Welcome to another installment of Rainbow Snippets! I hope
everyone is seeing a joyful conclusion to Pride month, though it’s always a
good time of year to address issues facing members and friends of the LGBTQIA+
community. Meanwhile, I hope you’ll visit other writers on our Rainbow Snippets
Facebook page. There are many talents represented, and I’m grateful they
welcomed me to their ranks.
As promised, I got my
characters back together, though their reunion is awkward, to say the least. In
this bit of conversation, a classic fear of commitment is addressed, along with
a mention of intimacy. If you don’t mind reading such things, please enjoy!
Story:
“Do
you remember the first time we had sex in your bathroom?”
“Um…”
“Seeing
my razor next to your toothbrush freaked you out.”
“Huh?”
“It ruined your orgasm,” he
replied, provocative words falling flat. “And you couldn’t get me back to bed
fast enough.”
~
Do you think these two have a shot, with one communicative
and the other, well… not so much?
Before this year we never
enjoyed success growing rainbow chard, certainly not enough to eat. In 2016 a
single seed produced results and SO liked the pretty foliage so much I was
discouraged from harvesting any leaves. By fall when I went to cut it down my
hands would not have fit around the base of that plant. Cool, but not practical.
Last year not a single chard
seed sown among my perennials even sprouted. And we had decided we wanted to try
adding those greens to our diet. So this year we took a different approach,
buying three garden center grown plants and putting them in our root and
vegetable EarthBox.
Baby Plants, Now Ten Times the Size
Success! Unfortunately, I am
almost tired of eating chard. At least we keep finding new recipes thanks to
the Internet. Charring the leaves with a little shallot and olive oil, then sprinkling
the chopped bits with more oil, salt, pepper, and golden raisins proved quite
tasty yesterday.
I may attempt to make chard ‘crisps’
with nothing but a tiny bit of oil and salt sprinkled over before baking. SO
likes to nibble on sheets of nori leftover from rolling homemade futomaki, so
why not?
Now, for my discovery, harvesting
advice I found online proved very useful. Sure, you can cut off a few leaves
here and there. You can also chop the plant to the ground.
We decided to try that with
one plant after finding the big leaves less tasty, the stems downright woody. Below
you can see the tender new growth.
Look at the Size of that Cut Stalk Compared to the Shoots at Lowest Left
Would you sample if someone
set a plate of charred greens or crisped seaweed (nori) in front of you?
The temperatures upon my westward
facing walkout basement patio have been just low enough for me to enjoy the
space most mornings into early to mid afternoon. In fact I’m here right now
typing this. It's quite peaceful despite distant traffic and industrialization. I just wish the greenery weren't quite so aggressive.
As for critters, another cat
wandered through yesterday, a big black and white feline who came and went with a
skittish bump against my shins. An attempt to feed the creature sent him (?)
scurrying. A black cat ignored me as I gardened around dawn today. I hope there
is a family or two who brings these healthy (looking) creatures in at night and
will someday keep them there out of harm’s way.
Edging the Lawn is One of Two Eight Foot Tall Retaining Walls
Meanwhile, I have seen deer
out my rear windows and evidence of raccoons on our back upper deck. As for
down here under the tin roof, plenty of spiders come across the concrete slab (all
are fine and left unmolested as long as they maintain distance) and even a mole
one day. I’ve been harassed by ladybug infestations and the oddball mosquito
out on a hot dry day, plus visited by other flyers including a bumble bee who
just buzzed me minutes ago and a huge (late summer) praying mantis who landed
on the back of my chair one year.
Top of My Lilac Bush and a Tree Backed by Neighboring Jungle
I’m sure this space sees
plenty of activity after dark – opossums, red foxes, coyotes. I’ve only not seen that last, which my next door
neighbor has noticed while letting out his dog late at night. Good thing my
cats are (mostly) happy staying inside!
Continuing the Panorama
When you see how wild much of
the surrounding spaces are, I suppose it’s no wonder we have such diverse
wildlife. That also explains the indoor visitors, of course. Yesterday I shooed
another good sized fishing spider out of my garage, spotted hunkered down when I
pulled out the lawn mower. Maybe it’s just as well we don’t have a creek or
pond, much as I love water features.
My Portable Fireplace is Rusty! Oops
What do you most like and/or dislike about your home environment?
Let me just start by saying
once again that blogger Ellen Jacobson is a hoot. Her posts on The Cynical
Sailor and His Salty Sidekick make me laugh out loud on a regular basis.
When I learned she offered
ARCs her new cozy mystery, I jumped at the
chance and volunteered to review and promote her book. I don’t regret the decision.
