tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87155433867628225292024-03-21T13:00:47.824-07:00LIFE'S A BEACH... ...a beach blog by cozy mystery writer Jayne OrmerodJayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.comBlogger194125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-42924919183255862122024-02-09T05:25:00.000-08:002024-02-09T12:29:10.130-08:00KICK OFF CHAOS, A Super-Bowl Themed Sleuth It Yourself Mini Mystery<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxee9O49IoGlALUUv9DgS_8FNmJ_mcD5sPXB6cWhYrcGf6Ah-ShmFomXDK8aKlsLiiqD1LOmL9xl05HoLsKZkFSHdPz_z17Dx3N9qvrcRih1FO81wWY-32SnDLTrPH-ymqiVs3MTZVj0wJq0lZCN3NphErDQo3i-SB9bHK_6kPuLqnycp8E6EskNifxd7/s355/Go%20Team.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="355" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxee9O49IoGlALUUv9DgS_8FNmJ_mcD5sPXB6cWhYrcGf6Ah-ShmFomXDK8aKlsLiiqD1LOmL9xl05HoLsKZkFSHdPz_z17Dx3N9qvrcRih1FO81wWY-32SnDLTrPH-ymqiVs3MTZVj0wJq0lZCN3NphErDQo3i-SB9bHK_6kPuLqnycp8E6EskNifxd7/w200-h175/Go%20Team.jpg" width="200" /></a></i></div><i><br />The Super Bowl watch party won't be right without Laura's lucky jersey. But its T-1 hour until the guests show up, and the jersey is missing. Can you help Callie find it for her mother in time to enjoy the game? </i><p></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i>This is a "sleuth it yourself" mini mystery with the solution at the end. <br /></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><b> KICK OFF CHAOS!</b></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"> <br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Where’s my lucky
jersey?” Mom’s frantic voice echoes throughout the house. As if things weren’t
chaotic enough one hour before kickoff on Super Bowl Sunday, now this. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">The big game means
little to me.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mom, on the other
hand spends months planning the biggest party on the block. It’s not just the excitement
of the game, or the heart-attack-on-a-plate buffet, or the gathering of family,
friends, and “frenemies,” aka those who root for the opposing team. It’s also
an opportunity to show off her lucky jersey signed by some famous quarterback. Don’t
ask me who. He played decades ago.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Callie, come help
me!”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">I head in her
direction, passing the dining table pre-staged with chafing dishes, crockpots, hot
pads, and bowls already mounded with chips. I snag one. There are some aspects
of Super Bowl Sundays I do enjoy.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">I find Mom in the
kitchen, her distress obvious.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“It can’t be far,”
I say. “I saw you wearing it an hour ago.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I didn’t want to
mess it up while I made my famous sage-butter nachos. I took it off and put it
on the washing machine.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“It probably slipped
behind.” I went and checked. No such luck.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Somebody took
it,” Mom wails. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Did you see
anyone go into the laundry room?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Chewy went in to
get a drink of water.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Chewy is my
brother’s 120-pound mutt. The entire family—to include lovely wife Serita and
their adorable toddler Zoe—came into town for the big event this year. “Did you
spill anything on it that might tempt the hungry hound?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I splashed a bit
of chili.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">That’s worrisome. Chewy
came by his name honestly. If the jersey holds even a whiff of anything tasty, then
it’s a lost cause.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I need to think
positive. “Anyone else?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Serita started a
load of laundry.” Mom scoffed. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s Serita’s
first Super Bowl with us. She doesn’t realize it’s sacrilegious to do laundry
during the big game. But I’d seen my niece in seven outfits already today, so it’s
possible the laundry situation has her fourth-down and long, and she had to go
for it.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mom smacks the
counter. “If she took it, there’s gonna be words!”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Why would Serita take
your jersey? She’s even less a football fan than me.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Good point.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">A horrible thought
crosses my mind: what if Serita thought mom’s jersey was dirty and tossed it in
with her load? I hope not, for my sister-in-law’s sake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom’s lucky jersey fell into the
hand-wash-only category. But the front-loader was still in mid-cycle, so I
couldn’t check. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Who took it?” Mom
cries.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I don’t know, mom.
But we’ll find it.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mom snaps her
fingers. “I bet Aunt Julie took it.” Aunt Julie had come for Christmas…and
never left. Things are getting testy between the two sisters. “We have a bet for five Benjamin's on the line. She knows how lucky that jersey is and would steal it to shake
my confidence.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">We confront Julie,
but she alibis out. “I just got back from a trip to that sports memorabilia
shop. Look what I found.” She shows us her team’s jersey. “Signed by their star
running back.” She flashes the back, and sure enough, an illegible autograph. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">That gives me an
idea. As a last-minute Hail Mary, maybe I can slip down to the shop and get Mom
a new lucky jersey to wear today. I pull out my cellphone to check their
inventory. As I’m scrolling their site, an image pops up—with evidence of who
stole mom’s lucky jersey. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">My two-step dance is
worthy of a fifteen-yard penalty for excessive celebration. Game on! </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">___________________________________________________________________ </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiarPEdDYzAmi1AjeLpCXcWG7zRRO_aAQQsfTElZWu0YjhU6nCk177Vq5skZXZBIyJH9t5O-IeGCCNpHVs83BmT8LJ_3F9Y7FfJIicAVKteyF0p13fZ8kYDPHW8ZfGoE0yYmCh4d9UchKtw4x0fPZk3j7kEbRyzeXkDpBL84D6ngVOC05QGeij8JMB4EWqf/s904/Mystery%20Solved.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="730" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiarPEdDYzAmi1AjeLpCXcWG7zRRO_aAQQsfTElZWu0YjhU6nCk177Vq5skZXZBIyJH9t5O-IeGCCNpHVs83BmT8LJ_3F9Y7FfJIicAVKteyF0p13fZ8kYDPHW8ZfGoE0yYmCh4d9UchKtw4x0fPZk3j7kEbRyzeXkDpBL84D6ngVOC05QGeij8JMB4EWqf/s320/Mystery%20Solved.jpg" width="258" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 107%;"><b></b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
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Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
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mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
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</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">It all makes sense when an image of my niece flashes on my Insta account. She’s
posed at the empty High School stadium down the street, and is wearing the missing jersey, belted up like a dress. Too cute! A mini photo
session in advance of the big game gave Serita some relevant posts for the day.
And mom has another photo to gush over. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt;">Mom and Serita hug
it out two minutes before kick-off. Fingers crossed mom’s jersey proves lucky
and her team wins!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-38369679534604773232024-02-07T12:34:00.000-08:002024-02-07T12:37:00.416-08:00WHERE OH WHERE HAS JAYNE ORMEROD GONE?<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> I've been in my writing cave as my focus has taken me in a whole new direction. This meme is worth 1,000 words...</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmysXpahAVjSiSDHv2TRUUlEf0s9l5U83ZR31O51RQkgBqtrFYFn75SE5a_8TJ5JYVOZzHbXEzkPlXYyxWyH18zeIkhVEFJ9xFJWZpHeCUt00A_YEeDX5W3_SP9JunEEsfrwrLNuw6wSw3F6Ex50t5EhYDJRJUaHEtqXe5sRM2qL6xZckb8jSJCM_yy31O/s748/Announcement.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="736" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmysXpahAVjSiSDHv2TRUUlEf0s9l5U83ZR31O51RQkgBqtrFYFn75SE5a_8TJ5JYVOZzHbXEzkPlXYyxWyH18zeIkhVEFJ9xFJWZpHeCUt00A_YEeDX5W3_SP9JunEEsfrwrLNuw6wSw3F6Ex50t5EhYDJRJUaHEtqXe5sRM2qL6xZckb8jSJCM_yy31O/w394-h400/Announcement.jpg" width="394" /></a></div><p></p><p>Watch for exciting updates soon!<br /></p><p><br /></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-73573225934965735162023-03-08T08:00:00.002-08:002023-03-08T08:00:37.093-08:00EVERYTHING YOU'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT FICTION CLASSIFICATIONS...BUT WERE AFRAID TO ASK...<p></p><p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaOxE2c_5rTfwoX80Uqtr72s8x_NCuSverA7pF_imtLg7DPADki5lIaY-vZiJRZz4ZzISSG0OB273o80hhU4U_MIivap4zbHx9jEpoFPKTFwvtcW8OxCFyvXXiNU-EvFm88TtXokl2Lz3fyh1GCYcxjAeFgYLlqEGJnCHsn2a3INrvHlToo4jGJJaoA/s800/Secret.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="800" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaOxE2c_5rTfwoX80Uqtr72s8x_NCuSverA7pF_imtLg7DPADki5lIaY-vZiJRZz4ZzISSG0OB273o80hhU4U_MIivap4zbHx9jEpoFPKTFwvtcW8OxCFyvXXiNU-EvFm88TtXokl2Lz3fyh1GCYcxjAeFgYLlqEGJnCHsn2a3INrvHlToo4jGJJaoA/w200-h122/Secret.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /> (Whispered conversation between
two young ladies recently overheard in a library bathroom…)<br />
“Do you know anything
about, you know…what they’re talking about in there?”<br />
“No. I’m pretty
inexperienced when it comes to that kind of stuff.”<br />
“Me too.”<br />
“Is there some sort of
book or something that would explain everything?”<br />
“You mean like an
illustrated how-to manual?”<br />
“Yeah.”<br />
“Not that I know of. But
I’ve heard some of the older girls talking.”<br />
“And?”<br />
“I think they’re talking
like they know, but they really don’t know.”<br />
“So how do you learn?”<br />
“I guess you just learn
by doing it…”<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">No, these young ladies were not
talking about the facts of life. They were aspiring authors attending their
first mystery writers’ meeting. Words like genre and sub-genre and novella had
been bandied about like bits of gossip dropped at a high-society cocktail
party, all followed by a knowing look and responded to with an
I’ll-pretend-I-know-what-you’re-talking-about-even-though-I’m-clueless nod. It
might surprise you to learn that these two seemingly unrelated topics do have a
lot in common.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3m_6C-HwH9O3qajT1FgeV6sZfBeOKGQVR6xbuX0t17nclGupd0DdMFxHe0ualwrsmYFlq0xXk18gEGIXa43NMRf5t_azlw0Tvdogqdcr6es6yYjLyKuOu3_jSFaVYhfYKehT6CI8fyyGGVJuHyS318Pj6I5mAN6urSqQHz6hUg574bXvWfPh2YPp8vQ/s159/Shocked%20Woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="107" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3m_6C-HwH9O3qajT1FgeV6sZfBeOKGQVR6xbuX0t17nclGupd0DdMFxHe0ualwrsmYFlq0xXk18gEGIXa43NMRf5t_azlw0Tvdogqdcr6es6yYjLyKuOu3_jSFaVYhfYKehT6CI8fyyGGVJuHyS318Pj6I5mAN6urSqQHz6hUg574bXvWfPh2YPp8vQ/s1600/Shocked%20Woman.jpg" width="107" /></a></div><br />Think back to your sixth-grade
sex-education class. Remember that old (keep in mind that age is relative) lady
who stood at the front of the class and droned on in a clinical, unemotional,
rather boring litany of how a baby is conceived? At the end, everyone had lots
of questions but were too afraid to ask. Instead, they resorted to learning
about the real facts of life from their equally uniformed friends who had older
sibling who had real life experiences—while fooling around under the stadium
bleachers.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">The topic of genres is as whispered
abut in the writing world as sex is in middle school. Many new writers rely on
crumbs of information dropped by those older and more experienced. This often
leads to misinformation and confusion. As a professional writer, it’s important
to know just where your historical thriller with romantic and paranormal
undertones fits into the grand scheme of things. You’ll need to know this for
when you query an agent, or when position your book in the self-publishing
arena.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">In an attempt to bring
enlightenment to this taboo subject, I’ll be the Old Lady at the Front of the
Classroom, sharing with you, in a clinical and unemotional way, the Facts of
Genres.</p>
<p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>
Novels are works of fiction in excess of 40,000 words</li><li>
Novellas are works of fiction between 17,000 and 40,000 words.</li><li> Novellettes are works of fiction between 7,500 and 17,000 words.</li><li>
Short Stories are works of fiction betwee, 3,5000 and 7,5000 words</li><li> Flash Fiction is as the name implies. Super short fiction. Can range between 53
and 1,000 words, although there is some debate that the shortest story every
written is just 6 words long. "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." Imagine
that, an entire story with hope, heartache and stunning imagery, and all in six
words. <<Attributed to Ernest Hemingway, but there is some debate on
that.>></li></ul><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">Fiction is divided into two
categories: literary and commercial/mainstream.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">Literary novels are often
character or emotional based, and called “serious fiction” because their style
and technique are often as important as subject matter. Think Steinbeck,
Hemingway, or the more contemporary Amy Tan.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">Commercial books are so named for
their broad appeal. They are typically predictable, often driven by a
compelling plot, and are usually read solely for their entertainment value.
Authors like Nora Roberts or Stephen King fall into this category.<br />
Commercial novels are further broken down
into (and you don’t have to whisper it…) genres. The clinical definition,
according to Webster’s Dictionary is “a category of artistic, musical or
literary composition characterized by a particular style, form or content.”
Think the different departments when you enter a Barnes & Noble store.The
most recognized genres in literature are: </p>
<p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Romance </li><li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Westerns </li><li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Mysteries/Suspense/Thriller</li><li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Science Fiction/Fantasy</li><li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Young Adult</li></ul><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"> Genres are further
broken down into sub-genres. In the interest of time and space, we’ll limit our
discussion on sub-genres of mysteries—a novel whose central theme is the
solving of a puzzle. Mystery sub-genres include (but are in no way limited to):
</p>
<ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Classic whodunit<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></li><li><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Courtroom Drama</li><li>Cozy </li><li>Forensic</li><li>Historical</li><li>Medical</li><li>Police Procedural</li><li>Private Detective</li></ul>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">Back in the day when life was
simpler, it was easy to categorize a book based on its primary theme. No more,
as the lines between the genres are blurring. Many popular fiction writers
intertwine elements into one novel with the same subtlety of a chef might
sweeten a pot of chili with a square of chocolate. It’s a main dish with
underlying elements of dessert—two unrelated ingredients combined to create one
satisfying entrée.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">So, be you a sub-genre purist or
one who likes a little chocolate stirred in, at least now you know everything about
genres, but were afraid to ask.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><i>Disclaimer: The proceeding
information was compiled on the best authority from a friend of a friend as
relayed by her older and more experience sister, who learned everything she
knows via experience—under the stadium bleachers.</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"> </p> <br /><p></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-22519942626226338352023-02-17T02:30:00.000-08:002023-02-17T13:29:26.735-08:00OH, THE PLACES I'VE BEEN<p> <span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><Originally
Published October, 2011></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6pgHl56c6i7mWpzsqZqBrmlCZyJqB0YffG2YiWFLp0XWKI29llVUQnN-mCNnceBfe7LOunpMWbBIvU9kJGtR80w6uhyjbPLzHJkhyphenhyphenVa9p0bTjy2-ouhgEmLtPaePSC4q3XOeHCtFuQ43i/s499/Places+youll+go.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="378" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6pgHl56c6i7mWpzsqZqBrmlCZyJqB0YffG2YiWFLp0XWKI29llVUQnN-mCNnceBfe7LOunpMWbBIvU9kJGtR80w6uhyjbPLzHJkhyphenhyphenVa9p0bTjy2-ouhgEmLtPaePSC4q3XOeHCtFuQ43i/w151-h200/Places+youll+go.jpg" width="151" /></a></div><o:p> </o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><i>Congratulations!</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><i style="text-indent: 0in;">Today is your day.</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><i>You’re off to Great Places!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><i>You’re off and away!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><br />So
begins the motivational book <i>Oh, The Places You’ll Go</i> by the esteemed Dr.
Seuss. The book was first published in 1990, years after my own graduation from
high school, but if someone had given it to <i>me,</i> I would have scoffed. Why
would anyone want to go explore that big scary world when everything I
wanted/needed was right here in my small Ohio town? I planned to live in the
same area–possibly the same house–where I had grown up and raise a whole passel
of children who would wear the same unflattering Orange and Black school colors
and then they’d grow up and have babies of their own and live right next door
to me. In a word, I was wanderlust-less. So even if <i>Oh, The Places You’ll Go</i>
had been available, its encouragement to go off and see the world would have
been wasted on me.<span style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaacdd21LBv8NnxS-pgp4FUSZKPG7_9YMuLm-znGq1-o9PH54XNgDS3Wnj03Fr892TM4I8amV55cNssUfKpgBF2jv_alMQAIcuFMIsN69CYHloaNQadMCbvrPzZeFGFr47uT276b0Kt-4-/s2000/ships+wheel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1428" data-original-width="2000" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaacdd21LBv8NnxS-pgp4FUSZKPG7_9YMuLm-znGq1-o9PH54XNgDS3Wnj03Fr892TM4I8amV55cNssUfKpgBF2jv_alMQAIcuFMIsN69CYHloaNQadMCbvrPzZeFGFr47uT276b0Kt-4-/w200-h143/ships+wheel.jpg" width="200" /></a></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><i style="text-indent: 0in;">You have brains in your head.</i></i></div><i><o:p></o:p></i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right; text-indent: 0in;"><i>You have feet in your shoes.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right; text-indent: 0in;"><i>You can steer yourself<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right; text-indent: 0in;"><i>Any direction you choose.</i><span style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">Okay,
I did wander a teeny bit, about 300 miles south to college in another small
Ohio town. It was there I fell in love with a Navy ROTC man and, in complete
contrast to my life’s plan, we sailed off to see the world. None of that “live
in the same house for the rest of my life” for me. Nope. Not even close. Over
the course of 28 ½ years we’ve had eighteen home addresses and made six
coast-to-coast moves (one with only ten days’ notice), and we’re not done yet.
