed often grows near Poison Ivy and a folk remedy for the itching caused by this unfriendly plant is to crush the fat hollow stems of the Jewel Weed and rub on the afflicted skin. It works a bit like aloe and is handy, though not as effective as hydro cortisone.

And now for the Jewish Melungeons!

I recently had an e-mail from a new reader who said she'd loved the characters of Ish and Mariah. She also said that she had been exploring the history of Jews in Appalachia and had come across some interesting suggestions that the Melungeons were descended from Jews fleeing persecution in Europe.

This caught my fancy and I found that there's lots of info on this theory out there -- this website being just one. And then I began to think about what if somewhere down the road I were to explore Ish and Mariah's story much more fully in a standalone.

Then I could use that book I got at the library book sale -- the one about keeping an orthodox household.

I knew there was a reason I had to have that book!

Home!

I've had a wonderful few days in the Raleigh/Durham/Chapel Hill area with Molly Weston, mystery maven and reviewer par excellence (and the most obliging and thoughtful hostess imaginable), along with two fellow mystery writers, Mary Anna Evans and Mark de Castrique. Our whirlwind tour of one library and three bookstores went beautifully and I'll talk about it and Molly at length in the September newsletter.

But now I'm home!

My pulse always quickens when the mountains come into sight as I leave the flatlands and by the time our own particular mountain is in view, I'm bearing down on that accelerator as if I were nearing a finish line.

I used this in Old Wounds, putting some of my feelings into Rosemary's thoughts as she returns home:

"Full Circle Farm lay in the hazy distance. Rosemary breathed deeply as she gazed at the beloved pattern of dark woods and lighter pastures on the slopes of Pinnacle Mountain, and at the silver speck that was the metal roof of her childhood home, shining in the center. Like a lodestone.

She smiled, feeling the tug of home and family. Words from one of Shakespeare's sonnets ran in her mind

. . . it is an ever fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring barque,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. "

It's good to be back.

Serendipitous Shooting Stars

This morning about four, I got up to let a dog out. Returning to the bedroom, I paused by a window to look at the sky -- crystal clear and bright with stars. And immediately a shooting star drew its pencil streak of light at the edge of my vision. And then another. And another. At last I remembered -- it's time for the Perseid meteor shower !

It used to be a thing we planned for, every August 11, but the past few years we've had overcast skies or full moons -- plus our NPR station no longer plays the Stardate program -- and the Perseids had just slipped my mind. What joy to find that I was awake and the stars were shooting, just outside the bedroom window!

I pulled on a robe and stepped outside to the deck. Three, four, five, meteorites. About one a minute. It was absolutely magical -- but right chilly and I was getting a crick in my neck. I stayed till I'd counted nine -- a good magical number -- and went back to bed.

How I wish I could have gotten pictures of a shooting star but it's beyond my capabilities -- you'll just have to imagine -- the dark coolness of the night and the eerie silence as another jet of light etches a brief path across the vault of heaven.

Tonight our sky is overcast -- no chance of more meteorite viewing. Thank goodness for the dog who got me out of bed!

Tomorrow I'm heading to the middle of the state to take part in a mini-mystery tour. I doubt I'll be posting while I'm away but I should be back Saturday night with stories to tell.

The Quality of Light

Early light floods the lower fields, washing the trees with gold.

The begonia leaves are set aflame.

By evening the light is soft, retreating as shadows advance.

The clarity of the light and the coolness of the air both whisper of fall -- a blessed interlude in the heat and humidity of late summer.

Keeping My Stories Straight

My friend Josie gave me this wonderful book by the illustrator Maira Kalman. Josie saw it at a library book sale and, though she already owned a copy, bought this one in order to give it a good home. "I read it all in one sitting," she told me, and as soon as I opened it, I saw why. It's delightful, beautiful, thoughtful, funny, mysterious, and wacky -- all at once.

I didn't want to race through it so I put it in the bathroom -- stretching out the reading to any number of . . . er . . . sittings.

