A trip to the dentist

Went to the dentist today. She asked where my teeth were. I took them out of my special carrying case and she was really impressed with hour sparkling clean they were.

I told her that in Florida, we scrubbed our campers’ trying pans with sand and Spanish moss and that from long experience, I’d found this combination does a good job on teeth. I told her I used to use Brillo, but didn’t like the taste of that blue soap.

She said Brillo, along with Sani-Flush, was “overkill” when it came to caring for teeth.

My mother had a problem with plaque. I inherited it without inheriting her auburn hair. That means lots of scraping at the dentist’s office. Fortunately, they use semi-automated equipment these days rather than the old fashioned chisels and sandpaper.

She remarked, as I was opening the suitcase of hundred-dollar bills I always take to doctors’ and dentists’ offices, that, “Red wine is hell on the teeth.” I said, “Look, I gave up smoking 20 or so years ago and have cut back on the coffee, but the red wine is medication.”

She offered me a complimentary glass of red Zinfandel that I didn’t turn down even though the cops are out this week looking for drunks and speeders.

So now, I hear that I’m supposed to use a soft tooth brush rather than a hardy toothbrush. I can’t keep up with the changing rules. I’m supposed to brush for twenty minutes several times a day and floss on the hour even if I’m driving. That’s worse than texting or having sex while driving, isn’t it?

Since it’s as boring in fiction as it is in “real life,” I never describe my characters bathroom habits, including brushing their teeth, in my books. That’s all TMI as far as I’m concerned. However, for the kids reading this blog (yeah, right), I want to state categorically that I’m in favor of brushing one’s teeth and having daily baths or showers. I just don’t write about that stuff in my fiction.

I’m only writing about all this now because nothing more exciting came to mind for a post.

However, I will note that if you’ve just noticed that personal hygiene is good for you and makes those around you happier, that a pressure washer isn’t recommended for use in the bathroom. Please don’t ask me to elaborate.

–Malcolm

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Sunday potpourri (not to be confused with SPAM)

I’m not quite sure how to spend my time this weekend because it’s usually raining. But this weekend it isn’t, even though rain was predicted.  I blame both weather.com and accuweather.com for my feelings of chaos.

  1. According to USA Today, J. J. Rowling will release her fourth Cormoran Strike mystery this fall. She told USA Today she could easily write ten more. I don’t understand writers who have that many story ideas backed up inside their heads. But, I’m happy for her, I promise. I like the series for the same reason I liked the available detective stories that were popular when I was growing up. That is, they were Agatha Christie-style books in which (usually) one guy was trying to solve a crime rather than some high-tech firm with all kinds of illegal hacking software.
  2. Yesterday, the LeafFilter people were out here installing coverings on our gutters. They took pictures of the gutters before they cleaned them out. What a mess. We had flip screens at the old house, but stuff got under them and the wind blew them up and warped them in all kinds of ways to they wouldn’t cover the gutters properly anymore. I hope this system works. It didn’t help my mood on Saturday to have all the noise, but then I was in a bad mood already when Serena Williams lost her match in the Wimbledon final. So now, we’re protected against leaves.
  3. My hearing is crap and even with my Audibel hearing aids, I have a lot of trouble hearing human speech and need to use the closed captioning when I watch TV. So now I’m looking for something better. If you have hearing aids, are you happy with them? Can you hear your spouse asking you to take out the garbage or extinguish the stove-top grease fire? If so, tell me your stories. I looked at the online reviews and found that one site said brand XYZ was the best and then saw it had a lot of bad customer reviews. As always, I wonder if can I trust those, or is it simply that the people who are ticked off are the only ones who post anything?
  4. Maybe it’s just me, but seeing faux pas news stories and rants about Trump not bowing to the Queen of England tick me off. They are both heads of state and neither one should bow to the other. Yes, I know, the Queen is an old lady with 100000 years of tradition behind her, but we fought a war about bowing to the English monarch and I think we won it and no longer owe that monarch our allegiance. A friendly smile ought to be enough. (End of rant.)
  5. I’m starting to wish my publisher and I had scheduled the release date for Lena a little sooner than August 1. We had some trouble with the printing of the cover, and decided not to rush the release for fear something else would go wrong. (In this business, one has to assume that something will always go wrong.) However, now that the cover is squared away, I’m feeling a bit at loose ends waiting for the release date.
  6. I would like to start writing more “Jock Stewart” satire, but the real news is so crazy it’s hard to write anything outlandish. That is, reality is already enough of a satire about the left vs. right situation, so it’s hard to make up something worse.