Mollie McGhie could almost be Ms. Jacobson from all I’ve read,
though thank heaven without having found a murder victim on her and her
husband’s boat. In fact, I hope Mr. Jacobson is a model for Scooter McGhie.
Mollie’s husband dotes on his
amateur sleuth of a wife with tenderness and patience, while the local
constabulary is less than impressed. In short, the story contains everything
one would hope for in a cozy mystery.
And more.
I found myself invested in
the wellbeing of this wide cast of (often eccentric) characters, one of them
four footed. At the very least, I wanted to restock everyone’s chocolate supply
(or kitty kibble, as the case may be). ~grin~ So if you’re ready for a light,
fun read, especially for the beach, pick up a hard or digital copy of “Murder
at the Marina”.
BLURB
Murder at
the Marina
is the first in the new lighthearted and humorous Mollie McGhie Sailing Mystery
series.
A dilapidated
sailboat for your anniversary—not very romantic. A dead body on board—even
worse.
Mollie McGhie
is hoping for diamonds for her tenth wedding anniversary. Instead, her husband
presents her with a dilapidated sailboat. Just one problem—she doesn’t know
anything about boats, nor does she want to.
When Mollie
discovers someone murdered on board, she hopes it will convince her husband
that owning a boat is a bad idea. Unfortunately, he’s more determined than ever
to fix the boat up and set out to sea.
Mollie finds
herself drawn into the tight-knit community living at Palm Tree Marina in
Coconut Cove, a small town on the Florida
coast. She uncovers a crime ring dealing in stolen marine equipment,
investigates an alien abduction, eats way too many chocolate bars, adopts a
cat, and learns far more about sailing than she ever wanted to.
Can Mollie
discover who the murderer is before her nosiness gets her killed?
Ellen Jacobson
writes mystery and scifi/fantasy stories. She is the author of the “Mollie
McGhie Sailing Mystery” series. She lives on a sailboat with her husband,
exploring the world from the water. When she isn't working on boat projects or
seeking out deserted islands, she blogs about their adventures at The Cynical Sailor.
While it’s officially summer in my part of the world,
residents continue
commemorating the 1969 Stonewall riots in Manhattan
to boost awareness of LGBTQIA+ issues. Please, all
attendees stay safe, have fun, and make a positive impact. As I keep repeating,
this world needs to be safer and more loving toward everyone.
This weekend I’m sharing a
bittersweet post breakup scene from “Kennel Club”. I promise they get back
together within the week. ~grin~ And I hope you’ll visit the Rainbow Snippets
Facebook page to check out these talented writers. Please enjoy my humble
contribution…
Story:
Hours later, much of that
time spent tossing and turning, my bleating alarm jolted me out of a nightmare,
my dream self walking away from my former lover drowning in a small lake. With
brown bubbles foaming his lips he could only plead with algae clotted eyes. At
the last instant I looked over my shoulder to see muddied locks dragging his
slender form into the murk.
Swiping my forehead I
surveyed the werewolf’s makeshift nightstand. The rickety table should have
been cluttered with wallet and keys, his watch, maybe a library book. The only
thing remaining was a half empty water glass.
~
Do you see a glass as half full or half empty? As
someone clever pointed out, a wise person sees it as refillable.
While this doesn’t include my usual Thursday home care tip, I ‘discovered’ the delightful Ms. Jacobson through her blog The Cynical Sailor and His Salty Sidekick. Dear Ellen is a hoot, and her comedic styling
shines in her new book, “Murder at the Marina”,
which I was privileged to read early in exchange for a fair review. I’ll be sharing that in a few days.
Now, as I requested a story for today’s book promotion, I’ll let her take it
away. Enjoy, dear readers.
Simon
opened his eyes, yawned, and stretched his front paws, sinking his claws into
the couch.
“Wait a
minute, where are we?” he asked, peering around the room. “This doesn't look
like where I fell asleep.”
“Oh, we're
at Darla's,” I explained.
Simon
sniffed the throw cushions, then growled. “Who the heck is Darla?”
“Darla has
a lovely blog and offered to host us to celebrate the release of my cozy
mystery, Murder at the Marina.”
“You're not
still going on about that stupid book of yours, are you?” Simon jumped on the
coffee table and pushed a pen onto the floor. He turned and glared at me.
“Listen, lady, no one cares that you wrote a book. All they care about are your
stories about me.”
I sighed.
“Simon, for the last time, I'm not going to write a book about you. You'll have
to be content with the occasional story on my blog.”
Simon's
tail swished back and forth. “If you keep it up, lady, I might just stay at
Darla's permanently.”
