OUT TO LUNCH

I know I must have mentioned at least once how my favorite meal is LUNCH.  I love lunch.  It's always a surprise.  Do I have a sandwich?  Leftovers?  Open that packet of aloo matar and add leftover peas?

I especially love to go OUT to lunch.  Then I'd have something I don't normally have at home--like an omelet, or a club sandwich, or sometimes I get wild and crazy and actually order a HAMBURGER!!!

I don't need a fancy restaurant, either (although I do love Tastings here in town).  Mostly we go to diners and family restaurants.  We rarely patronize franchise restaurants.  There's nothing particularly special about something a local teen has heated up in a microwave, or a tub of trans fat.

Yesterday was our wedding anniversary and we'd planned to go out to lunch to celebrate.  Well, the best laid plans and all that.  First one thing and then another came up and the next thing you know, I'm eating a tuna sandwich at home.  (It was really good, by the way--I add lots of crunchies: celery, onion, and tons of lettuce.)

We're still up in the air about lunch for today.  But I'm hoping.

What's your favorite meal to eat out?

KEEP IT LOCAL

Here's a great little video in support of local independent bookstores.

Don't know where there's an indy bookstore near you?  Then check out IndyBound.

Why should you support local businesses?  Because they keep your community alive!  Try that indie bookstore.  Go to that Mom and Pop diner.  Patronize your local farmer's market.  Keep the money local.  That keeps people in JOBS.  People with jobs contribute their $$$ to the local enonomy.  That keeps you in YOUR job.

In these troubled economic times, it's just the right thing to do.

White Bakery Bags

Yesterday, we made an emergency trip to the grocery store for ice. (Hey, you can't have happy hour without ice, right?)  On the spur of the moment, I decided to grab a couple of bagels for breakfast.  Some branches of this store have clear, plastic bags for their bagels--this particular store had white bakery bags.

To me, there's always been something mysterious about a white bakery bag.  You can't see inside.  It came from a bakery.  Bakeries have all KINDS of wonderful things.  Cookies, Danish, white mountain rolls, bagels, turnovers, cream horns, little cakes, cupcakes . . . the list goes on and on.

I used to come home from work for lunch several days a week.  Not my home, my parents' home.  And often there'd be a white bakery bag sitting on the counter.  More often than not, there'd be one of Jackson Bakery's little white cakes inside.  They were my favorite, and my Dad knew it.  Oh, what a delight after one of Dad's chicken salad sandwiches to have that little cake with a cup of tea.  I'd eat it in teeny tiny bites just to prolong the ecstacy.

Jackson's Bakery is still around and they still sell those little cakes.  Our wedding anniversary is next week and I predict one of Jackson's little coconut cakes.  (This is last year's model.)  Okay, it doesn't come in a bakery bag.  No, it comes in a white bakery box tied with string.  Oh, the wonders that can be contained in one of those bakery boxes.  A dozen cookies.  Half a dozen Danish or apple turnovers.  Cakes.  Pies.  And the list goes on and on.

Ya think I have a sweet tooth?

PET PEEVE THURSDAY--Dust Bunnies and Hairballs

I love cats, but I don't like some of the things that go with them.

We have a lot of beautiful, hardwood floors. We also have four cats who work extra hard to produce a LOT of cat hair. Therefore, we don't just have dust bunnies (made of 90% cat hair), we have dust DINOSAURS. They're huge! And they accumulate faster than you can shake a dust mop. I try to keep on top of it, but as soon as I put away the vacuum cleaner, there seems to be more of them.

And if they're not producing hair, they're producing hairballs. And can they expel said hairballs on the nice ceramic or vinyl floor? Nooooooo, it either has to be on the nice hardwood or the carpet--or on the leather furniture.

What's bugging YOU today.

THE NEW NORMAL

When my friend JC's father died in March, she said she and her family would have to get used to the "new normal." Her dad had been sick with cancer for a couple of years, and I suspect each and every day she and her family had to adjust to the 'new normal.'

Almost five years ago, my dad had a stroke, and since then, I, too, have had to adjust to the new normal. For it changed every couple of months.

When I lost my day job almost four years ago, I started taking my dad grocery shopping. Since he retired more than two decades ago, he became the main shopper for himself and my mom. At first, he could still walk pretty good. He would push his cart up and down the aisles of our local (small) grocery store and pretty much follow his list. We'd go to the local (Mt. Read) Wegmans, which was a lot smaller than most of their other stores--and was perfect for a lot of elderly people in the area.

Then Wegmans decided to upgrade and demolish the old store. We were banished to the Britton Road store during the rebuilding, which was bigger and harder for dad to navigate. But, somehow we learned where things were and saw many of the same Mt. Read employees working there. And half-way through the rebuilding, we switched to the Latta Road store, and saw an equal amount of familiar faces there, too. (Not one of their employees lost their jobs during that time. Is Wegmans a great company (for keeping their employees during the LONG refit) or what?)

