A Day In The Life Of My Cat

What is it about pets? Why do so many of us have them. Why do we need them? And, with cats, why do we allow ourselves to become their staff?

I've written before about my cat Fred. Quite frankly, he's a pain in the butt. While he's not our dominant cat (that battle was fought and won by timid little Chester), somehow he seems to be the one that's "on stage" most of the day.

Fred's day often starts early -- like 2 a.m. A restless sleeper, he'll get up (he sleeps with us--at the bottom of the bed, on his own little afghan and pillow (he likes to rest his weary head on it, and I think he prefers the Scotty dog pillowcase)), check out the cat food bowls to see if it's worth a snack, have a drink, and then come back into the bedroom to MAKE SURE EVERYONE ELSE IS AWAKE!!! He does this by either scratching on the closet doors (despite the fact I've repeatedly told him there is NOTHING in the closet a cat needs to investigate), and usually to squeak.

That's what we call Fred-Speak. I've never had such a talkative cat. It's not so much squeaking as griping. "Ra-ra-ra-ra-RAAAA" and other such rants and noises. Of course, as he's talking, he also paces around the bed, which makes Betsy (who hogs the covers by playing rock in the middle of the bed so I can't pull them over my butt) nervous. She doesn't like boy cats, although she spends at least two-thirds of her life sleeping next to them in one part of the house or another.

In order to get Fred to shut up, I have to pick him up and we need some serious "cuddling" time. Once he relaxes, I put him back on his afghan and hope he'll go back to sleep. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't. I don't have any kids, but I often feel like a new mother trying to soothe her crying child.

Once Fred gets the rest of us up, it's time for breakfast. It used to be that the girls took turns licking the lid on the cat food cans. Recently Fred discovered that this is a prelude to a meal, and he now barges in, sniffs, judges whether the food is worthy, and if it is, will deign to lick the lid. And if it doesn't meet with his approval -- he'll walk! (He'd prefer to eat Tuna and Sauce 24/7.) Once the bowls are on their placemats (cats are pigs, have you ever noticed that? Instead of the lovely clean bowls we provide them with, they'd prefer to take the food out, put it on the floor and eat it there. More often than not, they prefer the floor to the mat. Grrrr!), usually three of the four walk away in disgust. Of course they all come back, but not to their own bowls. Fred prefers to eat the food I put down for Betsy. After all, girl food MUST be better than boy food. It's like a square dance or something with everyone switching bowls. (BTW, that's Fred (on the right) and Chester bird watching on the dining room table, where they definitely are NOT SUPPOSED TO BE.)
After a leisurely breakfast (and maybe a wrestling match with Chester), Fred likes to retire to

one of the chairs in my husband's home office, where he'll take his first nap of the day. Rain or shine, from about 7 a.m. until noon, Fred will be there--at least part of the time. At some point, he'll join Betsy and Chester on their kitty cushions under the 200 watt light bulb. (Winter/Summer cats want to be WARM. And God forbid Phillips stops manufacturing those 200 watt incandescent cat warmers. I do believe there'd be hell to pay.)

Of course, every time I get up from my office chair to hit the kitchen for another cup of tea, or head to the laundry room to put another load in the washer or dryer, Fred jumps down from the desk and follows me like a puppy. He also likes to guard me while I'm in the bathroom. (What he's guarding me from, I have no idea.)

Fred has recently learned a new trick. He thinks it's the most stupendous thing in the world to close doors. Unfortunately, he isn't quite smart enough to OPEN doors (even if they've got a crack a paw could go through.) Consequently, we now have rubber doorstops under most of the doors, otherwise, he'll be locked in a room for hours on end, because he's also not smart enough to call out and let us know he's shut in. (No, he saves all that talking for the middle of the night.)

Late in the afternoon, hubby and I observe happy hour -- even if the most potent thing we drink is club soda. The cats have their own happy hour, where treats are received. Happy hour commences about 5:30; cats start getting antsy about 4 p.m and let us know that SOON IT WILL BE HAPPY HOUR AND WE WANT OUR COOKIES. Fred takes this opportunity to stalk around my office, telling me that not only is he hungry, but he'd also like to go out into our enclosed porch (they're all "indoor" cats). He'll jump up on my club chair (making sure to scratch the leather) walk around the back and squeak, Squeak, SQUEAK!!! until I get up and let him out. And then he'll stand at the door demanding to be let in--because he doesn't like to be alone--or cold.

Just before and sometimes during happy hour, Fred gets twitchy. He's got the kitty equivalent of OCD. His skin ripples and he starts to race around the house staging his own Kitty 500. The only thing that will calm him down is if I pet him. Now, according to everything we've read about kitty OCD, this is the WORST thing that you can do for a twitchy cat. Our vet recommended phenobarbital which didn't do a damn bit of good. Nope, Fred would rather be petted (and preferably picked up, have his ears rubbed, and repeatedly kissed).

Next up: people dinner. Fred doesn't beg. (Thank goodness for small favors.) But he does like to spend the dinner half hour with his Mum and Dad. Most nights he'll be sitting at my side, looking regal.
After dinner, should we decide to watch a DVD, Fred likes to be with us. Sometimes he'll sit on my lap, but more often than not there's already a cat there, so he'll patiently lie in from of the TV, with the best view in the house.