And then I got to thinking about how many different things I read in a day -- Isabel Zuber's beautiful Salt is my primary book at the moment -- what I'm reading when I have a decent block of time. Isabel is a poet and the beauty of her language has me going slow with this one too. Moreover, the book is new and autographed so I don't try to read it while I'm bathing -- Vanity Fair by Thackery has already fallen in once (note the curve of the cover) so it keeps me company on the edge of the tub as I re-read my way through it yet again.

Books follow me everywhere. If I'm in the car, I'm listening to Douglas Adams' posthumous work The Salmon of Doubt; yesterday, while I worked in the kitchen all day, I listened to Twain's Huckleberry Finn. Two wise and funny men from very different times.

And then there's the reading material I pick up when I have a few minutes to kill -- waiting for the coffee to drip, for the computer to download something, the rice to cook --catalogues, magazines, and a book I picked up at a library book sale for no reason other than insatiable curiosity about . . .well, almost everything . . . but religion and other cultures are always particularly fascinating.

So, when the occasional reader tells me that he or she has trouble keeping track of the the two stories, past and present, in my books, I realize that our minds must operate very, very differently.

Plenty

Today was deliciously cool -- amazing for August -- making a day in the kitchen seem not too bad. I had picked tomatoes early in the morning and had an abundance to deal with -- here are plum tomatoes filling three baking trays in the oven and a quantity of those great Cherokee Purples to make into tomato sauce for the freezer. The white plastic bag in front of the fan -- full of sweet basil and Italian parsley -- is waiting to be whirred into pesto.

Pesto is a much better way to deal with an abundance of basil in the garden than trying to dry it. This keeps at least a year in the freezer – and for months in the refrigerator. (Pine nuts are traditional but usually rather expensive and sometimes a bit rancid as they have a short shelf life. So I use almonds.)

Here are the ingredients -- the amounts are just a suggestion; you can adjust them to your taste.

3 packed cups fresh basil leaves (no stems)
1 cup packed fresh parsley leaves (can substitute more basil if you prefer)
4 larges cloves fresh (peeled) garlic (not elephant garlic; it’s too mild)
¾ cup grated parmesan (or romano or asiago)
½ c. pine nuts, walnuts, raw, unblanched almonds, or hulled sunflower seeds (or any combination thereof)
salt to taste, or none at all
¾ c. olive oil (extra-virgin, if you want to be really fancy, but any pure olive oil will do just fine)

Put all ingredients into a blender or a food processor. The food processor will quickly produce a smooth paste – the blender will require a little coaxing and stopping and starting and rearranging the contents with a spatula before the paste is achieved. In fact, dealing with vast quantities of fresh basil every summer is what finally convinced me I needed a food processor.

Put finished pesto in half pint jelly jars and store in the freezer. This is wonderful to have on hand for pizza or clam spaghetti or stromboli or any number of delightful dishes.

My tomato sauce starts with sauteeing chopped onions, green and hot peppers, and lots of garlic in olive oil. Then I add the tomatoes, unpeeled (I'm lazy and not picky and I know they weren't sprayed) and cut in big chunks. The Cherokee Purples are extremely juicy so no additional liquid was needed -- if I'd been using plum tomatoes, I'd have added water and/or red wine.

Then some salt, to taste, and handfuls of fresh, chopped parsley, basil, and oregano, along with some dried Italian seasoning for good measure. Simmer till thickened but be careful it doesn't stick to the bottom of the pot and scorch. Cool, put in freezer containers, and freeze. This is a great base for soup, spaghetti sauce (add some tomato paste), chili . . .

And you already know about the roasted tomatoes.

One busy day in the kitchen -- but it'll provide a taste of summer memories in the cold months ahead.

(Cautiously) Stalking the Dread Adverb

So, yesterday I'm reading the DorothyL list ( an internet list for fans of mysteries) and I hit this post:

Is there some sub-genre of writing in which adverbs are considered
acceptable? Are there readers who do not find them objectionable;
think they add to the flavor of the writing?