When the new Mt Read store opened, it was apparent that dad would never be able to navigate it with a regular cart--it was so huge. So, reluctantly, he agreed to use the motorized shopping carts. We soon developed a new routine. I could park in the loading zone, get a cart, bring it to the car, and he would climb onboard and proceed to the produce department while I parked the car. By then, I was handling his list. I even transferred it to a spreadsheet, and my mom and I would go over it before dad and I would shop. I got to know more about their eating habits than my own. Did they need more OJ? Raisin cinnamon bread? How about yogurt? Bagels? Stir-fry frozen veggies? Dog biscuits?

We started out shopping on Friday afternoons, but learned that Tuesday mornings were slower, less people--lots less traffic and waiting in the check-out line--and you didn't have to wait for an unoccupied, handicapped, motorized shopping cart, either.

I'd forge ahead and dad would slowly follow in my wake. (Soon after opening the Mt. Read store, they changed the cart speed from zippy to tortoise speed. Bah--humbug!) We'd make our way from produce to the bread section, the meat dept. to the organic section where they offered free samples of bloody-awful teas. (One of the employees got to recognize Dad and would say: "Is it tea time?" and he would answer, "Yes!") Then it was on to Dairy--then to household aisle to pick up items like cling wrap and paper towel, then the frozen veg section, to the dog and cat aisle. And on and on.

For a couple of weeks in February, we checked out the book section, and low an behold they had my 2nd Booktown Mystery, BOOKMARKED FOR DEATH. Dad was really proud to see it there. But it only lasted a few weeks and when the four copies there sold out, they never restocked (Grrrrrr!)

In June, Dad went for treatments to inject artificial cartilage in his knees, so I went shopping alone. And then he got sick and ended up in the hospital. So that's why I cried yesterday as I did the shopping. We had become a fixture on Tuesdays. The girls in the pharmacy knew us. The ladies at the registers knew us. "Where's your Dad?" they asked, and yesterday, when our favorite pharmacy lady asked the same question, I burst into tears. She immediately came up with a fistful of tissues. She knew my dad. He'd been her customer for nearly seven years--two years before he had his stoke. She seemed just as heartbroken as I when I told her what had happened to him.

You'd think that a fairly big grocery chain would be pretty impersonal, but not my local Wegmans store. When I shop there, I know so many of the workers, they have come to be like close acquaintances.

Every week the new normal changes, but I feel like at least at this one store, there's some kind of ongoing stability. (Except they keep rearranging the bread section. Stop that, Wegmans!)

Sadly, that kind of personal service is lacking these days for most businesses. There's a reason Wegmans remains in the top 10 American businesses. They treat their employees well, and their employees treat their customers just as well.

May they continue to dominate the top 10 American businesses, because they employ the best people. I wish all firms would adopt their practices.

What's In A Cover?

It only occurred to me on Wednesday to think--oh, Bookmarked for Death is coming out in large print next month. I wonder what the cover looks like. So I went in search of it.

Mind you, when I saw the cover for the large print edition Murder Is Binding, I thought it was okay. Not as wonderful as the cover Berkley Prime Crime did for the mass market paperback edition, but not bad. After all, it was done by the parent company that did the cover for Murder On The Mind (horrible) and Dead in Red (which was fantastic). Of course, I have to remind myself that cover art--like everything else in publishing--is a crapshoot. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.

So, when I saw the large-print cover on Wednesday I must say I wasn't exactly impressed. The mass market paperback's cover represented the first chapter of the book, with the cake that looked like the guest author's book cover, the books themselves, and the open door to the washroom where the victim was found. The artist even included the tin ceiling! The artist must have at least read the synopsis and maybe even the first chapter. Could an author be more pleased?

I found the large print cover on Amazon. To say it was a disappointment was putting it mildly. The cover artist decided to just do generic books on a bookshelf. Not very inspiring. Okay, large print editions don't sell all that much anyway, but surely the large print audience is just as interested in a beautiful cover as the mass market paperback audience. Then again, consumers BUY the mass market version (@ $6.99). Usually only libraries buy the large print edition (@ $25.99), and I don't think (at least I hope they aren't) as swayed by the cover art.

Authors don't make a lot of money on large-print editions. But what if the cover art was just as stellar--maybe more copies would be sold, which would benefit not only the author, but the publisher as well. At least, that's a theory I'm willing to embrace.

But the absolute worst thing about the cover: THEY SPELLED MY NAME WRONG!!! Note, there's only one "T" on Barrett.