Just before bedtime, it's time to feed cats once again, and we repeat the same procedure as breakfast. Hubby and I head for bed, and usually before the light goes out, Betsy joins us. Then Fred (so she can growl at him), then Chester. And all is peaceful until 2 a.m. -- when Fred's day starts all over again.
Why on Earth would anyone put up with Fred's antics? Well, because I love him. If anything happened to him, I would be devastated.

My friend Anne just lost her boy, Spike. I never got to meet Spike, but I often heard about him when Anne would write (this was before we got into e-mail). He was quite a handsom boy. In February, he was diagnosed with a tumor in his chest. Anne (a former vet tech now nurse) made her boy comfortable, but Saturday, just days before his 16th birthday, Spike crossed the Rainbow Bridge. Anne, and her husband made a tribute video for Spike, which you can find here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPn9eITgOZM WARNING: Have tissue box handy. I cried a bucket of tears for Anne and for Spike.

Thanks to the video, I now feel like I was lucky enough to meet Spike.

There's a reason we have pets. It's called love.

AND THE NEXT BOOKTOWN MYSTERY IS...

I found out just Thursday that the next Booktown mystery, BOOKPLATE SPECIAL, has been "bumped forward" a month. That means instead of December 1, 2009, it'll be released November 3, 2009. This is terrific news, as it gives the book plenty of time to make its way into Christmas stockings!

And just as happily, Amazon is now listing the book as available for pre-order. As soon as I'm verified as the book's author, I'll be posting a blurb on Amazon. But why should I wait here, right? Here's what the back cover will say:

The kinder folks of Stoneham might call Pammy Fredericks a free spirit. The less kind, a freeloading thief. Tricia has put up—and put up with—her uninvited college roommate for weeks. In return, Pammy, has stolen $100, among other things. But the day she’s kicked out, Pammy’s found dead in a dumpster, leaving loads of questions unanswered. Like what was she foraging for? Did her killer want it too? To piece the case together, Tricia will have to dive in head-first....

Of course you know, this means that the cover can't be too long in coming. I'm eager to see if they go with a take-off on an old bookplate. That would be soooooo cool. As soon as I'm allowed to share it, you know I will.

PRAYING FOR RAIN--AGAIN!

I have a booksigning tomorrow (Lift Bridge Books -- Brockport, NY -- 12 to 2 p.m.), and it's April.
What has one got to do with the other?

In April, USUALLY the weather starts to get better

here in Western New York. When the weather starts to get better people start doing yard work. Raking up those leaves they missed (or didn't get to) last fall, clearing out the last of the dead annuals, etc.

When they're busy beautifying their yards, they aren't going to book stores and buying books.
This is not acceptable. That's why I'm doing a rain dance. So far, it seems to be working. As I type this, it's raining. Now to figure out how to keep it raining (or at least cold and gray) for another 36 hours.

Next Saturday, I'm traveling to Batavia, NY (Present Tense Books, 1- 3 p.m.) and before I go, I'll be dancing just as hard.

If you can't be there in person, I hope you'll at least join me in a rain dance.

PET PEEVE THURSDAY--NO RESPECT AT ALL

Please welcome (humorous) mystery author Jeff Cohen, who writes the Double Feature Mysteries--as he makes a follow-up appearance here on Dazed and Confused.

It irks me that funny mystery novels (pardon me, "humorous cozies," but that's another pet peeve all by itself) are treated so shabbily by the mystery community and publishing overall. I'll tell ya, we don't get no respect. No respect at all.
Because comedy is supposed to seem effortless, people assume it doesn't require much work. They think writing a funny story that still makes sense and has characters readers might like is easy. Personally, I think they should try it sometime. When Lisa Lutz's "Curse of the Spellmans" made the short list for the Edgar Award this year, you'd have thought that someone threw a coconut cream pie in the face of the Mona Lisa. Blasphemy! Sacrilege! I say, I hope it wins, because it's a hell of a lot harder to write a funny story than a serious one.

Why? Because the payoff is so much more obvious. If I were to write a (god forbid) serious novel, it could be mediocre, and as long as I spelled all the words right and didn't end too many sentences with prepositions, it might be reviewed as a "noble failure" or a "worthy effort." If a funny book doesn't make you laugh, at best it's "a failure," and more likely, "an unfunny bore" or "a disaster." Because comedy either works or it doesn't. There aren't degrees of success.

In 1974, Mel Brooks made both BLAZING SADDLES and YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN, two comedies still watched and considered hilarious by more than 12 people. The Best Picture Oscar went to THE GODFATHER PART II (a sequel!). Okay. That's considered a great movie. I can understand that. But neither Brooks film was even nominated for Best Picture. The other nods went to : Chinatown (no argument), Lenny (nice performance, but who watches that movie today?), The Conversation (a nice LITTLE movie) and... wait for it...

The Towering Inferno.

I'm asking you. Is comedy taken (you should pardon the expression) seriously?
What's bugging YOU today?
 
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Jeff Cohen is author of the Double Feature Mystery series. His current book, A Night At The Operation, is third in the series and available in mere hours (April 7th). Check out Jeff's website. Jeff also blogs on Mondays at Hey,There's A Dead Guy In The Living Room (Mystery Publishing from Idea to Bookshelf).

Like A Raging Rhinoceros

I don't always sleep well. In fact, sometimes I lie awake for HOURS and HOURS on end. This week has been pretty good. No staring at the ceiling ... at least too much.

