St. Michael and All Angels

I woke with what feels like a chest cold this morning, so I didn’t go to water aerobics, but instead slept in and so this is going to be late getting posted.
I apologise

Last night the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels was celebrated at our place. Michaelmas (in England pronounced "mikkelmus") is one of the Quarter Days, dividing the year into four parts. They are, I believe, Candlemas, Lammas, Michaelmas and Christmas. The "mas" is a shortened "mass," because these were holy days, celebrated with a mass in church – marking the quarter days is a very old (e.g., medieval) custom. In England the fall term at university is still called the michaelmas term. (The university itself is a medieval invention.)

It was a good party, if smaller than usual. We hadn’t seen some of the guests in a long time, so there was lots of catching up to do. And one pair came late – one of them is a teacher and fresh from an acrimonious parent-teacher meeting that had her in tears and threatening to quit teaching. We soothed her with kind words and leftover goose and soon she was smiling. Ann told a long, convoluted (possibly invented) Irish folk tale about Archangel Michael in disguise defending a young man against the angry ghost of his wicked mother. She’s a good story teller seeking to become a good short-story writer.

Today I am going to a local mystery bookstore to sign a stack of copies of Unraveled Sleeve, which is set at the Naniboujou Lodge up on the north shore of Minnesota. The lodge carries my books in its gift shop, an unexpected and very welcome effect of my setting the book there. They buy their copies from the bookstore, which offers them a discount for quantity purchases. Everyone wins in this instance!

Last week I went to play golf at my usual par-three, nine-hole course and found the place clogged with high-schoolers. Someone said I was probably ready for the big time, and that I should try playing the back nine of the regular course. Big mistake! For one thing, I set off unable to see in the distance the hole I was aiming for and with my weak drives it took me a very long time to get to the green. For another, I got lost. I didn’t think it possible, and I was very embarrassed about it, but I couldn’t find the tee for the twelfth hole. So I decided to quit and discovered golf courses aren’t meant for people just to walk on. Finally a man in a cart came by and gave me a ride back to the clubhouse where, on confessing my sad tale, they gave me a rain check for my beloved par-three. I’m going to try to get there today

The house with no name

I bought this dollhouse at an antiques store over Labor Day weekend. My intention was to furnish it and give it to a school raffle, as I do every year. Once I got it home, however, I realized it's much too big for the raffle. -- three floors, 9 rooms, and more than 30" in all dimensions.

So, darn, I might have to keep it. I'll pick up a smaller one in the next month and that's what will go to the raffle.

But, although I love to look at them, I've never wanted a typical dollhouse with living room, bedroom, and so on. I'm trying to think of something else to turn this into. I already have a mortuary and a museum. Plus a campaign headquarters roombox, but I'll keep that off the blog, lest we get distracted by politics!






Bordellos are way too common among dollhouse owners, and so are flower shops, pawn shops, beauty parlors, hat shops, and Christmas shops.

Any ideas??

We're Not in Kansas Anymore, Toto

My husband and I have been saying this to each other for days now.

We moved to the Washington DC area September 1 or 27 days ago. For the most part, it's been life as normal with the exception of unboxing, searching for lost stuff, and trying to find our way around. The early days of any move are rather like a camping trip gone wrong, aren't they?

NSO Opening Gala

But on Saturday, we went to the season opening gala of the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center. I won't bore you with all I did to get ready. Suffice it to say, I wanted to look my best. After all, I was there as both a newbie Washingtonian and the wife of the Steinway Piano dealer for the metropolitan DC area. I didn't want to feel self-conscious. I wanted to hold my head up and feel at my best, so I put extra effort in by getting the perfect long black dress, making a hair appointment, having my nails done, and all that girlie stuff.

We were invited by our friends Michael and Noemi Neidorff from Centene Corporation, and that was comforting because Michael and Noemi are lovely people. Very kind. Very much involved in the arts. Noemi is a fine pianist and studied at the Manhattan School of Music. And they are from St. Louis, our former home, so I felt comforted the moment I spotted Noemi in her lovely periwinkle blue gown that matched her eyes. Michael gave me a big hug, and introduced me to his sister, and other people in their party.

Kennedy Center

We stood in the Hall of States at the Kennedy Center. http://www.kennedy-center.org/about/virtual_tour/hall_of_states.html All I could think to myself was, "I've seen this on TV so many times!" In another area, we passed the enormous bust of John F. Kennedy and the stunning chandeliers, it's really sumptuous. Then up to our box in the Concert Hall Here's the link http://www.kennedy-center.org/about/virtual_tour/concerthall.html Along the way we passed Alan Greenspan, Andrea Mitchell, and Barbara Walters. (So we were box-neighbors.)