UPDATE: Just after I wrote this, I heard from my Five Star editor. (Five Star is a division of Thorndike--the parent company, famous for their large-print editions.) I'd written to her to report the cover goof. She was AMAZING! Less than two hours later, the cover had been fixed, and she'd sent me a copy of the new cover. Also, they'd caught it in time because the books hadn't yet been printed. Whew! I feel a LOT better now!

PET PEEVE THURSDAY--TWEETING

By guest blogger Avery Aames
Tweeting. I get it, but I don’t. And what I don’t get isn’t making me tweet, it’s making me twitch. Yes, that’s right. I’m “nervous” about tweeting. I’m afraid I’ll do it wrong. I’m afraid I’ll miss giving all 200-1,000 of my nearest and dearest followers (depending on the minute) something worth following. Something pithy. You’ve got 140 letters to make a statement about yourself, about your work, about life. But you have to include some of those “tweeting” characters like # or @ or D. If you forget them, you can forget it. Your message won’t transmit. It will vaporize in the stratosphere. You won’t have contacted anyone. Not a soul! And now you’ve only got 136-138 characters to do the job.
“Bleep!” said the little chickadee.
So, c’mon, spill. Who came up with tweeting and all the little doodads that one has to use to communicate? What do you bet it’s some cute little bird-beaked geek who is giggling his feathers off because he got all us dodos to tweet and think it’s something important? Does he care if he’s making money from the advertising? Probably not. He is rapturous with the power, the control, over all these people who think this new form of social networking is special, unique, necessary.
Next up: chittering. Like squirrels running from tree to tree to tell the latest gossip. And you can bet that everyone who leads a normal life, free of the internet, will think those who latch onto the latest and greatest form of social networking are nuts! What do you bet they’re right?
And what's bugging YOU today?
--------------------------------------
Avery Aames is the pseudonym for Daryl Wood Gerber, writing The Cheese Shop Mysteries for Berkley Prime Crime, first book due to be released in July 2010. Visit Avery's web site, but you can also visit Daryl's site, too.

WHAT'S WITH THIS WEATHER?

Every couple of years, we seem to have "the summer that wasn't." Two thousand and nine appears to be one of those years. We had a very nice, sunny, HOT week back in June, but it seems like a long, long, time ago.
Blue sky? What is that? It's been gray and cloudy for weeks. The weather report seems to be the same every day: Cloudy, which a chance of thunderstorms.
Except for that really nasty hail storm two weeks ago, most of the thunderstorms have been pretty mild. Still, with that first crack of thunder, our cat Chester goes flying across the house to hide under the guest bed. This is actually the worst place he could go. That room has a skylight and when the rain beats down on that bubble of plexiglass, it sounds like Ringo Star banging on drums. My Mom and Dad's dog, Jessie, has recently developed a fear of thunder. I read an article in the paper not long ago about pets and thunderstorms. Unlike us, they would prefer NOT to be comforted, which is difficult for people like me who want to reassure my pet that things are okay and we won't let anything hurt him. But, he's a cat. To quote comedian Robert Klein, "he's got a brain the size of a walnut."
I don't ever remember a year when we had to turn the heat on in July. Hello! We've got the heat on in July! I think we've only run our AC once. (During that hot week I mentioned above.) Okay, we haven't had to water the gardens, but we have considered building an Ark.
Unlike life for the Jetsons (remember, Jane would call handyman Henry who would raise the building above the clouds to give them a sunny day), you can't do anything about the weather. If I could, it would be perpetually 77 with low humidity, and blue skies smiling at me.
Too bad I don't have Henry to get us out of the clouds.

THE BOOKS I BOUGHT

What's with the yard sales this year? Generally speaking--they suck warty pickles! With so many people in financial difficulties, you'd think that the sales would be full of stuff as people scramble to come up with money to pay their bills.

Apparently not so.

But I did get a couple of good things this week--books, probably the last thing I need--but something I always want.

As far as I can remember, I only read one Little House book by Laura Ingalls Wilder. That was in third grade. While I remember liking it, I didn't know there were any more in the series (apparently our school library didn't have them), and I was clueless until the TV series. By then, I was more into mysteries than "family fare."

When I had my booth at an antiques co-op, I sold a LOT of used books by Ms. Wilder. They seem to speak to children, or at least to parents or grandparents who wanted to share those stories with another generation. But I never kept any for myself.

Saturday, I came across three of the titles for 50 cents each: Farmer Boy, The Long Winter, and These Happy Golden Years. I may not read them until I get the rest of the series and then read them "in order." But they are now in the To-Be-Read pile.

The other book I got was "The Clue of the Broken Locket" -- a Nancy Drew book, a 1943 edition with, alas, no dust jacket. (But I found a copy of it on Wikipedia--isn't it delightful?) Still, I'm gathering things for a charity basket for next year's Malice Domestic, and I thought that would make a great addition.