But the other night, something woke me up. A sound. I wasn't sure what it was. I waited. Nothing. So I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

Then I heard it again. It sounded like ... a horse, galloping. It stopped. I waited. Nothing. So I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

Then I heard it AGAIN. Okay, sometimes my cat Fred (who has the feline equivalent of OCD) will have one of his "twitchy" moments, and will run around like a racehorse. I looked down at the bottom of the bed, and sure enough he was gone.

I got up, and Betsy (the one who was so sick two years ago) was sitting in the hall looking at the ceiling. I looked at the ceiling. And heard it again. Like thundering hoofs. On the roof.
I went into the guest room and there was Fred, sitting on the bed, looking at the skylight. He started purring the minute I walked in, self-satisfied, as though saying, "Ha! It's not me."

Then we heard it again. A sound like galloping overhead. Again and again we heard it it. And eventually we saw it: A rogue squirrel. It jumped over the skylight and stopped, its fluffy tail (not a good ruse to hide its rodent-ness) hanging over the skylight.

That's it? A squirrel. Running the Squirrel 500 on my roof at 4:52 a.m.!!!

Good grief.

MUCH TOO SWEET

Friday night I had guests for dinner and committed a cardinal sin: I made a recipe without testing it first.

The recipe was for peach crisp. Apple crisp is an old favorite of mine, but did I use my tried and true recipe and just substitute peaches? Nooooooooooo! Instead, I took this one from a 1997 Taste of Home annual. Now, granted, food from the heartland isn't known for being the most healthy -- but peaches, for goodness sake! They're good for you.

As I was making the dessert, I frowned at the amounts of sugar the recipe called for. In fact, I used one quarter less sugar in the filling, and a quarter less in the topping (1/2 cup less sugar in the whole recipe), and since the filling called for the syrup from the canned peaches (and I made the mistake of buying peaches in heavy syrup, I dumped half of said syrup down the drain and substituted water. The result -- a dessert that was still far too sweet for me to really enjoy.

Mind, you, I LOVE dessert -- and it shows. (I've got a conference to go to in a month, and starting today, I've hit the treadmill in an effort to lose a few pounds.) The truth is, we rarely eat dessert just because we eat too much of everything else. (And, in fact, my favorite "dessert" is actually a graham cracker.)

It's doubtful I'll ever make this recipe again. But if I should -- I'd knock out at least another 1/2 cup of the sugar -- and ditch the heavy (made lighter) syrup. No wonder there's a diabetes epidemic in this country.

PET PEEVE THURSDAY--Pity the poor apostrophe!

Today's guest is Jeffrey Cohen, the award-winning author of the Double Feature Mystery Series.

I absolutely despair over the decline in apostrophe use in America (and, I'm betting, all other English-speaking nations). An innocuous little piece of punctuation, the apostrophe is always willing to help, contracting phrases like "it is" into "it's" or, just to show off its versatility (notice how I did NOT use an apostrophe in that last "its?"), making a possessive out of just about any proper noun. All with one keystroke or a little swipe of the pen. Unassuming, eager to please. The apostrophe.

I teach a writing class at a major university when I'm not trying desperately to get people to read my novels, and even sometimes when I am. So I get to see the punctuation of college-level students whose parents are shelling out major bucks for them to learn, at least in part, writing. And I can tell you that the apostrophe is as endangered a species as the polar bear, and even Al Gore isn't crusading against the laziness that places it in jeopardy.

Personally, I blame text messaging. The need to be brief (or suffer thumb injuries, I assume) has
given everyone license to write as if life were the title of a Prince song: "RU Ready 4 me?" Stuff like that. Try and find an apostrophe in a text message. But also, I don't think English teachers at the elementary and secondary levels are bothering with punctuation anymore. People are using apostrophes in words like "hers," where they're not needed, and not using them in words like "you're," where they are.

Pity the poor apostrophe. All it wanted was to help.

And what's bugging YOU today?
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Jeffrey Cohen is the award-winning author of the Double Feature Mystery series. His current book, A Night At The Operation, is third in the series and available on April 7th. Check out Jeff's website. Jeff also blogs on Mondays at Hey,There's A Dead Guy In The Living Room (Mystery Publishing from Idea to Bookshelf).

Up To My Ears In Wires

Yesterday, I pulled all the entertainment centers apart and hooked them all up again.

What's with that?

Well, our CD player died about two weeks ago. We've been listening to Happy Hour music on a boom box I got for 75 cents at a church sale. A great deal, huh? Well, someone blew the speakers out (no doubt blaring the bass at maximum decibels), so it wasn't a treat to hear our favorite music. So, off we went in search of a new CD player.

We already knew that CD players are hard to come by. (Hell, boom boxes are hard to come by, too--why do you think I bought one at a church sale?) As it happens, PLACES to buy CD players are just as rare. Now that Circuit City is gone, the only "chain" appliance store in the area is Best Buys. Only, when we got there, the shelves were strangely empty. They had floor models of two Sony CD players, but a check with the computer told us they had none in stock and didn't plan to stock them, even though both models won't be discontinued until 2010. "Wanna buy the floor model?" No. "Okay, you can order it online." And pay for shipping. Hmm.

