Prequel to THE BLOND LEADING THE BLOND

The characters of Ellery Tinsdale and Samantha Greene begin their fictional lives in the first book in my Blonds at the Beach series, THE BLOND LEADING THE BLOND.  But they did have a life before the book.  Here we get a peek into the incident that led up to the opening scene, and get to see a little of the characters in their “ordinary world” before everything is tipped topsy-turvy on the very first page of the book.  I call this THE PREQUEL.  Enjoy.    

<<News clipping from the front page of the  Braddocks Beach Bugle, Braddocks Beach, Ohio, May 31)>>

Town Matriarch Dead at Age 63

          Isabel Genevieve Tinsdale, age 63, was found dead yesterday at the bottom of the stairs of the Braddocks Beach watchtower. Although the autopsy report is not expected to be released for two more days, sources involved in the clean-up efforts indicate that loss of blood will be listed as a contributory cause of death.

          Police have declared Miss Izzy’s tumble down three flights of steep, cement stairs to be an accident, although the reason she was visiting the watchtower at two o’clock in the morning leaves many asking questions. Don’t expect answers from the local authorities, as according to Braddocks Beach Police Chief Albert C. Bennett, “Delving into a citizen’s personal business is beyond the scope of our duty to protect and serve the community. Miss Izzy took that secret to her grave.”

Beach Tale: The Twelve Days of a Beach Christmas

‘Tis the season, as they say for Christmas Carols, and parodies thereof.  Perhaps the most parodied song ever (seasonal or otherwise) is "The Twelve Days of Christmas".  Who amongst us hasn’t smiled when we heard the barking dogs version or the Redneck tune?  Today I offer up a slightly different version of my own making that represents beach life.  Feel free to sing along! 

On the first day of Christmas I saw along the shore:

A lighthouse with a shell wreath on its door.

On the second day of Christmas I saw long the shore:

Two fiddler crabs;

  And a lighthouse with a shell wreath on its door.

Winners Announced!

Congratulations Goodreads winners!  Out of 798 entries into the contest, three names were chosen to receive a free, autographed copy of The Blond Leading the Blond.  Copies are on their way to Violet, Cassandra and Patty.  They should arrive at their homes by the end of the week.   If you love to read and are tired of paying top dollar for all those books, consider joining Goodreads and entering the giveaways.  All have been released within the past six months (so they are fresh!).  Just set up an account at www.goodreads.com  and start entering to win!

Santa Claus Cookies

Santa Claus Cookies

This recipe is from the Pillsbury Classics Cookbook…the little thing you buy at the check out line…from 1995.  I tried to Google the recipe but it seems to have changed over the years, and not for the better. Classic is well, classic, so here it is:

1 (20 oz) package Pillsbury Refrigerated Sugar Cookies

2 tablespoons red colored sugar

3 to 4 drops (I used a LOT more) red food color

1 can Pillsbury Vanilla Creamy Supreme Frosting

36 Miniature Marshmallows

Assorted Candies (I used red M&Ms for the nose and semi-sweet mini morsels for the eyes and skipped the mouth.  The official recipe calls for red licorice for the mouth, a red gumdrop for the nose and red cinnomin candies for the eyes.)

Beach Chow: Pineapple Upside-Down Gingerbread Cake

I like to try something new every holiday season.  Most things work, some don’t, but occasionally I stumble across something that instantly becomes part of the holiday tradition.  This is a recipe I came across in 2011 and I’ve already served it once this season.  There will be more before the New Year rolls around.  It is easy and, as they say, oooohhhhh so good!  Enjoy!

Pineapple Upside-Down Gingerbread Cake

3/4 cup butter, divided

1-1/2 cups firmly packed light brown sugar, divided

2 cups coarsely chopped fresh pineapple

1-1/2 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons ground ginger

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

3/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup hot water

1/2 cup molasses

1 large egg

Beach News: Guest Blog Gig at Dru's Book Musings

For those of you in need of an Ellery and Sam fix, hop on over to Dru’s Book Musings blog to read about a day in the life of Ellery Tinsdale.  The post is titled “Laissez le Bon Temps Roules,” because those of you who know me know I put a little bit of myself in everything I write, so this one has a bit to do with one of my favorite military spouse social outings, BUNCO. 