CONFESSION TIME: I have never read a Nancy Drew book. I may have to read this before it goes in the basket.

What's in your TBR pile?

CUPPA, ANYONE?

Almost a month ago, Martha Stewart was making tea out of cow manure. I know it was before June 12th, because that's the last time I saw any daytime TV. You know, that's the day when TV signals went digital and that was the end of all my TV watching in the kitchen. (We do have a TV hooked up to cable, but we watch DVDs on that one.)

But I digress.

I'd heard about manure tea for the garden, because my parents had done it years ago. (Here's how.)
(Have you heard the really old joke: Do you put manure on your strawberries? No, we put whipped cream on ours.)

My folks had some work done in the yard last year, and the workman just about killed their beautiful clamatis. So in an effort to bring it back this year, they gave it some manure tea. Hot-damn! It said, and did come back. My mother also put the tea on the coneflowers. Holy crap! Did they love that tea. (Have you ever seen 4 foot coneflowers before? I never have.)

My bean crop is suffering. Between not enough rain, hailstorms, and too much rain, some of my plants are stunted.

Can you guess what is in their future? Yes! Cow manure tea! I'm also going to give my cosmos a shot, too. They've been in the ground for six weeks and they've hardly grown at all. Other people have cosmos and they're tall, willowy, and FULL of flowers. Not mine. Not ever.

Yup, today's the day for a nice cup of cow manure tea.

First Tomato of 2009*

Oh, wow! My first tomato of the season. This is from the celebrity "vines." I have a bunch of flowers, but so far only this one little tomato, which is about the size of my thumbnail. But hey, they have to start small before they get bigger, right?

The heirloom "seedlings" took an awful hit with the hail storm last week, and I did lose one. The others are holding their own, but seem to be a bit soggy from all the rain. (They and everyone else.) But, hey, if I get just one tomato from that batch, I'll be ... well, not happy, but I'll accept it. (And it better be good for all the angst I've gone through.)

* No sooner did I type this, than hubby called me out to show me two more. (On different plants.) Yee-ha! I see many BLTs in my future.

PET PEEVE THURSDAY--How's the book doing?

Today's guest is Jeffrey Cohen, author of the Double Feature Mysteries.
"How's the book doing?"
People ask you this all the time when you've gone miles out of your way to let them know you have a new book coming out, or just out. They're showing interest in your work, your welfare, your career. It's a very kind gesture on their part.
It drives me nuts.
See, I pride myself on my conversation. I like to be thought of as witty or at least interesting when I'm talking with or to other people. And a question like that--"How's the book doing?"--leaves me at a complete loss for an adequate answer. I've tried things like, "How's the book doing WHAT?" or "The book's just fine, and it was asking about you," but the fact is, I really don't know what to say when friends, acquaintances or perfect strangers drop that particular question in my lap.
How's the book doing? The fact is, I haven't a clue. I can look at the Amazon sales numbers, which are at once depressing and meaningless. I can gauge the number of reviews or mentions when I Google the book's title (and any author who says they don't is LYING!). I can count up the emails I get from readers or visitors to my web site (http://jeffcohenbooks.com). But assuming that the question "how's the book doing" refers to sales figures, it will be months before I have an answer. Publishers don't call we aspiring mid-listers with regular reports unless something highly unexpected (like people buying a lot of books) happens. We wait for accounting reports, which come months after the book is published, and even then, have to be read to me over the phone by my agent, because I don't understand one single digit listed on the page.
So when me meet, believe me, I appreciate your interest in my book. I honestly do. I'll talk to you for hours about my book if you don't shut me up, and I'll think you're a wonderful person for indulging my ego so selflessly. But please---PLEASE--don't ask me how the book's doing.
I really don't know.
And what's bugging YOU today?
----------------------------------------------
Jeff Cohen is the author of the Double Feature Mystery series. His current book, A Night At The Operation, is third in the series and now available. Check out Jeff's web site. Jeff also blogs on Mondays at Hey,There's A Dead Guy In The Living Room (Mystery Publishing from Idea to Bookshelf).

SUMMER FUN

We had a terrible thunderstorm with hail last Friday, which I wrote about in yesterday's Writers Plot post. (You can find it here.) The garden suffered a LOT of damage and we were pretty upset about it.

So on Saturday, when I started out on my weekly Garage Sale Hunt, I wanted to find something fun to cheer me up.
I did.

As I walked back to the car with my wonderful find, my husband commented, "These are the things that cause divorces."

Okay, so a pink flamingo is a cliche (and this one is so pink it's almost purple), but after the angst we went through over the garden (which is bouncing back, thank goodness). I wanted it. I needed it. And at 75 cents -- what a bargain!