And, oh, the places I’ve been. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">First
let me just say I wouldn’t even be a writer if we hadn’t had to schlep our
worldly belongings to a new place every few years. Even though I’d begun my
Navy Wife adventure armed with a degree in accounting, every time we moved to a
new city I had to start at the bottom of the food chain again. Eventually I
forsook my career to be a stay at home mom. With not much else to do on those
long lonely evenings while my husband was deployed, I did a lot of reading. And
then writing. And finally I decided that writing was a more transportable
career than accounting, and the switch became official.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">Here’s
a little secret—I’d never really wanted to be an accountant. Ever since I’d
read <i>The Secret of the Old Clock</i>, (the first Nancy Drew novel), I’d
wanted to be a writer, but my parents thought I had a better chance of
supporting myself if I had a business degree. And it did help, if only because
it led me to a career as a navy spouse. And oh, how the places I’ve been have
influenced my writing.</p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9UvPPO2CgQ46auBegfP5vRBBhvriLm2V9c2naYppToWzPkWmRv2d_dzTqc0C7KFei61k-P-evXbmcT4Jg-GONisWQOfYMYcz5Mjv0VauEnUZEDMPTKJ3JTXtc7Wj9Z8p8bhqEWzB1My2/s2000/wide+open+air.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1428" data-original-width="2000" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv9UvPPO2CgQ46auBegfP5vRBBhvriLm2V9c2naYppToWzPkWmRv2d_dzTqc0C7KFei61k-P-evXbmcT4Jg-GONisWQOfYMYcz5Mjv0VauEnUZEDMPTKJ3JTXtc7Wj9Z8p8bhqEWzB1My2/w200-h143/wide+open+air.jpg" width="200" /></a></i></div><i><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="text-indent: 0in;">It’s opener there</i></div><o:p></o:p></i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><i>In the wide open air.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><i>Out there things can happen<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><i>And frequently do</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">My
writing has benefited from living so many places because that translates to
exposure to new and exciting foods. Trust me when I say, “Military spouses do
potluck parties better than anyone.” Be the occasion a BUNCO game or a Wardroom
Hail and Farewell or a halfway through deployment bash, the participants always
bring their best “home cooking”. I prefer to learn about foods this way instead
of watching the Food Channel because I not only see, but also smell and taste
all the yummy dishes. So instead of feeding my characters a steady 1960’s diet
of meat, potatoes and Jell-O salads, they now feast on everything from Lumpia
(Filipino Egg Rolls) to authentic southwestern Salsa to Kahlua Trifle. So I’m
happy, my characters are happy and the reader is happy. And hungry.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">My
characters, as well as my readers, also benefit from the many styles of homes
we have lived in. I can write with a modicum of authority about everything from
inner city apartments to aging suburban cookie-cutter neighborhoods to brand
new beach side cottages to rural farmhouses or old (and possibly haunted)
sprawling Victorian homes. Yes, a writer can look at a picture to use as
inspiration for a character’s living space, but I’ve actually tripped over a
hump in our old plank floor causing me to fall and break my wrist and had to
cook a Thanksgiving dinner for ten in a kitchen the size of a closet and had a
flock of seagulls attack the food table at an outdoor barbecue. I’ve brought
these experiences to my writing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">But
the story element most influenced by our nomadic lifestyle is setting. Except
for one tour in Memphis, Tennessee, we have always lived within a flip-flop’s
throw of the ocean. So the beach lifestyle combined with my small town roots
has shown up in every piece I’ve written. Introducing the feel of sand between
the character’s toes or the scratchy feeling when it invades a bathing suit is
a great way to infuse the sense of touch. This, in turn, draws the reader
deeper into the story. The sound of crashing waves is a universal soother. The
sight of sunshine on the water makes everyone happy, not just John Denver.
(Oops, I think my age is showing there.) Appealing to the reader’s five senses
is the best way to help them experience what the characters are experiencing,
and by engaging their seaside senses, they enjoy a vicarious trip to the beach.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">Had
I not wandered far from home I imagine my stories would be full of a sameness,
rather “beige” instead of colorful. Not bold, not spicy, and not worldly. And I
don’t imagine they would be the least bit entertaining. They’d be as
“wanderlust-less” as my teenage self.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">Dr.
Seuss may have been talking about graduates heading off into the world, but his
poem has meaning for any aspiring writer, encouraging them to go off and
experience life before writing about it.<o:p></o:p></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right; text-indent: 0in;"><i>Today is your day!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right; text-indent: 0in;"><i>Your mountain is waiting.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right; text-indent: 0in;"><i>So get on your way!<o:p></o:p></i></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-66067704499575423832022-11-23T05:21:00.006-08:002022-11-23T05:21:55.763-08:00"PASSING DIRECTIONS...Which are in No Way Connected to Driving a Motor Vehicle<p><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 2"/>
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</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Tue0Tc2wuptC_FlAmufqTwiGs48jCpmn3xACihBXxhPN18zujZU7tEVMpZtBXyrWdEir5ScNfy2kbPodnNWEPv0mQVbVBIdqnRfNrfbwFcd-EKnAdQzTBa12NDqfa5R765K2R4IQ4Iqg0kW6uIyrn1muL-TKnDhv2IbawkF-N6X9sL1EnJ2Ch_cWgQ/s421/Thanksgiving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="419" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Tue0Tc2wuptC_FlAmufqTwiGs48jCpmn3xACihBXxhPN18zujZU7tEVMpZtBXyrWdEir5ScNfy2kbPodnNWEPv0mQVbVBIdqnRfNrfbwFcd-EKnAdQzTBa12NDqfa5R765K2R4IQ4Iqg0kW6uIyrn1muL-TKnDhv2IbawkF-N6X9sL1EnJ2Ch_cWgQ/w199-h200/Thanksgiving.jpg" width="199" /></a></div><br /><<In the
spirit of the Thanksgiving holiday, I thought it appropriate to pluck from the
annals of my military spouse newsletters a column I’d written about the finer
points of table etiquette. It just goes to prove that I learn something
new every day!>><p></p>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">'Tis the season…for
holiday gatherings which involve too much food and not enough etiquette, much
like the one I recently experienced during a large gathering of our navy
family. There were twenty people seated around one long table, which had been
festooned with Lenox China, Waterford crystal and more forks, knives and spoons
than I knew what to do with. But despite the formal setting, there were no
butlers dancing attendance, so the meal was served “Family Style.” This
requires the passing of the food around the table for each diner to pile
mountains of gastronomic pleasures onto their own plate.</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> <br /></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><a name="more"></a>I
sat waiting—and drooling—for the creamed potatoes and thick gravy to come my
way. But I had to first deal with the Brussel sprouts, offered to me from my
right. I quickly swung them to my left to pass along before so much as on green
ball of yuckiness toppled onto my plate. As luck would have it, at the exact
moment, the dinner companion to my left (who was involved in a heated
discussion with his companion on his left regarding the BCS championship game
contenders) passed the bread basket (without looking), this his right. And you
guessed it…CRASH! Rolls and sprouts rained down upon us. What a mess! And an
even bigger embarrassment! Which also included a totally ruined meal for me, as
good manners dictate that I eat the three sprouts that landed on my plate (but
that’s another etiquette topic for another day…) Wanting (or more accurately
needing) to place blame where blame is due, I consulted the Etiquette Experts. That
is how I learned about Passing Directions.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Per Judith Martin
(aka Miss Manners, considered to be the definitive authority on all things
etiquette): “Food platters should travel left to right, as most people are
right-handed and can serve themselves more easily with the right hand reaching
over to the left side.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">So it had been my
fault for passing the peas in the wrong direction.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Or not…</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Further reading
showed that I hadn’t been "wrong” in passing the dish along from the
direction from whence it had come, so much as a victim of circumstance. A
circumstance that happens so frequently that Miss Manners addresses it
specifically: “Guests have no responsibility for such decisions <as to which
way the food is passed>, as they will encounter a platter already marching
along as whoever launched it has seen fit. If you try to reverse whatever
pattern is underway, you will end up with the most dreadful traffic jam, to say
nothing of gravy all over your lap.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">I guess I should be
grateful I ended up with peas and rolls on me, and not gravy all over my new holiday sweater!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">As any good
journalist does, I Googled for confirmation of this ambiguous rule. Emily Post
(another etiquette guru) concurs that food should be passed counterclockwise. She
goes on to say, “This helps maintain a sense of order at the table while all
the dishes are being served. Exception to this rule: if someone sitting to your
immediate left requests a second helping of potatoes, don’t send the dish all
the way around the table. It’s perfectly fine to directly pass the dish to the
left.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">When I grow up to
be a Hostess without a Butler, I think I’ll just serve everything buffet style.
That should prevent any veg or gravy mishaps. Hmmm, that might raise a whole
other slew of problems…like how does one keep a big dog off the buffet table
while the guests are seated around the dining table? No need to Google that
one...I think I already know what Miss Manners has to say about that. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Happy Thanksgiving! May you gobble til you wobble!<br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></p>
<p></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-69756971715342777432022-11-10T21:30:00.003-08:002022-11-10T21:30:00.169-08:00WHAT???? PALM TREES IN MAINE?<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGw0tgB6AB_aJkkYaLAaTVzsFZPfQw03DQDLzO8O0kjdfTQ2fG4xp0ZTvNlt9Cg-7ahZpXMPPj2Gv2j5p_rAk1gkJkctdgf3cCiZfUDRp7nglx-G2lK7j7g0zTCIRCHvYY2nTss4Z1Z2-kHES-OW5WgRRZbEjOyvL3F4LA6gj9y1xlDm8VJQXHBmGAVw/s401/Cabot%20Cove%20ME.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="401" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGw0tgB6AB_aJkkYaLAaTVzsFZPfQw03DQDLzO8O0kjdfTQ2fG4xp0ZTvNlt9Cg-7ahZpXMPPj2Gv2j5p_rAk1gkJkctdgf3cCiZfUDRp7nglx-G2lK7j7g0zTCIRCHvYY2nTss4Z1Z2-kHES-OW5WgRRZbEjOyvL3F4LA6gj9y1xlDm8VJQXHBmGAVw/w200-h133/Cabot%20Cove%20ME.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />Palm trees in Maine? Yeah. Seeing is
believing, right?
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">Not always. This is a little story about
how you can’t always believe what you see…on TV.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">No surprise that as a mystery writer
I’m also a fan of mystery shows, a top fav being <i>Murder, She Wrote </i>starring
Angela Lansbury (may she rest in peace) as mystery writer and killer catcher
Jessica “J.B.” Fletcher<i>. </i>That show is set in the fictional town of Cabot
Cove, Maine. <span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">I had a bucket list item of visiting
that quaint town. Of course, I’m not so naïve as to think that Cabot Cove was a
real place—and if it was, the per capita murder rate would be too high for me
to want to visit! But the show had to be filmed <i>somewhere. </i>No way would
any studio pop for such an elaborate set to include a quaint small town built
on a hill, a bevy of Victorian homes, <i>and </i>an entire “cove” complete with
boats and docks, etc. So Cabot Cove was “real”, even if it was named something
else. There was no doubt in my mind it was somewhere on the rocky shores of coastal
Maine, because that was where I expected it to be.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">When my husband received PCS orders
to Newport, RI, I started thinking about a road trip to visit “Cabot Cove”. I
could jog through the sea grass, just like Jessica does in the opening credits.
And like Jessica, I could wave at the seafaring folks as I strolled the piers. Wouldn’t
it be grand to hang out outside Jessica’s beautiful home? And maybe, just maybe,
one of Jessica’s writing muses would latch on to my pant legs the way sandburrs
are wont to do, and I could carry her home and she would inspire me to write a
bestselling novel. I started planning my trip as soon as the last box was unpacked
in our New England home.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">Just one problem—<i>Murder, She
Wrote </i>was <i>not</i> filmed in Maine, a fact I learned when I researched where
the show had been made in order to set my GPS. Turns out the exterior scenes
were shot in Mendocino, California! Had I really paid attention to the show, I
would have realized that some scenes actually have PALM TREES in them tucked amongst the stately scrub pines. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">Mendocino was now a 48-hour (one
way) road trip.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">Did I mentioned we’d just moved from
San Diego? A mere six-hour drive to Mendocino? (face palm…) I could have easily
made <i>that</i> trip.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;">Opportunity missed. Bucket-list item
scratched out. Life goes on. But I did learn an important lesson…don’t believe everything
you see on TV.<br /></p>
</div>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-68481216282588652212022-10-27T21:30:00.041-07:002022-10-28T11:17:40.086-07:00IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT…A TRUE(ISH) TALE OF ALL HALLOWS' EVE EVE…<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJpKuXjGu-9nUItpaYpPV0475Oypzd24BDQyXWCErtMZBMGDbNM_nlM_XHiyYuNMUPvmBhlEjo31amm5Bf3Tqcg9EayxZaZApmVZFMtWI0mPx8P0sk-8U1Sq8y4JfTWhGtznVSLz0RbON5Z_z7-EuVr6LsVdpoLaSLrINky6rLVnNYzQvPqniN0sakg/s1150/Lightpost%20in%20fog.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="570" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJpKuXjGu-9nUItpaYpPV0475Oypzd24BDQyXWCErtMZBMGDbNM_nlM_XHiyYuNMUPvmBhlEjo31amm5Bf3Tqcg9EayxZaZApmVZFMtWI0mPx8P0sk-8U1Sq8y4JfTWhGtznVSLz0RbON5Z_z7-EuVr6LsVdpoLaSLrINky6rLVnNYzQvPqniN0sakg/w99-h200/Lightpost%20in%20fog.jpg" width="99" /></a></div><br />’Twas the night before Halloween and a thick
fog rolled in. So thick, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, let
alone the lamppost whose black paint had faded to a mottled grey, thanks to the
constant sandblasting by the wind off the Chesapeake Bay. So that’s how I
ended up in the ER, with a goose egg on my forehead, on account of I’d been
running, and smacked right into the damned thing. “Why were you running
in the fog?” one might ask. A valid question.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">I’d had a phone call about seven p.m.
