Cheryl B. Dale's Blog: RANDOM MUSINGS, page 22
May 31, 2014
LOSING DAVID
I'm pleased to announced the publication of my book LOSING DAVID.
It's available in print and ebook but will be on Amazon only for the next few months before going to Barnes and Noble and the other places.
Yes, I know. There's a big to-do about the argument between Hachette Publishing and Amazon, with big names like Scott Turow and James Patterson calling Amazon the evil empire. Which is surprising, considering how many books Amazon sells for them.
But Amazon and Hatchette are like any other businesses: trying to make a profit. It just so happens the profit this time comes from books. Whatever the outcome, authors won't see an increase in pay. And since Amazon nurtured and supported self-published authors while Hachette and the other big publishers were trying to keep the status quo, I kind of think I'll stick with Amazon.
Anyway, LOSING DAVID is a vintage mystery with strong romantic elements, set on a barrier island.
When his father died in 1946, sixteen-year-old David Harmony should have inherited a fortune. Instead, he vanished at sea.
In 1962, an elderly attorney hires an actor to pretend to be David. He says the man in line to receive the Harmony estate killed David.
The actor suspects the attorney is scheming to claim the estate himself, but agrees to act as bait till he falls for a woman who realizes he’s an imposter. Now she may reveal his identity to the one person she shouldn’t.
David's murderer.
In an era of clacking typewriters and rotary phones, gentlemen tip hats and ladies wear gloves. But evil still hides beneath the most refined exteriors.
It's available in print and ebook but will be on Amazon only for the next few months before going to Barnes and Noble and the other places.
Yes, I know. There's a big to-do about the argument between Hachette Publishing and Amazon, with big names like Scott Turow and James Patterson calling Amazon the evil empire. Which is surprising, considering how many books Amazon sells for them.
But Amazon and Hatchette are like any other businesses: trying to make a profit. It just so happens the profit this time comes from books. Whatever the outcome, authors won't see an increase in pay. And since Amazon nurtured and supported self-published authors while Hachette and the other big publishers were trying to keep the status quo, I kind of think I'll stick with Amazon.
Anyway, LOSING DAVID is a vintage mystery with strong romantic elements, set on a barrier island.
When his father died in 1946, sixteen-year-old David Harmony should have inherited a fortune. Instead, he vanished at sea.
In 1962, an elderly attorney hires an actor to pretend to be David. He says the man in line to receive the Harmony estate killed David.
The actor suspects the attorney is scheming to claim the estate himself, but agrees to act as bait till he falls for a woman who realizes he’s an imposter. Now she may reveal his identity to the one person she shouldn’t.
David's murderer.
In an era of clacking typewriters and rotary phones, gentlemen tip hats and ladies wear gloves. But evil still hides beneath the most refined exteriors.
May 25, 2014
WHY I DON'T COOK
The other night I decided to cook veggies for supper. My guy usually grills something and we fix corn on the cob or a baked potato or something to go with it. Something easy because I've never been a great cook.
But veggies sounded good and I hadn't actually cooked an entire supper myself in... Hmmm. I can't remember. Several years, maybe?
First I put the squash and onions into my hot olive oil and splattered my left hand. Annoying, but not bad. I stuck it in some water and it was fine.
Then I noticed the garlic potatoes in the microwave (Irish potatoes sliced thin, layered with garlic and dotted with butter, then covered in milk) were running over the top. Since the microwave was dirty by now, I cooked them till they were tender, then took the casserole dish out. At the sink, I wiped up the top of the casserole dish, then picked it up to wipe underneath.
That's when the rest of the hot milk poured out over my left hand, mostly the big, fourth, and little fingers. This time I felt it. And kept feeling it even when I put my hand in water.
My guy heard me yell and came rushing in. We soon had a pot of water with soda in it and I soaked my hand. It still hurt. He rumbled around and found some Solarcaine gel for sunburn and other minor burns that someone had left at the house. I slathered it on and in a few minutes, got some relief. I was still holding those fingers gingerly when I went to bed though.
Guess who's doing the cooking for the next few years?
But veggies sounded good and I hadn't actually cooked an entire supper myself in... Hmmm. I can't remember. Several years, maybe?
First I put the squash and onions into my hot olive oil and splattered my left hand. Annoying, but not bad. I stuck it in some water and it was fine.