Fred--annoyed

This is Fred. It's not the nicest picture of him. He was quite annoyed at the time. See, Fred likes to chill in his carrier. We think this is amusing. I mean, we've never had a cat who actually LIKED being in a pet carrier.

Fred is NOT like most cats.
As a matter of fact, Fred was a rescue cat. He and his brother, George, were in a cage at PetSmart for THIRTY-NINE WEEKS before we brought him home. Technically, he should be a basket case. He's not. He's quite a mellow cat, and extremely affectionate.

But don't mess with him when he's snoozing in his carrier.

PET PEEVE THURSDAY--PEONY WARS

Today's guest is Mary Jane Maffini, author of the Charlotte Adams (organizer) mystery series.
Perhaps it was the climate, but I never so much as spotted a peony when I was growing up in Nova Scotia. The first time I saw them, I was a young teacher and a tiny girl in first grade brought me a bunch of delightful deep pink beauties for my desk in June. I was struck, no, make that besotted, and possibly even bewitched, bothered, and bewildered. Of course it was years before I had a garden of my own but when I did, whammo, in went peonies. New ones, heritage varieties, pale pink, white, deep fuchsia, you get the picture. They need to be planted just so, not too deep, not too shallow. They need sun; they need ants. Whatever it takes, I said, I'll do it. I had to have them.
And how did my darlings repay me? Well, let me tell you. Peonies usually bloom in early June in Zone 4 which is where my Ottawa peonies are. They allegedly continue flowering for several weeks. For years I had jobs that required me to be at conferences for a week every June, although never the same week. For nearly a month I would watch the buds grow, flourish and bulge. Then just as I would be heading out the door to fly off to the Canadian Library Association conference, or the Special Libraries Association gathering, or the Canadian Booksellers Association educational sessions and trade show, I could almost hear the sproinging sound of petals bursting open. Perhaps there would be a tantalizing glimpse of a half-opened bloom. Then my taxi would zoom down the street and I'd be gone. I'd return to find millions of white, pale pink and deep fuschia petals lying inches deep on the ground and the spent plants gasping and ready to pack it up until the next year.
But now I work at home, allegedly writing. My conferences are in May except for Bloody Words one weekend in early June. My peony problem should be well in the past. But no. Not so fast. This year I headed out to Book Expo America secure in the knowledge that the peonies were not ready. Bloody Words followed the next week and they were just gearing up. I rubbed my hands in glee. This was going to be the best crop ever! Hundreds of buds all looking vigorous. And I was home, happily writing in my little office with plenty of time to enjoy them, taking a cup of coffee in the morning, and promenading by proudly.
The little scamps must have been playing games with my head. As I finally left for a family road trip in the third week of June, long after the peonies should have flowered, the blooms were getting ready to pop. One had unfurled in a provocative, even seductive manner. Maybe they can hold off until I get home, I thought, seeing as they are already well past their normal blooming pattern. Anything is possible.
Three days after I left, I called my husband who was watching the fort, which includes my tiny garden. "Please check the peonies," I said.
"The what?"
"Peonies," I repeated, jaw clenched.
Long pause. "Are they the ones with the big beautiful flowers?"
"Yes."
"They're blooming, all right. There are hundreds of them. They're gorgeous."
"Huh."
I'll be home a week from today and once again will get to see a zillion petals on the ground. Why do they do it? And how do they know?
"Take a photo please," I sniffed, "and email it to me. At least I can get to see them that way."
"But you have the digital camera with you," he pointed out.
True. Too true.
I think it's all part of the great peony plot. These flowers are not to be trusted.
Am I peevish? No kidding. I may be defeated, but it's not too late to plan for next year. This time, trust me, peonies, this means war.
And what's bugging YOU today?
---------------------------------------
When not staring morosely at her peonies, Mary Jane Maffini writes the Charlotte Adams mysteries, the Camilla MacPhee series and the Fiona Silk adventures. Visit Mary Jane's Web site. her at . Her latest book is Death Loves a Messy Desk. Check out her latest book trailer here.

ME AND MY LAPTOP

It's a long boring story about how I got my laptop. (So just pretend you already slept through that one.) I didn't want a laptop. When I got the thing, I didn't like it. It has a very bad habit that annoys me. I'll be typing along and suddenly the cursor jumps up to another line. No warning--there you are typing your latest thought in the middle of some other sentence. I've gotten so I read along as I type, just to make sure I'm still where I'm supposed to be.

But for the past year, I haven't been able to write in my office. It's become goof-off central. Oh, I can do blogs, write e-mails, and work on promotion, but I can't seem to work on my books. Hello! That's my job. I'm supposed to report to the office every day and produce literature (or at least have a whack at it). But it hasn't worked out that way.