“A wine emergency,” my friend Riley Wilson proclaimed. Riley was
eight-and-one-half months pregnant. (Don’t ask me to convert that to
weeks…I birthed my babies when everything was calculated in trimesters, not
days) and for obvious reasons she’d sworn off all things alcoholic. So at
the end of her terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day, she called me to
drink the wine for her. That’s my motto, “I drink for those who
can’t.” I’m a good friend that way.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">So off I’d galloped through the fog to
Riley’s house. Only I never made it, on account of me running into the
pole. I ended up with the aforementioned goose egg on my head. Collateral damage included a bruised coccyx and a sprained wrist (a result of
me saving the wine instead of myself—a girl’s gotta have priorities!) So instead
of my Trick or Treat costume of a cute kitten carrying a saucer of milk, I ended up dressing as
a bandaged–up mummy carrying a glass of pinot grigo. Things happen for a reason, I guess.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">Halloween’s rolling around again in a few
days (where has 2022 gone????) so I offer the following toast to all those who
celebrate…</span></p><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioe6CRHSZdFLUqTdWlvKezv26xM_C2-9UOkCYtnHt4YuaiJ7sbgzHtD9Z2Q2N5iuwGTWg8QcaHpIqsJjOEqeet-vIrWyH56uLUWjPiMZeX5T0dm19Z5tuocwUSJ_otduLu3MutjJEprH7I8mcOAB3cYJxdWdDlR_eJ3nJNMFvqd-pRpEfHZj9uuv_V8Q/s455/Happy%20Halloween.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="455" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioe6CRHSZdFLUqTdWlvKezv26xM_C2-9UOkCYtnHt4YuaiJ7sbgzHtD9Z2Q2N5iuwGTWg8QcaHpIqsJjOEqeet-vIrWyH56uLUWjPiMZeX5T0dm19Z5tuocwUSJ_otduLu3MutjJEprH7I8mcOAB3cYJxdWdDlR_eJ3nJNMFvqd-pRpEfHZj9uuv_V8Q/s320/Happy%20Halloween.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Here’s to the Witches,<br /></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">
Here’s to their cats,<br /></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">
Here’s to the hoot owls<br /></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">
And Whirring bats;<br /></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">
Here’s to the ghosties,<br /></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">
In robes of white,<br /></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Here’s to the thrills of</span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"><div style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Hallowe’en night.</span></div><div style="text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"> [Sourced to Hallowe'en Merry Makers 1930 via
</span><a href="https://www.horntip.com/html/recitations/short_recitations/toasts/toasts_for_holidays/toasts_for_halloween.htm" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;" target="_blank">Hortip.com</a><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">]</span></div><div style="text-indent: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">HAPPY HALLOWEEN, Y'ALL...and watch out for those pesky lampposts!</span></div></div>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-53248222082490553922022-10-14T05:18:00.003-07:002022-10-14T05:18:49.548-07:00"REMEMBER..." A POIGNANT MILITARY CEREMONY<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZOxmfI3IoNtzp5dW57gLhANkyOLd3GI6GfcyGSil80LOygvrzXTTDd0bZzWRUlBdEvT8ASjqv6JN6ihSErH6_ogfgqy4icNqOWpVqvfxwadIJ6dluwKbk7MMRVhmdjA1gpu6k40lPYPjRmh1ExEmC9kWC87d_r2Rsn4fCYQ7-3Nwyzw9R8CF5INFPQ/s640/Missing%20man%20table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZOxmfI3IoNtzp5dW57gLhANkyOLd3GI6GfcyGSil80LOygvrzXTTDd0bZzWRUlBdEvT8ASjqv6JN6ihSErH6_ogfgqy4icNqOWpVqvfxwadIJ6dluwKbk7MMRVhmdjA1gpu6k40lPYPjRmh1ExEmC9kWC87d_r2Rsn4fCYQ7-3Nwyzw9R8CF5INFPQ/w150-h200/Missing%20man%20table.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br /> <i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"><<One thing I enjoyed
most about thirty years as a Navy spouse was participating in century’s old military customs
and traditions. The Missing Man table is one of the most solemn and poignant I've ever witnessed. It drips with symbolism and is vivid in its presentation. In honor of
the U. S. Navy’s 247</span><sup style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> Birthday, celebrated October 13</span><sup style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;">,
I thought it was worth a reprint of a post that I first shared in 2011.>></span></i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;">It’s that time of year…Navy
Birthday Ball! And thanks to the 7</span><sup style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> wonder of the
modern fashion world—Spanks—I will be looking svelte in my ball gown this
weekend. The United States Navy will be celebrating its 236</span><sup style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> birthday,
but it’s not all one big drinking/dining/dancing party. The Navy
Ball, as well as many other official military dining events throughout the
year, serve as a reminder to the POWs and MIAs who yet to return
home. This is done through the Missing Man POW/MIA table set at the
front of the room. </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> <span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For those of you who have
never attended any formal military dinner, you may not be familiar with the
tradition. Since it is easy to “forget” our POWs and MIAs, this
ceremony reminds you to “remember.” It’s a very moving and very
visual tribute. </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You will note in the
picture of the Missing Man table it is a small round bistro-style covered in a
crisp white cloth. It holds a single place setting of white China. It
has a wine glass inverted above the knife. It also has a salt
shaker, a slice of lemon on a bread plate with a pile of spilled salt, a small
bud vase with a single stem red rose and a red ribbon tied around the
vase. It has one candle in the center, lit, and an empty chair
tilted against the table. And there is one bell. Prior to
the guests enjoying their own meal, a moderator explains the significance of
each item as a white-gloved uniformed member of the service points out the
items. Here is what is said:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“As you entered the banquet
hall this evening, you may have noticed a small table in a place of
honor. It is set for one. This table is our way of
symbolizing the fact that members of our profession of arms are missing from
our midst. They are commonly called POWs or MIAs; we call them
‘Brothers.’ They are unable to be with us this evening and so we
remember them.</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“This table set for one is
small, symbolizing the frailty of one prisoner alone against his
oppressors. Remember!” (The bell is rung one time.)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“The tablecloth is
white, symbolizing the purity of their intentions to respond to their country’s
call to arms. Remember!” (The bell is rung one
time.) </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“The single red rose
displayed in a vase reminds us of the families and loved ones of our comrades-in-arms
who keep the faith awaiting their return. Remember!” (The
bell is rung one time.)</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"The red ribbon tied
so prominently on the vase is reminiscent of the red ribbon worn upon the lapel
and breasts of thousands who bear witness to their unyielding determination to
demand a proper accounting of our
missing. Remember!” (The bell is rung one time.) </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“The candle, the candle is
lit—symbolizing the upward reach of their unconquerable
spirit. Remember!” (The bell is rung one time.) </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“A slice of lemon is on the
bread plate to remind us of their bitter
fate. Remember!” (The bell is rung one time.) </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“There is salt upon the
bread plate—symbolic of the families’ tears as they
wait. Remember!” (The bell is rung one time.) </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“The glass is inverted—they
cannot toast with us this night. Remember!” (The bell is
rung one time.) </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“The chair—the chair is
empty. They are not here. Remember!” (The bell
is rung one time.) </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Remember! All
of you who served with them and called them comrades, who depend upon their
might and aid, and relied upon them, for surely they have not forsaken
you. Remember!” (The bell is rung one time.) </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Remember! Until
the day they come home, Remember!” (The bell is rung one
time.) <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-89085735592246367192022-09-29T21:30:00.003-07:002022-09-30T03:50:18.479-07:00GOT WINE????<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimlTeNMQheEgv7apteYbLjW7qjVnkQrtkON8RFqJyYE8bfMCkir2gnqP_OxMkKXZYYs6PBa8DrpuMsbIsAcrydvKQ0qwTd-jKio8uNzz6cLpxWK7EhSOCzKxKHdU5Yzb1m2UR5H_aTHJaMnfPqrMQX1Q5XILkj_L41KfVNwkVwPgIAZh9r9PdsCb27qQ/s800/Got%20wine%20image.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="793" data-original-width="800" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimlTeNMQheEgv7apteYbLjW7qjVnkQrtkON8RFqJyYE8bfMCkir2gnqP_OxMkKXZYYs6PBa8DrpuMsbIsAcrydvKQ0qwTd-jKio8uNzz6cLpxWK7EhSOCzKxKHdU5Yzb1m2UR5H_aTHJaMnfPqrMQX1Q5XILkj_L41KfVNwkVwPgIAZh9r9PdsCb27qQ/w200-h198/Got%20wine%20image.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />It’s that time of year when those
of us with an affection towards the fermented grape start stocking up. No, I
don’t mean in anticipation of the holidays—although there are a plethora of
wine occasions in the time between Halloween and Valentine’s Day which will
require a sufficient supply! I’m talking about Hurricane Season. While it
officially begins June 1, things don’t usually get “fun” until late September,
at least where I live on the Chesapeake Bay. While I don’t understand the
science of a monster storm—it has a lot to do with the ocean and gulf waters
warmed in the summer sun, and other some other stuff—I do know they are better
endured when fully stocked. Hence, I ensure a sufficient wine supply in my Hurricane Beach
Bag to get me through the dark and stormy days.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a>There are other items I have
tucked into my Hurricane Beach Bag, of course. The little things that make post-storm
trials and tribulations a little more enjoyable. These items include:<div><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-indent: 0in;">Books. Lots and lots of books! One
of my favorite authors releases a page turner every August (thank you Sandra
Brown!) and I save it until a Hurricane Emergency. But alas, I gave into
temptation and already read it this year. But worry not, my TBR (To Be Read)
pile is as high as an elephant’s eye. I will be able to keep myself entertained
should the need arise.</span></div><div><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-indent: 0in;">And of course, in order to read
all those books while the electricity is off, I keep my Itty Bitty Booklight
handy. I expect to get a lot of reading done in the darkness that is part of
the “fun” of a week—or longer—without electricity. It is near
impossible to sleep on those hot humid nights without benefit of a/c, let alone
a fan to offer a slight breeze. (And don’t believe the
advertisements, those little battery-powered “personal” fans do not offer a
dang bit of relief!) So I will spend the nights escaping into a
fictional world, preferably one set in the middle of a blizzard.</span></div><div><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">Next in my Hurricane Beach
Bag I will need liquid refreshments. Not water (that’s part of
the <a href="https://www.fema.gov/news-release/20200220/proper-emergency-kit-essential-hurricane-preparedness " target="_blank">FEMA </a></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">survival kit) but something refreshing to tickle my tastebuds and relax
the stress. To that end, I secure a few cases of my daily caffeine
staple, Diet Coke, which isn’t quite as refreshing without ice but is still a
daily requirement. </span></div><div><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">And, of course, along with the </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">de
rigeur</i><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"> stash of red wine there will be chocolate. Dark, creamy chocolate
that is perfect food for after a hurricane because a) it does not require cooking
or refrigeration: and b) is ooohhhhh, so tasty! And it does have its
health benefits.</span></div><div><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-indent: 0in;">So in the event of a hurricane,
while the non-hurricane-impacted world remains plugged into their social media
worlds, I’ll be curled up, nibbling chocolate while enjoying a glass of wine
and reading a book by a meager light. Kind of cozy, if you think
about it.</span></div><div><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-indent: 0in;">But you don’t have to suffer the
effects of a CAT 5 storm in order to break out a Hurricane Beach Bag. These BEACH
BAGS o’ FUN can be opened and enjoyed any day of the year. Everyone should have
one…just in case! Cheers!</span></div>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-3872564187125856332022-09-15T21:30:00.011-07:002022-09-17T06:50:44.204-07:00THE WRITERLY LIFE: PERCEPTION vs. REALITY <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: justify;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EUBI1_TtbDxSoHPxly3pgpBz-ww8cHguGr_nI0yDR3217CPLl8dv5npRzzWcCoqe0VhJfYgZpCl5ECM4NZy4ZfYDZ8R0FnBgJuC7_oijXG-DULqMaHvZFlFoiVXMA5_o6JsgUOFxhf2sOCraVqQleOsSvgQdUbrQtPNFkmSxMHnC92JaTX5FOF7y2w/s460/Dog%20Writing.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="460" data-original-width="337" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EUBI1_TtbDxSoHPxly3pgpBz-ww8cHguGr_nI0yDR3217CPLl8dv5npRzzWcCoqe0VhJfYgZpCl5ECM4NZy4ZfYDZ8R0FnBgJuC7_oijXG-DULqMaHvZFlFoiVXMA5_o6JsgUOFxhf2sOCraVqQleOsSvgQdUbrQtPNFkmSxMHnC92JaTX5FOF7y2w/w146-h200/Dog%20Writing.jpg" width="146" /></a></div><br />Many people I’ve met are envious of the writerly life. But their perceptions of what it’s like to be a writer don’t quite match up to reality. Here are my observations.<p></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"> <span> </span><b> What society thinks I do:<span> </span></b>Spend all day rolling around in my royalty money.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"> <b>What my friends think I do:</b><span> </span>Go to lunch with them (well, yes, I do that a lot) and then go home and roll around in royalty money.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"> <b>What my family thinks I do:<span> </span></b>Binge on Chunky Monkey ice cream while watching TV, reaching out to tap out a few lofty and erudite sentences when the muse hits. (In my defense I do need to “study” the “occasional” movie for plotting and dialogue training. But it’s all under the banner of “continuing education.") And then roll around in royalty money.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"> <b>What my agent thinks I do:</b><span> </span>Write…excuses as to why I need an extension on my deadline. She knows there is no royalty money in which to roll around.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><b> </b></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><b>What my
dogs think I do:</b> Wait by the door to let them out. Wait by the door
to let them in. Wait by the door to let them out. Wait by the door to
let them in. (Anyone who has dogs
can relate…) They don’t give a flying fig about royalty money.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"> <span> </span><b> What I think I do:</b><span> </span>Tap tap tapity tap all day long, churning out page after page of gripping stories, then send to my agent and wait for the royalty money to roll in.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"> <span> </span><b> What I really do:</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: 0.8in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: -0.25in; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">· </span></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Stare at a blank white screen, write a few sentences. Delete. Write. Delete. (Repeat as necessary.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .8in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 0in 0.8in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: -0.25in; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Click over to an online game of mahjong--it has been scientifically proven that a few minutes of a mindless task can boost one’s creativity. (Repeat as necessary.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .8in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 0in 0.8in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: -0.25in; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Scamper to the pantry for a li’l sumpin' sumpin'. (Repeat as necessary.)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .8in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 0in 0.8in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: -0.25in; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Fantasize about what I will do with all that royalty money, once I earn it. (Repeat as necessary...it's very motivating.)</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 0in; mso-add-space: auto; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 22.5pt; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">You can probably see why I am not a prolific writer…so many stumbling blocks to productivity!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 0in; mso-add-space: auto; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 22.5pt; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Here’s the reality: only about 300 writers actually make a LIVING from writing. The rest of us (and we’re talking thousands, if not tens of thousands, of people) make less than $1,000 a year. And just because a writer has one big (or even mediocre) hit does not guarantee the next one will meet with even a tenth of that success. I guess that’s why John Steinbeck said: “The profession of book-writing makes horse-racing seem like a solid, stable business.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 0in; mso-add-space: auto; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 22.5pt; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">So, why do writers write? Because, as we say around the (proverbial) water cooler, “It’s cheaper than therapy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 12.0pt; margin: 12pt 0in 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify; text-indent: 22.5pt;">At the end of every writing day it's time to celebrate my accomplishments. Whether the success is measured in one good word, one strong sentence, or an amazing clickety-clack producing 3,000 words, I'll pour myself a wee bit of cabernet and sit on the porch and plot the murder (literarily) of one of my characters. Cheers!</p><p></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-26146968132651974252022-09-01T21:30:00.075-07:002022-09-02T04:06:06.724-07:00TO PUMPKIN SPICE, OR NOT TO PUMPKIN SPICE...THAT IS THE QUESTION<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8HPtZ-h0Ms99vCdHX6camyWf3s4BfWdigeGv7Qe-FC-XBG5Ji5yzjM7ndOCSC8YT4NviJ_8DZEQfa0NZsuZJKxJYW1DT8Y7TYIamIONk1zJ2SO4mBBfLyh6Yd26cggfIhm1a2ZBaV4fxANjVKkhE5F4gr_NK5XlPohzn4_4ZVru-VPK7PDMpJM4GgA/s1846/Pumpkin%20spice.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1563" data-original-width="1846" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8HPtZ-h0Ms99vCdHX6camyWf3s4BfWdigeGv7Qe-FC-XBG5Ji5yzjM7ndOCSC8YT4NviJ_8DZEQfa0NZsuZJKxJYW1DT8Y7TYIamIONk1zJ2SO4mBBfLyh6Yd26cggfIhm1a2ZBaV4fxANjVKkhE5F4gr_NK5XlPohzn4_4ZVru-VPK7PDMpJM4GgA/w200-h169/Pumpkin%20spice.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div><<I stay away from controversial subjects, as a rule. But today I'm going to stir the pot.>></div><div><br /></div>Labor Day Weekend is upon us. The
official end of summer (well, technically not until September 22 but, you know,
everything is rushed now-adays) so ready or not, here we go. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Thanks to Starbucks, Pumpkin Spice
everything has become the new harbinger of fall. And it has arrived. In full spicy-scented force. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">For the record, Starbucks did not
INVENT Pumpkin Spice, they just exploited it. In 2003 they launched the Pumpkin
Spice Latte. The “spice” itself is merely a combination of flavors
traditionally used to season pumpkin pies: cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and
allspice. McCormick first sold that specific combination in a little jar in
1934. Variations of this combination have been found in cookery books as far
back as the late 1700s. So to say it's something “new”, you could not be more wrong.<span></span></p><a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">What is new is the
explosion of Pumpkin Spice foodstuffs that are created, all under a “limited edition/seasonal” banner that are only available a few months out of each year.<i> Get 'em now before they're gone!</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">I
did a quick search and was shocked (<i>shocked</i>, I tell you) how many Pumpkin Spice seasonal offerings there are. Here’s a list of products I found interesting and may (or may not) try
in October (I eschew all Pumpkin Spice products until there is frost on the pumpkins.) Note: this list is
not meant to be all-inclusive. That would exceed my blog word allotment. (Yes, it is that crazy out there in Pumpkin Spice world.) Here you go:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Pumkin Spice Goldfish Grahams (in
partnership with Dunkin Donuts)</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Oreos</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Milano Cookies (I did
try last year—in the name of research, of course—and can recommend!)</li><li>Hostess Iced Pumpkin Cupcakes</li><li>Pillsbury Grands Pumpkin Spice rolls</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Twinkies</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Cheerios</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Special K cereal</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Frosted Mini Wheats
cereal</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Whipped Dairy Topping</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Almonds</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Chocolate Covered
Pretzels (again…researched…recommend)</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Marshmallows</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Donuts</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Hummus</li><li>Pumpkin Spice Mac and Cheese (???
