A DAY AT THE BEACH

 <This blog originally appeared on the Sand in our Shorts blog July 2022>>

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).

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.

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.

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.

THE WRITERLY LIFE: PERCEPTION vs. REALITY

 

<<NOTE: this post originally appeared on the Sand in our Shorts blog September, 2022> 

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.

     What society thinks I do: Spend all day rolling around in my royalty money.

     What my friends think I do: Go to lunch with them (well, yes, I do that a lot) and then go home and roll around in royalty money.

     What my family thinks I do: 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.

     What my agent thinks I do: Write…excuses as to why I need an extension on my deadline. She knows there is no royalty money in which to roll around.

     What my dogs think I do: 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.

     What I think I do: 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.

     What I really do:

KICK OFF CHAOS, A Super-Bowl Themed Sleuth It Yourself Mini Mystery

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? 

This is a "sleuth it yourself" mini mystery with the solution at the end.

  KICK OFF CHAOS!

“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.

The big game means little to me.

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.

“Callie, come help me!”

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.

WHERE OH WHERE HAS JAYNE ORMEROD GONE?

 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...

Watch for exciting updates soon!

EVERYTHING YOU'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT FICTION CLASSIFICATIONS...BUT WERE AFRAID TO ASK...

   

(Whispered conversation between two young ladies recently overheard in a library bathroom…)
          “Do you know anything about, you know…what they’re talking about in there?”
          “No. I’m pretty inexperienced when it comes to that kind of stuff.”
          “Me too.”
          “Is there some sort of book or something that would explain everything?”
          “You mean like an illustrated how-to manual?”
          “Yeah.”
          “Not that I know of. But I’ve heard some of the older girls talking.”
          “And?”
          “I think they’re talking like they know, but they really don’t know.”
          “So how do you learn?”
          “I guess you just learn by doing it…”

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.

OH, THE PLACES I'VE BEEN

 <Originally Published October, 2011>

 

Congratulations!

Today is your day.

You’re off to Great Places!

You’re off and away!

 

So begins the motivational book Oh, The Places You’ll Go 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 me, 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 Oh, The Places You’ll Go had been available, its encouragement to go off and see the world would have been wasted on me. 

"PASSING DIRECTIONS...Which are in No Way Connected to Driving a Motor Vehicle

 

<<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!>>

'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.

WHAT???? PALM TREES IN MAINE?

Palm trees in Maine? Yeah. Seeing is believing, right?

Not always. This is a little story about how you can’t always believe what you see…on TV.

No surprise that as a mystery writer I’m also a fan of mystery shows, a top fav being Murder, She Wrote starring Angela Lansbury (may she rest in peace) as mystery writer and killer catcher Jessica “J.B.” Fletcher. That show is set in the fictional town of Cabot Cove, Maine.

IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT…A TRUE(ISH) TALE OF ALL HALLOWS' EVE EVE…

’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.

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.

"REMEMBER..." A POIGNANT MILITARY CEREMONY

 <<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^th Birthday, celebrated October 13^th, I thought it was worth a reprint of a post that I first shared in 2011.>>

It’s that time of year…Navy Birthday Ball!  And thanks to the 7^th 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^th 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.  

GOT WINE????

 

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.

THE WRITERLY LIFE: PERCEPTION vs. REALITY

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.

     What society thinks I do: Spend all day rolling around in my royalty money.

     What my friends think I do: Go to lunch with them (well, yes, I do that a lot) and then go home and roll around in royalty money.

     What my family thinks I do: 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.

TO PUMPKIN SPICE, OR NOT TO PUMPKIN SPICE...THAT IS THE QUESTION

<<I stay away from controversial subjects, as a rule. But today I'm going to stir the pot.>>

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. 

Thanks to Starbucks, Pumpkin Spice everything has become the new harbinger of fall. And it has arrived. In full spicy-scented force. 

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.

THE VACAY THAT INSPIRED A LITERARY CLASSIC

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

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

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

“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." (Click here to be taken to the Cliffs Notes for the entire novel.)

BAD CHOICES MAKE GOOD STORIES, Summer 2022 Edition

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.)  

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.

A DAY AT THE BEACH

<<In case you missed this one on our Sand in our Shorts blog...>>

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).

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.

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.

WHAT'S YOUR NUMBER?

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. It must be spent, I said to myself! (I abhor wasting money…especially the free variety!) 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.)  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.

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.

But the cashier had excellent vision and read it to me: “Not valid for purchase of alcoholic beverages.”

Alllrighty, then.

TO TRICK A THIEF...YOU be the Sleuth

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.  

         “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.      

          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.

KINDA PISSED ABOUT NOT BEING A MERMAID

 

Ran into these kitchen towels while shopping at The Attic at East Beach 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—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.

As always, everything one needs to know can be found on the Internet, so I did a little research on the topic. 

The term “mermaid” literally translates to Sea-lady (Old-English “mere” meaning sea, and maid—as you may remember from The Twelve Days of Christmas—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^st century. (Again, what are those sailors drinking? They need to share!)

YARD OF THE MONTH

<<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.>>

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!