Then I noticed the garlic potatoes in the microwave (Irish potatoes sliced thin, layered with garlic and dotted with butter, then covered in milk) were running over the top. Since the microwave was dirty by now, I cooked them till they were tender, then took the casserole dish out. At the sink, I wiped up the top of the casserole dish, then picked it up to wipe underneath.
That's when the rest of the hot milk poured out over my left hand, mostly the big, fourth, and little fingers. This time I felt it. And kept feeling it even when I put my hand in water.
My guy heard me yell and came rushing in. We soon had a pot of water with soda in it and I soaked my hand. It still hurt. He rumbled around and found some Solarcaine gel for sunburn and other minor burns that someone had left at the house. I slathered it on and in a few minutes, got some relief. I was still holding those fingers gingerly when I went to bed though.
Guess who's doing the cooking for the next few years?
May 20, 2014
WALK ON THE BEACH
We went over to the beach yesterday early enough to miss most of the tourists. It was very restful.
I didn't know it until we moved here, but beaches, especially on barrier islands, change. We have a huge sandbar where once it was simply sand underwater. Looking southward, the sand on the left is where the sandbar begins. It keeps going northward (behind the photographer and up the beach).
This is taken when we walked northward, and the sandbar continued. You can see a stream, the sandbar, and then the ocean in the distance. Around here is where the sandbar used to begin.
Still going northward. We (and the doggie) are on the beach, looking out over the sandbar toward the ocean. See how high the sandbar's edge is? The stream in the middle used to be quite wide but has narrowed considerably.
The first thing we came across was a stranded jellyfish. In ten feet or so, we found another, and then another. We ended up seeing five or six of them.
Then we saw some horseshoe crabs. Or at least their shells where they had molted. Quite a few were over on the sandbar. On the beach, we only spotted four or five. I guess everyone knows these aren't really crabs.
Coming back, I noticed some shells up in the dried seaweed. I suspect someone may have been collecting them and forgot them since usually large ones are found with small ones.
And finally, we came across this. I couldn't figure out what it was till I got closer. It's an orange peel! Someone must have been watching the ocean while eating it, then threw it down. And there are plenty of trash cans around!
I love walking on the beach because you run across all kinds of things.
I didn't know it until we moved here, but beaches, especially on barrier islands, change. We have a huge sandbar where once it was simply sand underwater. Looking southward, the sand on the left is where the sandbar begins. It keeps going northward (behind the photographer and up the beach).
This is taken when we walked northward, and the sandbar continued. You can see a stream, the sandbar, and then the ocean in the distance. Around here is where the sandbar used to begin.
Still going northward. We (and the doggie) are on the beach, looking out over the sandbar toward the ocean. See how high the sandbar's edge is? The stream in the middle used to be quite wide but has narrowed considerably.
The first thing we came across was a stranded jellyfish. In ten feet or so, we found another, and then another. We ended up seeing five or six of them.
Then we saw some horseshoe crabs. Or at least their shells where they had molted. Quite a few were over on the sandbar. On the beach, we only spotted four or five. I guess everyone knows these aren't really crabs.
Coming back, I noticed some shells up in the dried seaweed. I suspect someone may have been collecting them and forgot them since usually large ones are found with small ones.
And finally, we came across this. I couldn't figure out what it was till I got closer. It's an orange peel! Someone must have been watching the ocean while eating it, then threw it down. And there are plenty of trash cans around!
I love walking on the beach because you run across all kinds of things.
May 15, 2014
DREAMS
Yesterday about six a.m., my girl cat meowed. One of those Get-up-and-feed-me-before-I-starve-to-death! yowls that make you think someone is murdering her. Just one yowl but enough to wake me in the middle of a dream.
I danced in the back of the chorus line while Barbra Streisand sang "Hello Dolly" in the front. I never saw her--backs of period costumes and hats of the dancers around me blocked my view--but I heard her very plainly. Seems I was actually a part of the dream. Don't know why I dreamed about her. She's okay, but I was never a big fan.
Usually, I don't participate in my dreams. They normally work like movies or books. Movies flow as if on screen. For books, I see the pages.
My most unusual dream was a television show. With commercials. It was a period (Hmmm. Could I be onto something here? Maybe I should be concentrating on writing more historicals?) drama. The only scenes I remember were men in black suits and string ties carrying a coffin up--or down--a narrow staircase; and women in Victorian mourning dresses sitting around a table, wiping their eyes.
