Writers Plot

DIG IN to BOOKPLATE SPECIAL

by Lorraine -- better known as LORNA BARRETT

What do you get with murder, good eating (with recipes), and a phantom pumpkin smasher?   Get ready to chow down on one honey of a BOOKPLATE SPECIAL!  While it's already been sighted in a number of bookstores across the country, the official release date is Tuesday, November 3rd.

In BOOKPLATE SPECIAL, Tricia has put up—and put up with—her uninvited college roommate for weeks. In return, Pammy, has stolen $100, among other things. But the day she’s kicked out, Pammy’s found dead in a dumpster, leaving loads of questions unanswered. Like what was she foraging for? Did her killer want it too? To piece the case together, Tricia will have to dive in head-first.…

You can check out an excerpt on my website--click here!

I'll be signing in a bunch of places in the Rochester, NY area in November and December.  For a list, click here! 

For my kick-off, I'll be signing books at Barnes and Noble in Greece Ridge Center on Saturday, November 7th, 2-4 p.m.  Since the book features a food pantry, I'm encouraging my readers to bring a non-perishable food item for the Greece Ecumenical Food Pantry.  Those who do will receive a free (unpublished, limited edition) short story written by me!  (Those who don't bring anything, but still want the story can make a donation.)

Can't make it to Rochester (and let's face it--we are kind of off the beaten track)?   I'd love to send you a bookplate for your copy of BOOKPLATE SPECIAL.  Just send an email with your name and address to contest @ LornaBarrett.com (to avoid spam, I put spaces in that email address--just take them out, and it'll go through fine).

It's a mess

Posted by Lorraine Bartlett (also known as Lorna Barrett)

My office is a mess.  There are piles of paper everywhere.  I can barely find anything.  And yet, I don't feel motivated to tidy up.  Why?  Because I have nowhere to put anything.

Every once in a while I get the urge to purge.  The thing is, I'm too sentimental to throw out stuff that just isn't worth saving.  Is there any reason to have a box of safety pins on one's desk?  Okay, I needed one the other day and for the first time in a million years, didn't have to go hunting for one.  (That's one brownie point in my favor, right?)

Because I didn't have a flat surface to work on, I recently bought a little wooden TV table (quite sturdy, too), and guess what?  Now IT'S covered with papers and stuff. (You can tell this picture was taken the day I bought it, right?)  I bought it so I could work on my postcards (which I'm sending out on Friday) and it worked great, but once I finished putting all those stickers, labels and stamps on the postcards, I should have taken the table down and put it away (although where that particular "away" is, I don't know).  But, there it sits right next to me, looking like a place a cat should go, get comfy on, and knock all the papers on the ground.

Of course, this untidiness has spread beyond my office.  Sometimes I find it easier to just go write on my laptop in the dining room.  But of course, that entails more than just the computer.  I have a wireless mouse (because I can't stand that little pad on the computer) and an auxiliary keyboard, because I can't seem to type on the one that came with the laptop.  The keys are too close together.  (I don't understand how anybody can text.  Then again, they don't write full words or sentences, do they?)  And I must have my notebook with the manuscript to date in it, colored pens for making notes, and my yellow pad for writing down those notes.  That takes up one whole half of the dining room table.

Don't talk to me about the kitchen.  When you run two households (and have just closed one down for the winter), you have double the staples.  I found homes for the olive oil, ketchup, mustard and Worcestershire sauce--but what about all those pretzels, cookies, crackers, and potato chips (only still around because the bag hasn't yet been opened.  Once that happens--poof!  Gone!)?  I'll tell you where they are--living on my kitchen counter.  The space I finally cleared when analog TV went the way of the dinosaur.  (Okay, I am thinking of buying a flat screen and getting cable in there.  I mean, shouldn't I be entertained while I'm slaving over a hot microwave?)

And why is it the linen closet is too small for a house this size?  How come my extra bedspreads need to live on the dryer for months at a time?  Maybe I should toss something out, but what?  One day I might need that beach towel that says BIONIC WOMAN (complete with Jamie Sommers apparently running on a beach).  I have a lovely hand crocheted (in some Southeast Asian country) full-sized tablecloth (still in the wrapper) that my mother-in-law gave me ten or twelve years ago.  Should I toss that to make room for the $4 bedspread I got at a yard sale (that seems immune to cat barf--and washes beautifully)?