–Malcolm

Mother Nature Must be on Pot

Mother Nature is acting stoned. Must be too much grass or perhaps it’s weed cut with oregano.

Otherwise, what’s with Florida-style rain storms every other day? We have about three acres of grass (not pot) to cut, but Mother Nature is making that hard to keep them mowed.

Pick a day, any day. Okay, Monday, then.

  • The grass is high, but too wet to mow. I decide, after all, tomorrow’s another day.
  • That night, a monsoon parks on top of the ancient oaks in the front yard. As God is my witness, I’ll never be dry again.
  • Two days later, the grass is dry (sort of) so I mow some of it. It’s slow going because it’s higher than the house. How fickle is Mother Nature?
  • The following day it (the sky, the clouds, evil spirits) rains because we’ve seen clouds from all sides now.
  • We mow for 20 minutes before lighting hits the riding mower. We decide to go inside where the cats are hiding under the bed.  Great balls of fire. Don’t bother me anymore, Mother Nature, and don’t call me sugar.
  • A guy with a hay bailer stops at the front door to ask if we need help. I ask if he bails hay (weed, pot, fescue) into rectangular bails bound with bailing wire. He says nobody does that anymore. Here’s the thing, I say. I can’t pick those hay rolls up without a tractor. He says he’ll bring a tractor and take them away for $100 a roll. To hell with that.
  • More rain.
  • Finally, we cut some of the grass (not pot) but due to its height, we have to move the deck of the mower as high as it will go. This means that as soon as we’re done, it looks like it’s time to cut the grass again. Unfortunately, we’ve been mowing in the dark using the mower’s headlights and we really do need some sleep. Frankly, says, Mother Nature, I don’t give a damn.
  • If we could smoke this stuff, we wouldn’t care.
  • Okay, now we’re back to square one. The grass is high, but too wet to mow. I decide tomorrow is another day.

Malcolm

“Lena” will be released in 27 days.

 

This and that, including a cover reveal

  1. When out-of-town people threaten to stop by for a visit, we clean up the house. I just spent an hour cleaning the hall bathroom. Now, it smells like Clorox, Formula 409, Windex, and Lysol. If all that doesn’t give out an inviting aura of cleanliness, I don’t know what does.
  2.  One of the guests, and I won’t mention her name, drinks some kind of fru-fru white wine that can only be purchased in this area at Publix. Frankly, I think the stuff tastes like Kool-aid. But, I drove a hundred miles to the Publix to make sure we have the stuff in stock.
  3. My publisher and I are waiting for the printer’s proof copy of the paperback for Lena so we can figure out when the release date will be. Lena is the third novel in the Florida Folk Magic Series. The artist who did the covers for the first two books wasn’t available for this one. So, we’re quite pleased that our new artist was able to capture the look and feel of the series.
  4. We have fun watching the TV series “Who Do You Think You Are” that involves well-known people tracking down their ancestors. The TV show plus their fame gets these people access to archivists and historians around the world, and that makes us a bit jealous. What’s amusing is that the genealogist always starts the person out with a search on Ancestry.com, something the person seemingly could have done at home before they came on the show. That part ain’t that difficult.
  5. My last post on this blog taught me one thing. Nobody wants to read about James Joyce, much less Finnegans Wake. Okay, I guess I won’t be talking about that any more. <g>
  6. Anyone else here reading Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files series about a wizard who runs a big city detective agency? In a way, once you’ve read one, you’ve read all of them. Nonetheless, they’re addictive: thrills, chills, gore, and humor.
  7. I look forward to the day when real-life politics stops sounding like satire. Jock Stewart, my alter-ego who satirizes politics from time to time on this blog has nothing to write about because “he” can’t come up with anything more outlandish than what the two major parties are saying and doing.