When the deadline was getting tight, I decided one day to take the hated laptop to the dining room table and see what happened. At first, I didn't log into the Internet for fear I'd just make the dining room a goof-off annex, but it hasn't worked out that way. I have a boom box, so I've got music, and I have access to mail, and Tweetdeck, and Facebook, and, most importantly, GOOGLE. I didn't realize how much I depended on Google for research until I decided not to use the Internet in the dining room. (That lasted about a week.)

The current manuscript is going pretty well. (They never seem to gel for me until I get close to the 50,000 word mark.) I'm still seriously short on word count, but June has been good to me. Of course, I have two more books to write in the next nine months, so I'm really sweating it. But buckling down and concentrating on getting my daily word count (which I often miss), is good. I feel like the little engine that could. If I get something substantial done at least five days a week, I feel fairly good about it. (And if I exceed my word count, I'm absolutely ecstatic.)

Oops--just looked at the clock. Time to fire up the laptop and get back to work.

CROP UPDATE

Things are growing quite well at Casa de Lorna. So far, the bunnies haven't eaten more than eight or nine of the beans. I've been putting cayenne pepper on the leaves, and that seems to be deterring them, and yesterday we put granular blood pellets down, which is supposed to deter them, too. In this picture, you can see the beans and almost see one that was bunny-bitten. (Bottom Middle.)

To hedge my bets, I planted beans in the ground, but also in a big container. So far, the container beans are outperforming those in the ground. Go figure. I figure they're going to start climbing before the end of the week.

Now here's a potential problem. What if I have a bumper crop of beans this year? I planted them here at home and at our family's cottage. I LOVE fresh green beans and could eat them every day. Hubby isn't quite as enthusiastic. My luck at freezing them has been hit and miss. I seem to blanch them too long, and then they're mushy when you go to cook them for dinner. (Anyone want to give some advice?)

We had a LOT of rain last week, and the potatoes said, "WEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" and really took off. I'm using new dirt this year (again, growing them in a container), and they seem a lot happier than their predecessors. I'm hoping to have a bumber crop this year. (Past years haven't yielded more than two meals.)

The broccoli and Brussels Sprouts have been happy with the rain, too. Likewise the tomatoes. And already my parsley has gone to seed, which is telling me to get off my butt and pick it. (Meanwhile, I've been nipping it--hoping it'll bush out.)

This is the first year I've grown lettuce, and again, to hedge my bets, I did it in a little container. I'm hoping we'll be eating fresh lettuce by the end of the week. That pot on the bottom contains one of my heirloom tomato "seedlings." I had them in little containers and decided last week they were big enough to have their own pots. (Actually, there's two in this pot--I ran out of pots.) They're doing well, albeit late, and I'm hoping to have at least a few purple and green tomatoes before the frost.

I love going out in the garden and seeing my crops doing well, and I don't even mind weeding. (Still have some mulching to do in the flower beds.)

Who knew gardening could be so much back-breaking fun.

WHERE'S MY BOOK?

I don't know about you, but I take a book with me wherever I go. You never know if you're going to get stuck in traffic, or have to wait in the car while hubby runs in the store to get a bag of ice -- or something like that. Rather than being bored, carrying a book with you means you have your entertainment at your fingertips 24/7.

Until you leave your book someplace you can't get back to for a few days.
I visited a friend over the weekend, and of course I took my current read with me. (All Mortal Flesh by Julia Spencer-Fleming.) Wow--I'm really enjoying this book (which is the 5th in the series). But things were rushed at the last minute. Not only did I forget the book, but I forgot my hat. I have three of them, so I can live without it for a week. But I WANT MY BOOK! I want to know what happens with Clare and Russ. I want to know who murdered Russ's wife. I was halfway through the book, and intended to finish the book in one BIG read so I can jump into Julia's next book, already sitting at the top of my TO BE READ pile. (I shall Not Want.)

But nooooooo! I had to leave it behind on the countertop. Why didn't I put the book with my purse? I had to have my purse to leave. That's where I keep my car keys. But nooooooooo! It was on the countertop and my purse was on the couch.

The book will still be there when I return this weekend. But I want to read it NOW.
(Does that ever happen to you?)

WEEKEND GETAWAY

We saw this little getaway at a sale in an RV camp last weekend. Don't you just love the palm trees? (Bet the one on the left is cute at night. Okay, I admit it. We have two of them.)


And here's a better view of the little sign directing you to Margaritaville. (All that's missing are a couple of pink flamingos.)


Have a GREAT weekend!

PET PEEVE THURSDAY: Those Wretched Woodpeckers

Today's guest is J.B.Stanley, author of the Supper Club Mysteries.

Last year, a pair of woodpeckers chipped away pieces of our wood siding in the front and back of the house. Not satisfied with that destruction, they pecked a hole all the way through the siding into the attic and made themselves a lovely little nest. 