Okay, let's face it; we all have too much stuff.  Is there an antidote?  If you've got one, please share, because I'm being cluttered to death.

Whatever happened to Christmas Catalogs?

Posted by Lorraine (L.L.) Bartlett, also known as Lorna Barrett

When I was a kid, back in the dark ages, my brothers and I would look forward each fall to snagging the Sears and Penney's Christmas catalogs when they came in the mail.  We'd study the toy section and make L-O-N-G lists, noting the name of the item, the page number and the price.  (Somehow we managed to NOT include the total at the bottom of the page, probably because we didn't have a calculator.)  I don't remember if we ever got anything that was on the lists, but we did always have about a million presents under the tree, and I don't remember ever being disappointed.

In the last week, I've received two Penney Christmas catalogs that purport to be "Christmas" catalogs.  The first was filled with all kinds of wonderful things like tableware, linens, small appliances, and Cindy Crawford, in front of "her" holiday table with glassware and a bottle of wine.  Doesn't everybody serve Christmas dinner in a little black sheath and dripping with diamonds?  (Um...I don't.  I usually have on a Christmas sweatshirt, sweatpants, and if I remember, my Christmas socks, which are invisible because my feet are stuffed inside my Wicked-Good slippers.)

The second catalog was a bit bigger, but nothing like the old days, when the Christmas catalog would be up to 500 pages long.  (This one is 196.)  Of course, like the days of old, this catalog is stuffed with clothes.  (BORING!)  As far as we were concerned, getting clothes was the ultimate BAD Christmas present, but someone (usually our godparents) gave us pajamas or a scarf/mitten/hat set.  You just knew when you got a box that certain size, that there wasn't going to be a record or tape player, or a board game (MONOPOLY!!!), or a Mattel Vac-U-Form in it.  (Yes, one year we got a Vac-U-Form and it was fantastic!  I think we used up all the provided plastic sheets on Christmas Day.)

The new-improved 2009 Penney Christmas catalog does have toys, but they're scattered throughout the last fifth of the catalog, mixed in with the PJs and the kid bed linens.  In total, there's about ten pages. 

ONLY TEN PAGES OF TOYS?????

Maybe it's just as well I grew up.  That would just be too hard to take.

Of course, I really don't approve of the glut of catalogs that show up in my mailbox this time of year. (The US Postal Service, which is currently going down the tubes, does, however celebrate.)  I wouldn't mind so much if the catalogs were from companies I do business on a regular basis--like JCPenny--but mostly they're from places I would never do business with.  Say, Harry and David.  Mind you, I've received gifts that were purchased from Harry and David -- just last year, as a matter of fact (a lovely box of chocolates), but there are too many diabetics on my Christmas list to purchase anything from that company.  And way too many trees are sacrificed for catalogs that will end up, unread, in the recycling bin.

For the past couple of years, I've done most of my Christmas shopping on the Internet.  Much as I love to see the lights, to hear the music, and gaze through the seasonally decorated shop windows, I can't bear to tackle the traffic, the crowds, and the germs that are the Christmas season.

Too bad we can't time travel back to our childhoods, when everything seemed so much better, fun, and happy.  When lying on your stomach on the living room, gazing at those Christmas catalogs and dreaming of the BIG day was a thrill with no compare.

What do you remember about the old Christmas catalogs?

What keeps me up at night

Posted by Lorraine (L.L.) Bartlett, also known as Lorna Barrett

For the past week or so, we've heard a high-pitched chirp in the middle of the night.  But, since we were asleep, we both rolled over and forgot about it.  Mind you, there hadn't been any chirping during the day -- just in the dead of night.  In fact, last night, I dreamed that a woman was hitting her car horn just as it chirped.

I figured--oh, the smoke alarm needs a new battery.  Okay.  But then when we got up yesterday, Hubby saw the new (to us--it's been there over a year) thermostat had a bold new message.  CHANGE BATTERIES NOW!  Who even knew the thermostat had batteries?  The installation guy didn't mention it.  We don't have an instruction manual for the thing.  When it was installed, the guy simply said, "Do this for heat, this for cool, and this to shut it off."  (Hubby was paying attention. I fumble with the damn thing.)  

So, hubby dutifully changed the batteries and all was fine with the world.  Until about two a.m.  And then:  CHIRP!  Okay, it's probably the smoke alarm.  But it could be the carbon monoxide detector.  (I'm voting for that, although we just changed the batteries last February--and the ones before that lasted two years.)  Either way, they're both getting changed.  I'm getting tired of all this chirping without a bird in sight.