Beach Tale: Writing the Cozy Mystery

When I tell people “I write cozy mysteries”, about half of the people say, “Wow.  That’s cool.”  Pause while they think about that.  “What the hell is a cozy mystery?”  The other half say, “Wow. That’s cool.”  Then they pull out their i-phones and Google the term.  Well, some Google it.  Most just continue on through life never really knowing. 

So let’s take a moment to talk about everything you’ve always wanted to know about cozy mysteries, but were afraid to ask.  First stop, Merriam Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary.    

            

Mystery: a piece of fiction dealing usu. with the solution of a mysterious crime. 

Cozy:  Enjoying or affording warmth and ease.  Snug.

Beach Tale: Coming Down the Home Stretch!

          O.M.G.  I am so excited.  This project is almost done.  Then I get to put on my decorating hat and “cozy” it up.  Just a few more subcontractors in and voilá, we’re ready for guests. Or tenets.  Or a neighborhood cocktail party, at the very minimum. 

          So first thing we need is a Trim Guy.  I’m going to admit my naiveté because I didn’t even realize I’d need a Trim Guy but when the plumber showed up (he was the very first contractor at the very beginning of this project) he asked me if I needed a Trim Guy.  I said “Yes,” because obviously I did.  He gave me a name, and I’m really glad I made that call, because there was no way we were capable of doing trim work ourselves.  Where is that General Contracting for Dummies book, anyway?   

Beach Tale: "Fall Back"

          As I was walking Jamaica (my dog) this morning and the first rays of sunrise glistened off the bay, it occurred to me that if I wanted to see a sunrise tomorrow I would have to take my canine companion for a walk at 5 a.m. instead.  So I enjoyed my last sunrise experience, for the time being anyway, and my thoughts turned to the idea of Daylight Savings.  I had researched the concept (hoping to gain some understanding of the whacky time adjustment) a few years ago and thought this would be a great time to share what I’d learned with my loyal blog readers.

Beach Tale: "A Ghost Story"

<<note...this story was previously posted on this blog on Halloween, 2011, but it is one of my favorites so I'm dusting it off for a repost today!  For those of you who haven't read it yet, this is a TRUE ghost story from where we used to live, Newport, RI.>>

       

The time…1673

The Place…a 100 acre farm in Portsmouth, RI (currently the site of The Valley Inn, pictured on the left.)

          The situation…Thomas Cornell, a farmer aged 46, had a lot of hungry mouths to feed.  He was the father of four sons from his first marriage, two children (with a third on the way) from his second marriage to Sarah, plus his widowed mother Rebecca, age 73.  All nine people lived under one very tiny roof.  And, while Thomas did all the work, Rebecca owned the farm and thus controlled things. 

Beach Tale: Let's Get Physical!!!

Sorry, I couldn't find a G-rated version of Olivia Newton John's "Let's Get Physical" video, so you're going to have to sing the song to yourself, as it is the audio background to today's post.  Okay, all together now, "Let's get physical, physical.  I wanna get physical..."

A reminder of where we left things two weeks ago:

The questions everyone has been asking is, "How did you come to have a truckload of boxes and what did we plan to do with them?" 
          I have procrastinated about writing this particular episode in our “little” construction project, because it brings back painful memories.  I don’t mean mental pain or emotional pain or spiritual pain.  I mean physical pain!  The type that the mere thought of lifting your little pinky brings tears to your eyes.   

          Oh wait, there I go again getting ahead of myself. 

Beach Tale: Hot Hot Hot

          For those of you new to this blog, I am sharing the trials and tribulations of our home improvement project to finish off the unfinished room over the garage ourselves.  It’s been a fairly easy journey so far as our role has pretty much been limited to scheduling sub-contractors and making sure the doors were unlocked so they could do their work.  But we were about to enter into the true “do-it-yourself” phase of this undertaking, and things were about to get hot.  And I don’t mean that in the romantic sense.  I mean in the end-of-summer-in-southern-Virginia-working-inside-a-small-space-with-no-a/c hot.  Here’s my video theme song for this segment: 

Beach Tale: "Color Me Indecisive"

          Time to add some COLOR to the place!  So today’s installment is brought to you by Cindy Lauper’s “True Colors.”  Take a listen:

          The next phase of our “little project” involved tiling the bathroom, painting the interior and selecting a floor.  In that order.  And what do these three things have in common?  They all required decisions relating to color.  I had been avoiding making the biggest decision of all, but now the time was at hand. I needed to dream up a “color scheme” for the project. Something that would connect each of the four spaces with the other without overpowering the tenant. Something bold yet subtle.  Something timeless yet contemporary.  Something that screamed “beach house” yet whispered “my house.”   Rather a tall order for a neophyte decorator like myself.   