Then we remembered The Stereo Shop. As it happens, we both bought our very first CD players from the Stereo Shop. They had one of the same Sony CD players in stock -- didn't plan to order any more. ("Not a hot item. Most people use their DVD players.") What the heck, we took it. (And $2 cheaper than Best Buy with no shipping charges. To quote my friend Krista from her Diva Dishes blog, "Five Cupcakes!") We bought locally, left a smaller carbon footprint, and had a good product by a good company. (Did I mention my 30 year-old Sony Trititron TV still has a great picture?)

We also had a bad (naughty) DVD player. It doesn't like us. You can fart around for five or more minutes just trying to convince the thing to play a DVD. The only reason to keep it is because it also has a VHS player in it, which plays beautifully. Too bad we play more DVDs than tapes, eh? As it happens, Aldi had a little DVD player on sale for $25. Aha! The answer to all our DVD problems. And, as it's soooooo tiny, I could put it on top of the CD player in my office (the one I bought from The Stereo Shop over 20 years ago and is still going strong). So I unhooked the JVC DVD in my office, opened the box to the new one (I asked the girl at Aldi, "Is this a good brand?" She shrugged and said, "Ya got me, but it's flying outta here like crazy") and hooked it up. (BTW, I never read directions. Why bother?) The thing worked like a charm.

Next up, the new CD Player and moving the JVC DVD player to the living room. But first, I had to
unhook the old CD player (which was actually a DVD player--and one we hated from day one), and rescue the five CDs it had been holding hostage since it died two weeks before. Next, plug in the wires to the amplifier. Couldn't be easier. Next, hook up the DVD player. Only the cord was too short. Down to the basement to search for a strip plug. Back to the living room. The plug won't stay in the wall. Back to the basement to find another strip plug. Back up to the living room. Unplug the TV and lamp and plug into the strip cord. Back to the DVD Player. Find Harry Potter DVD in back of TV, which has been missing for two years. Hook up yellow, white, and red wires to back of TV (also a Sony). Loop DVD cord out the back. Too short. Back to the basement for an extension cord. Only it's a fire hazard to "daisy chain" an extension cord to a strip plug. Unplug the strip plug, plug the TV and lamp back into the wall. Move to the other side of the wall-length entertainment center; unplug the CD and tape players, plug into the strip plug, plug strip plug into the wall. Can't reach the extension cord. Haul out step ladder, climb onto top of Entertainment Center, using husband's cane (from newly installed full knee replacement) to hook the extension cord, haul it over to the side and plug into wall. Turn on all appliances: Yea -- they work.

Put Harry Potter DVD in DVD player, hit play. Nothing happens. Pull TV back out, make sure cords are in all the way; put TV back. Hit play. Nothing happens. Walk to office, call brother on phone. He's not home. Call back in five minutes. Call back. He's now at Sam's Club. Too noisy to talk. Will call back. Five minutes later, he calls back. Explain situation. He gives advice and says call back if it doesn't work. Go back to TV. Check wires again. Flip channels looking for an AUX channel around 90. No AUX channel, but discover we have the Hallmark Channel on our basic cable -- only it's on Channel 78. We have never flipped that high. (Do we NEED the Hallmark Channel? Will we ever watch it?)

Sit in front of TV pondering problem while listening to Dr. Oz explain how to grow a new bladder. Punch all buttons on remote. Suddenly, Harry Potter appears! Oh-oh! Forgot, when plugging directly into TV with DVR, must turn off TV button--switching to video! Yea! Back in business.

And that's why I didn't write a single sentence yesterday afternoon.

SPRING CLEANING

Saturday, I decided to clean my office. Mostly, that meant going through my closet to make room for the stuff that's been sitting on my floor for months on end.

I found all kinds of wonderful and not-so-wonderful stuff. I found a huge pile of rejection letters for books that are either out of print or contracted to be published. I found a rejection from my current agent for my first published book. (I'm glad to see she liked it.) I found old critiques. I found encouraging letters from a published author who has now fallen on hard times and has been unable to sell more books. (Always a fear once you get published.)

I found lost jewelry. I found many tubes of chapstick and gluestick. I vacuumed. I dusted. I spent about five hours just working on this one room . . . and it's still not where I want it to be. Mostly, it's my desk that's still a mess. (Although I still have yet another pile of papers to go through and file/toss.)

Sunday, I did another kind of clean-up job: my mailing lists. I worked on that for about 7 hours. Checking e-mail addresses that don't work. Looking up missing zip codes, etc.

Of course, now as I look around the rest of the house, I feel pressured to start tossing more magazines, and put away some of the books. There's a lot to be said for living a tidy life. Now if I could just do it on a regular basis.

Have you started your spring cleaning yet?

Promo in the oddest places

I'm always amazed at the oddball places you can find promo opportunities. Just the other day, I got an e-mail from a dental hygienist. She writes a column for a dental journal and she wanted to know why I had made so many dental references in BOOKMARKED FOR DEATH. I didn't realize I had, but she pointed out each and every one of them. Not only that, but she asked if she could interview me for an upcoming column.

Could she? You bet!

As it happens, at least one of the women in my current dentist's office has bought my books, and my former hygienist from my last dentist's office has as well. Who knew my work could be so popular with this segment of the population?

Will being mentioned in a dental journal find me lots of new readers? I don't know -- but I figure it sure can't hurt!