Okay, I know what it is, I know what has to be done.  I can go back to sleep, right?

WRONG!

I stared at the ceiling for about half an hour and then decided I'd read for a while.  So I turned on the light, got out my book and was happily reading along until . . . out of the corner of my eye, I saw it.  A BIG SPIDER.  It was walking up the wall.  "YIPE!  SPIDER!" I managed in a strangled voice.

Hubby opened his eyes.  "You're not going to scream are you?"  (Okay, I usually do when there's a spider anywhere near me.)

"No screaming," I said, barely stiffling a scream.  I grabbed a tissue, swallowed my terror and squished the spider.  (Shudder!)  Into the waste basket he (or she) went.

I went back to my reading until I felt sleepy.  Then I closed my book and reached for the light . . . and stopped.  If there was one spider in the room, who was to say there weren't others, just lurking behind dressers or under the bed?  Or behind the curtains.  And, well, what do you know, I wasn't sleepy any more.

Now I know that spiders are good an all that--but they're good in the garden, NOT in my bedroom.  If they stay outside, they can live long and happy lives.  Come in my house and they're squished.  (Or beaten to death with a pink Croc.)  Unfortunately, this is the time of year spiders say to themselves, "Well, it was a great summer, but now it's getting colder.  Where will I go for winter?  Certainly not Florida.  I know, I'll live in Lorraine's office/kitchen/bedroom/bathroom."  (For some odd reason, I don't think I've ever seen a spider in the living or dining rooms.  Maybe I should camp out there when I can't sleep.)

So I got up and worked on the computer for a while . . . just until I felt sleepy, I thought.  And guess what?

CHIRP!

So what's keeping you awake at night?

The movies showing in Promoland

Posted by Lorraine (L.L.) Bartlett, also known as Lorna Barrett

It seems like I've been gearing up for promoting my next book for at least ten thousand years.  I've been going over lists, cleaning them up, ordering bookmarks, postcards, printing labels, yada yada yada.

Putting this all together is fun and yet incredibly boring. . .kind of like my last day job.  I would look stuff up on the Internet, cork it into spreadsheets--rinse, lather, repeat.  It was boring all right, but I didn't mind because I would listen to books on tape.  I could do all that work and still get lost in a story.  (And, okay, I admit it--I enjoyed the work.  And I enjoy doing all this nitpicky stuff getting ready and doing promotion for the books, too.)

I've already listened to my favorite audiobooks I love Eat Cake by Jeanne Ray -- in fact, I listened to it twice -- and her StepBall Change is another one I love to listen to; and I can't forget Barbara Michaels' The Dancing Floor, and Dick Francis' Straight, either. 

But I ran out of stuff to listen to so there was only one thing to do:  open the DVD Library.  First up, Superman--yup, the original.  There's something wonderful about that movie.  It's like three movies in one.  The opening on Krypton is neat, but my favorite part is the part in Smallville.  Glenn Ford only had a small part, but he was wonderful as Pa Kent.  And that scene in the wheat field--wow--what cinematography!  And then there's the Superman story itself.  Is it any wonder I watched it three times?  (Of course, then I made the mistake of watching Superman II, which is inferior in just about every way.  I never had the courage to watch Superman III . . . was there even a IV?  (Shudder.)

Next up, Galaxy Quest.  I love that movie.  I must've watched it about 40 times (never saw it on the big screen).  It was the second movie I bought after I got my first DVD player.  I couldn't believe I could actually watch Tim Allen and actually like him by the time the credits rolled.  Oh and I can't forget another one of my all-time favorites:  Groundhog Day.  Somehow I never get bored watching Bill Murray spend that day over and over again.  And then I watched Airplane.  That dance scene in the bar with Stayin' Alive playing in the background is a classic!

My DVD library isn't all that big--and I have a lot of movies on VHS, but I don't have a VHS player in my office, so I can't watch some other favorites like Pleasantville, Field of Dreams, Eddie and the Cruisers.  Rats. So I guess today's movie will probably be Pollyanna.  Yes, the one with Hayley Mills in the title role.  It's wonderful (and it's L-O-N-G--about 2 1/2 hours.  I can get a lot done during that movie and not have to get up to change it.)