“I'm not
sure she'd have you,” I said. “Now just be quiet for a few minutes while I tell
everyone about Murder at the Marina and then I'll get you a saucer of
full-fat milk.”
BLURB
Murder
at the Marina is
the first in the new lighthearted and humorous Mollie McGhie Sailing Mystery
series.
A dilapidated sailboat for your
anniversary—not very romantic. A dead body on board—even worse.
Mollie McGhie is hoping for diamonds
for her tenth wedding anniversary. Instead, her husband presents her with a
dilapidated sailboat. Just one problem—she doesn’t know anything about boats,
nor does she want to.
When Mollie discovers someone
murdered on board, she hopes it will convince her husband that owning a boat is
a bad idea. Unfortunately, he’s more determined than ever to fix the boat up
and set out to sea.
Mollie finds herself drawn into the
tight-knit community living at Palm Tree Marina in Coconut Cove, a small town
on the Florida
coast. She uncovers a crime ring dealing in stolen marine equipment,
investigates an alien abduction, eats way too many chocolate bars, adopts a
cat, and learns far more about sailing than she ever wanted to.
Can Mollie discover who the murderer
is before her nosiness gets her killed?
Ellen
Jacobson writes mystery and scifi/fantasy stories. She is the author of the
“Mollie McGhie Sailing Mystery” series. She lives on a sailboat with her
husband, exploring the world from the water. When she isn't working on boat
projects or seeking out deserted islands, she blogs about their adventures at
The Cynical Sailor.
Well, it’s official. Styx had a home. He was neutered as well as socially adjusted. I just came back from the veterinary
office with an empty carrier.
You Can Just See the Gratitude, Can't You?
As it turned out, he had a
microchip, which I had to remind the vet tech to scan for. She said it’s rare
for cats to have them, though all our girls have received them.
Anyway, his family is
ecstatic. His human called to thank me. She said he snuck out a week ago!
I’m thrilled for them. Now that
I have a baby gate ordered to segregate my cats during introductions, it might
be time to start visiting shelters and let SO pick out an older feline maybe or
perhaps a pair of younger siblings.
It turns out that a friend snuck me into an Awww... Mondays blog hop on behalf of the little fellow starring in this post. Thanks to the sweetheart at Comedy Plus! You can find other participants at the bottom of this post.
I believe our little
household has an official new member, a young orange tabby male who showed up
meowing in the next door neighbor’s yard Friday morning. His wellness
veterinary visit is scheduled for Tuesday, so for now he is segregated from our
two old female cats until after that to avoid possible disease transmission. We
will also have the vet tech scan for an identification chip.
Very Skinny Boy on Our Driveway, More Hungry Than Skittish
My SO, in particular, cannot believe
a feral cat could be so friendly, which is probably true. I hope nobody claimed
him prior for he is super sweet, very gentle with me, happy to lounge about, seeming
grateful for his windfall.
He got his (we presume) first
taste of catnip a few minutes ago. The reaction immediate, we had some fun
before he wound down. Now he is on a foldable patio recliner next to my chair
here in our carpeted cellar.
Styx Claiming the Cushion Used to Support My Laptop
We decided to name him after
a favorite socio/political Youtube content creator, Styxhexenhammer666, known
as ‘Styx’ for short. It seemed fitting, as both have a very thin build and are talented orators. Our little Styx
made very clear he wanted our help. And Styx
the man (real name Tarl Warwick) is also an accomplished gardener, so our four
footed boy finding us working in ours sort of sealed the deal.
I also believe our kitty here
crossed a river of adversity to find us. He didn’t have the benefit of Charon
(another name I considered) ferrying him across the River Styx.
Yesterday afternoon I signed
onto Twitter and mentioned my consideration, addressing Mr. Warwick by his
handle. To my delight, the busy man responded.
Are you jealous like we are that
felines can get high off a safe, legal herb?
It’s hard to believe June is halfway over. Those more
social than me continue
commemorating the 1969 Stonewall riots in Manhattan
and boosting awareness of LGBTQIA+ issues. I am still praying
all attendees stay safe, have fun, and make a positive impact. This world needs
to be safer and more loving toward everyone.
This weekend I am once again
sharing from my unpublished “BloodMoon” series. “Dog with a Bone” is a little
different, featuring Nick as a teenager. Neither funny nor erotic, this scene
has the werewolf discovering that his best friends are murderers. And his inadvertent shout just gave his discovery away.
I hope you enjoy his tension
and will check out more writers sharing on the Rainbow Snippets Facebook page.
Have a great weekend!