The commercial came in the middle, naturally. A merry little jingle accompanied an actress flinging open the trunk of her car to reveal a beautifully wrapped large box with one of those big, puffy bows. I think it was advertising some department store I'd never heard of. Then back to the drama.
Strangely enough, I could sing the commercial's ditty the next day. I have no idea where that came from. Neither tune nor lyrics were familiar.
Anyway, this morning my cat didn't yowl till seven o'clock. Guess I was past the dream stage because I just woke up annoyed.
Not that she cares.
I danced in the back of the chorus line while Barbra Streisand sang "Hello Dolly" in the front. I never saw her--backs of period costumes and hats of the dancers around me blocked my view--but I heard her very plainly. Seems I was actually a part of the dream. Don't know why I dreamed about her. She's okay, but I was never a big fan.
Usually, I don't participate in my dreams. They normally work like movies or books. Movies flow as if on screen. For books, I see the pages.
My most unusual dream was a television show. With commercials. It was a period (Hmmm. Could I be onto something here? Maybe I should be concentrating on writing more historicals?) drama. The only scenes I remember were men in black suits and string ties carrying a coffin up--or down--a narrow staircase; and women in Victorian mourning dresses sitting around a table, wiping their eyes.
The commercial came in the middle, naturally. A merry little jingle accompanied an actress flinging open the trunk of her car to reveal a beautifully wrapped large box with one of those big, puffy bows. I think it was advertising some department store I'd never heard of. Then back to the drama.
Strangely enough, I could sing the commercial's ditty the next day. I have no idea where that came from. Neither tune nor lyrics were familiar.
Anyway, this morning my cat didn't yowl till seven o'clock. Guess I was past the dream stage because I just woke up annoyed.
Not that she cares.
May 10, 2014
NOSY SQUIRREL
We must now contend with a squirrel at our bird feeder. He looks young, and eats up all the seed.
Yes, he's cute. But we had these critters up in north Georgia and they made a mess of our house. They nibbled holes in the sides and tore a vent (with wooden slats across it) to pieces. They'd get in the attic and party. My guy had to put up steel wire to keep them out.
He doesn't intend that to happen here so he got cayenne pepper, which is supposed to deter squirrels but not hurt birds. He mixed it with the seed and poured some on the feeder ledge.
Seems as long as the pepper's on the ledge, the pesky rascal will stay off. But in a couple of days, he's back to his old tricks.
This morning when I glanced at the feeder, the squirrel wasn't on it. He was at our sliding patio doors, bumping into the glass trying to get inside. Then he started picking at the screen, doubtless hoping that would get him somewhere.
I ran over and fussed at him.
He stared at me, unmoving.
I made as if to open the door.
He stared at me, unmoving.
I unlatched the door just as I remembered the rabid fox who bit a man in town a couple of days ago. Was this squirrel rabid? Would he pounce on me?
He stared at me, unmoving.
My hand (which didn't keep up with my brain screaming "Don't do it! Don't do it! He'll bite you! You'll have to have shots!) was already sliding the door back.
The little critter started ambling off.
Whew! Not rabid.
I yelled and went after him. He thudded into the fence trying to get out.
He moves a lot faster than my cats.
Yes, he's cute. But we had these critters up in north Georgia and they made a mess of our house. They nibbled holes in the sides and tore a vent (with wooden slats across it) to pieces. They'd get in the attic and party. My guy had to put up steel wire to keep them out.
He doesn't intend that to happen here so he got cayenne pepper, which is supposed to deter squirrels but not hurt birds. He mixed it with the seed and poured some on the feeder ledge.
Seems as long as the pepper's on the ledge, the pesky rascal will stay off. But in a couple of days, he's back to his old tricks.
This morning when I glanced at the feeder, the squirrel wasn't on it. He was at our sliding patio doors, bumping into the glass trying to get inside. Then he started picking at the screen, doubtless hoping that would get him somewhere.
I ran over and fussed at him.
He stared at me, unmoving.
I made as if to open the door.
He stared at me, unmoving.
I unlatched the door just as I remembered the rabid fox who bit a man in town a couple of days ago. Was this squirrel rabid? Would he pounce on me?
He stared at me, unmoving.
My hand (which didn't keep up with my brain screaming "Don't do it! Don't do it! He'll bite you! You'll have to have shots!) was already sliding the door back.
The little critter started ambling off.
Whew! Not rabid.