I'm a sucker for a lunch invitation

Yesterday I did a library talk with the Stoney-Clover Book Club. I expected to talk to only four or five people, but was extremely pleased when nine ladies showed up to talk about Dead In Red.

As usually happens, the thing we talked about the least was the book in question. But apparently a good time was had by all. In fact, eight of them went out to lunch afterwards, and invited me to join them.

That was cool. They were extremely interesting people, and they took me to an old (we're talking been on that location since the mid-1700s) restaurant (okay, this particular building was built in the 1860s) with tin ceilings and the possibly the world's biggest urinal. (I am NOT making this up. I got the guided tour. Too bad I didn't have my camera, eh?) I ordered a bowl of soup and an egg-and-olive sandwich on rye bread. Imagine my shock to learn that this was the world's biggest egg-and-olive sandwich, as well! (I had to bring half of it home.)

In all, I was away from home for five hours, so no real work got done. (I did manage to do a load of laundry--wash before/dry after.) But what a fun way to spend a day!

HUNGER STRIKE

When mealtime comes for our cats, they eagerly mill around the kitchen, waiting for the sound of the lid being ripped from the can. Two, if not three of them show up, wanting to lick the lid. Three of the four eagerly sit up. (Chester looks like a little prairie dog when he sits up.)

But then three of the four cats sniff their food, glare at me, and walk away.

Grrrrrr.

Hey, this is Friskies. And it's not like we feed 'em the same gunk every day. Supposedly, we're giving them 10-15 different flavors. We buy it in case lots -- usually 15-20 cases at a time. Then I painstakingly separate them so that they get a different flavor for every meal. They don't seem to like the "classic pate."

It used to be that none of our cats liked any form of tuna/fish. But suddenly, it's only the tuna that immediately gets scarfed down. And oddly enough, some times the food that was so repugnant in the morning, is totally gone in the evening. (And, uh-oh, wouldn't you know, the tuna combinations seems to be absent from the web site. That does NOT bode well.)

Lately, I've tossed out more food than they've eaten. In fact, I've come to ask them, "Should I save time and just throw this away now?"

They glare at me.

The problem is, you never know what flavor of food will be available when you hit the store. We usually buy the food at PetSmart. Sometimes they have LOTS of variations of tuna -- last time we only managed to find one kind. (See above comment.) Foolishly, we only bought one case. The cats have let us know their disapproval.

I had a couple of coupons for Friskees Select cat food, and boy did they like it. It disappeared in minutes. The only problem is, that cat food is double the price of the regular Friskees.

I know, I know--we really shouldn't be feeding our cats commercial cat food, especially after what happened with tainted pet food. But our cats don't like "real" food. Okay, Bonnie and Betsy will eat a piece of cheese here and a piece of ham there, but offer them chicken or any other kind of meat, and they act as if they're being offered poison.

Anybody else bugged by your pet's eating habits?

RAIN, RAIN -- GO AWAY?

During the past week, it has rained. A LOT. It has misted, spit, drizzled, pounded, thundered and lightning'd, and just plain rained. It has been extremely gloomy, too.

So why I am smiling?

BECAUSE IT'S NOT SNOWING!!!

If the temps had been lower, we probably would've had several feet of snow on the ground. Instead, it's been "unseasonably warm," -- warm being a relative term. In the 40s and (gosh!) low fifties. Heck, even if it's only a degree or two above 32, you'll get rain instead of snow, so I've been crossing fingers and toes that the temps would stay above freezing.

Spring is still officially ten days away. The daffodils don't know that. I keep looking for signs of the snowdrops and crocuses.

The end of winter is at hand.

YEA!!!

EATING HEALTHY

A member of my family was recently diagnosed with "pre-diabetes" and told to lose weight and eat healthy. That got me thinking about how we eat, which isn't healthy enough.

For the past year, I've been trying to make changes. First up, I've pitched several of our non-stick pans. I'll be looking to replace them with Revereware or Farberware. (I've already replaced the pots--now to get another skillet or two.)

But what about food?

We eat far too much processed food. I've been switching over to lower fat and lower sodium soups, etc., and when I went to look for a can of black beans yesterday morning, I realized I'd used the last one up. It was time to break out the bag of real, dried beans.
According to the Idaho Bean Commission:

• Each half-cup serving of dry beans provides six to seven grams of protein, meets at least 10% of the Recommended Dietary Allowance (RDA) for protein, yet costs about 20 cents per serving.


• A single half-cup serving of cooked dry beans counts as one, one-ounce serving of lean meat in the USDA Food Pyramid Meat and Beans group, and as a full serving of vegetables in the Vegetables group. (And there are LOTS of other fascinating facts up there, too.)

I've never cooked dried beans before. Who has time to watch a pot on the stove? Instead, I rinsed and picked through the beans, like the package said, and tossed them into a girl's best friend: my crockpot.

Once the beans were cooked (on high for about three hours), I figured I was ready to go. Now to make them palatable--and that means curry paste. Okay, that's processed, too, but there's no added sodium, and I know exactly what's in today's lunch.

We need to eat more real fruits and vegetables. That would be easy for me -- not so easy for my husband. But he's agreed to try.

It's a start.

P.S. Anybody got a good black bean recipe?

Arachnophobia

It's no secret that I don't like bugs. Of any kind, but the bug that strikes to most terror in my heart is spiders. I hate them.