Snippet:
Like that little boy in “The
Shining”, only much faster, he retraced his steps in reverse making the barest
contact with the carpet out of sheer panic. In his haste he didn’t quite engage
the latch, but the door to the body dump stayed shut as he backpedaled to the
sewing room.
Inside,
recognizing the fact he had maybe thirty seconds before discovery, Nickolas
cursed himself for not having converted the futon into a bed. Whipping off his
shirt, he kicked the pillow toward the armrest and yanked the afghan around his
shoulders.
Rolling
himself prostrate within the blanket like a burrito, he channeled Danny’s
crazed father at the Overlook Hotel, imitating those horrifying bellows the
best he could. Andy’s voice reached him from down the hall.
~
How would you react, cornered by such a frightening discovery?
Now that I understand how the code works, I've officially joined with Sandee of Comedy Plus and other cat lovers for Feline Friday. You can check out other kitty images at the bottom of my post. Meanwhile, here was my original post before Sandee kindly linked me up...
It has become our tradition
this season to go out early in the morning while it’s cooler to tend vegetable planters
and garden plots. Today no exception, I urged that we venture outside before
full sunrise. And I’m glad I did.
Before sunlight heated me up I
managed to rip out a huge load of weeds. Early on in the process, a praying
mantis appeared. Knowing my husband wasn’t going to slog through crabapple tree
branches like I did to see the little creature, I picked it up with care. Here you
can see the tiny hunter, about an inch long, in the southeast garden patch.
A Favorite Insect
We also have flying
neighbors. The vultures roost together in what’s called a ‘wake’. Once warmed
by the sun they take off in so-called kettle formations (like a swirl of bubbles
in boiling water) before dispersing. Today I didn’t experience large numbers as
in past, but still appreciate seeing them.
Parting Ways
To be honest, the above photo of vultures and
below of this hummingbird were taken a little later, after my breakfast. In fact,
I photographed them in the process of writing this blog post. It’s behooved me
to keep my camera handy. I liked how the sun shone on this little flyer.
Pit Stop
But I am still not done. Back
to earlier, near the end of my weeding goal, I heard insistent meowing and
spied a little tangerine colored tabby seeming just out of kitten-hood. With stinging
sweat and the rising sun in my eyes, I didn’t recognize the feline’s undernourished
condition.
DH did, and fetched a large
disposable cup full of kibble and a paper plate. He even went back for a water
bowl at my request. Left in charge of serving the animal, I poured about a
third of the cupful on the plate.
About to Dig In
Then I poured another third,
and finally the entire rest of what we had. Here is what’s left:
Maybe a Sixth of What I Served
And below is another shot of the friendly,
desperate fellow. This pose (I saw some male bits when he rolled around at my
feet later) really shows off how thin the poor guy is. After eating, he didn’t
want to leave my side. Following me to a patio chair he either rubbed himself
up and down my legs and feet or lolled between them. He also let me pick him up
for a minute. I’m happy to report no visible sign of fleas or any injury.
Hungry Fellow
When at last he settled on
the welcome mat, I rose to go inside for some much needed breakfast. He followed
me into the garage. It would seem I have a new friend, and was told that I’m no
longer allowed to garden. ~grin~ The cat looked ready to dash through the front door
at one point but, sad to say, we couldn’t let him inside for fear of any
infection or a fight with our old female cats.
The guy wandered off before I
brought my plate of food outside. If he had not, he might be in my laundry room
by now. My hope is to wrangle the cat for a checkup and neuter. Maybe he could
fit into our little family. I don’t know.
Of course, my husband has
said for years that he gets to choose the next cat (which he repeated, tongue
in cheek, today) but I know he would accept this addition. Besides, we agree
that God has put each of our three kitties into my path. If we were
non-believers, we’d be saying that you don’t choose a cat, a cat chooses you. My big brother can attest.
Today in the United States
we celebrate a holiday created just to honor our flag. I’ve put mine out, which is
rare because my Harry Lauder’s walking stick (a type of hazel) and a nearby elm tree have grown so
large as to hide my flag pole from half the neighborhood.
Named for Its Twisted Branches as You'll See Further Down Can You Spot the Hummingbird?
And there is no
simple way to move the holder, a sturdy work of engineering from a long
deceased dear neighbor. I’m sad to say any intent to do so is pretty low on the
priority list, especially with all the summertime chores eating into my time.
Famous Scottish Entertainer Check out that Stick!
Meanwhile, it’s a gorgeous
day. I just watched a pair of hummingbirds get into a tussle over the feeder. They
really spiraled high in this aerial battle! I’m overjoyed to be out in low
temperatures and humidity for a change.