Seriously???)</li><li>Pumpkin Spice spirits</li><li>And…are you ready for this? Pumpkin
Spice Spam!</li></ul><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Turns out there is no such thing as
official Pumpkin Spice Wine. Trust me, I’ve looked. But there are many <a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blog/post/edit/8715543386762822529/2833800963648267416" target="_blank">recipes for homemade pumpkin wine</a> (with nary a hint of cinnamon or nutmeg!) Give it a try and report
back, please. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">Many people eschew all things
Pumpkin Spice…some on principle, some because they just don’t like the taste.
But it’s not something you can hide from. It has invaded every corner of our
daily Autumn lives. I think--but have no proof--that some stores pipe the aroma into
the air to make us buy more Pumpkin Spice products! Face it. Pumpkin
Spice is hard (no, impossible!) to ignore.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">So, my question today (and where the
controversial part comes in…) from that list, how many do you intend to
consume this fall? Is there something else not on the list that you would
recommend? I would hate to miss out on a tasting. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">And are you a Holiday Season
purist and don’t want to even think about Pumpkin Spice anything until
October or maybe even delay until November?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p><span style="text-indent: 0in;">This marketing gimmick has spawned
an entire seasonal industry. But there are worse things we must endure at the hands of the marketing machines. Like Christmas
decorations in stores in September (but that’s another rant for another day!) </span> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDXZi3GFp-BWsNtqa8FW0q5B5stfX06le5Pre4zhchIbvBkaujp1Il06w5NrkbLdnG_fCxrCm5TcPBFn2v_Wb9w85Em0z0EfugZDEwN7MYyOZRej-k6hTzx6vy5QG3aBG9pQLINWLIQKiTQmOPOj4tFc_9AC4UB-VQotl7CxbIeZJnmqebuP3EEQgJfA/s967/Happy%20fall.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="967" data-original-width="967" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDXZi3GFp-BWsNtqa8FW0q5B5stfX06le5Pre4zhchIbvBkaujp1Il06w5NrkbLdnG_fCxrCm5TcPBFn2v_Wb9w85Em0z0EfugZDEwN7MYyOZRej-k6hTzx6vy5QG3aBG9pQLINWLIQKiTQmOPOj4tFc_9AC4UB-VQotl7CxbIeZJnmqebuP3EEQgJfA/s320/Happy%20fall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-19508551726295765802022-08-18T21:30:00.021-07:002022-08-18T21:30:00.177-07:00THE VACAY THAT INSPIRED A LITERARY CLASSIC<p style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLnp5Vm0W0V9cT4JNT2OKNEcwBgRoTdwKoiWj5FPWzHHQ2kH_zxdC8EiPBxrRhGZVTuto-nSEFUJjO3EIY7UvQDJuSU2jxzjzz5ol-_MCBdc6MJY2SXk96m0whp3uGsD5O4egAyaJHYeAfDU9vxjTzRT-3XCt_h1IkCgRyJ-PaVh8M1AfscSniAqiPw/s545/Vacation%20Inspiration.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="462" data-original-width="545" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLnp5Vm0W0V9cT4JNT2OKNEcwBgRoTdwKoiWj5FPWzHHQ2kH_zxdC8EiPBxrRhGZVTuto-nSEFUJjO3EIY7UvQDJuSU2jxzjzz5ol-_MCBdc6MJY2SXk96m0whp3uGsD5O4egAyaJHYeAfDU9vxjTzRT-3XCt_h1IkCgRyJ-PaVh8M1AfscSniAqiPw/w200-h169/Vacation%20Inspiration.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>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. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-align: justify;">The
novel was first printed in 1851. The setting was Salem Massachusetts. The
writer was Nathanial Hawthorne, and the book, </span><i style="font-family: trebuchet; text-align: justify;">The House of Seven Gables</i><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-align: justify;">.</span></span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDPEDgUP-JPZ8MAzCxBxPQyM0Icvs361yz_80awb_Wo8rjHhRLEkQjeCcvQBb43KXC4nVrl0Vy4TWnSt26zukMnBjcANqeygnI5KjQvc2IANWIOnl-b1ulyQ4dJwhae46DN3p3H1NZy0QdUDSsKFtpcZibTwyFz4QSjhJxOaVeXBZPp4mmdRad02JZA/s200/House%20of%207%20gables.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="200" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDPEDgUP-JPZ8MAzCxBxPQyM0Icvs361yz_80awb_Wo8rjHhRLEkQjeCcvQBb43KXC4nVrl0Vy4TWnSt26zukMnBjcANqeygnI5KjQvc2IANWIOnl-b1ulyQ4dJwhae46DN3p3H1NZy0QdUDSsKFtpcZibTwyFz4QSjhJxOaVeXBZPp4mmdRad02JZA/s1600/House%20of%207%20gables.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br />If you
haven’t read it, or in the event you have forgotten, here is the opening
paragraph: <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">“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." (<a href="https://www.cliffsnotes.com/literature/h/the-house-of-the-seven-gables/book-summary" target="_blank">Click here </a>to be taken to the Cliffs Notes for the entire novel.)<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"> </span><p></p></blockquote>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">One summer our family journeyed up the coast and paid
a visit to the house made famous by the literary classic. The structure’s age, history and charisma inspired me,
too, although not on the scale of an epic novel. I thought a brief blog post
about some of the houses’ secrets would be something a little out of the
ordinary. So here we go.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">The
house of seven gables was built in 1668 by Capt. John Turner but had only two
gables (roof points) at that time.</span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Additions
to the house throughout the 1600s brought the total gables to seven. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">The
Ingersolls (who had purchased it after three generations of Turner ownership)
remodeled the house extensively, removing many of the gables. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">The
house that Nathanial Hawthorne visited only had four gables, but something
about seven on one house tickled the writer’s imagination, so that’s what he
wrote about. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">The
house was remodeled again in 1908-1910 in order to turn the house into a museum
as a tribute to the famous literary novel. At this time, the seven gables were restored. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">In order
to resemble the house depicted in the story, the Cent Shop (set up by main
character Hephzibah Pyncheon), which was not a part of the original structure,
was added off the back. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">The
stairway around the fireplace from which Clifford (Hephzibah’s brother,
recently returned from prison after serving time for killing a man) moves about
the house at night was not part of the original structure, either. Documents
uncovered in the past few years indicate it had been added as part of a
renovation at in the early 1900s. (The tour includes a climb up the narrow,
twisting stairs to an attic space. It’s pretty cool!)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">A movie
based on the book was made in 1940, however Hephzibah (Margaret Lindsay) and
Clifford (Vincent Price—originally cast with Bob Cummings but illness prevented
him from fulfilling his commitment) were lovers rather than brother and sister.
(Hollywood knows, best, huh?) </span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">A remake
of the movie was made in 1967. </span></li></ul><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">According
to my research, despite the home standing in a condition that is true to the
time period of the novel, neither movie was filmed on location.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">Inspired
by the book, James Mitchell built his own “vision” of a house with seven gables
in Mayo, Florida, in the 1880s. It still stands today. Such is the challenge of a writer to "paint" the proper picture in the reader's head. Obviously ol' Nate didn't do it quite right if this is what Mr. Mitchell thought it looked like...</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sqUJji8xPQ8DK2lUnCpce5vUCTx0sFMCr6gOymG9mwcU6kz4Bu39h3_uBRM6QttVLHOA5OwoAcgilAnsSF-XFGjoZqEhBlcqW5oG77UuopOU8x0EP6nxQDXoHK6NRn6Qs2fMGyMm7_bbDFkA7Up5Quo4059hmGUpu4XjPp4EXd2a54NFkYYVNU_Zqg/s248/House%20of%207%20gables%20imitation.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="209" data-original-width="248" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sqUJji8xPQ8DK2lUnCpce5vUCTx0sFMCr6gOymG9mwcU6kz4Bu39h3_uBRM6QttVLHOA5OwoAcgilAnsSF-XFGjoZqEhBlcqW5oG77UuopOU8x0EP6nxQDXoHK6NRn6Qs2fMGyMm7_bbDFkA7Up5Quo4059hmGUpu4XjPp4EXd2a54NFkYYVNU_Zqg/s1600/House%20of%207%20gables%20imitation.jpg" width="248" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">I</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;">f you
ever find yourself in Salem, Massachusetts (perhaps doing research for the
famous Salem Witch Trials) take the time to tour The House of Seven Gables. Maybe
it will tickle your imagination, too!</span></div>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-52316572289514680482022-08-04T21:30:00.109-07:002022-08-05T03:41:17.795-07:00BAD CHOICES MAKE GOOD STORIES, Summer 2022 Edition<p style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFuLmYGK_EWGQgTutYWJxAlldz1t4723nKKwXp1ryBDS6w0j2TkcmJHvxbePM32KDqSOZJo-ud_5nVclQM2B4GEs0FllM77zvRVxh0E52O6ODgcydF7WhFNfdV8dT8i8S7e6WEepXKmax4nWO2mPF3dVpJVVDf-p55VIqNtAxCBCCDV_IcQn3NQYq_w/s6500/Summertime%20egs.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4324" data-original-width="6500" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidFuLmYGK_EWGQgTutYWJxAlldz1t4723nKKwXp1ryBDS6w0j2TkcmJHvxbePM32KDqSOZJo-ud_5nVclQM2B4GEs0FllM77zvRVxh0E52O6ODgcydF7WhFNfdV8dT8i8S7e6WEepXKmax4nWO2mPF3dVpJVVDf-p55VIqNtAxCBCCDV_IcQn3NQYq_w/w200-h133/Summertime%20egs.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Life is
about making choices. Sometimes we make good choices, and sometimes we make bad
choices. They, especially bad choices, are part of the learning process. For
example, if someone tells you you’ll burn yourself if you touch the hot stove and
yet you make the bad choice to touch it anyway, you learn for yourself that it
is indeed hot and you won’t touch it again (shoutout to my li'l sis!) Or if you love
wearing white pants while drinking red wine, knowing that one splish or splash
will ruin them, yet you make the bad choice to wear them anyway. (That would be me…a
lesson I’m still stubbornly refusing to learn.) (Actually, I think that’s the
definition of insanity…doing the same thing but expecting a different outcome.
But I digress.) <span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"> </span></span></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bad choices
seem to have an affinity for summertime activities. Skipping sunscreen while reading/snoozing on the beach? Bad choice. Or consider the ever-popular Slip-n-Slide.
Rarely does one look back and consider that a good choice. Or inviting a
dog/cat/child to join you for a summertime siesta in the hammock. Not a good
choice—unless you like ending up face down in dog—ah—waste. Trying the gold-medal-winning
Triple Gainer you saw in the Olympics? Usually a bad, bad choice. But learning
experiences, all.</span><span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a> <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">Choices
provide teachable moments.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">But bad
choices go one step further and become fodder for great stories. That’s especially
important to writers. We’re always looking for great stories, hence are in constant search for bad choices. Here are some
examples from my personal bad-choice archives. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">One afternoon my eight-year-old self decided to skateboard down the steepest
driveway I could find. We lived in a valley surrounded by steep hills—so when I
say steep, I'm not talking gently rolling inclines. This was in the lazy, hazy, crazy, don’t-come-home-until-lightening-bugs-come-out days of summer. The good old days. Way before the advent of safety equipment. So that crazy day I jumped on my skateboard and barreled down the hill. Yes, I made
it to the bottom, but not exactly safely. One bump mid hill and I went flying. Momentum had me tumbling ass-over-teakettle until I came to rest on the grassy berm. Suffice it to say,
there was blood. A lot of blood. A lot of MY blood. And a missing tooth. Through
the prism of a half-century of time I can now see the humor in this. I must have been a rolling, screaming, out-of-control Tasmanian-devil mess. Had there
been American Funniest Videos, I’d have been a lock for the $10,000. I recently
wove my crazy antics into a flashback scene in the novel I’m working on. While not
even in the most remote sense is the story autobiographical, I did draw on this
bad choice to flesh out the scene, making the fictional crash a little less
painful and a wee bit bloodier. (Hey...blood sells!) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">Then
there’s the time we made the bad decision to water ski in a local waterway…during
jellyfish season. Well, not me, 'cuz I had more sense than the two knuckleheads in the boat with
me. I served as spotter. My job was to watch the guy in the water get his skis
positioned tips up and give the “go” signal for the boat to surge ahead. Only
the signal never came. Instead, my son wriggled and thrashed in the water then
screamed for us to come pick him up. You know where this is going, right? Yup.
Jellyfish caught in the swim trunks. Poor kid. But yeah, funny as all get out. It’s
part of a short story that hasn’t found a home yet. It may be a become its own
blogpost, a cautionary tale for anyone who is even remotely considering jumping
into the water teaming with jellyfish. My advice...don't even THINK about doing it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">Trust me when I say you can learn as much from witnessing a bad choice as experiencing one personally. I'm recalling one that has to do with that seasonal favorite, beach volleyball, a popular activity when sailors hang out at the oceanfront and drink a lot of beer. One summer afternoon a net stood lonely along the shore. It didn't take long before the gauntlet was thrown down, which led to shirts being tugged off,
thus exposing an impressive display of muscles, tattoos, and nipple rings. Yes, it caught my attention. The game got heated. A sailor jumped up for a block, falling against the net, and on the way back down the nipple ring got caught…well, you
get the picture. (And yes, there was lots of blood, and lots of words not fit
for this G-rated blog.) New lesson there? No half-nekkid volleyball for me! (I'd already made the good choice to never get a nipple ring!) Where did this sailor's bad choice end up in my writing? It made
for a visceral blog post today, didn’t it? (Gotta admit you shared that guy's pain!) <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">Bottom
line, the older we get the more apt we are to make good choices based on years of experience making bad choices. But it’s not a
guarantee. Especially if wine is involved. We’ll save Bad Choices When Drinking Wine for another day. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-family: verdana;">Would
love to hear some of your bad summer activity choices, no matter your age.