I yelled and went after him. He thudded into the fence trying to get out.
He moves a lot faster than my cats.
May 5, 2014
SUICIDAL BIRDS
I heard the cats thumping around about five or so this morning. You cat owners know what I mean. Sounds like they're dribbling basketballs. I heard my guy get up and stop them, but I went back to sleep.
A little after seven, they were at it again. Then the girl cat comes thundering through the house -- No pitter-patter of little feet for her! She sounds like a stampeding elephant! -- into our bedroom where she lets out a bloodcurdling "Yeow-ow-ow-ow."
That wakes me up. My guy turns over, too.
"What are they playing with?" I ask. "Is it that tennis ball we keep for the dog when she visits?"
"No. It's a bird."
"What!"
"You know. The bird that keeps flying into the sliding door. I opened the door earlier and scared it off."
Evidently, it was back and the girl cat wasn't having any luck in shooing it away. She was yowling because she wanted my guy to get back out there and take care of the situation.
I think this is the bird. Looks pretty meek, but she must have suicidal tendencies.
A little after seven, they were at it again. Then the girl cat comes thundering through the house -- No pitter-patter of little feet for her! She sounds like a stampeding elephant! -- into our bedroom where she lets out a bloodcurdling "Yeow-ow-ow-ow."
That wakes me up. My guy turns over, too.
"What are they playing with?" I ask. "Is it that tennis ball we keep for the dog when she visits?"
"No. It's a bird."
"What!"
"You know. The bird that keeps flying into the sliding door. I opened the door earlier and scared it off."
Evidently, it was back and the girl cat wasn't having any luck in shooing it away. She was yowling because she wanted my guy to get back out there and take care of the situation.
I think this is the bird. Looks pretty meek, but she must have suicidal tendencies.
April 28, 2014
CAT FANCIES
My girl cat wants to run away with the gypsies. Gypsy cats, that is.
Yes, she keeps trying to rush out the door when it's opened. She got out into the garage the other day and roamed about for a couple of hours, but that didn't make her happy. She wants outside.
She's seen the feral cats strutting around the neighborhood. I think she's in love with the one who shows up in our back yard occasionally. I admit, he's a handsome fellow, but she's too old for that stuff.
My boy cat, ever the gentleman, urges her to follow her dream. I think he'd like to be rid of her.
But she'd never make it outside. She's been inside since she was a kitten. She has no idea how to stalk a squirrel or bring down a bird like these tough outside cats do. She'd starve to death.
Of course, it might take awhile since she's a bit overweight. (Looking down on her, one thinks of a huge bulging sausage.)
"No, sweetie," I tell her. "Gypsies aren't the happy, singing, dancing cats that the movies portray."
I hope she listens. If she ever makes a break for it, I'm not sure my boy cat will let her back in.
Yes, she keeps trying to rush out the door when it's opened. She got out into the garage the other day and roamed about for a couple of hours, but that didn't make her happy. She wants outside.
She's seen the feral cats strutting around the neighborhood. I think she's in love with the one who shows up in our back yard occasionally. I admit, he's a handsome fellow, but she's too old for that stuff.
My boy cat, ever the gentleman, urges her to follow her dream. I think he'd like to be rid of her.
But she'd never make it outside. She's been inside since she was a kitten. She has no idea how to stalk a squirrel or bring down a bird like these tough outside cats do. She'd starve to death.
Of course, it might take awhile since she's a bit overweight. (Looking down on her, one thinks of a huge bulging sausage.)
"No, sweetie," I tell her. "Gypsies aren't the happy, singing, dancing cats that the movies portray."
I hope she listens. If she ever makes a break for it, I'm not sure my boy cat will let her back in.
April 23, 2014
POSTAL PROBLEMS
So my guy goes to the post office to check our box. Inside is a notice that they're holding a package for us because it was too big for the box. He trots to the counter to pick it up.
Only they can't find it. Not a trace. And the person who put the notice in our box isn't there.
So they keep the notice, saying they'll put another in our box when it's found. Now we have no proof of any package at all. It's as if there never was a notice!
Anyway, that was last week. After racking my brain and contacting anyone who might have conceivably sent us a package, I gave up. If the package contained books, someone's now reading them. If it contained candy, someone's now eating it. If it contained detergent samples, someone's now washing clothes with them.
I hope to heaven that whatever someone sent us wasn't perishable. I also hope they--whoever they are--don't get annoyed when they don't get a thank-you note.