The Concert

Highlights of the music included Jozsef Lendvay, a gypsy violinist, who totally rocked the audience. Noemi explained to me that in her country (Hungary) fathers pass along the talent and the music to their sons. I'd believe it. The gay and playful tune came from deep inside this man.

At intermission, we drank prosecoo and ate M and Ms. (In fact, Michael spooned some into my purse for later!)

Next Kissin played Chopin. His mastery is truly astonishing. David think he might be one of our best living pianists. Of course, our Steinway sounded just fantastic.

Dinner with the Ambassador and His Wife

At dinner, I noticed I was seated next to the Ambassador of the Republic of Hungary, Bela Szombati.

Okay, that's when you say to yourself, "Am I up to this?"

I must have been. Bela and I had a great time, laughing and chatting. I asked him, "How do I address you? What's proper? Mr. Ambassador?" And he suggested, "Bela, just call me Bela." Which I did.

He and his wife ZsuZsa just moved here 10 days ago. (I teased him about how husbands leave us wives to unbox everything. I imagined he had such excuses as, "Sorry, darling, the prime minister of England wants a word with me!" Must have been close to the truth because Bela was laughing heartily at that!) Bela told me about the gypsy population of his country, about his schooling, and wished me bon appetite when dinner came. "What's the American equivalent?" he wondered. I thought about that. "How about 'Chow down, buddy?'" That sent both of us into gales of laughter. He wondered, "What socio-economic strata would say that?" Um? Dare I answer? NO.

Emil de Cou

I also chatted with the totally charming, Emil de Cou, the assistant conductor of the NSO. We hatched some interesting plans for a special night of piano music at Wolf Trap where he is festival director. Stay tuned--who knows what will develop! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emil_de_Cou

After the dinner, David and I danced for a bit. We spotted Zsuzsa standing alone for a second, and she and I twirled around a little (we both love dancing) until a breathless Bela joined us. Seems a woman had taken him for James Bond! That sent us all into giggles. They offered us a ride in their car--but ours was in the garage. Phooey!

Another Day, Another Ambassador

Yesterday evening, we were invited to dinner at new friends' house in Georgetown. Then we went to Yom Kippur services at Adas Israel Congregation. The security there was very tight, with good reasons. Israeli Ambassador Michael Oren sat four rows away from us, and later got up and spoke. I kept an eye on his security guards. Mossad, I would guess. I know they sure looked dangerous. I kept wanting to phone Barry Eisler and report in. Barry would know the security strategy. I think I'll drop him an email later today. Inquiring minds want to know...

This Week...

So that was my weekend. This Wednesday I'm flying to New York City to visit Steinway and to celebrate Mary Pillsbury's birthday. (Mary is a riot. This will be so much fun.) On Saturday, I'm attending "In the Streets" in Frederick MD, their city festival. Queenie D of Queenie D's Book Club is my hostess with the mostess. Should be fun!

I keep pinching myself. Could this really be my life?

Yup. The bruise is forming. It sure is.

PS

Bela wondered if an ambassador would show up dead in one of my mysteries. Hmmmm. I think I know just how I plan to do that! Again...stay tuned!

Happy Birthday, Jack

Okay, this has nothing to do with crochet or mysteries, but Thursday night I went to Jack LaLanne’s 95th birthday party. He is peppy, sharp as a tack, and as authentic as they come. He is also living proof that exercise and eating right pay off big time.

I love to go to the gym, so it’s nice to see what it can do for you in the long run. Though I’m afraid my eating isn’t as disciplined as his. As a friend of mine said, if you can’t have an occasional creme brulee, what’s the point?

It was a fun evening. The party was held at the Beverly Wilshire, an elegant hotel in the heart of Beverly Hills. It started with cocktails, followed by a delicious dinner - and no it wasn’t steamed vegetable and egg whites. I guess even Jack takes a night off from his austere eating. Though when he and his wife Elaine were on the stage with his giant birthday cake, he reminded the crowd that a second on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.



I’m pretty sure the birthday cake on the stage was fake, but the cake they served us was very real. It was also delicious even if it might still be on my hips. During all the birthday good wishes, Arnold Scwhwarzenegger made a special visit, both in his position as governor to give Jack a special proclamation, and as a friend and fellow workout enthusiast to offer his good wishes.