On that note, I think I’ll go back to cleaning up the house.

Malcolm

Sunday Shatterings -Stormy, Stevie, CNN, Tropical Fish, &c.

You will be happy to know that I’m running out of relevant titles for posts that rhyme with natterings and clatterings and will soon think up better titles.

I’m wondering today when you lost your innocence. (That’s a rhetorical question.) I don’t necessarily mean in the backseat of a car at a drive-in theater while a Godzilla movie was playing on a screen that was barely visible through the fogged up windows. I’m talking about larger issues.

  • Wikipedia art work.

    Since today is Mother’s Day, perhaps it’s fair to say that my world was shattered when I learned that my mother didn’t know everything. She came up to me one time when I was home for a visit from college and said, “Malcolm, I don’t know why you decided to start smoking.” The world moved. How could she not know? I thought she would know before I knew.

  • Many years earlier, I was reading one of those books most of us hide under the mattress and discovered that people had sex pretty much the same way the tropical fish in my aquariums had sex. Okay, well, it doesn’t usually happen while swimming, but otherwise. . . (I’d been told that God simply sent people a baby when he thought they were ready.)
  • On any given day, many newsworthy events happen. My faith in the news media is shattered when–instead of reporting that news–they’re showing panels of talking, and biased “experts” who are telling us what some news event from weeks ago actually means. Frankly (for example), I don’t care about Stormy Daniels and don’t know why she’s getting so much air time. Okay, of course I know why: ratings.
  • Since I ran out of fresh reading material, I picked up a romance novel that has been on our shelves for 32 years. I don’t know where it came from, but I’d never read it. It’s called Through a Glass Darkly. Everyone in the book is obsessed with sex. How boring is that?!
  • Every issue of AARP Magazine ends with the pictures of five or six well known people who are still attractive, busy and successful in spite of being old. Gosh, Stevie Nicks is 70 and Mich Albom and Michelle Pfeiffer are 60. How do these things happen?
  • In other news, I made a pot roast this week that came out okay, my wife and I mowed the yard, and I am getting near the ending of Lena, the third novel in my Florida Folk Magic Series. CNN didn’t cover any of this because they were still talking about Stormy Daniels.

Malcolm

In praise of those analog clocks that aren’t going away quite yet

According to Snopes, the viral story “Are Schools Removing Analog Clocks Because Students Can’t Read Them?” is mostly false. Like viral memes and tweets about political issues, this story got twisted up through multiple re-tellings so that when all was said and done, people were shouting out silly ideas as gospel.

For one thing, the story–such as it was–focused on the U. K. and not the U. S. Heck, we haven’t even embraced the metric system yet, partly because speeds posted in kilometers sound really fast and partly because cookbook publishers don’t know how to translate a “dash of this” or “a pinch of that” into milligrams.

I’ll stipulate that some of the clock makers who don’t bother with numbers should pay a little more attention to the length of the hands. The example here is easy enough to read, but sometimes, all the hands look the same. Could be a problem.

Now, I wish I could say that–like analog-recorded music that sounds much more real than digital recordings–analog clocks make time sound better. So far, my research shows that they don’t. Of course they do give a hint that time has something to do with where the sun is because the hour hand might remind you of the sundial in your garden, assuming you have a garden with a sundial and it’s not night or cloudy. I learned as a child that shining a flashlight on a sundial at night didn’t provide the correct time.

Some of those who believed that analog clocks were being thrown in dumpsters faster than used toilet paper said that teachers had better things to do than teach kids how to tell time. My teacher didn’t teach how to tell time. I knew how to do that fifteen minutes after I was born since the hospital sundial was right outside my room.