Beach Chat with Jayne Ormerod

Happy Friday!  And it is with great pleasure I announce the return of my favorite blog segment, Beach Chat, where I ask a few questions of a fiction writer.  Today’s featured author?  Moi!  (that’s French for me!)  Enjoy! 

Name:  Jayne Ormerod

Recommend a Beach Read: Summer Rental by Mary Kay Andrews (or really any book by this definitive "beach read" author.)  Summer Rental depicts a summer vacation on the outer banks of North Carolina so well you will feel sand between your toes! 

Most cherished beach memory: At the tender age of 12, my son was bitten by the Surfing Bug.  Not unusual for people who live near the shore.  A little rarer for people like us who lived an hour away.  It was a problem because he could only surf when I drove him, sat there on the beach, then drove him home when he was done (hours later.)  He caught me in a week moment one balmy summer’s morn and I agreed to a day at the beach.  I grabbed a beach towel, beach chair, beach cooler and the book I was currently reading, The Great Gatsby by Ernest Hemingway (a much more interesting read as an adult than a high school student!)  I sat and lost myself in the world of Long Island in the summer of 1922.  Needing to flip myself for the even tan, I paused and looked out over the waves.  I spotted a lone surfer, my son, with fins to the left of him and fins to the right.  He was surfing amidst a pod of dolphins!  It was the coolest thing ever! 

Beach Tale: No Hablo Español

          The theme song for this stage of the construction process is the Ritchie Valens classic, “La Bamba.”  In order to get in the mood, crank up the tune by clicking the arrow embedded in the image below:

         

          One of the requirements for graduation from my high school was four years of a foreign language.  The choices were French, German, Latin and Spanish.  I took French.  Years later, I can still “parle” with the best of them.  (Well, I can “parle” with first year students, as I know how to say things like “Le chien est dans la maison.”) Oh, how I wished I’d taken Spanish.  It would have helped me greatly during the mudding process.

          Oops, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Beach Tale: "Moving Right Along..."

          The theme song for today’s construction update is brought to you by The Muppet Movie.  Click on the imbedded play button to watch the clip with Kermit the Frog and Fozzie Bear singing while driving a Studebaker across the United States:

       

          The part that is stuck in my head is “Moving right along, footloose and fancy free.  Getting there is half the fun, come share it with me.”

          “Fun” is the operative word there, and in my case means “fun--NOT.”  Not in the least.       

Beach Tale: We've Only Just Begun...

          <<For those of you new to this blog, I am sharing the trials and tribulations of our home improvement project to finish off the unfinished room over the garage ourselves—without benefit of any professional counseling.>>

          So while I’m out making all the important decisions about kitchen cabinet choice, crews of plumbers and electricians have gotten busy back at the carriage house.  After all, what good is a beautiful kitchen if it doesn’t have power or water? 

Beach Tale: Decisions, Decisions

           Who amongst us hasn’t romanticized building their perfect home?  The mere thought of having the final say on every last detail, from picking the perfect tile in every bathroom to coordinating the floor covering throughout the house to where each light switch and electrical outlet goes.  Finally, a house that makes sense!  I’ve often wished for just such an opportunity.

          Well, after just a few weeks of finishing off a 484 square foot carriage house, all I can say is, “Be careful what you wish for!”

Beach Tale: “Then I’ll Do It Myself,” said the Little Red Hen

          You remember the children’s story, The Little Red Hen?  The one where the little red hen asks for assistance but the other barnyard animals don’t want to help?  And what does the hen reply when they refuse?  Come on, I know you know it.  Let’s say it together on three.  One, two, three…

          “’Then I’ll do it myself,’ said the little red hen.” 

          We recently took that mantra to heart.

          With the purchase of our new beach cottage came a two-story detached garage.  The upstairs had the walls framed out and one lone light bulb hanging from the rafters.  The income potential is there, the separate-space-for-the-boomerang-child potential is there, the “man-cave” potential is totally there (plenty of room for leather sectional group, large screen TV,  a pool table or a foosball table, all with access to a full kitchen for cold beer and nacho/chicken wing preparation, and full bathroom in the event a shower is needed…I’m talking man-cave on steroids here!)…we just needed to turn it into habitable condition. 