Much as I love our family cottage, the thing I hate most about it is the spiders. (In the fall it seems to be spider haven.) Spiders LOVE to live near water. My friend Brenda, who lives on a big pond, told me that they spray a couple of times a year to keep the spiders at bay. I worked with MSDS (Material Safety Data Sheets) for years, so I'm not fond of poisonous chemicals and what they do to people -- so spraying isn't an option in my book. I'm very grateful for Mr. Fly Swat, and I use him often.
It really annoys me to walk into a room in my home and see a web hanging from one of the track lights and attached to the armoire/entertainment center. Grrrrr. I hate looking at my collection of knick-knacks and seeing cobwebs attached to them. Didn't I just dust them a week ago and now they're back???

Before I go to sleep, I do my nightly bug watch. Check the corners of the ceiling and work my way to the middle. Any spider up there had better be prepared for death, because I'm not going to sleep with one in my bedroom.

I remember one morning waking up and reaching for a tissue and there, sitting on my nightstand was a spider. AHHHHHHHRRRRRGGGGG!!!

Last night, I couldn't sleep. So I got up to check my e-mail. (Doesn't everyone?) And there, smack-dab in the middle of the screen, was a SPIDER. Usually I'd let out a little scream -- but as everyone was sleeping (especially my cat Fred, and I don't want to wake him up, because then NOBODY sleeps) I had to stifle my scream and just squish Mr. Spider.

My Aunt wouldn't approve of this wanton killing spree. I know spiders are good. They eat other bugs. But they could live Long and Happy Lives if they didn't enter my living space. It's that simple.

This Long, L-O-N-G Winter

I know it's not just me. Everyone I know is complaining about this really long, boring, cold, miserable winter. We got a LOT of snow early on -- not so much right now, but it seems like it's been really, REALLY cold for a long time.

I don't know about you, but I'm FED UP!

Personally, I'll take the cold over snow. We had a bit of a thaw a while back and the snow that's fallen hasn't hung around. The sun now melts it on the driveway, which is wonderful. And every day we're creeping closer and closer to spring.

I've got two "events" scheduled for this month--and many more next month, but I'm not worried about those. Scheduling anything in winter is iffy. Will it snow? Will we have an ice storm? If it snows will people come out anyway because they've got cabin fever, or because of the economic slump, is supporting a local author the farthest thing from their minds? (It sure helps that I'm pushing a paperback, and not a hardcover this time out. My hardcover signing last fall was brutal.)

I have a big window in my office, an although my view of the sky is pretty much obliterated by the 25' arborvitae that ring the yard, I can see a small section of sky. As I write this, there're big fluffy clouds in a gorgeous blue sky. When it's clear like this, it's cold--ten degrees, with a wind chill of -5. It's garbage day and I had to haul out the two cans and the two recycle bins, and let me tell you, I was a Popsicle when I came back in the house.

Spring is now 17 days away.

It can't come soon enough for me.

TREATING MYSELF

I got paid last week. (Yea! Bells ring, confetti falls.) I don't get checks all that often (and this one was for Bookplate Special, which comes out in December), so I decided to hold back a few bucks and really treat myself to something nice. In fact, more than one something nice.

The problem is ... I don't know what a treat is any longer.

On Saturday I had to run an errand and stopped at K-Mart. Once inside, I immediately made a bee-line for the household section where I secured something I've been dreaming of for weeks: a kitchen waste basket with a foot pedal. Yee-ha! I will never have to touch the garbage can again. (Or at least for the life of this waste basket.) Then I sauntered over to the kitchen towel section and treated myself to 25 kitchen dish cloths. Ha! I will overcome my compulsion to pull a piece of Bounty from the roll to mop up a spill.

And my last stop? A.C. Moore -- where I bought a package of kitty stickers. (I put them on the outside of envelopes for people who request a bookmark.) Total amount of my fabulous shopping spree? $24.78.

Wow--so this is the glamorous life of a New York Times bestseller. (I are impressed.)

The reality is that the bulk of my income this year will pay taxes (to the Feds, the State, and the County (for property taxes)) and my dentist.

But say I suddenly had a few thousand to blow, what the heck would I buy? I'm kind of surprised that I can't think of anything I really want. Okay, maybe a few more books and CDs ... but nothing big.
What I would like is to suddenly become organized. Or find the interest and energy to clean and do laundry. I guess that's just something money can't buy.

Please don't put me on the spot

It didn't take long after announcing that I've hit the New York Times Bestsellers list for unpublished authors to pop out of the woodwork and ask for my help to get them published.

Who's your agent?
It's not a secret. If you know how to google, you can find out who my agent is. (Tip: she isn't taking on new clients.)

Can I tell her you recommended me?
No. If I have never read your work, I can't recommend you. And don't send me anything; the last thing I want is to be accused of stealing some unpub's work. And for the record, I don't need to steal anyone's ideas--I have enough of my own, thank you. And if you tell her I recommended you write to her, she will know you're a liar, because if I was going to recommend anyone (and I have), I would tell her first.

Why won't you help me?

A.) I don't know you.
B.) I know you're eager to be published, but you really have to pay your dues.
C.) Paying your dues means it's extremely unlikely the first draft of your first book will ever see print.