Please leave them in the comments. Who knows, it just might make it into one of
my stories!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Happy
Summer everyone!</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-71376509237269032372022-07-21T21:30:00.006-07:002022-07-22T03:27:32.535-07:00A DAY AT THE BEACH<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><<In case you missed this one on our <a href="https://sandinourshorts.blogspot.com" target="_blank">Sand in our Shorts blog.</a>..>></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: large; text-align: justify;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPCy64O3GNP_ZwHB1-WAdQ2JX7ZM--sIb-AKKtawyyS1wup0Nl8MoFtk2wZED2H_CGmcG1sjPWV4aiXaq4tDelBCpvihPxhNhnnN0HcZGX23IX3tOidpzvibdZ7djwjQpGQKpu57wjYA8WbDIwNqGnFGtsv3tN7i97VH2tdZgKehCgffzo938J_jmIIA/s1080/cool%20beach%20car%20image.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPCy64O3GNP_ZwHB1-WAdQ2JX7ZM--sIb-AKKtawyyS1wup0Nl8MoFtk2wZED2H_CGmcG1sjPWV4aiXaq4tDelBCpvihPxhNhnnN0HcZGX23IX3tOidpzvibdZ7djwjQpGQKpu57wjYA8WbDIwNqGnFGtsv3tN7i97VH2tdZgKehCgffzo938J_jmIIA/w200-h200/cool%20beach%20car%20image.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s that time of year, you know, beach season. A time to pack up your beach bag and escape to the shore for bit of fun and sun (and in my case, the inevitable sunburn).</span></span></p><p></p><p style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"></p><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></span></p><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-size: 13.5pt;">Popular activities which can only be enjoyed at the beach include body surfing, boogie boarding, sand-castle building, and fighting off seagulls for the last potato chip on your plate.</span></span></p><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></span></p><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-size: 13.5pt;">As the sun goes down, you repack your bag and head for a local beach dive bar. Popular post-day-at-the-beach drinks include Pina Colada, Mojito, Orange Crush, and the much less popular but certainly appropriate Seagull Wine. Not something I've ever heard of, but I'm picturing a nice pinot gris with a soaring seagull on its label. I could not be more wrong.<span></span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 13.2px;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-size: 13.5pt;">Those of you with a curious mind will have your finger twitching on your mouse to scamper off to Google-land. I’ll save you the trouble.</span></span><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; margin-left: 40px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Seagull Wine, a delightful delicacy, is said to be first invented by the Inuits. Its recipe is alarmingly straightforward; put a dead seagull into a bottle, fill it with water and leave it in the sun until it has fermented. One who purports to have tried the concoction is </span><a href="http://winetimes.co/2010/09/22/weird-wine-wednesday-seagull-wine/" style="color: #2047af; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Suzanne Donahue</span></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> who described it thusly: “If you opened up a Toyota’s Carburetor and drank the leftover fluid from inside, that would be pretty close. It goes down hard and settles in even worse. But I must say it sure gets people inebriated in a hurry. And the next day’s hangover is nothing short of spectacular. You’ll feel like you’ve been repeatedly beaten over the head by a giant…well, seagull.” <<Source: </span><a href="https://www.thedrinksbusiness.com/2014/08/worlds-weirdest-alcoholic-drinks/" style="color: #2047af; text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">https://www.thedrinksbusiness.com/2014/08/worlds-weirdest-alcoholic-drinks/</span></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">>></span></span></p><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></span></p><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-size: 13.5pt;">Seems a fitting end to the creature who stole my last potato chip. But, well, yuck. My advice...stick to the Orange Crushes. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;">Time to head home, sun-sapped, liquored up, and happy as the proverbial clam (the whole-belly variety which you may, or may not have enjoyed, deep fried and crunchy and drenched in aioli dipping sauce). You’ll take with you wonderful memories, a rejuvenated spirit, and the free souvenir which every beach goer takes home…sand in your shorts. Wow, what a feeling!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-family: trebuchet; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: 0in;">Happy Summer!</span></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-75858960198107697452022-07-07T21:00:00.016-07:002022-07-08T05:42:11.892-07:00WHAT'S YOUR NUMBER?<p style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfgIQT2-TUasfsCeIhkhALLFgNTykqGt94trR3bsX-X2GMxRqg5eNcwAE3WZ-t4SvsFb3Poo53-MtWT0dewEQx32VQjmGyRwqBqh19DA1r_KV0Snl9kmJPA7IVu4QRa-BabHvtnY-TGRM6YKI5sW7iN5T7K-kyfO2aR-J06XWDhBNkiZdrXInsJwvNQ/s3424/AI%20Export%20Jayne%20O%20beach.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3424" data-original-width="2479" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIfgIQT2-TUasfsCeIhkhALLFgNTykqGt94trR3bsX-X2GMxRqg5eNcwAE3WZ-t4SvsFb3Poo53-MtWT0dewEQx32VQjmGyRwqBqh19DA1r_KV0Snl9kmJPA7IVu4QRa-BabHvtnY-TGRM6YKI5sW7iN5T7K-kyfO2aR-J06XWDhBNkiZdrXInsJwvNQ/w145-h200/AI%20Export%20Jayne%20O%20beach.jpg" width="145" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">So, here’s the scenario. While digging through my wallet for my
voter ID, I found a gift card. MY LUCKY DAY! Except for it was set to expire at
midnight. <i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It must be spent</i><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">, I said to myself! (I abhor wasting money…especially
the free variety!) </span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">Off I go to said
store and pick up a selection of items which may—or may not—include a bottle of
wine. (Okay, those of you who know me well know that it did indeed include a
bottle of wine, one from the bottom shelf in keeping with the amount on my gift card.) </span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"> </span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">My mental math had me
estimating my total purchases to be just a skooch over the value of the card, an
amount that would easily be covered by the loose change in my pocket. My double
lucky day.</span></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">I should have read the fine print on the back of the card. In my
defense, it was VERY fine print, and it’s not like I carry a magnifying glass
around with me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">But the cashier had excellent vision and read it to me: “Not valid
for purchase of alcoholic beverages.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">Alllrighty, then.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a> <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">Option 1: Step out of line, shop for something else I "needed", then
get back in the loooonnnnggggg queue to check out again, thus risking being late for the start
of happy hour.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">Option 2: Grab something off the Impulse Item display on the counter
and literally get something for nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">I opted for the second option and reached for a tube of sunscreen sitting in a box by the credit card machine. It’s
summertime. We live near the beach. Someone (resident or guest) always needed
sunscreen. And did I mention it wouldn't cost me one red cent?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">Once home, I handed the tube to hubby. He looked at it. “You
plannin' a trip to the sun?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;"><i>Huh</i>? “No, why?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">He flashed the tube in my direction. “One-hundred SPF?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">I grabbed to tube to confirm for myself. Again with the dang fine
print.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">Growing up we’d slathered ourselves in baby oil and baked in the
sun until our skin was crispy brown (or in my case tomato red.) And now I held
in my hand 100 SPF. Is that sign of getting old? Or getting smart? I prefer to
think the second explanation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">I did a bit of research to determine if I even needed 100 SPF,
considering most of my beach time is at sunset to watch that sailboat races on the
Chesapeake Bay. And honestly, I didn’t know the difference between a 20 and a
100 (100 sure sounds better, doesn’t it?) This is what I found:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The SPF rating only refers to UVB rays. An SPF 15
sunscreen blocks 93% of UVB radiation, and SPF 30 blocks 97%. After that, the
difference in protection is small. SPF 50 blocks 98%, and SPF 100 stops 99% of
UVB rays from reaching your skin.</span></i></p></blockquote>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><<This of course begs the question why not just use the % number in the description...93% UVB or 99% UVB. Makes more sense to me. But I digress...>></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">We used the 100 SPF the next day. It went on thick, like
spreading Crisco on my arms and legs. Yuck. It did prevent me from burning, so I’ll
give it that. But I suffered a severe skin reaction I’m still battling a week
later. Apparently, I'd exceeded my SPF tolerance limit. No more 100 SPF for me. I’ll
risk exposing myself to that extra 1% of UVB rays. I like to live dangerously
that way.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">The “free” tube of sunscreen now languishes in the bottom of my
beach bag. I hate to throw stuff out, even if it didn't cost me anything. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="color: black;">On a positive note, that bottom-shelf wine I'd added to round out the gift card ended up being very tasty. I wouldn't have tried it were it not supposed to be "free". But I've learned that budget wines are like a box of chocolates...you never know what you’re going to get. But sometimes
I like to live dangerously that way. Cheers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-36315461518668834002022-06-23T21:00:00.006-07:002022-06-23T21:00:00.176-07:00TO TRICK A THIEF...YOU be the Sleuth<p style="text-align: justify;"><i style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">It's summertime, and people are on the road to summer fun. But there's trouble brewing at a small diner on the road to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Someone is stealing tips! Match your sleuthing skills against waitress Tawny. All the clues are here for you to figure it out. The solution is posted in the comments. </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhQ4-egWCtSeQO0Q15vrxO5OIMLZna-M_pZYoa-sPEe6liXo2aHifFMogpaaVGJuaX_nu0ofzL8CUVwZlGfCRGJUIy8-L6vDRsUQJOjYZiEm7Jjx1ZjJIL5M_U4aCL5Npntf9wtOGE9wt5ObsQ6Qv7hYVGRpT9FyZNjog6YwWrifavn5KVfwquqIe9Q/s427/Diner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="282" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhQ4-egWCtSeQO0Q15vrxO5OIMLZna-M_pZYoa-sPEe6liXo2aHifFMogpaaVGJuaX_nu0ofzL8CUVwZlGfCRGJUIy8-L6vDRsUQJOjYZiEm7Jjx1ZjJIL5M_U4aCL5Npntf9wtOGE9wt5ObsQ6Qv7hYVGRpT9FyZNjog6YwWrifavn5KVfwquqIe9Q/w132-h200/Diner.jpg" width="132" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> “Ya’ll
travel safely,” Tawny said, placing the check on the table. Early
June vacationers had been traveling through at a steady stream, heading for the
outer banks of North Carolina for their summer beach
vacations. But despite the high turnover at her tables, tips had
been disappointingly low. She’d held off getting new brakes for her
car, hoping she’d make enough extra money early in the summer in order to
afford them. At this rate, they’d have to wait another
week. Or two. </span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; text-indent: 0in;"> Loaded
down with five plates piled high with pulled pork barbecue sandwiches, fries,
coleslaw and fresh from the deep-fryer hushpuppies, she passed the table that
had just left and spotted a stack of singles tucked under the salt
shaker. Good. Maybe her luck was about to change.</span></div><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"><span><a name='more'></a></span><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> After
delivering the food and chatting with the family hailing from Ohio, she
returned to the table to find it already cleared for the next guests. A
few bills were tucked under the salt shaker, but not what she’d seen when she’d
passed a few minutes ago. Somebody had stolen more than half of her
tip. Although frustrating, it was not an uncommon occurrence in a
place that catered to people traveling through. Having cash lying
out like that was tempting for someone who would be leaving the town limits
within the next twenty minutes. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;"> But as the day wore on, Tawny made a
point to eyeball the money on the table and compare it with what was there when
she returned. Yup, money was disappearing at an alarming
rate. That meant it wasn’t a random traveler, but somebody within
their own ranks. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">
<a name="more"></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> “Cassie,”
Tawny asked the other waitress as they filled drink orders at the soda
dispenser. “Have you noticed tip money disappearing?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> “Honestly,
I haven’t been keeping track. My mind is more on my sick baby.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> Cassie
needed the money to pay the doctor bills. Could she be so desperate
as to steal from Tawny’s tables?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> “Hey,
Bradley,” Tawny asked the busboy as he wiped down a table for
twelve. “Did I see you riding a bicycle to work today?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> “Yes,
ma’am,” the starting pitcher of the high school baseball team
answered. “I smashed my truck into a tree during the rain storm last
week. I gotta scrounge up two-hundred and fifty for the deductible
before Mr. Donaldson will start the repair work. I’ve got about half
of it so far.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> Tawny
had known Bradley since the first time he’d eaten an entire Key Lime pie at age
three. He wouldn’t steal money from the waitresses, would he?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> “Bobbie
Jo,” Tawny called to the hostess as she straightened a stack of
menus. “How are your wedding plans coming?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> Bobbie
Jo crooked a finger Tawny’s direction, then leaned in and whispered, “Don’t
tell anyone, but Slade and I are eloping next weekend. We’re taking
off to Atlantic City after the race Friday night. Isn’t
that just the most romantic thing in the world?”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; text-indent: 0in;"> Romantic,
yes. Expensive, no. At least not in comparison to the
lavish event they’d been planning. But still, no fun going to the
casinos if you didn’t have plenty nickels for the slots.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> Tawny
spent her break talking to the cooks. Both had money worries of
their own, but since neither wandered past the kitchen door, had no opportunity
to slip the tips into their pockets.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> During
the lull between lunch and dinner, Sheriff Pettinger bellied up to the counter
for his usual cup of homemade tomato soup and a grilled cheese
sandwich. Tawny sat next to him and rolled silverware into napkins
while whispering her concerns. He whispered back a way to catch the
thief.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> After
a dinner rush that lasted past ten o’clock, Tawny went around and asked every
employee of the diner to contribute four dollars towards a group donation in
memory of the town’s mayor, who’d been a regular customer. When
Bobbie Jo handed over her share, Tawny said, “Thank you. Now please
give me the forty-five dollars you stole from me
today.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> Solve
this mystery yourself: What had Sheriff Pettinger proposed as a way
to trick the thief?</span></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-52797562654436188852022-03-24T21:30:00.023-07:002022-03-25T04:30:06.368-07:00KINDA PISSED ABOUT NOT BEING A MERMAID<p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINzWgb9ZjzZZ27s0kyuvXix4lsHtEc8FTV9sJgrBvLMg5XMRjTe5IQKDUHHAK7LBu1z171J4Bh_BArblNUVSqJAJAqw9gepNkA3PoQNeXaQIyLOmEVi_qaMu1zbq17cfzIP90tY5kXM3e0wKqVEJ6S6GLiL_lRQ0GjQsN4rDZhWxsjB211wawoFCf1A/s1024/IMG_0198.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhINzWgb9ZjzZZ27s0kyuvXix4lsHtEc8FTV9sJgrBvLMg5XMRjTe5IQKDUHHAK7LBu1z171J4Bh_BArblNUVSqJAJAqw9gepNkA3PoQNeXaQIyLOmEVi_qaMu1zbq17cfzIP90tY5kXM3e0wKqVEJ6S6GLiL_lRQ0GjQsN4rDZhWxsjB211wawoFCf1A/s320/IMG_0198.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Ran into these
kitchen towels while shopping at </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/theatticateastbeach/" style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;" target="_blank">The Attic at East Beach</a><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> today and they got me to thinking. I
didn’t know I there were opportunities available to actually be a mermaid, but I do live in The Mermaid
City (Norfolk, VA—<span style="background-color: #cccccc;">more on that in a bit) and it seems only fitting that should be one. So yeah, I am kinda
pissed that I'm not.</span></span></div></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="background-color: #cccccc; font-size: 12pt;">As always, everything one needs to know can be found on the Internet, so I did a little research on the topic. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The term “mermaid”
literally translates to Sea-lady (Old-English “mere” meaning sea, and maid—as
you may remember from </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The Twelve Days of Christmas—</i><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">is a young lady). These
mystical half-women/half-fish creatures were often spotted when “Sailing, sailing,
o’er the bounding main.” Going back thousands of years, they’ve been
incorporated into folklore throughout the world. Christopher Columbus himself
reported seeing them when he explored the Caribbean late in the 1400s. (It’s
possible he confused a manatee with a mermaid…lord only knows what those
sailors drank in those days.) Reports of mermaid sightings continue into the 21</span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">st</sup><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
century. (Again, what are those sailors drinking? They need to share!)</span></span></p><a name='more'></a><o:p style="background-color: #cccccc;"></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="background-color: #cccccc; font-size: 12pt;">You may have also
heard mermaids referred to as “Sirens of the Sea”, a term not meant to be
endearing. According to legend, t<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: black;">hese
magnificent sea maidens would sing to men on ships or shores nearby,
practically hypnotizing them with their beauty and song. Those affected would
rush out to sea only to be either drowned, eaten, or otherwise sent to their
doom. Then along came Arial in the Disney version of Hans Christian Anderson’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Little Mermaid</i>, and suddenly the sea
nymph’s image became all innocence and whimsy, with a healthy splash of romance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: black; font-size: 12pt;">There is much discussion as to the symbolic nature of a
mermaid. Could she represent the changing nature of the sea? Possibly. As the oceans
change, so changes a mermaid from water-loving fish to land-loving woman. In each
culture, from Greek and Roman mythology to eastern European and African lore,
the mermaid symbolizes different things. This short (but getting longer) blog
post hasn’t the room to educate you on all that. I found an interesting article
on mermaid history <a href="Mermaid History: Everything You Need to Know (atoleajewelry.com)" target="_blank">HERE</a>. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cccccc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: black; font-size: 12pt;">But, how and why are mermaids connected to Norfolk, VA?
Would you believe me if I told you it all started with cows? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cccccc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: black; font-size: 12pt;">A prominent local attorney and his wife visited “Cows on
Parade” in Chicago. It turned out to be an effective marketing campaign that
brought money to the Windy City.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: black; font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkSgQIrKJvNd_yaabUMOP0ZTaLNOpJ_gObroAqrImvfJ49Ya1MkHZQaUjOqwmN7rMLmxGKi1O-DtcLIbOIMmnDy0qBrz56bp5fDpPVPepNsH7sb98tLCH_Ws7EkqrGpb4QgXBhP-9HerojclRtmZDQcGUTnyBk4sEyDXz1rcO5XH_GXBGyi0hHMk13g/s4000/20220324_131143.jpg" style="background-color: #cccccc; clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="4000" height="90" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrkSgQIrKJvNd_yaabUMOP0ZTaLNOpJ_gObroAqrImvfJ49Ya1MkHZQaUjOqwmN7rMLmxGKi1O-DtcLIbOIMmnDy0qBrz56bp5fDpPVPepNsH7sb98tLCH_Ws7EkqrGpb4QgXBhP-9HerojclRtmZDQcGUTnyBk4sEyDXz1rcO5XH_GXBGyi0hHMk13g/w200-h90/20220324_131143.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cccccc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><br />Norfolk, a Navy town (accompanied by its associated sailor-ish
foibles), was in need of an image lift. The attorney’s wife suggested they
bring the idea to Norfolk. Not cows, per se, but something more fitting of a
city with a seafaring history, like…a mermaid! The attorney embraced the idea
and in short order brought in more than 100 life-sized statues. Designed by artist Chris Alexander, each one was decorated in a unique theme expressing
their distinctive personalities. The mermaids were placed at various locations
around the city, and people would map out a mermaid trail in hopes of viewing
them all. Unlike the brief visit of Cows to Chicago, the mermaid icon with long
flowing tresses and one arm stretched forward and one trailing behind, became
the official symbol of The Mermaid City.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #cccccc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: black; font-size: 12pt;">Many of the original mermaids are still hanging around (some
looking a little worse for the harsh marine climate), and many more have been
added over the years. They now total almost 250 at last count. It’s always fun
to spot one in front of a building or along the road.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: black; font-size: 12pt;">I do think that deep down I have some mermaid-esque qualities.