Have you noticed a theme that all these movies have in common?  Friendship and love.  I never get tired of that scenario.  Maybe that's why I write about it in all my various series.  The relationship between the brothers in the Jeff Resnick Mysteries, and the relationship between the sisters in the Booktown Mysteries.  In 2011 you'll be able to read about the friendships Katie Bonnier has with her new-found friends in the Victoria Square Mysteries. 

Okay, where is my Pollyanna DVD.  It's time to jump into work for the day.

And what movies do you enjoy watching over and over again?

Bullet Points

Posted by Lorraine (L.L.) Bartlett--also known as Lorna Barrett

When my friend Heather Webber doesn't have enough material for a full blog post (she posts on the Cozy Chicks on Fridays--and BTW, I post there on Saturdays), she does what she calls "bullet points."  Just the odds and ends of her life that are too short to warrant a full essay.  I am going to borrow Heather's marvelous idea.  (Thanks, pal!)

 For some reason, wax paper has fallen out of favor.  Go figure!  (It was replaced by non-biodegradable plastic wrap and bags that now litter our landfills.)  You can still buy wax paper, and I usually buy at least one roll of it a year.  But the one thing I used to love and can no longer buy is sandwich bags made of wax paper.  And then twice in one week (last, as a matter of fact), wax paper sandwich bags crossed my path.  I bought a bunch of stamps at my little post office and instead of a glassine envelope, the postmaster gave them to me in a little wax paper sandwich bag.  I didn't realize this until I got home.  The other I saw when visiting someone at a nursing home.  The cookie on the lunch tray came in a waxed paper sandwich bag.  I visited the P.O. again yesterday and the postmaster told me she'd been looking for them for YEARS and found them at Target.  I will be making a pilgrimage to my local Target to buy a couple of boxes.  What will I use them for?  I have no idea.  But I want them!

This summer, I went bananas buying note cards at yard sales.  I write a lot of thank you notes to booksellers, etc., and so I need a lot.  But do I need several hundred?  Mind you, I've bought as many as 10 for a quarter, so it's not like it's a lot of money.  But where am I going to store all these very cute (some are way TOOOOOOOOO cute) note cards that are currently sitting in bags on the floor of my office?  (Will I live long enough to use all these note cards?)

Last week on my personal blog, Dazed and Confused, I wrote about making poached eggs in the microwave.  I had just discovered this wonderful, fast breakfast and was thrilled to share this news.  Since then, however, I've had quite a few explosions in the microwave.  I've practically destroyed the yoke, and still -- KA-BOOM!!!  I need to do more research on the Internet so I don't have jump when these explosions happen.  (I'm sure it's something simple I need to do.  I hope I remember to do that research soon.)  In the meantime, I now put a piece of paper towel over the mug.  Saves a LOT of time cleaning the egg off the top and sides of the microwave.

Years ago, I bought a LOT of rubber stamps.  In those days, I wrote a lot of letters. (Now I just write my letters to friends and family on the Internet.)  Most of my rubber stamps have been sitting in a drawer unused.  But the other day I found one I'm putting back in use.  It's a kitty paw print.  My two cozy series (one of which is not yet published) feature cats.  It occurred to me that I could put a paw print on the envelopes when I send bookmarks out to my readers.  Win-win situation!

 Getting back to my trip to the P.O. -- I bought a bunch of postcard stamps.  They come in a roll of 100.  Most people are right handed.  So how come the stamps are rolled so that the tail end is on the left?  It's awkward.  I had to unroll the whole roll and reroll it so the stamps were facing right, not left.  Of course, I could have just turned them, and my postcards, upside down and applied the stamps that way--but it's the principle of the thing!  And while I really like the polar bear stamp, last time out they had five colorful fruit stamps in lovely pastels.  The would've gone MUCH better with my current postcards (which are orange and black--just in time for Halloween.)

So what's going on in your life?

Learning to Say "No"

Posted by Lorraine (L.L.) Bartlett, and her faithful sidekick Lorna Barrett

The other day I received an invitation in the mail.  It's a library event.  It's an event I've participated in for the past four years (this would make #5).  The event is geared toward children, but the library has graciously invited local authors to the event.  Most of the authors are self-published.