I think this week we were supposed to be writing about charities. Well, Jack’s party was also a fund raiser for ovarian cancer research.

In the end the we left with Jack’s good wishes and reminder that our bodies are one of our most prized possessions and we should take care of them, along with a special edition juicer to help us do it.

Quilting in the 21st century

I took a spin on a Handiquilter today. This is a sewing machine on steroids. To give you an idea how big it is, it’s suggested that the operator have at least 12 feet of clearance. It's a monster. I’m lucky a friend who lives nearby has one and enjoys teaching people how to use it.

Quilting has come a long way, baby. When I first started (21 years ago), I hand-quilted or tied my pieces. I tacked a few with embroidery floss and did something called turkey tracks across one quilt. This all took time. It wasn’t unusual for it to take me months to finish a quilt top.

At the same time, rotary cutters made piecing faster and easier. It was very easy to make tops but not as simple to get them finished.

Then I learned to machine quilt on my regular machine. I wasn’t very good at it, I would get better, right? I took classes from plenty of wonderful machine quilting teachers. I bought different sewing machines as new technology came available. Still my machine quilting left a lot to be desired. True confession: I never really got very good.

So I fell behind on my quilting. I continue to make quilt tops, but they never made it to the finish line.

Today I quilted this top in about 2 hours, give or take. There is a learning curve to using this machine, but a lot of freedom as well. I’m looking forward to finish my quilt tops.

This quilt is going to the Philanthropy group at my local quilt guild, to be given to a child in need of some comfort. To be able to do that, fast and quickly, is something to celebrate.

Anxiety But Okay

My husband and I were traveling recently and our younger son was staying with our dogs. He’s really great with the pups, and I was very concerned when he called to tell us that Mystie, our younger Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, hadn’t eaten her breakfast. She’s had health issues, and reluctance to eat was one of the symptoms.

Being away from home, I worried a lot. I told my son what to do to try to get Mystie past this hurdle. She’s had bad days even after we got her diet regulated to help resolve her health problems, and I hoped this was just one of those momentary glitches. But not being there… I worried and called several times.

Next meal? She ate just fine! Anxiety over. But somehow it had seemed worse when I wasn’t there to take care of her myself.

Do you worry more about your family’s issues at home (yes, my dogs are family!) when you aren’t there?

Try to Remember

The fiftieth anniversary of Morris (MN) High School graduation of the Class of 1959 was marked this past weekend by a reunion. Sixty-seven of the hundred and three graduates turned up, which is a remarkable number. For a gathering of people all the same age, it was surprising to me how different in age they looked. Some were seriously senior, others barely past middle-aged. But they were all happy to see one another, and soon were exchanging reminiscences of high school days. Teachers good and bad were recalled, band parades, sports, chorale, dances, tricks pulled, the list was endless, the laughter warm. Everyone was given a name tag with his or her high school photo on it and I was surprised at how many people knew one another without having to look. "You haven’t changed a bit!" was a refrain often heard – though to my eyes none of them looked eighteen. A lot of spouses were there and I thought perhaps we'd get together and make comments, but we were too busy being introduced and enjoying meeting the friends of our spouses' youth. A professional photographer had been hired to take a group photo. He got them lined up with the front row on chairs, the next row standing, the row behind that standing on chairs, and there were still people left over. "We need a row sitting on the floor," he called. "How many of you still have good knees?" That got the laugh of the evening.

I, of course, started thinking of how a reunion like this would make a terrific murder mystery.

I’ve been assigned a panel at Gaylaxicon in early October here in St. Louis Park (that’s a suburb of Minneapolis, where I live). It’s called "Collaborative Writing," and it’s supposed to cover both the benefits and pitfalls of collaborations. I was once half of Margaret Frazer. Gail and I wrote six medieval mysteries together before we called it off. She has continued the series alone, and done very well with it. I’ve also written some short stories in collaboration with my husband. The stories in both cases were much improved with two minds working on them, but I will also note that the worst quarrel of my marriage was over a short story we eventually sold to Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Benefits? For sure. Pitfalls? Absolutely.