I ask this question because EVERYTHING I have read and been told
about the craft of creative writing over the last two years is that
adverbs are considered a terminal disease by EVERYONE.

Yet today, I started reading a book by a new author, for me, and
found it to be a walk across a ground filled with rocks on a night
with no light. . . . In the first ten pages, I stumbled over: continually, quietly,
fervently, gratefully, lovingly, extremely, suddenly, awfully,
heavily, purely, slowly, carefully, sweetly, restlessly, softly,
softly (again), quietly (again), certainly, absolutely, and joyfully.

I looked through the first ten pages of the second book, and only
found nineteen adverbs. These books are written in the third person
POV. I know that third person POVs allows the author to "get inside
a character's head." Does using third person POV make adverbs more
acceptable?

As a reader, I now have to agree with those who say adverbs
interrupt the flow of the prose. These are books I want to read
because of the settings and subject matter. But, man, it's hard to
stay with a story line when the rocks keep grabbing your attention.

Any one here have an idea where those adverbs came from? Yep, first ten pages of Signs in the Blood. The poster had purposely (oops, there's an adverb) not named the book but I had a real feeling. . . A quick look at a copy of Signs confirmed that feeling -- it was I who had strewn those rocky adverbs in his path.

What could I do? My firstborn had been (callously) attacked in a public forum -- I wrote the poster the following ( a personal email, not a post to the list):

Dear (let's call him Mr. X)

While (quietly ) perusing my DorothyL digest, I (eagerly ) read your post about adverbs, only to realize (suddenly) just which books you were ( unsuccessfully) trying to read. Arrrgh! Those are (certainly) my words! ! I (ruefully and shamefacedly) admit to use of adverbs.

I can only say (defensively) that my editor at Bantam seems (enthusiastically) to like these poor little parts of speech, even (blithely) adding one or two of her own now and then. Elizabeth George (who was with this same editor for years) and (surely) shares your distaste for adverbs) (callously) called this editor the queen of adverbs.

But what to do? I can only (longingly) hope that not all readers are (terribly) thrown out of of the story by the proliferating adverbs and that you will (kindly) accept my apology for (unwittingly) offending.

Yours (contritely,)

Vicki Lane (who (usually) enjoys your posts :-[

Soon I had an email in reply in which Mr. X told me that he had tried reading those ten pages leaving the adverbs out. It changed them, he said, and not for the better. Then he posited that using the adverbs was a conscious choice on my part, to slow the pace to fit the flavor of the setting. He also said that he was enjoying the book and fully intended to read all four -- and some more nice things about my writing.

My favorite, however was a later post on this same list from a woman who said that she had way better things to do than count the adverbs in a book.

Dawn Like Thunder

I wish I could claim this great picture. My husband took it a few mornings ago, well before sun up.
Just look at the colors! Blown up to screen size, it's amazing . . . should have a Big Epic soundtrack to go with it.

I always think of the old rhyme --

"Red sky at morning,
Sailor take warning.
Red sky at night,
Sailor's delight."

In this case, however, it was a farmer's delight that the red morning sky foretold -- welcome rain.
It came with a midnight thunderstorm that had three dogs on the bed with us, shivering and panting while lightning lit up the night sky
and thunder rolled above us, like God rearranging Heaven's furniture.

But Wait . . . There's More!

For those of you following the saga of the chicken tractor -- two updates. John added upstairs ventilation as the weather is so warm. These plywood and chicken wire panels replace the solid ones of the original design (which, being English, didn't have to worry about the kind of heat we're having.) It also lets a bit of light into the upstairs which we had hoped would encourage the chicks to put themselves to bed when dusk came, as is (or should be) their natural roosting behavior.

Only it didn't. They didn't. We tried putting them up there several times after dark but it was always the same -- the next night they would just pile up in a heap on the grass at one end of the tractor. So we decided to put three of the older hens in the tractor and the babies in the old chicken coop. (Susan B. had worried about the chickens having room to move and I can say that three full grown hens seem just fine. I think we could add one or two more -- but probably not the rooster because he's so tall.)