The worst part is that I'll never know!
Only they can't find it. Not a trace. And the person who put the notice in our box isn't there.
So they keep the notice, saying they'll put another in our box when it's found. Now we have no proof of any package at all. It's as if there never was a notice!
Anyway, that was last week. After racking my brain and contacting anyone who might have conceivably sent us a package, I gave up. If the package contained books, someone's now reading them. If it contained candy, someone's now eating it. If it contained detergent samples, someone's now washing clothes with them.
I hope to heaven that whatever someone sent us wasn't perishable. I also hope they--whoever they are--don't get annoyed when they don't get a thank-you note.
The worst part is that I'll never know!
April 19, 2014
CRIME BLOTTER
I can't resist talking about the crime column in the local paper. It's the first thing I turn to every morning, and today we have several strange items.
There was the usual:
$3000 trailer stolen, along with its contents worth $2000.
Someone arrested for taking food worth $13.
A man arrested for stuffing merchandise into his pockets. The attempted theft led to a confrontation with police in the store. He resisted arrest and got tasered. For $15 worth of goods.
More interesting items included this one:
Two women had an argument via FaceBook that led to one woman going over to the other woman's house. Some kind of physical confrontation occurred. Both women reported being punched in the face by the other. Looks like words really can hurt you!
And the last:
A man reported his girlfriend kicked him in the head. Seems he suspected she'd stolen $40 worth of his prescription drugs. When he went for her purse to search, she kicked him with her foot. Since the foot was in a temporary cast, I suspect it hurt!
Ah, another busy day for our crime reporters! Love our local newspaper!
There was the usual:
$3000 trailer stolen, along with its contents worth $2000.
Someone arrested for taking food worth $13.
A man arrested for stuffing merchandise into his pockets. The attempted theft led to a confrontation with police in the store. He resisted arrest and got tasered. For $15 worth of goods.
More interesting items included this one:
Two women had an argument via FaceBook that led to one woman going over to the other woman's house. Some kind of physical confrontation occurred. Both women reported being punched in the face by the other. Looks like words really can hurt you!
And the last:
A man reported his girlfriend kicked him in the head. Seems he suspected she'd stolen $40 worth of his prescription drugs. When he went for her purse to search, she kicked him with her foot. Since the foot was in a temporary cast, I suspect it hurt!
Ah, another busy day for our crime reporters! Love our local newspaper!
April 15, 2014
BLESSING OF THE FLEET
Sunday, we went up the road to a shrimping community for their annual Blessing of the Fleet. We went early, even though the actual blessing didn't occur until mid afternoon. But we figured with the weather warming -- finally -- we'd better go while it was pleasant. We actually got there before it was technically open for business, though a few booths were open. Not the funnelcake one, sadly.
Anyway, while several shrimp boats came out to be blessed, we saw only a few decked out. I think the poor economy and the poor shrimping has put a damper on the festival. With the sun bearing down, we decided to call it a day before the big event. My guy did get a few pix.
These were docked up from the bandstand:
In this one you can see the bandstand behind the back of the boat on the left. This boat actually belongs to the University of Georgia Marine Extension Service and helps in research about fishing methods, bottom mapping, etc. The third one in the rear had its lines all decorated with tinsel. Wish we had a better shot.
Here we have part of the booths that go along with the Blessing festival. The road was blocked off and the tents set up on each side. There were lots more but this was a nice shaded view. As you can see, this was about an hour before official opening time so it wasn't a bit crowded. Just the way I like it.
I'm happy to see all the festivals springing up again. This winter was just too quiet!
Anyway, while several shrimp boats came out to be blessed, we saw only a few decked out. I think the poor economy and the poor shrimping has put a damper on the festival. With the sun bearing down, we decided to call it a day before the big event. My guy did get a few pix.
These were docked up from the bandstand:
In this one you can see the bandstand behind the back of the boat on the left. This boat actually belongs to the University of Georgia Marine Extension Service and helps in research about fishing methods, bottom mapping, etc. The third one in the rear had its lines all decorated with tinsel. Wish we had a better shot.
Here we have part of the booths that go along with the Blessing festival. The road was blocked off and the tents set up on each side. There were lots more but this was a nice shaded view. As you can see, this was about an hour before official opening time so it wasn't a bit crowded. Just the way I like it.
I'm happy to see all the festivals springing up again. This winter was just too quiet!