Tumbled into a plastic bag in a corner of my office are two big skeins of washable yarn and a pair of knitting needles. My church has a program offering "prayer shawls" to its members who are in grief or suffering serious illnesses. I want to join the the group and learn how to knit the shawls, but every time I find out who is running it and when the meetings are, the person resigns or the meeting is cancelled for some reason. And then I get busy with other projects and forget to pursue the matter. But on a Sunday when the offering is brought to the altar and with it comes a thick, cozy, folded-up shawl, I remember and promise myself I will try again to find out who is currently running the project. And I will, as soon as I finish Buttons and Bones. Stay tuned.

Read all about it!

Yesterday I sent out the Killer Hobbies Newsletter for September and October. If you're a subscriber, I hope you enjoy the return of this forum. If you think you should have received a copy and did not, it could be that your email bounced and you need to sign up with your new one. If you have problems, email me and we'll straighten it out.

If you're not a subscriber, there's still time to sign up. Just fill out the short form in the right "margin" of this screen. You can then email me at camille@minichino.com and I'll send you the "back issue."

You'll get to read about what we're doing and what we're planning for the great mystery conference "Bouchercon" in Indianapolis in October.

We also offer prizes and contests. In this issue you can enter the drawing for a miniature scene to celebrate the coming of "Mourning in Miniature" on October 6.

We love sharing what we do, but we're always interested and curious about what you'd like to see in the newsletter. More contests? Drawings? A look at our diaries? Would you like to see a "readers corner?"



Flash fiction? First chapters of our books?

We write this for you, so let us know, either through comments here, or by emailing any one of us.

Meanwhile, here's to a wonderful Fall season for you!

Report from ScrapFest 2009

News Flash--Had to show you the project I'll be teaching people to make at Bouchercon. How cute is this? A designer at EK Success did it for us! WOW!

**

Last year Paper, Scissors, Death debuted at ScrapFest, the gigantic scrapbooking event that Archivers holds annually at Mall of America in Minneapolis, Minnesota. This year I was fortunate enough to be invited back to share Cut, Crop & Die at the same event. Wow, what a weekend. What a party. What a totally crazy experience.

More than 3,000 scrapbookers showed up late Thursday and stayed until Sunday. They stood in long lines to create “Make-n-Takes,” the projects that can be completed on the spot. They took classes in the open mall spaces where long rows of tables were set up. And of course, they shopped.

What a total delight it was to say, “Hi” to fans who’ve read and enjoyed my series. I was greeted with hugs, requests for photos, books to be signed and green peppers. Yep, Kathy at Archivers remembered how much I love veggies, so she brought me two green peppers from her garden. I also saw other folks from the scrapbooking community—including the adorable Julia from Bo Bunny Press, my longtime friend Joy from EK Success, and the wonderful Katey from ANW Crestwood. You know, when you’ve been in an industry for a decade, you meet a lot of people, you go through a lot of changes, and you might make a lot of detours, but you still see the same faces.

My philosophy when leaving town is to schedule multiple engagements. That way, I know I’ve spent my time and marketing dollars wisely. So I started Friday morning at ScrapFest (9am to 1pm), coffee with my Midnight Ink publisher and my publicist from 1 to 2pm, went to Barnes & Noble at MOA (2 to 5pm), then onto Uncle Edgars to sign books, and finally, dinner with my wonderful editor, Connie Hill. The next day (Saturday) started at ScrapFest again, Barnes & Noble again, and then onto Scrapbooks Too, a lovely store nearby, where I met the sweetest people. One shared her Diet Dr Pepper with me, and another gave me two beautiful cards she'd made. On Sunday, it was back to the Mall where I signed until 5pm, then left for the airport. Home at midnight. Posting this morning here and at http://www.spottedcanary.com/ where we're running a six-week long contest. You could win $500 in scrapbooking supplies and a chance to name a character in Book #3, out this coming May (National Scrapbooking Month).


I thanked Archivers in the Acknowledgements of Cut, Crop & Die for all their help and support. This year—in my upcoming book--I owe them an even larger thanks, because this year, it was more like old home week. I don’t sit down when I sign. I think it makes an author harder to approach, so by Sunday, my energy was totally flagging.

One of the Archivers staff noticed I was fading. She hustled me into their back room and fed me chili. I mean, you’ve got to love people who work as hard as they do and yet have the time and kindness to other people.

We moved a lot of books. We pressed a lot of flesh. More importantly, we solidified old relationships and build some new ones. All in all, it was a great weekend.

My Pilmgrimage

Yes, that is me bowing down in front of a giant horse. The giant horse is actually the entrance to the FAO Schwartz store. So why am I bowing to a toy store?