Friday the 13th—an Un-Lucky day for me!

What do black cats and Friday the 13^th have in common?  They are both considered “unlucky.”  I don’t normally believe in superstitions, but after the day I’ve had today, I have to admit there might be something to it.  

Excuses, Excuses

Is there anything worse than a flat tire?  Especially when you're on a bicycle, going full speed down a twisty turny mountain road?

Well, that's kind of what happened to my blog.  I was coasting along, posting regularly, and then BAM!  Flat tire. 

I don't need to tell my loyal and faithful readers that I haven't blogged much lately.  They have TOLD ME!  

But I have an excuse.  A couple of them, actually.

Beach Tale: "The Butler Did It" a mini-mystery

          “It’s a classic case of the butler did it,” Jeffery said with conviction.

I suppressed a smile.  This was his first big case.  He had a stack of notes as tall as the Washington Monument that he kept thumbing through, checking facts, reports, statements, etc.  He was tackling this like it was a exercise developed for a first-level evidence class.  I hated to burst his bubble, but real life murder cases rarely come tied up in neat little packages. 

          I, on the other hand, was going on thirty years of street smarts.  I’d spent yesterday pouring over the evidence, trying to make some sort of crazy sense out of it all.  For lack of a better suspect, it did look like the butler had killed his employer, because he was the only other person on the grounds of the estate that evening.  But deep down something just didn’t feel right.  A puzzle piece was missing. 

Beach Tale: SPAT! A Tale of Life on the Chesapeake Bay

From the files of “Where Do Writers Get Their Ideas”

Sunrise on Hoffler Creek

Many years ago, we moved to a home on Hoffler Creek in Suffolk, Virginia.  That creek is a tributary to The Chesapeake Bay.  The prime attraction of the home was the marsh view to include an eagle preserve across the creek.  (We never spotted even one eagle the entire time we lived there, though.  Hence this tale is not titled EAGLETS!)  Our backyard teamed with wildlife, from blue herons and egrets (called long-legged fishy-things by Native Americans) to Merganser ducks that paddled their way up and down the creek daily. Along the banks there were crabs and frogs and snakes, oh my!.  And even deer (one spotted on Christmas Eve picking its way across the marsh at low tide—the kids thought it was one of Santa’s who didn’t make it into the sleigh-pulling line up that night).  But what captured our attention and tugged on our environmentally conscious heartstrings were the oysters.

Beach Tale: Origins of the Phrase "Fair Winds and Following Seas"

At a recent Hail and Farewell (a party wherein new reports to the command are welcomed and those departing are bid a fond adieu), the Lieutenant heading off to Norfolk was offered the traditional wishes of “Fair winds and following seas.”  Since I’ve been around the Navy world for almost 30 years, I’ve heard this phrase uttered hundreds, if not thousands, of times.  But (and this may be a sign of maturity on my part) this time it got me to wondering what exactly it meant.  So I let my fingers do the surfing through the cyber world, and I thought I’d save y’all from duplicating my efforts and today seems a good opportunity to share my newly acquired knowledge.

Wishing someone Fair Winds and Following Seas is a nautical phrase of good luck, a blessing as it were, as a person, group or thing (ie a commissioning ship) departs on a new voyage in life. 

But what exactly does it mean?

Beach Tale: "Easy Money", a short mystery

          Lance watched from his perch atop a stool at the Tiki Hut, a beachside bar that catered to the swimsuit clad.  Lance thought the tiki theme a bit overdone, but who was he to judge?  A balmy breeze blew off the Atlantic and beach babes strutted their stuff by the surf, and other normal circumstances Lance would be enjoying himself.

But tonight had a job to do.  He forced himself to keep his eyes on Charlie, his partner-in-crime, seated at the opposite end of the long teak counter.  Charlie paid the bartender with a crisp twenty-dollar bill, which was Lance’s signal to order a drink. 

          “Barkeep,” Lance called out, waving two fingers in the air, “I’ll take a Coke when you get a chance.” 