I know what it's like NOT to be published. It took me eleven years for my first book to see print.
My best advice? Join a writers group. If you write mystery, join Sisters in Crime (and in particular, their Guppies Chapter). If you write romance, join Romance Writers of America. If you write SF or fantasy, join Science Fiction Writers of America.

Don't waste money on book doctors. Join a critique group. Write, write, write. Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. Learn everything you can about the publishing industry. (How to write a good query, how to write a good synopsis.)

The economy is really BAD right now. Publishers are slashing their lists and shedding their employees. Take this time to polish your work so that when things are better you'll be ready. Your book will capture the attention of an agent or editor and you'll be on your way.

For now, sadly, you'll just have to wait your turn.

WANTED: Shopping pal

Years ago, I had a friend and we did lots of cool stuff together. This friend--oh, let's for the hell of it just call her Judy--and I used to go to the movies, attend local meetings, and SHOP.

Then she moved away. Although I've made other friends, none of them have been shopping buddies. I miss that. I miss going to look at dishes, and furniture, and BOOKS, and office supplies, and music and stuff. And the thing is, while I still love to window shop for these things, I hate doing it alone.
Lots of times I'll think about going to the mall to look at china (not to buy, I already have a beautiful set of "good" china) and glassware. I love walking through Macy's Home Center and seeing all the pretty patterns and baubles. I love looking at the Egyptian Cotton sheets, and all the wonderful small appliances that I don't need or have room for in my tiny kitchen. But I don't have anyone to share that with.

I love to go in Michael's or Joann's and look at the material, the crafts, the pictures frames, the stickers, and the candles, but usually I'm with Mr. L who can't get in and out of those places fast enough. (He can't stand the ever-present scent of potpourri.)

The only thing I don't like to shop for is clothes -- or shoes. That's just painful.

Sometimes when my friend Coop comes home to visit, we go to bookstores, but often we just sit in a restaurant and gab for hours. We need to so some serious shopping when she comes back in April.
Until then, I'll just think about shopping. If nothing else, it saves money.

Delightful Leftovers

It must be something in my genes that makes me cook gargantuan amounts of food. There's just the two of us (and our four cats, and they prefer Friskees -- go figure!), but you'd think by the amount of food we prepare that we were contemplating feeding an army.

I've got a couple of really good crockpot recipes that I got from my friends Leann Sweeney and Jeanne Munn Bracken. Mr. L makes a mean chili, and a fantastic sausage/pasta/cheese/broccoli rabe concoction that is out of this world. The problem is, these dishes also make tons of leftovers. Now I happen to like leftovers. I like them for lunch, dinner -- and a time or two, I've even eaten them for breakfast. Hubby will eat leftovers once, then it's up to me to finish them off. Hey, I'm brave and strong. I can handle that.

Last week I had a hankering for lasagna. This time, I made it in two separate pans so that I could give a third of it to my parents (so they wouldn't have to cook), and we had two dinners ourselves. And we froze two more. Ahhh, nothing like homemade lasagna.

I love it when we have roasted rotisserie chicken, because you can make so many second and third meals out of it. There's just plain cold chicken; chicken pot pie; tika masala, and my favorite, chicken salad on a bed of lettuce for lunch. We have had chicken tacos, but not often enough. (Note to self ...)
And of course, my favorite leftover of all is turkey.
 
Since my family members aren't big turkey fans, every Thanksgiving I can count on getting the carcass. I can make all the same food I can with leftover chicken, plus the added bonus of turkey soup. (And have you ever had turkey Waldorf salad? Yum!)

You won't find me ever trying a recipe for just one or two people. Nope, bring on the chuck wagon, folks -- I'm making enough for everybody.

BRANDED!

I've been talking to a lot of people about branding lately, and mostly in relation to web sites. It's time for me to do some web site revamping, and I have no idea where to begin.

The new banner here on Dazed and Confused was a good first start. It's colorful and confusing -- perfect for Dazed and Confused. And now it's time to make my site more sophisticated. But where do I start?

The site was based on the first book cover. The wooden sign with the iron work, the blue hue, the brick. But now the second book cover is PURPLE! And goodness knows what color the next book cover will be -- it probably hasn't been conceptualized yet, let alone painted, so I've got some time to figure out what I want next.

In the meantime, it bothers me that there aren't many graphics on the site. So I asked myself, what do I think of when I think about Tricia's Haven't Got a Club bookstore? COFFEE! And what do people drink coffee out of? A disposable cup. And isn't it handy that my husband happens to be a former graphic designer? And doesn't he just LOVE to please me by acting on my crazy ideas???

You'll be surprised to know that the coffee cup logo for Haven't Got a Clue (in perspective) actually came BEFORE he did the flat version. I love it because it picks up on the green walls in the description I've given the store.

As I said, they drink a LOT of coffee at Haven't Got a Clue And now when I write about it, I'll see the coffee cups in my mind. And now when readers go to the web site, they'll see a brand associated with Tricia's store, too.

Cool, huh?

PET PEEVE THURSDAY -- No problem!

Today's guest is Rosemary Harris, master gardener and the author of the Dirty Business Mystery series.

I have a problem with “no problem.” When did these two words become an appropriate response to everything from “my pasta is cold” to “you’ve canceled my flight and I’m stranded in Abu Dabi?”