Four years ago almost to the day something happened at that toy store that changed my life forever. So every year when we go to Las Vegas for the Electronic Retailers Association convention, I make a side trip to relive that fateful moment.

FAO Schwartz is in the Forum Shops which are part of Caesar’s Palace. The Forum Shops were the first of the fake shopping streets. The floor feels like cobblestones and the ceiling is painted blue with wisps of clouds. There is a lighting effect that makes it appear to go from daytime to twilight and back again. Of course, that doesn’t seem like such a big deal anymore when you have a canal going though the Venetian with gondoliers singing as they push the boats past a replica of St. Mark’s Square (without the pigeons).

I ride the escalator to the second floor and as I walk across the store, I turn and look at the eye level spot where I found the little blue suitcase. It was the banner that caught my eye. It said something like learn how to make granny squares and was a huge eureka moment for me. I guess people have all different things that seem to speak to them. For me, it was anything made out of granny squares. And learning how to make the squares was on my wish list. So when I found that kids’ kit, it looked like my wish was finally going to come true.

With kids’ kits, they tend to break things down into steps and have illustrations for each step. And that is exactly what the directions were like in the little blue suitcase. Adult granny square directions tend to be a bunch of abbreviations that make your eyes go in circles and are hopeless to follow if you don’t already know how to crochet, which when I found he little suitcase, I didn’t.

I am embarrassed to admit that I was actually sweating when I made my first squares. The very first was lopsided because I missed one of the corners in the beginning. The second had all the corners, but the stitches were loopy. Still, when I looked at it, I could see the granny square shape. And with that square, the golden door of crochet swung open and I knew I could figure out how to make almost anything. And then I thought why not write a mystery about granny squares. I was going to call it Squared to Death. The name got changed and it turned into a series about crochet, but as they say, the rest is history.

So, every year I go back and give thanks for my encounter with the little blue suitcase.

September brain

I feel a little cheated. I've lost my September brain.

I've always loved September. Maybe it's the preponderance of birthdays. Starting with mine at the end of August, two brothers and my sister and my mother and various cousins have birthdays in September. Maybe it's the nip in the air. I've lived on the East Coast for much of my life, and a shift occurs in the September weather. Days get shorter, vegetables stop producing, flowers give their final flourish. The air feels bracing, cleaner and purer, ridding itself of the humidity and heat the fuels the summer months.

But mostly, it was back to school. Back to school clothes, plaid skirts and new shoes. Back to promises of untold adventures in learning. Back to books. New pencils and fresh notebooks appealed to the Virgo in me. Unopened texts appealed to the scholar in me. New kids appealed to the writer in me. The September brain was primed, ready to go. Eager to be taught, open to new experiences.

Changes in weather here in Northern California are subtle. After thirteen years here, I still don't know if it's normal if it rains in September. Or what the average temperature should be. The range is so small, that it always feels the same.

But it's not the weather that has robbed me of my September brain. Instead it was a September deadline that kept me hard at work all summer. I missed the summer playtime brain that allows the September brain to flourish. The rest and respite that produces the pent up desire to learn.

I can feel my brain is lazy, wanting to hang out on the beach and watch the surfers. Go to the carnival and eat cotton candy. Read comics under the tree out back. I'm an adult now, so a two-month layoff is not in the offing. I'm hoping to jumpstart the process a bit sooner.

A nice crisp day would help, but the forecast is for nineties. All I can do is hang ten and hope my September brain catches up with me soon.

Research!

After meeting my three early-September deadlines, I started thinking about my next one--for the first in my new Lauren Vancouver, Pet Rescue mysteries. I decided to immerse myself in research about animal shelters and other organizations that get involved in pet rescues.

So far, I’ve visited the Pasadena Humane Society and sat in on a meeting of the Los Angeles Animal Services Commission. I also visited the offices of the Los Angeles Animal Cruelty Task Force and received a wonderful introduction to the members, and what they do.

I’ve been really excited by the warm welcomes I’ve received as well as the extensive information I’ve gained. That information leads to ideas... and I’m definitely looking forward to using a lot in my first Lauren mystery.

Am I done with the research? Not at all. I’ve got ideas about other people I want to meet, shelters I want to visit, and more. I want to learn as much as I can about people who care so much about animals that they’ve devoted their lives to saving and protecting them.

How much research do you do when starting a new project, whether writing or something else?