Beach Tale: The Times They Are A-Changin'--Navy Spouse Edition

Let’s face it, times have changed, especially in the Navy Spouse ranks.  And it’s easy to see the changes when flips through an ancient copy of Welcome Aboard—A Service Manual for the Naval Officer’s Wife by Florence Ridgely Johnson (an Admiral’s wife, so she knows of what she speaks.)  Published in 1951, it gives a great perspective on what spouse life was like back in the day when the Navy’s unofficial motto was, “If we wanted sailors to have a wife we’d have issued them one in their sea bag.”  Some of the stuff is absolutely hysterical and horrifying at the same time.  Here are some excerpts, followed by a few editorial comments about Navy Spouses life in 2012.  Enjoy! 

Beach Tale: "Prescription for Love" a short romance

          Maddie wasn’t sure she could take another step.

          “Which grocery store shall we hit tonight?” her sister Kara asked.

          “Huh?”  It was all the response Maddie could muster as they finished the grueling eight-mile run along the beach.  She bent at the waist and rested her elbows on her knees as she sucked in lungfuls of refreshing salt air.

          “I’m thinking the Green Grocer over on West Washington might be good.” Kara, who was in far better shape than Maddie, sounded less like a steam locomotive puffing up a mountain and more like someone who had just finished a game of Wii bowling. 

          Maddie had assumed, erroneously, that joining her sister on an after-work run would replace their usual evening activity of late—man hunting.  Kara had read in a magazine that a good place to meet eligible bachelors was at the grocery store, so the sisters had been cruising a different one every night for the past three weeks.  So far, they hadn’t met a single eligible man.    

Beach Tale: A Beach-themed Fable

              Way back when I was a young girl, my parent’s would park us in front of the TV on Saturday morning and toss us a box of Cap’n Crunch or Fruit Loops cereal (both great for leaving a “trail of crumbs” a lá Hansel and Gretel.)  Mom and Dad would then slink off to the kitchen where they could enjoy a morning of peace and quite with their coffee and paper.  I know your first thought is quite possibly, “Why didn’t anyone call Child Protective Services?” But let me explain that 1) the cereal was fortified with 14 vitamins and minerals (I think) and 2) there were some teaching moments on Saturday Morning TV back in the day.  Like Aesop’s Fables.  I can almost hear the music now as a cartoon fairy flies onto the screen and opens a voluminous book of Fables, and I would watch with rapt attention as I learned my moral lesson.  You might remember the classics such as “The Tortoise and the Hare” or “The Ant and the Grasshopper” or “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” or “The Fox and the Grapes” (from whence we get the phrase “Sour Grapes.)  Classics, all. 

Beach Tale: "Three Little Words" a short romantic story just in time for Valentine's Day

          <<Caveat:  This story was cross-posted on the Avalon Authors blog at the beginning of the month.  It's too timely not to share here, too.>>

Carole wasted no time in placing her order.  “I’d like a piece of Triple-Chocolate Cherry Cheesecake, please,” she said.  “Wait…on second thought…make that a double.”

          After the waiter bowed and left, Carole glanced at the handsome man seated across the table from her.  “What?” she asked.

          “Wouldn’t you rather start with something more traditional?” Brad asked.  “I can recommend the shrimp puffs with garlic-herb aioli for dipping.  Or the Buffalo Chicken Dip.  It’ll really put some hair on your chest.”  He smiled his smile that, under normal circumstances, melted Carole’s heart. 

          “Chocolate first, then we’ll worry about nourishment.”  Carole lifted the linen napkin from the table and spread it across her lap. 

Beach Tale: Your Own Personal "Fantasy Island"

Remember the show with Mr. Rourke (played by Ricardo Montalbán) and Tattoo (played by Hervé Villechaize)? I can hear it now, “De plane!  De plane!” That announced the arrival of another guest to their Pacific Island where for a mere $50,000 (about $185,000 in 2012 dollars) the guest’s wildest fantasy would come true.  I’m not talking sexual fantasy here.  No, this TV after all, and back when the sensors were really strict.  This show was more about finding a lost love or being a big game hunter or being the MVP in the Super Bowl or something.

Of course it was called “Fantasy Island” for a reason.  Not because fantasies were being lived out, but because the entire premise was a fantasy. 

Beach Tale: Idioms with Nautical Origins

          Have you ever heard the phrase, “Not enough room to swing a cat?”  Don’t ask me why, but my mom used to say it a lot.  And since it’s a universal truth that as we sound more like our mothers as we age, I muttered it the other day when complaining about how cluttered the basement had become. 

My son asked, “What does that mean?”