The first year, I had nothing to sell.  My first book (Murder On The Mind) came out three weeks after the event.  But I handed out bookmarks and crossed my fingers that people would remember me and take the book out of the library.  The second year, I had copies of the book with me.  I think I sold two.  The third year, I still only had that first book.  Again, I think I sold two or three copies.  Then I got published in paperback.  Wee, last year I sold a total of three copies of three different titles.

The event isn't very long (three hours), and I certainly want to support the library, but I wonder if it's worth my time.  (And doesn't that sound arrogant?)  I'm sure the library wouldn't be surprised if I turned down the invitation.  As it is, the librarian told me she was surprised I accepted last year.  She said traditionally published authors generally stop doing these kind of small events once they achieve a certain level of success.  At the time, I didn't feel all that successful and shook my head, thinking I'd probably do the event in 2009, as well.  But things do change.

I've got family obligations that are keeping me close to home this fall.  I've got a book to finish by December 1st.  I'm up to my eyeballs in promotion for my third Booktown Mystery (which comes the week after the library event).  There simply aren't enough hours in the day to get everything done.  And yet . . . I feel guilty if I say no to the event.  There have been times when I'd kill for an opportunity to do a meet-and-greet and get the word out about my work.

I'm going to have to say no to this invitation, and I do feel guilty.  The event will be a huge success without me.  The local politicians will be out there pressing the flesh, and because it's a children's event, the kids will have a great time.  Nobody will miss me.  I am not a draw.  So why do I feel bad about declining the invitation?

Why is it that men can say "no" so easily and yet women find it difficult?  And why do we feel guilty?  Any thoughts?

Fan Mail From Some Flounder*

Posted by Lorraine (L.L.) Bartlett and her nom de plume (who can't stop laughing) Lorna Barrett

I've been a published author for just about four years now, and during that time I've received scores of lovely letters from my readers.  One of the nicest came from a woman who was stuck in the hospital while her loved one recovered from a very serious car accident.  She told me that reading my books made the lonely, angst-filled hours more bearable.  

I love getting mail from my readers (be it snail or e-mail).  But last week I got my first  unfriendly letter.  In it I was accused of promoting an unhealthy lifestyle.  Why?  Because my second Booktown Mystery opened up with people eating cake.  Not just any cake, but chocolate cake with a white chocolate ganache filling.  This person accused me of endosing the idea that "fatty foods and cream sauces are even remotely good" for one.  

(BTW, I don't believe I mentioned cream sauce, as it's not something I personally eat--then again, I don't eat chocolate cake, either.) 

(Let me get this straight--eating cake is unhealthy, but death by bungie cord is okay?)

I was also accused of showing people who eat well as "weird."   Hmm.  My protagonist, Tricia, is very careful about the food she eats, preferring salads and low-fat options.  She also runs four miles a day on her treadmill.  Can she help it if other people around her eat or bake sweets?  (Especially her sister, the cookbook author, and, oh yes, the woman who runs the local bakery?)

Perhaps the worst offense I've committed as an author is to contribute to the DEATHS of MILLIONS of READERS.  Hmm...has this person looked at my upcoming royalty statement?  Will I find that instead of thousands of books sold, I'll be paid for MILLIONS of them?  Perhaps I should warn my agent to practice writing lots of zeros before she makes out the check next month. 

And talk about promoting fatty foods--does this person even know about Paula Deen?  Hey, Paula, put down that stick of butter and walk away from the mixing bowl -- nice and slow --and maybe you won't get hurt.

Er . . . ahem.

Puzzled by this rather strong reaction to Bookmarked for Death, I asked several of my author friends about it.  Our own Leann Sweeney said, "There are people who have totally eliminated the meaning of "fiction" and "fun" from their brains. You wrote a novel, not a treatise on nutrition. That person needs a chill pill."

(Oh dear.  Would this person think Leann promotes reckless drug use?)

My local critique partner, Liz, said, "Lorraine. YOU'VE MADE IT!! As a writer, you have certainly touched the soul of this poor being. Think of what joy he had writing to you. And if he tells enough of his friends, those who actually Like Cake will probably pick up your books."

I sure hope she's right.

My friend Mary Jane Maffini said, "That reminds me. I read your book and now I'm dead. Been meaning to speak to you about that...." 

(Oh bother.  Now I've killed a dear friend.  I wonder if her husband has noticed?)

Pal Elizabeth Spann Craig said, "And I'm writing a barbeque book. I can't imagine what kind of letter I've got in store for me."