Malcolm

 

Sunday’s Tatterings

Like most writers who claim there is madness in our methods, I occasionally wonder if we’re simply suffering from wall-to-wall insanity. If so, there are times when the world seems tattered; if not, there are also times when the world seems tattered. One of my favorite poets, the late Lucie Brock-Broido, once said, “I came to poetry because I felt I couldn’t live properly in the real world.” I feel that way about prose and magical realism.

  • I think I’m more or less done with my recent series of posts on this blog about magic. For those of you who liked it, thanks for reading. For those of you who didn’t, thanks for waiting for it to run its course. Magic of one kind or another is part of most of the books I write. So, the series of magic posts show why this is the case as well as my belief that intuition is everyone’s birthright.
  • After my fellow author Smoky Zeidel at Thomas-Jacob Publishing wrote many Facebook status updates about Monarch butterflies in various stages of of development in her garden, I’m happy to see her monarch ranching has become a new book.
  • My wife and I finally found a series of dry days to work in the yard. The good news is, the yard looks better. The bad news is, we both feel like we just came home from a 30-mile mountain hike. Gosh, you’d think we were both a hundred years old and tottering around with walkers.
  • Coping with the aches and pains of yard work, my wife was awake at dawn when the moon was setting and captured this picture.
  • While going through the shelves looking for something to read, I found a copy of Karleen Koen’s Through a Glass Darkly. It’s been on our bookshelves for 32 years and I’m finally reading it. Will I finish it? Too soon to tell. It’s a historical romance, and that’s not my favorite genre.
  • Within my favorite genre (magical realism), I think I might be nearing the end of my work in progress, Lena, which will be the third book in my Florida Folk Magic series (following Conjure Woman’s Cat and Eulalie and Washerwoman) released by Thomas-Jacob Publishing.. There have been days when I didn’t think I’d figure out how to write this story. In a Facebook post on my author’s page in which I said I don’t like “sensitivity readers,” I mentioned that if I offend the KKK and white supremacists with this series of novels, it makes my day. I don’t need a sensitivity reader saying, “Well, Malcolm, this novel might offend bigots.” Okay, so what?
  • I see rain is on the way. Perhaps that means no yard work after supper. I could use another nap.

Malcolm

 

Birds, stay the hell off my car

Wikipedia Photo

My wife and I have discussed the reality that we own the dirtiest car in the neighborhood. If it were a Jeep covered with mud from our latest off-road adventure, we could feel proud of our badass look. But, alas, it’s an ageing Buick LaCrosse.

The car had collected several years of road dirt, unknown scum, pollen, and bird shit. I finally got tired of it.

So I washed it. My wife will be shocked. Normally, I rely on rain to wash the cars. But today, I used Armorall, a hose, a sponge, and a drying cloth. Most of the appalling dirt came off. I was surprised.

But then, two hours later, some damn bird and landed on the side mirror and used the thing as a toilet. We never had this problem before moving to the country. City birds know better, I guess. So, I trudged back out with the sponge and washed it off. Maybe a shotgun will solve the problem. Or a grenade.

When we had problems at a former house with woodpeckers hammering on the gutters, we got rid of them by tying a helium balloon to the corner of the house. I really don’t want to get that started with the car’s mirror because I’ll have to untie the thing every time I leave the house.

If you know how to keep birds off your car’s side mirrors, let me know.

–Malcolm

Planning an outdoor wedding? Expect rain.

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
Another flood watch is heading our way.

My friend Jock Stewart was supposed to write this post, but he’s pre-drinking for the weekend.

However, he scribbled a note on the back of a bar napkin: “Malcolm, 99% of the people in the world can be divided into two groups, cynics and fools.The other 1% know the power of bribery and magic.”

What this means for Northwest Georgia tomorrow is this: If you’re planning an outdoor wedding reception complete with flower bowers and booze that cost you 20 grand, the thing’s going to be rained out. You should have bought “rain insurance” (I think Lloyd’s of London sells that) or paid off Mother Nature or asked the conjure woman down the road to do a weather spell. These spells are similar to Patton’s Weather Prayer except for the fact you’re planning for a marriage rather than a battle.