I explained my childhood interpretation of the phrase, where you grab a cat (I envisioned our seal point Siamese, Punchy) by the tail and swing it around the room, knocking over lamps and pictures and whatever other knickknacks are within the cat’s circumference.    

“That’s crazy,” my son said.

So in my effort to prove myself right, I did a Google search.  Guess what?  (And I’m admitting this publicly here…) I was wrong.  And to further my surprise, I learned the phrase had a nautical origin.  Additional research showed a lot of common terms have ties to Navy traditions.  Here are a few, gleaned from Traditions of the Navy by Cedric W. Windas, copyright 1942:

Beach Tale: The Case of the Cruller Shop Arsonist

       

          The aroma of fresh-from-the-deep-fryer donuts floated through the doorway.  In response, my mouth sent out enough saliva to rival Niagara Falls.  I vowed to get even with the diabolical police chief who had assigned me the case of the four torched Cappy’s Crullers donut shops along the boardwalk.  I’d been on the Atkins Diet for 23 days in preparation for my Valentine ’s Day wedding, and this stakeout was above and beyond the call of duty.  But it seemed a logical conclusion that the only CC storefront still standing in a 100-mile radius would be the next to go up in flames.  Somebody needed to keep an eye on things, and I was the only one available.  Sometimes I just get lucky that way.  Sigh.

          I know it’s a cliché that cops never met a donut they didn’t eat, but the truth is we frequent the establishments on account of the availability of fresh coffee 24 hours a day.  But we’re only human.  So after ordering my caffeine fix, I tacked on a casual request for one maple-glazed cruller and then settled in a back booth to watch and wait. 

          Thirteen-and-a-half crullers later, my patience was rewarded.

          “You the detective handling the fires?”

Beach Tale: A House that Inspired a Novel

This is a tale about a house by the sea.  A young writer visited often with to pass the time with his cousin, Susannah Ingersoll.  Susannah was the daughter of a wealthy sea captain who lived with her family in a sprawling mansion right on the rocky coast of the Atlantic Ocean.  The cousins spent many a lively evening in the dining room of said mansion.  Since water was usually unsafe at this period of time (mid 1800s), spirits were often consumed for health’s sake, but it is not clear if said writer ever over-indulged.  But while sitting in that house, something triggered the writer’s imagination, and he went on to write a dark romance, one met with critical acclaim, and one that has stood the test of time.

The novel was first printed in 1851.  The setting was Salem Massachusetts.  The writer was Nathanial Hawthorne, and the book, The House of Seven Gables.   

If you haven’t read it, or in the event you have forgotten, here is the opening paragraph: 

House of Seven Gables, Salem, MA

"Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and an elm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm."

Beach Chat with Jayne Ormerod

Fifteen questions in five mintues....GO!

Name:  Jayne Ormerod  

Book you are reading right now:  Murder, She Wrote, The Fine Art of Murder by Jessica Fletcher and Donald Bain

Preference, print or ebook: Print!

Beach Musings Monday: "Warm Hands, Cold Heart" a super-short romance

          Caitlyn wrapped her hands around a mug of steamy coffee, inhaling the fragrant aroma of roasted Arabica beans.  She absolutely loved the smell of fresh brewed coffee, but detested the taste.  The only reason she’d brewed a cup was to have something to warm her hands on.  She had never been so cold in her entire life.     

          Having been born and raised in the sunny southern California, she was suffering her first winter on the desolate prairies of Nebraska.  The job offer had been too good to pass up, and being two-thousand miles away from Derek, that cheating skunk of an ex-fiancé, was an added bonus.  But she hadn’t realized how brutal winter could be until the first blizzard of the season hit and the furnace conked out.       

Beach Musing

It’s 25 degrees outside, and 53 inside (the big old boiler in the basement conked out about 1 a.m.) and I’m waiting for the repairman.  It’s hard to type with gloves on, and my fingers freeze up and fumble on the keys when I take them off, so I’m going to turn this frosty Friday blog post over to the professionals.  Travel writer and big thinker Bill Bryson gives us food for thought this morning: 

“Among the many thousands of things that I have never been able to understand, one in particular stands out. That is the question of who was the first person who stood by a pile of sand and said, ‘You know, I bet if we took some of this and mixed it with a little potash and heated it, we could make a material that would be solid and yet transparent. We could call it glass.’ Call me obtuse, but you could stand me on a beach till the end of time and never would it occur to me to try to make it into windows.”