I am curious, cheerful, and impulsive, like Ariel. I also lean towards the darker,
siren-esque side of the mermaid spectrum, luring people to their death (in the literary
sense, I mean, in association with my mystery-writing endeavors.) There's only one thing stopping me: I don't have a </span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">fish tale, and I cant breath underwater. (Details, details!)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc;">Still kinda
pissed, though, about not being a mermaid.</span><span style="background: white; color: black;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-29330635033289709052022-03-11T00:00:00.069-08:002022-03-11T00:00:00.191-08:00YARD OF THE MONTH<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinl4nMwywuG4Pp6PxtEPuFQ1b7r_CfRPMU86gwwcSkg-Kxn7UVhdlyu3IJRCH1OENqi_bFzUcK0GWC4X3ytPSjxxNXPnSdUFDtpzDdpF14qGIjYm-8xqOiwRr-8j8y75P2jB4NqBF1M29QikpcJgKoft3Zq804yRPq5nCjHaMErE51YG88mcsBMT0q7Q=s600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="223" data-original-width="600" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinl4nMwywuG4Pp6PxtEPuFQ1b7r_CfRPMU86gwwcSkg-Kxn7UVhdlyu3IJRCH1OENqi_bFzUcK0GWC4X3ytPSjxxNXPnSdUFDtpzDdpF14qGIjYm-8xqOiwRr-8j8y75P2jB4NqBF1M29QikpcJgKoft3Zq804yRPq5nCjHaMErE51YG88mcsBMT0q7Q=s320" width="320" /></a></i></span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><br /><<Mother Nature is currently teasing us with beautiful weather (for another 24 hours then it's back to winter). Spring Fever grabbed me by the neck and pulled me out into the yard. Three hours of raking and four bags of leaves later, my gardens were ready for their seasonal makeover. As I sat and sipped a glass of (medicinal) wine, I remembered about an article I had published almost a decade ago now. A cautionary tale, about what happens when a girl's dreams of lavish landscaping slam head-on into the reality of making them come true. I figured in the spirit of the changing seasons, I'd share it with you here.>></i></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My first gardening catalog came addressed to
“Robert S. Jones or Current Resident.” That was me--Current Resident. We’d just
made our fourth move in two years in conjunction with my husband’s Naval
career. His orders were for twenty-four months. Long enough to plant
perennials. Oh, be still my heart!<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I thought I showed a great deal of restraint
when I limited myself to a $500 order. I'd showcase my patriotic spirit with a rainbow of red, white,
and blue flowers in a variety of curious textures. My home would stand out from the
others in this newly-constructed cookie-cutter neighborhood. Okay, so I would
eat nothing but macaroni and cheese for two months, but with the Yard of the
Month awarded by my neighborhood association came a $50 gift certificate to the
hardware store, so it would offset the scales a bit. And based on the glossy
pictures of what my gardens would look like, I was a sure winner.</span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a name="more"></a><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">One
sunny day in early March a small box arrived. A very small box filled with more
than a hundred two-inch plants that looked like they should be on life support.
But hope springs eternal and I had faith these would grow to look like the
catalog picture in no time. </span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Per the instructions, I should plant my
garden as soon as possible. Hmmm. I hadn’t actually thought about that part of
it. I’d ordered enough flora to fill three very large areas, all of which were
currently sprouting bright green weeds. As any good Navy wife does, I rolled up
my sleeves and got to work.</span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">First, I outlined the beds with edging bricks, over 300
of them, hauled home in quantities of 20 int he trunk of my car. Next step was to loosen the top four
inches of soil. After three days of backbreaking work, I broke down and rented
a tiller. The dump-truck load of topsoil was deposited in my driveway, smack
dab in front of my garage door—with my car inside, naturally. I had to borrow
my neighbor’s car to run to the hardware store to purchase a wheelbarrow and
move the dirt before I could even get my car out. The important lesson here was
exactly how much dirt fit into a dump truck, More than I would need for fifty
gardens. Thankfully my neighbor needed to fill in hole left by his deconstructed
swimming pool, so he hauled off the liont's share of it. Thinking I’d learned my lesson on the soil, I opted for hauling
in mulch bag by bag. By bag. By bag. One hundred and seventy-two, if memory
serves. (Did I mention these were three VERY LARGE gardens? And the top
dressing on the foundation landscaping needed to match, naturally.)</span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">It took over a month, but I celebrated the
day I popped the seedlings into the ground per the plant-by-number
instructions. Little tiny specks of plants spaced 12-18 inches apart. It looked
like a barren wasteland. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.
My back ached, my legs ached, my hands ached. But most of all, my bank account
ached. I was in for over $1,500, once I figured in the cost of repairing my husband's truck after I’d run the tiller along its side. I reminded myself it would all be
worth it when my husband returned from deployment to find our yard looked like
it should be on the cover of <i>Better Homes and Gardens</i>.</span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">That was my very expensive lesson in
patience. Having been raised in a well-established mill town, I’d taken for
granted the lush flora planted by long-dead ancestors. I had no idea it took
fifty years for ivy to climb the brick exteriors, or forsythia bushes to grow
as tall as the houses. I expected instant gratification in my gardens. Needless
to say, my sparse plantings did not earn me Yard of the Month, let alone any
return on my investment.</span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">We moved nine times over the next fourteen
years, as is the way things work when married to a sailor. I never made the
mistake of undertaking significant landscaping projects I would never be around
long enough to enjoy, but at every place we lived I left some small patch of
perennials, usually peopnies, for a future nomadic tenant to enjoy.</span><span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">We found ourselves back in the area of that home where I'd planted my patriotic garden. We detoured down the street where I’d foolishly invested so much
time, energy and money. I cried when I saw it. The big red peony blooms smiling
up at the sunshine took my breath away. Vinca vines had filled in enough to
choke out all the weeds and make annual mulching unnecessary, which had been my
goal. The gardenia bushes, which had started as one-foot-high twigs, now formed
a thick, fragrant hedge. But the thing that caught my eye was a sign right
smack dab in the middle of the lush red, white and blue collection of perennials--Yard
of the Month. That sign was more a testimony to time than to effort.</span><span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-78490171986891471322022-02-24T21:00:00.017-08:002022-02-25T03:53:24.449-08:00THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY...<p style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-DwHOofSbT1_EWxIq1wkwgL8LRmIFme573NxN_EkFTNpleYFuXYS6aGDSEJfMDq-i1mOiFXofsh3luJuOJZSNCr_XKEs6hVWTnhxBkvl0BpoQUIXlD28KbqSNCXiAUM2kH8L132E1rNC6ObBgTSW6cdhvNEYYInvJ1iNY1sgT8uXtG-_bi2BGNp9aHw=s538" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="404" data-original-width="538" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-DwHOofSbT1_EWxIq1wkwgL8LRmIFme573NxN_EkFTNpleYFuXYS6aGDSEJfMDq-i1mOiFXofsh3luJuOJZSNCr_XKEs6hVWTnhxBkvl0BpoQUIXlD28KbqSNCXiAUM2kH8L132E1rNC6ObBgTSW6cdhvNEYYInvJ1iNY1sgT8uXtG-_bi2BGNp9aHw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div>The
launching of a new book never gets old. Recently, the 11<sup style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">th</sup><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"> anthology
in which I’ve been involved was released, <i>Virginia is for Mysteries, Volume III</i>. My first collaboration was </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">Virginia is for Mysteries</i><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">,
the original. That came out eight years ago (where does the time go!) But our
core group of authors had been working together for almost two years prior to
that. That adds up to an entire decade. Longer than some marriages I know of. That’s
something worth celebrating!</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">Many of
the original authors are included in </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">Volume III</i><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"> but we’ve also added some
great new talent. It’s no exaggeration when I say it offers something for
everyone. I’m humbled to be in such great company.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">My contribution
is titled “Sorry, Wrong Number” wherein a peaceful paddle between Chincoteague
and Assateague Islands turns into a disturbing adventure when Margaret
Gunderson and Carolyn Prewitt discover a dead man floating in the channel.<span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">There is a story behind this story...</span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">Let’s
talk a bit about the location, Chincoteague, Virginia. My settings of
preference are coastal communities, often fictional. (Let’s be honest…it’s a
good thing that Cabot Cove from </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">Murder, She Wrote </i><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">is fictional because it
has the highest per capita murder rate in the country!) I’ve lived by some form of body
of water my entire life, so it’s a natural part of me. When it came to this
anthology, we were limited to a real Virginia location. Many of the authors in
this series are from the southeastern Virginia area and many of our stories have
already showcased the popular local landmarks. I wanted to put a little
distance between us. And Chincoteague is a place near and dear to my heart,
ever since my husband and I hiked the refuge. Picture this: a cool, misty, fall
morning, and there, up on the ridge we spotted the wild ponies, running free,
their manes and tails streaming behind them. Talk about a thrill for this aging
horse-lover’s heart!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZD07LBnRQ0m6T5ZqgXgnuN1REqWA6Ioerd8tur7W3mIGMKKxx7_hHTR-jEQ7OYF664Yt5RYI_FepyQ_PWnmtkrXSg053vzifWHZKcYRpzZZNOcmyLwJzrJlTEZTr_4ejXPRR9D_HRSBojb-32y8wjDvihMcLfzmSAaSG9JTUFBordrQgeUYYxc5LmdQ=s736" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="473" data-original-width="736" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZD07LBnRQ0m6T5ZqgXgnuN1REqWA6Ioerd8tur7W3mIGMKKxx7_hHTR-jEQ7OYF664Yt5RYI_FepyQ_PWnmtkrXSg053vzifWHZKcYRpzZZNOcmyLwJzrJlTEZTr_4ejXPRR9D_HRSBojb-32y8wjDvihMcLfzmSAaSG9JTUFBordrQgeUYYxc5LmdQ=w200-h129" width="200" /></a></div><br />For
those not familiar, Chincoteague is a beautiful resort island on the eastern
shore of Virginia. Across the bay is the wildlife refuge of Assateauge Island,
where hundreds of small, sturdy, shaggy ponies run free. According to local
legend, these wild ponies were survivors of Spanish Galleons which wrecked
along the dangerous coast in the 18<sup style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">th</sup><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"> and 19</span><sup style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-indent: 0in;">th</sup><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"> centuries.
The pony population holds at about 150 adults with 60 to 70 foals born each
year. In order to maintain the health of the horses and of the island, every
July the “saltwater cowboys” (cowboys on horses in the water) round up the ponies
and swim them from Assateague to Chincoteague, where there is a huge festival.
A number of the ponies are auctioned off to benefit the local fire department. Doesn’t
this bucolic setting seem to be the perfect place for a brutal murder? I love
juxtapositions like that.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">For the
trivia nuts amongst you, here’s a question: Chincoteague, Virginia was put on
the map with the publication of Marguerite Henry’s book, “Misty of Chincoteague,”
which just about every little girl read. The book came out in 1947 and a movie
followed in 1961. That book spawned four sequels, one of which told about the
adventures of Misty’s offspring. What was the title of that book? <<Answer at the end of this post.>></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">Once
the location had been determined, I needed a story. The top question I get as
an author is, “Where do you get your story ideas?” The general answer is, “Everywhere.”
But “Sorry, Wrong Number” started with an actual event. My husband sails almost
every weekend here on the Chesapeake Bay. One day he found something floating
in the water, and yes, it was a man in a life jacket. And yes, the man was
dead. The events that followed that discovery as told in my story actually
happened (except for maybe the part of screaming upon discovering the body! That was me channeling my inner sissy!) Up
through and including the part about the notification being sent to the wrong
number. The event got my mystery mind to thinking, “What had that poor man done
to end up floating in the bay?” I came up with a fictional solution. And <i>voilà</i>.
A story was born.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">With the story idea and setting decisions made, all that was left to do was sprinkle in
some colorful people. As many an author will tell you, most fictional stories
are slightly autobiographical, in that we put a little of ourselves into our
characters. Margaret and Carolyn are purely fictions of my imagination, but
they both have a little Jayne in them…especially when it comes to food and
beverage choices.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">Four-thousand
words later, story done.</span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"> </span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;">A coastal cozy
with a splash of humor. I hope you enjoy it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMpcdC4YINkv_igt-C9Oodou_IVTQ0o0PT2Lfpf0_xQwA9dErY2wypsdvE-lz6xxsIyE8knv6YIXhzK5c6mMrrpEO3pbL1TIVomTRd5xFmt1ywRgjT1pypLqDPPcviGvlRe8hDA0sjGwTQves6aoBk0ik0LcgGV9j_mrQZ5RJ1xKOcUPHWAxt63SKkpA=s654" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="654" data-original-width="433" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMpcdC4YINkv_igt-C9Oodou_IVTQ0o0PT2Lfpf0_xQwA9dErY2wypsdvE-lz6xxsIyE8knv6YIXhzK5c6mMrrpEO3pbL1TIVomTRd5xFmt1ywRgjT1pypLqDPPcviGvlRe8hDA0sjGwTQves6aoBk0ik0LcgGV9j_mrQZ5RJ1xKOcUPHWAxt63SKkpA=w133-h200" width="133" /></a></div><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"><<Trivia answer: <i>Stormy, Misty's Foal>></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif" style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-86629489455685889342022-02-10T21:00:00.052-08:002022-02-10T21:00:00.183-08:00WARM HANDS, COLD HEART, a Short Romance by Jayne<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif"><<In the beginning of my writing career, I put all my creative energy into writing romance. I soon realized keeping two desperately in love people at odds for 300-plus pages lacked the conflict of, say, stumbling over a dead body. Hence, I turned my talents to penning cozies. But I did enjoy a modicum of success with short romances. So in anticipation of Valentine's Day on Monday, here is one of my favorites. I hope it warms your heart!>></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj39rFOO7g8HUpCxoqEn-DPjzD6NdsDuikbumDM0ps7VlXg_Wxmo0YKIU_Q5FCn8V49WaTTSyjj8Qo6bueIBqOTg0NSVpno8MYpy9zEEwxPBgQfttcROr9QIovx62zQf7nptYzJc-xOi7z9RG6Fe0AmXwavbIKIWAPCHTHILF-Ej8UCRBv0cGtggmXk2g=s144" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="108" data-original-width="144" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj39rFOO7g8HUpCxoqEn-DPjzD6NdsDuikbumDM0ps7VlXg_Wxmo0YKIU_Q5FCn8V49WaTTSyjj8Qo6bueIBqOTg0NSVpno8MYpy9zEEwxPBgQfttcROr9QIovx62zQf7nptYzJc-xOi7z9RG6Fe0AmXwavbIKIWAPCHTHILF-Ej8UCRBv0cGtggmXk2g" width="144" /></a></div><br />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 on which to warm her hands.
She had never been so cold in her entire life. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Having been born and raised in 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.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><a name="more"></a><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Caitlyn glanced around the room
and took a mental inventory of what furniture she could burn in the old stone
fireplace, should it come to that. She’d purchased the house furnished—more
like cluttered—from Miss Jamison’s estate. Plenty of old wood furniture to burn
as Caitlyn had no sentimental attachment to any of it. Except for the 17th century
secretary with the light oak maple finish that had lots of hidden drawers and compartments.