Of course, those are often the same thing.

Without doing your home work, the wedding will have to be moved into the garage or the attic, and neither place is likely to have the ambiance of your back yard garden.

It goes without saying, that cynics are more likely to expect rain, but to also expect bad luck no matter how many alternate venues are prepared. Fools hope for the best, and while they are the good people that bad things happen to, there’s less stress involved if things work out fine.

Since my wife and I are planning a short road trip tomorrow, we expected rain. So, we’re leaving the surrey with the fringe on top in the garage and taking the Buick. (Don’t make jokes about our Buick.) The Buick has a roof, windows that close, and a heater, along with the other necessary parts. I gassed it up at Mr, C’s Shell Station this morning, so it’s ready to go when the black clouds roll across the county in the morning.

My mother was the eternal optimist. She’d plan an outdoor even event if all the weathermen in the state were forecasting storms, and the thing would come off perfectly with nary a drop of rain. She believed in the law of attraction before anyone knew what it was or she knew more magic than I suspected.

Since I’m more of a Murphy’s Law kind of person, my wife and I will be driving in the rain tomorrow. As for you, I hope you weren’t planning to get married in the garden Saturday afternoon.

Malcolm

 

Walking off Thanksgiving dinner

According to statistics–which I don’t feel like looking up right now–Americans are generally heavier than they should be. And, we don’t get enough exercise (which is probably one reason we’re heavier than we should be).

I live in the country with an office on the front of the house, giving me a front row seat on the road where a lot of people walk, ride bikes, ride horses, and sometimes walk their dogs while they (the dog owners) ride horses while holding onto long leashes connected to the dogs. We have an old house sitting on the far end of the property and it still has a separate mailbox. I made a vow two years ago to walk down there to check the mail a couple of times a week. I’ve done that once or twice, preferring to use the riding mower to save time. It’s a good thing that vow wasn’t a formal resolution or a promise to Santa Claus.

My brother and his wife take walks several times a week. Fortunately, they do this in central Florida so that I don’t get trapped into participating in their bad habits. They walk (who knows where) away from the house for 25 minutes. Then they walk home for 25 more minutes. During that time I can eat an entire box of Kispy Kreme doughnuts. Trouble is, when they visit us for Thanksgiving, they continue this notorious walking hobby and want me to go with them. This past week, they walked four times, conning me into going on two of them.

Talk about tired. I suppose I could claim it was “a good tired” and that I should feel virtuous. On the the plus side, it (the walk) burnt off calories. According to my brother and this wife, calories are bad. I tried to point out to them (my brother and his wife) that I’ve been slowly losing weight for the past year using a mind control/positive thinking program that didn’t require walking along country roads where everyone’s dog barks at you and speeding pickup trucks almost knock people into the ditch.

We’re lucky to be alive.

They (my brother and his wife) set a fast pace. Even the trucks have to go into overdrive to get around us. If you’re paranoid while walking in the country, you’ll get worse because every cow and horse along the route is going to be staring at you. I’m not sure just why four, puny little humans should be a threat to an entire herd of heavy black Angus cattle, but all those eyes focus on us until we’re out of sight and out of mind. Those eyes watch us again on our way home. And the same dogs come racing out to the highway thinking, “WTF, I thought I chased those clowns away 25 minutes ago.”

One dog chased us for 15 minutes, disappearing into the woods again and again and then lunging out at new spots to take us by surprise. His owner was chasing him, ticked off–by the expression on her face–that we dared walk by her place and disturb the 200 dogs they have there keeping watch on things.

We had plenty of Thanksgiving food to eat along with some Scuppernong wine, but I’m in the clear because I walked it off. I’m seeing a lot of whining on Facebook from people who suddenly gained 25 pounds last Thursday afternoon. They’re on treadmills when they’re not heading off (in their cars) to the gym. Poor bastards.

–Malcolm