I tried many, many humane methods to get rid of them. After all, I’m an animal lover and I also read on Wikipedia that ALL woodpeckers are federally protected and that one needs a federal permit (and sometimes a state permit as well) in order to “implement lethal control.” Therefore, I knew I couldn’t blast the feathered siding assassins into the next life.Drats. (Honestly, I don’t think I’d have the guts to pull the trigger!)

What did I do? First, I hung several rubber snakes from the window. The snakes blew in the breeze and looked altogether ridiculous, but they seemed to work. For about a day. The woodpeckers simply relocated to the back of the house. Thus, more snakes out that window. Even the mailman asked us what was going on…

Next, I hung Mylar balloons and silver streamers from the windows and the nearby birch tree. Unsuccessful. The woodpeckers relocate to the attic area.

I called an exterminator. “We don’t deal with woodpeckers,” he informs me. “Forget the birds!” I shout. “Kill the bugs they’re eating!” He promises to smear the walls with ant-annihilation paste. The paste washes off with the next rain.

Three months later the woodpeckers have mysteriouslyvanished. I call a carpenter. He replaces the boards. I call a painter. I callthe exterminator. The cost of all this? $1200!

So when the woodpeckers returned this year, with two redheaded children in their wake, I acted early. I went on the offensive. I took charge. (I’m a liar. I got lucky). It so happened that I’d bought my son a giant Spongebob balloon (with wiggly limbs) as a treat. When I heard the first, mind-rattling peck, peck, I hung Mr. SB from the window. Eureka! Not only does he scare off grandparents, but he
terrifies woodpeckers. 

Three days later when my brother called from Connecticut with his own woodpecker woes. Woody is waking their household up at 5 a.m. every morning. “What should I do?” he asked wearily. I sat back in my chair and smugly said, “Go buy a Spongebob balloon. It’ll cost $9.99 but it will be worth every cotton-pickin’ cent.”

And what's bugging YOU today?
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J.B. Stanley is the author of the Supper Club Mysteries. Her latest release is The Battered Body. Check out J.B.'s website, and you can also find her blogging on Thursdays with the Cozy Chicks.

LIFE IS JUST A BOWL . . .

One of the simple pleasures of summer is fresh fruit. Guess what?

FLOWERS IN THE GARDEN

I love my new camera. I've had it for about two months now, and I'm really getting back into the swing of taking it with me wherever I go--just to get a grab shot. (Like yesterday's pig pictures--yes, I only put one up, but I took a LOT more.) My camera holds over 300 pictures, but it always seems like I'm on the verge of a purge.

I've taken a lot of pictures of the yard. I like this picture of violets. They're so delicate. Frank considers them a week, and yanks them out when he sees them, but I think they're pretty--at least when they're blooming.

The lilacs were particularly beautiful -- a MONTH AGO, but I never had an opportunity to show them off . . . until now. (Do you think I have a thing for purple flowers?) They smelled really nice, and Mr. L called his sister in Florida, who loves the scent of lilacs, to brag about it. Now they're gone, but we have our memories -- and pictures, too.

THIS LITTLE PIGGIE . . .

You never know what you’re going to find when you’re out junking. One of the things I found this weekend was . . . a pig.

Yes, a real, live, large-economy sized (1,100 lbs.) PIG. His name was Rosco. He wasn’t raised to be a pork dinner—he was the family pet. Mostly he just nuzzles around looking for something to eat.

At first I missed Rosco. I went into this little barn, which SMELLED really BAD. But, there was lots of neat stuff inside, and I poked around and found a few things to buy. I’d already gotten in the car when my husband said, “Take a look at that pig.” I thought he was being rude about one of the sale’s customers, and was about to berate him when I spied Roscoe. Whoa! I’ve seen pigs before, but never close up.

I grabbed the camera and asked the guy running the sale if I could take a picture. “Sure, go ahead!” So, I walked up to the electric fence, which held not only Roscoe, but a cow (who was happily munching hay) and a goat. (Never got their names.)

Of course, that got everyone’s attention, and the next thing you know there were kids and a woman who once had a pet pig (same size as Roscoe) in the pen petting him. He seemed to like it.

The guy also said they had a miniature stallion, but I didn’t get his picture. (Too bad, he was really handsome—and he didn’t look like a pony, either.) They also had two donkeys, who didn’t seem that interested in being photographed—but they didn’t complain, either.
Along the route, we saw a snapping turtle crossing the road (whew--yes, he made it!) and a wild turkey ran in front of our car. (Oops! we almost had a fine dinner.)

It just goes to show you, you just never know what you’re going to find when you go out junking.