As for the actual ‘bonus’ in
my title, my husband and I married twenty-one years ago today. My unintentional
choice of date was lauded by all at our small wedding as an easy way for him to
remember our anniversary but, funny enough, the date didn’t occur to me until I
tore off yesterday’s sheet from our page-a-day cat calendar! It’s a good thing
neither of us gets offended by such lapses.
I’ve been offered a dinner
out somewhere. To be honest, I think we should count our delightful lunch the
other day as adequate celebration. I prefer we cook a nice meal together and toast with
some cold, bubbly Zima (we're enjoying the limited release while it lasts).
Not much of an adventurer, I haven’t
driven north of Dayton, Ohio via Interstate 75 in many years. Anytime
some obligation forces us to travel that direction, it makes more sense to
bypass the city.
Yesterday, however, was a
different story as SO and I took a little road trip to buy cat litter. Sounds crazy,
doesn’t it? I mean, surely we could get non-clumping Tidy Cats almost anywhere.
But we save money buying huge
bags at a members-only warehouse club store. Ordering and paying online means a
quick trip with easy pickup, too. I don’t even have to get out of the car until
the bags are wheeled over for me to load. (SO has a bad back) Alas, our local
Sam’s Club didn’t have the litter in stock, or so the website indicated. Had I known
this right away, my suggestion would have been to try the local sister store,
Walmart.
Without consulting me, my
dear partner went ahead and ordered from another Sam’s Club. Told this one was
in Fairborn, I decided
to make lemonade out of lemons, proposing lunch at a rather interesting place
we visited many months ago after visiting the Wright-Patterson Air Force Museum.
Not a chain restaurant, a nice change of pace, the Wandering Griffin is also a
microbrewery.
Fortunately, I talked him
into both shopping ahead of eating and
firing up the navigation system before I backed out of the driveway. As it
turned out, my plan to traverse the usual route around the city would have
taken us far out of our way, as would dining in Fairborn.
It was interesting to see
parts of Old North Dayton again, if only from the freeway. Little had changed
that I could tell except for one important thing, the very Interstate, a long
construction project making the road a bit safer.
At least I extracted a
promise to dine at an old downtown favorite called Thai 9 in the historic
Oregon District. Requested super spicy, their massaman curry with tofu is
wonderful. SO appreciates the sushi menu. Heading south after a long wait at the
understaffed Sam’s Club, I once again engaged the nav system.
That turned out to be a
mistake. One thing wise engineers changed was moving the Third Street ramp from a left lane exit
to the more logical right hand side. I almost missed it, our map system out of
date.
Oops. Oh, well. It’s not the
first time we have been mislead. One time our old portable Magellan told us we’d
reached our destination when I pulled into a cemetery instead of our Indianapolis motel. I am
happy to say we made our way to the Marilyn Manson concert okay that night; we
just couldn’t find our car afterward.
Hey, it wasn’t our fault the
venue directors herded everyone out of one entrance, confusing our sense of
direction. We walked the huge lot for at least two hours before someone with a
golf cart rounded up us and some other unfortunates. Apparently, folks getting
lost happened on a regular basis there. I wonder if they have since changed their
silly practice?
Yesterday I saw the exit sign
in time and safely changed lanes. Perhaps we should have used his smart phone
for the hour round trip. Either way, I am grateful for GPS.
Have you ever wandered around
lost for hours at a time?
The best traits passed on to
me from my dear departed mother revolve around the arts. She read to me as a
child, procured my library card at the earliest age allowed, and encouraged my overall
creativity. My father bequeathed me her (sadly) unused sketch book and box of pastels
purchased in the early nineties.
Mom also shared my
persnickety approach to language. We often discussed linguistic pet peeves, debating
if we missed our calling by not getting into teaching English literature. Odd as
it may sound, I don’t think either of us had the patience to work with children
every day.
Today, one of my biggest
annoyances with the media is dangling participles, hence the goofy title
opening. While I’ve noted an increase in that as the Internet increases
civilian participation (by the way, I support free speech for all even if it is poorly expressed), most talented writers
I know make the mistake now and then. Some are dear friends, too, not that I would
call them out on it.
I’m concerned that editing
seems to have fallen by the wayside. The lame (main) stream media perpetrates
this crime on a regular basis. The writing quality on a favorite television
show, “Mysteries at the Museum”, caused me to pause the video stream yesterday to
jot something down.
Check this out: “Founded in
1791, visitors to the Albany Institute of History and Art…”
Really? Current visitors are
as aged as this oldest among United
States museums? Perhaps it’s time I take a
trip to Albany.