The plan is to keep these three girls on the garden tier till they scratch down to bare dirt. We'll see how long it takes them to 'till' up the dirt -- then we'll move the tractor.

The biddies, meanwhile, are having a ball exploring the chicken yard. But last night they just piled up in a heap outside and we had to go down and put them in the chicken house.

I hope they get the hang of this pretty soon.

But wait . . . there's more. Down in the garden this morning, after picking beans and corn, I decided to pull a few weeds out of the asparagus bed. Halfway through, I got to a very overgrown bit where morning glory vines were making a jungle. I stuck my hand into the midst of the the vines and leaves, ready to pull them up, and out shot a snake. I leaped backward, letting out the sort of straight-from-the-gut primal scream that it would probably take thousands of dollars and years of therapy to achieve.

It was a good-sized copperhead on top of the rock wall, lying there and staring at me. If I'd had a hoe, I would have tried to kill him -- I'd have felt bad about it, especially since he had been kind enough not to bite me, but I would much prefer no copperheads in the garden.

But since I didn't have a hoe, I reached for my camera. Unfortunately, as soon as I did that, the snake slid back into the morning glory jungle. Morning glories which, I suspect, are going to be left to achieve their full potential.

A Wealth of Tomatoes

The tomato vines are sagging with fruit and I picked quite a few this morning. The Cherokee Purples can wait a few days but there are ripe plum tomatoes to deal with Now.

We haven't used any spray so a quick rinse to wash away the dust is all that's needed.

This is a lazy woman's way of preserving plum tomatoes. Remove the stem; cut tomatoes in half; cover with olive oil and a good bit of Konriko Creole seasoning ( or some other seasoned salt.) Bake at 350 till an enchanting aroma fills the house and makes your mouth water. (If you want to gild the lily, you can slice some onions and add then before baking.)

The result --about three hours later -- is great on pasta or pizza or in salads. The roasted tomatoes can be cooled and frozen in plastic freezer bags. Don't discard the oil -- it has a wonderful flavor.

Not only is this the easiest way I know of preserving tomatoes, it's the most delicious, filling your freezer with the distillation of summer.



UPDATE & CLARIFICATION

Liz emailed, in justifiable confusion, pointing out that this post says to roast at 350 for 3 hours while on my website it says 200 degrees. Oops. The thing is that 200 degrees takes forever -- that's more for making dried or semi-dried tomatoes. I got impatient and recently upped the temp. The tomatoes in this post aren't dried -- just concentrated.

Bugz and Miss Spellcheck

Tune out now, Ann C. -- butterflies and moths are my pictures for today.

But what I want to talk about is Spell Check -- or whatever the name of the program is that ever-so-politely suggests alternate spellings for the words I write. I mentioned in a previous post how this digital kibitzer thought that cloudscape or kaleidoscope might be preferable to colonoscopy. (I have to agree, from an aesthetic point of view.)

And I always got a giggle out of Spell Check's insistence that quilters should be spelled quitters when I co-authored a couple of books on quilting.

Yes, I know that I could just add the word to my dictionary and Miss Spellcheck (a lean, humorless spinster of advanced years and Czechoslovakian heritage is how I picture her) would quit bugging me (the tie-in for the pictures? Groan.)

But I enjoy her suggestions and am charmed when she tells me that a friend's grandson is not a cutie, as I emailed in response to a picture, but a cootie. And that M.E. Froelich, (whom I had occasion to mention on a post to the Dorothy L list) would be happier as M. E. Helicopter, while Deb Andolino of Aliens and Alibis is actually Deb Mandolin.

I don't know, maybe the fact that this silliness entertains me is a sign I need to get out more. But speaking of signs and silliness -- and just to let you all know, after yesterday's post, that we are not entirely welcoming to all creatures in our home -- this picture below is a box in our basement containing rat poison.

You'll note, however, that my husband does warn them.