In closing, the author of this "fan letter" told me not to write back to try to explain my recipe choices, or defend myself, or the book in any way.  In fact, s/he doesn't want to be reminded that I even exist.

Gulp.

Wow.  I'm hurt.  But somehow I'll have to find the courage to go on with life.  I'll eat my veggies and have the occasional slice of cake--even if it's not good for me.

Oh, what the heck--here's the recipe for that white chocolate ganache:

1 ½ cups heavy cream
8 ounces white chocolate chips 

In a saucepan combine 1 1/2 cups of the cream and bring to a boil. Remove from the heat. Place white chocolate chips in a large bowl and pour hot cream into the bowl. Let sit for 1 minute or so, then whisk until smooth. Transfer to the refrigerator to cool, stirring occasionally.

When mixture is cold and thickened, beat with an electric mixer into soft peaks, then beat the last few strokes by hand with a whisk until thick and firm. (Do not to over-whisk or mixture will become grainy.) 

For flavored ganache, deduct 1 ounce of cream and add 1 ½ ounces of rum or your favorite liqueur. Or, add in 1/4-teaspoon vanilla extract—or other flavoring.
 
Ganache can stay at room temperature for 2 days, as long as it’s kept in a cool place.

------------------------------------

* Those of you who remember the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show should be familiar with this expression.

My Cats: Putting The Fun In Dysfunctional

posted by Lorraine (L.L.) Bartlett, also known as Lorna Barrett

Writing about your dysfunctional family is liable to be the stuff of lawsuits, so today I think I'll stick with the cats in my family.  After all, you don't get to pick your family, but in this case, we did pick our four cats.

Our last batch of cats got along well.  Okay, three of them got along well--in three combinations.  Kate and Henry never got along.  I say that, but then why did they so often turn up sleeping on the same (albeit opposite ends of the) couch.  Henry was around long enough to live with three of the current four before he had a stroke at the age of 16.

We seem to stick with four cats (five strains the system), and here's a longer account of how we got our cats.

Now our oldest are a couple of sisters from the local humane society.  We'd gone to Lollipop Farm with the idea of getting one kitten, but the girls clung to each other in their cage with their little kitty arms around each other and we couldn't bear to split them up.  They are Betsy and Bonnie.

Chester came almost a year later.  We bought him at a pet store.  He'd been returned.  He cost $49.99 and I bought him for my husband as a Christmas present.

After Henry went to his reward, Chester started picking on the girls.  He'd look at them, and they'd scream.  We thought (wrongly so) that bringing in another boy cat might distract Chester.  He'd wrestled with Henry and enjoyed it, so maybe he'd like to pal around with another guy kitty.

Once again we were sucked in by siblings.  Two adult male cats who'd been with an animal rescue organization's tiny cage for THIRTY NINE WEEKS.  (Also told in more detail in the link above.)  Sadly, it didn't work out.  After six months of trying to make it work, George found a new home in Buffalo (where he became king of that castle in about 45 seconds) and Fred stayed with us.

Fred is the most affectionate cat I've ever had (and I've had a lot of lap cats).  Fred became my Tiny Son.  He's also a bit of a dim bulb.  He probably should've been born a greyhound, because he loves to run.  He also likes to chase--Bonnie and Betsy.  (Okay, sometimes, if he's in the mood, Chester will let him chase him.)  Of course, when he chases the girls, it's accompanied by ear-splitting screams, hisses, and growls.   Fred also suffers from "twitchy cat syndrome."  Of course Fred has to buck one of the symptoms, which is sensitivity to petting.  It's only my petting him that calms him down.

The girls aren't the least bit neurotic.  (Cough cough.)  They're certainly not the only cats on the planet (or at least this country) that will only drink water out of the tap.  Good thing we live on the shore of one of the great lakes, because our bathroom faucet is on perpetual drip to quench their thirsts.

Chester is a "wool eater."  Nothing is safe with him around.  Soon after he arrived, my stuffed animals were getting . . . moved.  Now, nothing made of fabric is safe.  Doilies, dust clothes, socks, towels--yes, full-sized towels--might show up anywhere.  (A former diaper used as a dust cloth seems to be his current favorite piece of fabric.  That diaper's been everywhere!)