I WANT A NEW (to me) TELEPHONE

Have you tried to buy a phone lately? I'm talking landline phone. In your house. The kind of phone you can put on your shoulder and talk to your mother while you stir the spaghetti sauce so it doesn't burn. You CAN'T find them. The only things available these days are all cell phone wannabes.
I want a REAL telephone. And OLD telephone. As it happens, when we were growing up (way back through the mists of time). The phone company owned the phone. We were one of the first families on the block to actually BUY our own telephone, and it was pink (the same color as our house). I loved it.
The phone company was made up of grumpy old men and they didn't want people to have extension phones. It was a BIG no-no, but somehow my Dad got hold of an old Art Deco telephone, and he ran the wires and we had TWO--count 'em--TWO phones in our house.
As a kid, I found it hard to lift the receiver of that old phone--it was HEAVY, and I didn't like the phone. Where had it come from? Did it have cooties? When the phone rang, I'd run to the front of the house to use the pink phone just so I wouldn't have to use that terrible old phone.
Of course, now I would KILL to have that phone. I've seen similar phones in antique shops, not in as good shape, and they want between $60 and $100. (The graphic on the left doesn't do that phone justice.)
Since I can't have the phone of my dreams (or at least I'm too cheap to get it--and where would I put it?), I've given it to my character, Tricia Miles. She keeps it in her Haven't Got a Clue bookstore where she sells vintage mysteries. When she uses it, it takes her back to the days of Agatha Cristie and Harriet Vane and getting lost in their adventures.
Maybe what I really need isn't an old phone, but more time to read mysteries.
That sounds good to me.

YARD WORK

For the first time in a long time, I'm really gardening. Veggies and flowers. Of course, every time I plant vegetables, I've been heartbroken. Despite the fact bunnies and groundhogs have decimated my veggies in years past, I still want to get out there and try it every year. And this year I've done it in a big way.

I know a lot of people are planting gardens because our First Lady has had a kitchen garden installed on the White House lawn, but I've been planting veggies for a long time -- not always with success. (See above paragraph. BTW, the above photo of Michelle's garden was taken by Mr. L last month when we were in Washington.)

My very first veggie garden was a thing of beauty. My Dad and I planted it at my first house and I had tomatoes, green peppers, broccoli, and Brussels Sprouts. Guess what? That's what I planted this year, too!

I've tried to do my veggies from seed, but I don't have the proper lighting, etc., and no room to set up something like that (and stay married), but I wanted to try to do heirloom tomatoes from seed. These little guys are about a month old. I know--I know, they're way -- way late, and the thing is--the tomato I got the seeds from was downright ugly -- but I like that its an OLD tomato, like they used to eat generations ago. (How cool is that?) And, I all it has taken is my time. (And Frank has had to rescue the seedlings from my cat Fred several times. To Fred, they look like salad.)

The potatoes have sprouted. I grow them in a big blue container, just to make it easy to harvest my "crop." Of course, without a lot of room to grow, you don't get huge spuds. But I enjoy it and it's free. (Yup, I use the potatoes that have sprouted in my pantry.)

I spent a lot of time on Monday working on "my little patch" of the yard. (Mr. L usually does 90% of the garden, choosing the annuals and planting them.) Right now I've got what was supposed to be a climbing rose. It's been there at least four years and has not felt inclined to climb. It had a sister bush, but it died. I think it's returned to root stock, but it does put out one or two brave roses a year, so it stays. (Mr. L wants to rip it out and replace it.) Last year, I put a hosta in there, and it did okay. This year it said--whoa! I like being here! and has taken off. I was going to put an azalea in there, but decided it would look too crowded, so this year I put in about 40 gladioli (which haven't done anything yet--and probably won't until nearly September) and six begonias. Then I mulched the heck out of it. It looks nice and tidy, which it hasn't done for some time.

Here's a shot of the new bird bath. (That's my little pot of lettuce on the left, and a Japanese lantern my Mom gave me.

Isn't it cute? That's the veggie garden in the background.) We'd been looking for a bird bath like this for at least six years. Nobody seemed to be carrying them. We thought it was be fun for the cats to watch birds up close (kinda like CAT-TV). Last summer, Wegmans had a little brass (or something like that) bird baths and, as we were desperate, we bought one. But we only saw birds use it once--in some kind of frenzy, and that was it. My mother bought one, too, but the birds didn't like hers, either. I drove around for about an hour with the new bird bath in the back of the minivan while I did other errands, and it wasn't until I got home that I discovered a wasps nest inside the base. Yikes! It's installed, with nice clean water. Now to see if the birds find it.

The yard is shaping up. Just have some mulching left to do (and get out the leaf blower to clean up the last of the arborvitae leaves that dropped) and we can enjoy our garden for the rest of the summer.

And I can get back to working on the book.