She wondered if some old secrets weren’t tucked deep inside the desk. She planned
to investigate but hadn’t had the time yet. Caitlyn would save that piece for
last to thrown on the fire, but if that’s all that stood between her and
freezing to death…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">The whine of a snowmobile drew
her attention back to the window. Hallelujah! Help had arrived!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Caitlyn set her mug on the
windowsill and ran to open the front door. A swirl of snow ushered two bundled-up
bodies into the cloak room. As scarves were unfurled and hats tugged off, two
men emerged. One was short and stocky and possibly eligible for an AARP
membership while the other tall and trim, closer to her own age. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“Ms. Greer?” the shorter man
asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Caitlyn nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“I’m Wesley Thompson, from
Thompson’s Furnace Repair. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but a snowplow ran
into my truck when it was parked. Flipped it right over. And Merle and his tow
truck are busy pulling travelers out on the highway so it could be tomorrow
before it’s set back on all four wheels. I was just about to call you and tell
you I wouldn’t make it out this afternoon when my son Andy here,” he nodded
towards his tall companion, “stopped by on his snowmobile. I worked in this
furnace plenty when old Miss Jamieson owned the place. I’ll have it fixed in a
jiffy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Caitlyn listened to the man
clatter down the rickety wooden steps to the creepy old basement, but her
attention was riveted on the man shrugging off his parka.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“Some storm, isn’t it?” he said. “Haven’t
seen this much snow since the winter of eighty-seven.” His eyes crinkled as he
smiled. “A blizzard like this closed school for an entire week. I thought my mother
was going to go out and hand-shovel the streets just to get them reopened so
that my six brothers and I would be out of the house.” Andy shook the snow from
his coat and hung in on a peg by the door. “You’re new around here, aren’t
you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Caitlyn nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Andy held out his hand. “Nice to
meet you,” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“I’m Caitlyn Greer. Nice to meet
you, too.” She allowed her fingers to be swallowed up in his smooth, strong
grip, enjoying the warmth not offered by a mere cup of coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“Your hands are like ice cubes,”
Andy said as he smiled down at her. His left hand slipped around the back of
her right and began to slowly rub some warmth into her frozen extremity, which
did more than warm her hand. Her entire body began to thaw. Except her heart. Caitlyn
doubted it would ever be warm again after the pain she’d endured when Derek had
betrayed her. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">She tugged her hand free and
tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“I appreciate you coming out in
this weather.” Caitlyn backed into the living room. Andy followed. “I was
afraid I’d have to burn Miss Jamieson’s heirlooms if it got any colder.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“Don’t worry. Dad will have that
old monster up and running in no time.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Caitlyn shivered. “I hope so. This
is my first blizzard. I’ve never had to do more than add an extra blanket to
the bed in the winter down in San Diego.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“ ‘I wish they all could
be California girls,’” Andy sang in an off-key falsetto.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“Beach Boys fan?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“Big time. That’s all dad played
when we were growing up. I think he hoped his us kids would make our fame and
fortune in a boy band like that, only none of us have a lick of musical
talent.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“I saw them in concert a few
times when I was a teenager.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“No way. That had to have been
awesome.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“It was. Let me fix you a cup of
coffee and we’ll talk.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">The two threaded their way around
the abundance of antiques and into the kitchen, where Andy hitched a hip onto a
barstool. Caitlyn busied herself making another cup of coffee and setting out a
plate of heart-shaped sugar cookies with pink frosting and red sprinkles. Baking cookies had started as an excuse to turn the oven, but also a way to treat herself on this lonely Valentine's Day. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Andy eyed the festive cookies. "You have big plans with someone special tonight?"</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">"Not hardly," Caitlyn said. "Other than eating all these cookies while binging Hallmark movies. Pretty pathetic, huh?"</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">"Not in the least," Andy said. "Last year I baked two batches of double-chocolate brownies and ate them all myself. Only it was while I watched a <i>Fast and Furious</i> marathon."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">The two soon fell into a companionable conversation about music and
movies and pop culture in general. They had a lot in common. It wasn’t long
before the conversation took a more personal path. Gentle probing on Caitlyn’s
part revealed Andy to be the owner of her favorite local restaurant and, more
importantly, currently unattached.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“I’d invite you to join me for a Valentine's dinner,” he
said. “But this storm’s got the town pretty well shut down. Maybe I could bring
over the ingredients to fix you spicy shrimp scampi over linguine tonight? A
little toasted garlic bread? Maybe a salad with pine nuts and a mustard
vinaigrette dressing? Sound good?” Andy wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Caitlyn’s stomach rumbled loudly, and she laughed. “On behalf of my empty stomach, I accept. That sure beats the
pickles and potato chips I was going to have to balance out the sugar. I didn’t get to the grocery
before the storm hit,” Caitlyn admitted. Now that she understood the power of a
blizzard, she’d be sure not to make that mistake again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">With a loud shake and clatter,
the boiler in the basement roared back to life. Soon the radiators started
crackling as steam heated the metal. A few minutes later Wesley Thompson poked
his head into the kitchen. “Ready to go, son?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“How much do I owe you?” Caitlyn
grabbed her purse form the counter and fished out her wallet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“Three dollars for the new fuse,”
Mr. Thompson said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“It took you a whole hour to
replace a simple fuse, Dad? You must be slipping in your old age.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“No, it took me five minutes to
fix the fuse,” Wesley Thompson answered. “It took <i>you</i> an
hour to ask this pretty lady if she’d like you to cook her dinner. I’ll meet
you outside.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Mr. Thompson clomped out of the
kitchen and towards the front door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Andy walked around the counter
and stopped in front of Caitlyn. He placed his hands on her shoulders before
slowly sliding them down her arms until their fingers were entwined. “I’ll
bring back everything we need for a romantic dinner.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">He lifted her hands to his mouth
and placed a soft kiss on the back of each one. His eyes held promises of more
to come.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Caitlyn smiled as she realized
that his warm hands were starting to thaw a tiny corner of her cold
heart. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-25193592781637661992022-01-13T21:30:00.136-08:002022-01-13T21:30:00.243-08:00BOOK THE BAND...You'll Want to Celebrate This National Day of Observance!<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiReNM-0HxXH5v3-wXFlNhi9CHbrfB3UqIxJ8yg3av-tsiUY-Xn9r2caJIgTp2D4f7Y-CrW0AEzMj1CBfisqIrt4NZTbynu2h50LcDrYF_walXpcuQ07WVn9C1JDRCY5ZVEHb6yvd11zCbtOFIGggjlllvElT1zYP7_Ro7pDJyWOmN6s7jL8TA5KLdDIQ=s6000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="6000" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiReNM-0HxXH5v3-wXFlNhi9CHbrfB3UqIxJ8yg3av-tsiUY-Xn9r2caJIgTp2D4f7Y-CrW0AEzMj1CBfisqIrt4NZTbynu2h50LcDrYF_walXpcuQ07WVn9C1JDRCY5ZVEHb6yvd11zCbtOFIGggjlllvElT1zYP7_Ro7pDJyWOmN6s7jL8TA5KLdDIQ=w200-h100" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">In
my continuing quest to help you, my faithful readers, keep abreast of the
important National Days of Observances (let’s be honest, there are a LOT of
them) I hereby notify you there is a really BIG one coming up on Sunday. Mark your calendars. You want to celebrate. Trust me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face="Trebuchet MS, sans-serif">“What
is it,” you ask? Why, January 16th is the day the world stops, and we celebrate National
Fig Newton Day! Whether you like them or not I’m sure you are all familiar with
the “Oooey gooey rich and chewy inside/Golden flakey tender cakey outside”
treat. Better stock up now before the word gets out.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">But
it got me to thinking…do you know the cookie’s history? Yeah, me neither until
I took a deep dive into the tasty subject.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Raise
your hand if you thought the Fig Newton was named after that Apple-to-the-Head
guy. You know, Sir Isaac Newton, the brilliant man who first proposed the laws
of gravity. I did. But in my research for this food-related topic I learned
that I was terrbily wrong.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">The Fig Newton was originally
called just The Newton, named after a town in Massachusetts (with no connection
to Sir Isaac.) That was back in 1891. But the cookie wasn't new then; it was
already hundreds of years old by the late 19</span><sup style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">th</sup><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"> century. So, let’s back
the history truck up a few hundred years.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
history of figs can be traced back as far as fifteenth-century Egypt when figs first
began being cultivated. Somebody (and nobody knows for sure who, because that
was a rather long time ago and records did not survive the ensuing 500+ years…)
figured out a way to bake the figs into a light pastry in order to keep them
fresher longer.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4Ya6-XPB2qJwXWFzKYHbEJSyaylIXU_pC9JjNl_SoXdmQkGPUVMgGwHMRdbfuGE8HmpQaSDdDijCq2MyhQFED1OqxeUrOHHSVhi_BURQzZuizEVEEtfnpIyjnS10BNLolUPWvQyPgYqJTnYzlHZw1Q26iFMCCcQjag4t2IO2iWWVcjshsDNBmyWuB0g=s550" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="550" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4Ya6-XPB2qJwXWFzKYHbEJSyaylIXU_pC9JjNl_SoXdmQkGPUVMgGwHMRdbfuGE8HmpQaSDdDijCq2MyhQFED1OqxeUrOHHSVhi_BURQzZuizEVEEtfnpIyjnS10BNLolUPWvQyPgYqJTnYzlHZw1Q26iFMCCcQjag4t2IO2iWWVcjshsDNBmyWuB0g=w200-h200" width="200" /></a></span></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Good
ideas travel fast (well, back then a couple hundred years was considered fast)
and the fig-filled-biscuit idea made its way to Sicily, where they were called </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">cucidati</i><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">.
These special treats were prepared two times a year; Christmas and St. Joseph’s
Day.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Eventually this good idea made its way to America,
where they were considered “medicinal.” While today a doctor might say “Take
two aspirin and call me in the morning,” back in the nineteenth century you would
have been more likely to be advised to “stick to a diet of biscuits (defined as
crisp, dry bread) and fruit,” specifically figs, to cure what ailed you. Hence
a combination of dried figs and biscuits was just what the doctor ordered!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">An
Ohioan by the name of Charles M. Roser, owner of a bakery in Kenton, Ohio, </span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">is credited by some sources of baking and
promoting the fig biscuit. Research shows that he may have sold the recipe to
the Kennedy Biscuit Company for $1,000,000. (In today’s dollars that would
equal nineteen million!)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Now
enter James Henry Mitchell. He invented a machine that was a funnel inside a
funnel that squeezed out the fig jam encased in cookie dough. It came out
in one loooongg tube and then was sliced into the cookie size you are familiar
with today and then baked. (Ha! I bet you thought Pillsbury had the lock on the
slice-and-bake idea). This enabled the Kennedy Biscuit Company to mass-produce
the medicinal cookie. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
Kennedy Biscuit Company, the holder of the recipe, was based in Boston,
Massachusetts and had a history of naming their cookies after surrounding
towns. So, the fig biscuit was renamed the Newton.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">The
year of the Fig Newton’s birth is officially recorded as 1891. Fast forward to
1898 when the Kennedy Biscuit Company merged with New York Biscuit Company to
become the NAtional BIScuit COmpany (hence the name NABISCO) and Ta-Da, Nabisco
Fig Newtons became a household world.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">It’s
interesting to note that the recipe, shape, size or baking process hasn’t
changed in over 120 years.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Fig
Newtons have many references in pop culture, perhaps the most memorable the Big
Fig Newton and his commercials. Any product of the 1970s Saturday morning cartoons generation
certainly remembers it, has the jingle (and possibly dance steps) burned in
their memory. You can experience the golden days of that silly commercial by
clicking on the video link below. “HIT IT HAL”</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/klhLmoA2fks" width="320" youtube-src-id="klhLmoA2fks"></iframe></div><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0.25in;">Wasn’t
that a fun trip down memory lane? Darn Tootin’!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">I’m
guilty of using them myself to infuse a sense of taste in my first book, <i>The
Blond <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Leading the Blond</i>, if you’ll indulge me for a moment<i>.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><b><i><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><span> </span></span></i><i style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">“Are you thinking what I’m
thinking?” Sam asked as we exited the dimness of Flossie’s Pharmacy.</span></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b style="color: #3d85c6; text-indent: 0.25in;"><i style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">I squinted against the sunlight
of a glorious summer’s morn. The three Fig Newtons I’d stuffed
in my mouth prevented me from answering, but I figured it was a rhetorical
question, anyway. I was right. <<Click <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Blond-Leading-Jayne-Ormerod/dp/0803476094/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1OVO4NZ3Q3S7R&keywords=The+blond+leading+the+blond+jayne+ormerod&qid=1642086113&sprefix=the+blond+leading+the+blond+jayne+ormerod%2Caps%2C62&sr=8-1" target="_blank">here </a>to purchase the book if you would like to read more of the adventures of Ellery and Sam.>></span></i><i><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"> </span></i></b></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">So
now the big question, how should one celebrate National Fig Newton Day? Traditional
celebrations suggest you bake your own Fig Newtons from scratch, but I gotta
say, the recipes I found make it look messy unless you’ve got access to a
double-funnel machine. I do not. So I will have to celebrate by eating the
store-bought kind. Heck, I might even really cut loose and have some Apple, Strawberry
or Raspberry Newtons!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">If
you know me, you know that no “celebration” is complete unless accompanied by
an appropriate wine. I went to the experts at <a href="https://crystalpalate.com/" target="_blank">Crystal Palate</a>, </span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">my neighborhood go-to source for wine and wine-related advice. Crystal herself suggests the following:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><span style="color: #660000;">“A
fortified dessert wine like the Quinta Pacheca 10 Year Tawny Port would be
an incredible pairing with Fig Newtons. The aromas and flavors of orange
peel, dried figs, dates, sultanas, praline and chocolate would pair
exceptionally well with the nostalgic treat.” </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Oh, yum! This could become my new favorite holiday. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">So how will you be celebrating this year? Me? I think this calls for a real fig-jam jamboree. I'll book a band; stock up on Fig Newtons and wine; hit the party store for balloons, blowers, and confetti; and, of course, practice up my Big Fig dance moves. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Hope you have an equally wild and crazy time planned. But, a</span><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;">s always, I encourage you to celebrate responsibly! Cheers!</span></p><p></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-32298846095706978662021-12-30T21:30:00.050-08:002021-12-31T04:04:29.746-08:00SAUERKRAT FOR BREAKFAST? An Unusual New Year's Day Tradition<p style="text-align: justify;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheuDGJCSVSsJj7z617CJ8lcLkZ8VZpofRyVIHgn8O5V3bCBkIJPkg9kZJKuuGeD0LyFETf6-1IsKyR4wu9ei7axLWyy8dC315hIx0rDN18rp4xbotLZRlf76a0C_JHF-eKKkNxWoamfI49PbsMw48TvkXPC3nvjnJXVa9NENLz67CSN310RB4xQfaDLQ=s409" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="402" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEheuDGJCSVSsJj7z617CJ8lcLkZ8VZpofRyVIHgn8O5V3bCBkIJPkg9kZJKuuGeD0LyFETf6-1IsKyR4wu9ei7axLWyy8dC315hIx0rDN18rp4xbotLZRlf76a0C_JHF-eKKkNxWoamfI49PbsMw48TvkXPC3nvjnJXVa9NENLz67CSN310RB4xQfaDLQ=w197-h200" width="197" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Oh, the trials and tribulations of being raised under
the heavy mantle of family traditions. My mother, of German heritage, insisted
that the first thing to pass our lips in the new year was a bite of sauerkraut.
Easy for her, as she partied while the clock struck midnight and washed down
her nibble of GOOD LUCK with (many) sips of the bubbly. Those of us
early-to-bedders (at the insistence of a mean babysitter!) had the misfortune
of being served sauerkraut for breakfast. Trust me when I say it does not pair
well with Cap’n Crunch. Hence, my lifelong avoidance of sauerkraut (unless it
tops a thick Ruben sandwich, and then only sparingly!)</span></div></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><a name='more'></a></span><p></p>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">After
the past two political/pandemic-heavy years, it seems as if we could all use a
little luck. Time to (reluctantly) reinstate mom’s tradition and see if that
helps. As I researched ways to cook/serve fermented shredded cabbage that didn’t
involve breakfast cereal (as the chances of me being awake at midnight are slim
to none), I learned a little bit about from whence the tradition came.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">The “lucky”
connection stems from the fact that cabbage is round (thought to be lucky) and
green (associated with financial prosperity). Sauerkraut itself is said to
signify happiness and the promise of a new life. But there is also a logical
component to this tradition. In Europe, cabbage was harvested in late fall and then
shredded and put into barrels to ferment. When winter hit, they tapped the barrels,
providing people with a good source of Vitamin C throughout those frigid months
when fresh produce was not available. Hence the long-life connection.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Still, it’s
fermented cabbage. Not my favorite. But I’m willing to take one for the team
this year.</span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVn-Tg72snfNyaHJrS4-AfkD3OyjYrUEDdTnjHDvKk1WGSGSF2pLlpURyDNJCTEO9d_cGoryn3brkfSqEHSU3ot2bAqDCOty_MMHx2tsPx2WOKKLV7jQW3klsaK2XPDpYk4nHnvEdq917OGr_at-B5lX7VbY3t_OE6ncArFrcOCLojU65qK49WfU8zeg=s1200" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1200" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhVn-Tg72snfNyaHJrS4-AfkD3OyjYrUEDdTnjHDvKk1WGSGSF2pLlpURyDNJCTEO9d_cGoryn3brkfSqEHSU3ot2bAqDCOty_MMHx2tsPx2WOKKLV7jQW3klsaK2XPDpYk4nHnvEdq917OGr_at-B5lX7VbY3t_OE6ncArFrcOCLojU65qK49WfU8zeg=w200-h178" width="200" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Additional
research revealed another Dutch tradition with Germanic roots is to welcome in
the new year by eating <i>oliebollen</i>, whose literal translation is Oily
Balls. (Caution: I tried to research Oily Balls. Trust me when I say do NOT do
this yourself. I, as a trained writing professional, did this and the results
were more than disturbing. I shudder to think what my internet cookies will share
with my social media feeds regarding my “interests”. But then again as a
mystery writer my browsing history is filled with research on poisons and how
to hide dead bodies, etc…but I digress…) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Oliebollen</i> are small donuts topped with
currents. According to a <a href="https://nypost.com/2021/12/27/eight-of-the-luckiest-new-years-foods-from-around-the-world/" target="_blank">New York Post article </a>on New Year’s Foods they are said to ward off the pagan goddess Perchta. She was an evil one, who “would
fly through the skies during Yule and slice open the bellies of disobedient
tribespeople. Anyone who had eaten oliebollen, however, was spared, as
Perchta’s sword would slide off their full, greasy bellies." I like donuts. But I like <i>not </i>having my belly sliced open even more. I am happy to embrace this tradition. </div></span><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">In addition
to having a part German heritage, I am working on earning my “southerner”
badge. We’ve lived here for most of my adult life, and I can “all y’all” with
the best of them. It might be time for me to explore the lucky foods associated
with the area.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">One of
the most popular are “Greens”, be they collard, turnip, or mustard. Being green
they are associated with money. Money means prosperity. But I think a taste for
“greens” is built into the southern DNA. I’m a mid-westerner. ’Nuff said.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Then
there are beans, very popular here in the south as it seems they grow as abundantly
as greens. Black-eyed peas (technically beans) are considered extra lucky. Why?
Glad you asked. There exists a theory that Union Soldiers ate their way through
the south devouring everything but the black-eyed peas.