Bonnie lives a life of quiet desperation.  When she's not at ye olde drinking fountain, she's behind the leather love seat or under the living room bookshelves.  Okay, she does come out at Happy Hour for her kitty snacks, and will often come sit next to/or on me.  Lately Fred has decided that he'd like to keep her company.  Even if it's not such a rare thing anymore, we feel the need to chronicle this miracle.  (We've got tons of pictures of Kate and Henry on the old couch.)

For years, we slept (very happily) with the bedroom door closed.  But then during the Fred/George siege, Frank let Chester (who was constantly being attacked) come sleep with us.  That opened the flood gates.  Now, most nights, we've got three of them in with us.  They take up a disproportionate amount of our king-sized bed, too.  We end up clinging to the edges--with very few covers--while 30+ pounds of cat(s) take up 60% of the middle of the bed.  Sometimes they sleep peacefully--sometimes they don't.  It's not rare that Betsy will wake us up with her growling and swearing because some boy cat is LOOKING at her in the dark.  Mind you, these same cats often sleep together in perfect harmony under the 200 watt light bulb in Frank's office, but perhaps being nocturnal, they'd rather fight it out at night.

Our old bunch of cats knew where their food was put down, and they all ate their own.  Not this group.  If they decide to show up, they may or may not eat their own food.  Usually they lick up the gravy, and then check out each other's bowls.  Boys prefer the girl's food, and girls prefer to eat the boy's food.  Same stuff, same amount--but somehow the grub is always better in someone else's bowl.

One thing we can say, with four cats around, it's never boring around here.

How many of you are staff to your cats?

The Return of Mr. Groundhog

Posted by Lorraine (L.L.) Bartlett also known as Lorna Barrett

Much as I'm a fan of the movie Groundhog Day -- I am NOT a fan of groundhogs.  Let us walk through the mists of time to remember what happened about a decade ago . . . (insert a little harp music here).

All those years ago, we had an unwanted visitor in our garden.  He would take a dip in the pool, walk up the steps, walk around the pool, and sun himself on our little garden bench.  We thought this was kind of cute . . . until he started eating all our flowers.

It turns out, Mr. Groundhog lived in a hole in the arborvitae that grows on the west end of our yard.  My husband Frank was furious--as at the time, the garden was his domain.  We live behind a farmette and Frank passed through the magic door (a space between the arborvitae) into the farm and found that Mr. Groundhog had been feasting on their crops.  One phone call and an hour later, a Havahart trap arrived behind our yard.  An hour after that, Mr. Groundhog had been captured.  He was taken away and we never knew (but did suspect) his fate.  And our flowers flourished for the rest of that season.

Bunnies have been the bane of my bean crops, eating them down to the dirt.  But this year, we sprinkled (and rather liberally) dried blood and consequently are having the best pole bean season ever.

All was well until last night.  I was sitting there reading in our enclosed porch when Chester jumped onto his little box all attentive.  Omigod!  There was a skinny groundhog walking on the concrete deck, heading toward MY CROPS.  I shot out of my chair, hands clapping, and new Mr. Groundhog fled into the arborvitae and I flew out the door to reassure myself that all was well in the garden.

IT WAS NOT.

The pride and joy of my Brussells sprouts had been severely chewed!  And, in fact, one of the leaves had been ripped from the plant.  As it happened, I'd been bragging to my Dad earlier in the afternoon that the first plant was growing by leaps and bounds--and that it was nearly four feet tall.  We had been out picking beans just a couple of hours before I discovered my poor sprout plant had been savagely CHEWED!!!!!

As we looked closer, we saw that one of the broccoli plants had not only been chewed, it had been stripped!  Yum-yum!  Mr. Groundhog had been having a lovely vegetarian dinner and apparently enjoying himself immensely--hence his return for a second meal of the day.

Look at the close up of my Brussels Sprout plant (my pride and joy) where he ripped off the leaf--and note the sprouts are just starting to form.  (Aren't they cute?)  Leaves are one thing, but he'd better not nibble my sprouts.

Of course you know, this first offense will not be taken lightly.  This means war!  First, the last of the dried blood has been spread.  Next up, taking a look at the farm behind us.  If their crops have been decimated, another call to the owner is in order.

Mr. Groundhog, you are no Punxsutawney Phil and this is not Gobbler's Knob.  If you know what's good for you, you will make like Elvis and leave the area.

For good.

And what critters are dining in your yard?

UPDATE:  Mr. Groundhog returned later this afternoon and completely destroyed four of the five Brussels sprouts plants.  We are buying a trap.