Sometime in the last ten or so years, “no problem” has proliferated and replaced “I’m sorry” or the even more retro “Let me see what I can do.” I’d love to find a way to blame Disney for this – Hakuna Matata, anybody? But it may predate them. My husband claims it started in the Caribbean where for various, uh, botanical reasons, everything really was No Problem even if there was a problem
I suppose it’s better than “un-hunh” which was pervasive in NYC in the early nineties. I can only hope the rest of the country was spared . Few salespeople knew how close they came to bodily harm by saying “un-hunh” to me after I had been nice enough to thank them for taking my money.

I wouldn’t hate “no problem” so much if it didn’t pop up precisely when, THERE IS A PROBLEM. Can you imagine someone having said to Jim Lovell, “No problem!”

I’d love to continue this rant but I must go – I’m on hold with Cablevision, they’ve assured me that my call is very important to them…

And what's bugging you today?
-----------------------------------

Rosemary Harris is president of Sisters in Crime New England Chapter and a board member of MWA-NY Chapter. Her first book, Pushing Up Daisies was a Mystery Guild selection and was named to Library Journal’s Best First Fiction List 2008. The Big Dirt Nap was released just this week by St. Martin’s Minotaur.

GIFTS FROM THE MAILMAN

I'd always heard of celebrities getting gifts from fans, but I never thought it would happen to me.

Okay, for one, I'm not a celebrity. For two, what a surprise and delight it was to come in from grocery shopping last week and find there was something waiting for me on the counter.
 
Carol in Utah (who has read all my books) had sent me a gift: a watercolor print of a cat that looks suspiciously like my Little Prince, Fred--the only difference: Fred has white whiskers. It's adorable and I can't wait to frame it.

Carol had seen pictures of Fred on my web site and MySpace pages. Who knew readers paid so much attention to those things. I mean, I know they like to see pictures of authors pets -- that's why I put them up there, and I've actually received comments from my readers about my cats, and they've told me about theirs.

Cool, huh?

What is it about grocery day? Yesterday I came home from the store and Frank was bouncing up and down like a yo-yo (hard to do when you've got a bum knee). "Come see, come see!" he called before I'd even gotten one bag of groceries in the door. There on the counter top was a HUGE box with the word FLOWERS in big type.

Who in the heck would be sending me flowers? If Mr. L bought me flowers, he'd have gotten them from Aldi -- not paid for Fed-X. My brother gave me a single peachy rose on Valentine's day. To hell with the groceries, I immediately opened the box, and inside were 18 perfect pinky/yellow roses.
Again: who in the heck would be sending me roses?

They were from my agent, in honor of making it to the New York Times Bestsellers list. To say I was flabbergasted is putting it mildly. Flabbergasted and utterly delighted. I can count on one hand the number of times I've received roses -- and the color was perfect. It's like she read my mind.
I could get used to this.

The call I never thought I'd get

Last Wednesday night, the telephone rang. It was my Berkley Prime Crime editor with news I never expected to hear.

Bookmarked for Death will appear on the New York Times Bestsellers Extended list for mass market paperbacks at #33.

Can you say SPEECHLESS???

My poor editor was sick with the flu, and after hanging up I wondered -- uh-oh, what if he made a mistake. What if he made the call during a fever-induced hallucination? Luckily, his assistant e-mailed me the next morning and assured me it was indeed true -- and she attached the evidence to her note.

Yee-ha!!!!!

A friend of mine was told by his editor that he would never become a bestselling author because his books were less than 100,000 words. Well, I'm the Queen of short novels, so there's no way I ever thought New York Times Bestseller and my name would be uttered in the same sentence. And yet ... there I am--or will be as of February 22nd.

Then, to up the ante, on Saturday I got an e-mail from my friend author Toni L.P. Kelner, telling me that Bookmarked for Death had debuted on the IndieBound (Booksense) Bestseller list at #18.

I've been doing the happy dance for days now. New York Times Bestseller. It's unbelievable.

Wishful thinking ...

I've blogged before how absolutely GREEN with envy I am about author Mary Kay Andrews' new beach house, The Breeze Inn. It's bad enough she has access to her place 12 months of the year -- but now I have to get brochures in the mail, telling me how I can make our family cottage available to me 12 months of the year.

I didn't recognize the name of the address on the hand-written envelope that arrived the other day. Was it a fan letter from someone who'd tracked me down? Nope. It was from a construction firm. Do I want to just rent their equipment to do the job myself? (Can you see me driving a mini dump truck or an excavator, because I sure can't.) If not, then I could hire them to jack up the cottage, dig a foundation and the next thing you know, I've got a million dollar house on the water. (Without the million dollars to pay them to jack the place up -- dig a very big hole and put in a foundation.
Or--why don't I hire them to put in a new breakwall. We really need one -- but then I don't own a boat. We didn't even put the dock out last year.

Would I like to do this? Yes. Is it ever likely I'll do this? No. Our neighbor took a cottage and converted it into a year-round home. He told us it was the biggest mistake of his life. He told us what he should have done is tear down the place and start from scratch.

I wouldn't want to do that. I have nice memories of our little cottage, of parties and picnics, hot summer days, cool clammy nights. But the thought of being able to spend winter weekends there is really, REALLY appealing.

Luckily I don't have the kind of money to even consider it. Instead, maybe I'll buy a new kitchen trash can.

With a foot lever.

 It's almost as good, right?