Locals survived after the war by eating them. Pretty lucky, huh? </span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifFAh9W_T7Jne4R2rRLJej5lobZmi2kXEl4Tbd9Gb6pciV6MscLy7d-4-oum_byBoFpcrkkYsONVHr4rEq_I3-TBxxKW8AjLHoT1r0yhc_ptQHiw-L5F0F7kA_rFIXFC3TnnrJZxkQ53bWumIejXQY1gHCPvcB1kYk-ZJgomOHaAPXQIGvyDRwgvthvA=s1000" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="1000" height="80" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifFAh9W_T7Jne4R2rRLJej5lobZmi2kXEl4Tbd9Gb6pciV6MscLy7d-4-oum_byBoFpcrkkYsONVHr4rEq_I3-TBxxKW8AjLHoT1r0yhc_ptQHiw-L5F0F7kA_rFIXFC3TnnrJZxkQ53bWumIejXQY1gHCPvcB1kYk-ZJgomOHaAPXQIGvyDRwgvthvA=w200-h80" width="200" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Combine
the beans with greens and cornbread, and you’ll have the trifecta of Southern
luck. “Peas for pennies, greens for dollars, and cornbread for gold.” <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Other
countries have interesting New Year’s Eve food traditions, some more palatable than others. But here's a short list of things I am willing to try this year:</span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><ul><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Spain: Grapes
(not the fermented kind!) Twelve of them, one for each stroke of midnight
portending each month of the year. </span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Japan: Toshikoshi Sobo noodles. (Long sobo noodles signal longevity.)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Mexico: Tamales.
(Families traditionally come together to make them and thus they represent generational
ties.)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Greece:
Ring-shaped cakes. (Symbol of coming full circle.)</span></li></ul><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">It seems
I have plenty of options to eat my way to good health and fortune on New Year’s Day. As for
universally accepted beverages to accompany my food? Champagne, of course. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><span style="color: #351c75; font-size: large;">Cheers
to the New Year! May 2022 be an extraordinary one! </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiv98a1zjSg97QdksqnN1JnwZ2CHwm2C0z0Njee34bd46SIS2PHVMfTvxWwxqpzLnbSwd4616oOS8uH-GxBfVxwssj_12-6wRDGgs7JtJHDIZ9nIr2qGzUp46V28V_rL8Ot41KDLkiyWYS8coY4zfZ9RX2iOST0yoZlSAFjS6ZSElWVWcLPjwLyBXCWgw=s216" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><img border="0" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="216" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiv98a1zjSg97QdksqnN1JnwZ2CHwm2C0z0Njee34bd46SIS2PHVMfTvxWwxqpzLnbSwd4616oOS8uH-GxBfVxwssj_12-6wRDGgs7JtJHDIZ9nIr2qGzUp46V28V_rL8Ot41KDLkiyWYS8coY4zfZ9RX2iOST0yoZlSAFjS6ZSElWVWcLPjwLyBXCWgw" width="216" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><br /></span><p></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-28298309005673819072021-12-17T04:39:00.006-08:002021-12-29T12:02:56.602-08:00'TIS THE SEASON, a Holiday Poem by Jayne<p><i> <<I wrote this many years ago when my husband was deployed over the holidays. I read it every year to remind myself that military folks remain on station while we here stateside celebrate the season.>></i></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7GI096XPw3FS19JQcx7dZ42K0R0YHfnEF374uxwirSt7xwD3XDg0ORq25TdYXyG5b3NocTbNynnINP89s3eBbgkvQA7hjqkNq7AAEEO-wodiF7fro8T6_sR9sBmCURc7EWDSDH_7uqKfUJCQKX-VvKwAi9ZC3ENxjpFAGUw32yMW8kmpLqyyTkzqywQ=s403" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="403" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7GI096XPw3FS19JQcx7dZ42K0R0YHfnEF374uxwirSt7xwD3XDg0ORq25TdYXyG5b3NocTbNynnINP89s3eBbgkvQA7hjqkNq7AAEEO-wodiF7fro8T6_sR9sBmCURc7EWDSDH_7uqKfUJCQKX-VvKwAi9ZC3ENxjpFAGUw32yMW8kmpLqyyTkzqywQ=w164-h110" width="164" /></a></div><br />'TIS THE SEASON...</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><b>...of warm sugar cookies and jingle bells ringing;</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><b>of sleighs full of toys and carolers singing;</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><b>of Santas and Scrooges and tinsel and lights;</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><b>of long snowy walks with a loved one at night.<span><a name='more'></a></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_x2DoV9PrzuKDhWOdAJCFIjFV6iUmLaBp59SgfJQ3MAKC9drMyRU4E5vf_csCWemtP7V4a6aMtSgWmh611moBmhi7Oj09ROm06upFOsOqS1PbV6igmMFetTDcx0zOewyUdQkhKzWfudA3qrYYPNblTQ66EWC7exbSUoUnp-wiuhyfQxQaFTtnkNJgSw=s407" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="407" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_x2DoV9PrzuKDhWOdAJCFIjFV6iUmLaBp59SgfJQ3MAKC9drMyRU4E5vf_csCWemtP7V4a6aMtSgWmh611moBmhi7Oj09ROm06upFOsOqS1PbV6igmMFetTDcx0zOewyUdQkhKzWfudA3qrYYPNblTQ66EWC7exbSUoUnp-wiuhyfQxQaFTtnkNJgSw=w164-h108" width="164" /></a></div><br />'TIS THE SEASON...</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">...of decking the halls with bright holly;</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">of cards sent from friends telling us to be jolly;</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">of silver and gold, and eight tiny reindeer;</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">of cups of eggnog laced with holiday cheer.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiN0Y1tv3F6a77g2ZJfD2amigTdBL2uI6ZsjRDPMX1sowO9S07FqyDnhEyS5fPZ856ms7xYWo6bqbhpftk3cIougv1z1uK_2c0Avvn-HBZOVpqm8xYh5YQitpZmLFf45AVahhrqIIZrR5Gs9XNFLEEqHH2Kcs9cxxouRS8DdfXQleO_ptCS_kCG5DQ-YQ=s402" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="402" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiN0Y1tv3F6a77g2ZJfD2amigTdBL2uI6ZsjRDPMX1sowO9S07FqyDnhEyS5fPZ856ms7xYWo6bqbhpftk3cIougv1z1uK_2c0Avvn-HBZOVpqm8xYh5YQitpZmLFf45AVahhrqIIZrR5Gs9XNFLEEqHH2Kcs9cxxouRS8DdfXQleO_ptCS_kCG5DQ-YQ=w169-h113" width="169" /></a></div><br />'TIS THE SEASON...</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">...of watching <i>It's a Wonderful Life;</i></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">of celebrating the birth of our Lord, Jesus Christ;</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">of wisemen and angels and wreaths and a star;</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">of a Noble fir tree tied on top of a car.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOXcIiARqLYg2-uhmiM0SBsw5UiFwCrMLlecbLYmRqOdpgEF7wUvVWTKzPpRBWS_DYc0GNeZTbSt83aJSuCTyl7zptf3iv2uL6-GxPzCd53Pdh_plsp1BwZfJz1yxHiIl0NlOrDIfNix-__tcswppD_btnzEJqZS6zptlEkmdTvcRJ8ukRzRZQCGyl2w=s405" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="405" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgOXcIiARqLYg2-uhmiM0SBsw5UiFwCrMLlecbLYmRqOdpgEF7wUvVWTKzPpRBWS_DYc0GNeZTbSt83aJSuCTyl7zptf3iv2uL6-GxPzCd53Pdh_plsp1BwZfJz1yxHiIl0NlOrDIfNix-__tcswppD_btnzEJqZS6zptlEkmdTvcRJ8ukRzRZQCGyl2w=w152-h100" width="152" /></a></div><br />'TIS THE SEASON...</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">...my friend, when joy fills our hearts;</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">though military missions may keep us apart.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">As the stockings are hung by the chimney with care,</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">'Tis this season of Christmas, </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #274e13;">"Peace on Earth" is my prayer.</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></b></div><p><br /></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-25577808750582616842021-12-02T21:00:00.045-08:002021-12-03T03:46:31.662-08:00LEARN SOMETHING NEW EVERY VACAY<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-indent: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZBiNF4zBxVnBnr-Pt4TMI47srWcLgpKM_OPk3JYJgoFcG9nDol47liHRHWvuc6_Z37M4VE3R-62vx2U64yIbnk_kbFhtd8zRPIpfA0yFsnpo3Rg6EBAYDIMWX_FVO43PkSOudFFNB_CHw/s940/On+Vacation.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZBiNF4zBxVnBnr-Pt4TMI47srWcLgpKM_OPk3JYJgoFcG9nDol47liHRHWvuc6_Z37M4VE3R-62vx2U64yIbnk_kbFhtd8zRPIpfA0yFsnpo3Rg6EBAYDIMWX_FVO43PkSOudFFNB_CHw/w200-h168/On+Vacation.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"> My parents always ascribed to the
motto that Vacations Must be Educational. I have eschewed that concept all of
my adult life. I prefer my vacations to be relaxing and fun (aside from those that doubled as official Permanant Change of Station moves in conjunction with my husband's military career. Got to "See the USA" on Uncle Sam's dime!) </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="text-indent: 0in;"> Imagine my
surprise when my recent island escape turned enlightening!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"> Over the recent holiday we tripped to Dauphine Island, AL to meet our grandson
for the first time. Trust me when I say there is no better way to spend
Thanksgiving. We were gone ten days, and during that time I added a lot of
knowledge to my stack of life lessons. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-indent: 0in;"></p><ul><li><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">I learned…that changing dirty
diapers is like riding a bike! (This grandma’s still got skills!) Same for
getting on the ground to play. Getting up…well…that’s a different story.<span><a name='more'></a></span></span></li><li><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">I learned...that a big dog can get its head into an opened box of Vanilla Wafers, but needs assistance getting it out. (I'm sure he would have gotten it out on his own, once all the cookies were gone.)</span></li><li><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">I learned…that it is possible to
sneak a 102-pound dog into a hotel with a 30-pound limit. (There may be a
warrant out for our arrest in Augusta, GA, but they haven’t knocked on my door
yet!)</span></li><li><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">I learned…that a dog’s yowl while
racing down a hotel hallway to get outside is amplified tenfold. Make that
fifty-fold when it’s 12:15 a.m. (There were two German shepherds in a room
along our avoid-the-front-desk escape route. Our dogs had exchanged
under-the-door sniffs earlier in the day. Little Scout just wanted to play. If
you’ve read my earlier posts, you know this mutt howls when here is another dog
in the area…I mean like I’ve-Been-Run-Over-By-a-Car howls. So embarrassing!
Especially in the middle of the night.</span></li><li><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">
I learned…Yes, there is a limit to the number of Christmas Carols I can listen
to in one (ten-hour) sitting. (Seriously if I had to listen to one more round
of Rudolph it would be a case of a Reindeer Got Run Over by a Grandma!)</span></li><li><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">
I learned…that listening to that much Christmas music puts me in the creative
Christmas spirit! While travelling I noodled up not one, not two, not three,
but FOUR plots for Hallmark Christmas Movies! (More to come on my new writing
venture soon!)</span></li><li><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">
I learned…I can go two days without reading a single word—not even the back of
a cereal box! Anyone who knows me knows I never travel (not even to run
errands) without a book! Had to travel light so only took two this trip, fully
expecting to spend every waking hour with our six-month old grandson. Well,
turns out there was lots of late-night reading (couldn’t figure out how to work
the television system) and found myself out of reading material by Wednesday. I
stocked up on magazines at the grocery store the next day, but those were
mostly pictures and I flipped through them in one afternoon. Live and
learn…next time I’ll be prepared and pack my Kindle, just in case. (I just so
prefer the tactile sensations of a printed book.)</span></li><li><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">
I learned…some people live without books! I know all my book-loving friends are
as shocked as I am. We stayed in an Airbnb on a rather remote island, a
wonderful experience offering peace and tranquility making it the perfect venue for curling up with a book! It was very comfortable and fully stocked in
everything but entertainment! (See previous item about television system.)
There were no games (Fear not--I had the foresight to bring a deck of cards)
but more importantly only three books! In the whole entire house! Not even
coffee table books with pretty pictures! Let alone an empty bookshelf to
indicate they had taken their library with them when they moved. It boggles the
mind! How can anyone survive without books surrounding them? </span></li><li><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">
I learned…that a grandmother’s heart grows ten sizes the moment she holds that
giggly, drooly, snuggly bundle of joy. What a blessing grandchildren are!</span></li></ul><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-indent: 0in;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif">Perhaps most importantly I
learned that we all have so much to be thankful for, if we just look for it.
Trust me, it's there. As we transition into the
Hanukkah/Christmas/Kwanza/Winter Solstice/New Year season, I want to take a
moment to say I am thankful for you, my faithful readers and supporters of my
crazy hobby of killing people...in the purely literary sense, of course.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.3in; text-indent: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmwtlzj4oZeylC5_0RrKb6Ffdat9HBLT0MQcH77pwYePgTMFjOb9KRtdqVAnSkTGL3EwIf2ab10nVWRpHsH8LL1vtRdv052iTHycsqIzE8H9hn6nkyEkDVkRXFGoqpD5sWKykoIVMJqwO/s940/Happy+Holidays.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmwtlzj4oZeylC5_0RrKb6Ffdat9HBLT0MQcH77pwYePgTMFjOb9KRtdqVAnSkTGL3EwIf2ab10nVWRpHsH8LL1vtRdv052iTHycsqIzE8H9hn6nkyEkDVkRXFGoqpD5sWKykoIVMJqwO/s320/Happy+Holidays.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS",sans-serif"><br /></span><p></p></div>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8715543386762822529.post-83985374285330236302021-11-07T13:16:00.004-08:002021-11-08T05:17:27.378-08:00WRITING INCOGNITO<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYH_6aZ7a2T-Jhr8-FZ-rJ-u74sviX3h60BWkvGxJD-mRJh__e7eT1U0cjgyfnXnTB6eiz4CubqdFRo67nPOfWOJX0m2EplTREmH4SpKmmAhA-8G9Ur1RrZFmIm7iioX8cjCWcf2HcTSrc/s406/Dog+incognito.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="403" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYH_6aZ7a2T-Jhr8-FZ-rJ-u74sviX3h60BWkvGxJD-mRJh__e7eT1U0cjgyfnXnTB6eiz4CubqdFRo67nPOfWOJX0m2EplTREmH4SpKmmAhA-8G9Ur1RrZFmIm7iioX8cjCWcf2HcTSrc/w199-h200/Dog+incognito.jpg" width="199" /></a></div><br />Jayne Ormerod is not my real name,
but there a real person behind the <span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;"><i>nom de plume </i>(translation: pen name</span><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">.) Many (okay, most)
people ask me, “Why do you write under a pseudonym?"</span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">My first answer is always to assure them I am not running from the law. Or even the taxman. No the decision was much more personal: to be me, or not to be me? That was the question. Obviously, I chose </span></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">not to be me. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Here is the reason why... </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Picture this: A family dinner with my active-duty-military
husband and twelve-year-old son, sitting on the back deck enjoying the gentle
summer breeze. I’d prepared a meal of spicy shrimp scampi and Italian bread
smothered with melted cheese, green onions and poppy seeds. After a glass (or
three) of a spunky Pinot Grigio, I worked up enough courage to confess my
lifelong secret.<span></span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">The conversation:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Me: “I want to be a writer.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Them: “That’s great.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Me: “Actually, I’ve been writing for
a few years now.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Them: Gentle murmurings of
encouragement.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Me: “My first short story will be
published next month. I’ll be paid $250."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">They exchange looks of surprise
before offering a celebratory toast.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Husband: “What’s the story about?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Me: “It’s a romance called ‘Three
Little Words’.” </span><i style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;"><<<a href="https://jayneormerod.blogspot.com/2012/02/beach-tale-three-little-words-short.html#more" target="_blank">you can read that story by clicking here</a>>></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Silence. Stillness. Even the
no-see-ums stopped humming.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Son (aghast): “You write porn?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Husband (laying a comforting hand on
my arm): “It wouldn’t be good for my career to be married to someone who writes
porn.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Me (shaking my head): “For gawd’s
sake, people. Romance is about two people falling in love, not what happens
between the sheets.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Nervous Husband: “Don’t embarrass
me.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Freaked-out Son: “Will we be moving
anytime soon? Maybe Andrew’s family can adopt me…”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">I sipped my wine while they worked
out how to disassociate themselves from me. It soon became apparent the best
solution for all concerned would be for me to choose a </span><i style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">nom de plume</i><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">As one of the ironies of life, I ended up writing Mystery, not romance. That seems to be perfectly acceptable to all concerned, but too late to change now! </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">_____________</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0in;"><i style="font-family: trebuchet; text-indent: 0in;">Advice to aspiring writers
considering a pen name…had I to do it over I would have selected a name that
started with the same letter as my real name. Experience has shown that while sipping wine and chatting
with readers while signing a book, I invariably start my signature with the
first letter of my real name! It is a habit! Perhaps the better advice would be
not to drink wine while at a book signing…</i><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"> </span></p>Jayne Ormerodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17313253114988955507noreply@blogger.com1