More Random Thoughts

I didn’t play golf yesterday, I had to make a return trip to New Ulm, Minnesota, to do a little more research on the owner of a needlework shop there called Nadel Kunst, Cindy Hillesheim, and interview the owner of a German-style restaurant called the Kaiserhof – plus have lunch there, of course – and talk with someone who works in the Visitors Bureau of the Chamber of Commerce, who told wonderful stories about the charming little city. I don’t know how much of the material gathered today I will use. I always gather more than I’ll need, but I never know in advance which portion I’ll use.

My husband’s fiftieth high school reunion is this weekend, and I’m going along to see what it’s like. I haven’t been to any of my reunions, but I may go to my fiftieth, coming up in a few years. Fewer than I’d like to think, actually.
Buttons and Bones is still trotting along. Not galloping, which I’d like, but trotting is better than walking. I’m starting to envision the end, which seems kind of quiet this time. I had an exciting end to That Die, and there will be another one in Blackwork, so it’s a little disappointing that I don’t envision yet another one for Buttons and Bones. Still, it should be a satisfying one, which is always nice.

I’ve been reading books by the authors I’m sharing a panel with next month at Bouchercon. I sometimes find I’ve gotten into a rut in my reading, so something like this is good for me. I’m enjoying all of them, so far – I’m actually reading three at a time, keeping them by my bed. I just reach out and grab one and read a couple of chapters before I go to sleep. I’m not having any trouble keeping the plotlines separate, which says good things about the authors.

Michaelmas is coming. It’s September 29th and the official name of the holiday is The Feast of St. Michael and All Angels. There is a very old superstition that if you eat goose at Michaelmas, you won’t want for money for a year. We’ve been following that maxim for a great many years and it seems to work; that is, we haven’t had any fiscal emergencies for a very long time. Of course, a great deal of the credit must be shared with my husband, who is very fiscally responsible. Me, I’m on the spendthrift side, though less so as the years have worn me down. Still, we wouldn’t dare stop the goose feast now. Besides, it’s fun, and roast goose is delicious.
　

If it isn't one thing ...

Images from two artists crossed my computer screen recently – one was Betty Hechtman's crocheted cactus (see her blog for Saturday, September 5) and the other was the sculpture of Jonathan Ro-Schofield, whose medium is cardboard. (http://jonnycardboard.com/sculptures/sculptures.htm).


What they have in common besides the underlying creativity is that in both cases the artist is trying to make one material look like another: yarn to look like organic matter, cardboard to look like cake or jewelry.



Edgar Mueller’s street art is another extreme example (making it look as though there's a sink hole in the cement!), but we see this phenomenon more than we realize. On fabric, there’s every kind of imitative image from brick to flesh; painters try to make oil on canvas look like rolling hills or dukes and duchesses; needlepointers make thread look like water or flowers or trees.

... it's another.




And if you’ve ever seen Cow Art in Madison Wisconsin, as I did at Bouchercon one year, you know what I’m talking about in spades! One cow was painted to look like a Monet canvas, where, of course, paint was made to look like water lilies and bridges. I'm dizzy!

Miniaturists make big things look small; Oldenberg makes small things look big.

When I was a kid, we had a milk pitcher designed so that milk came from a cow’s mouth. (Wasn’t that the wrong end?)

I’m sure you have your own favorite examples. Or -- what are you twisting into something else right now?

Deb Sharp Rides Shotgun--Giddy-Up!

By Deborah Sharp

I've guested here once before, revealing the shameful secret that I am hobby-less. My good friend Joanna Slan invited me back to write anyway:

''You rode a horse all the way across the state of Florida,'' Joanna said. "THAT'S your hobby.''

"What? Doing age-inappropriate things for which I am insanely unprepared?''

"No,'' Joanna said patiently. "Horseback riding.''

That marathon, six-day ride I did to research MAMA RIDES SHOTGUN was a bit more of my ''hobby,'' however, than I bargained for. 120 miles.

Sleeping on the ground. At age 50-plus. What the heck was I thinking??? Two years later, the feeling is finally returning to my rear end.

But, Joanna is right --- if we can loosely define ''hobby'' as something I manage to do very occasionally, usually while my husband Kerry and I are on our annual vacation. That's not a bad thing, since we've had the chance to ride in some incredible locations, thanks to Kerry's globe-trotting inclinations. If it were up to me, I'd return yearly to the same hammock and pina colada in nearby Key West. But over our 20-year marriage, Kerry ALWAYS opts for the exotic: Native criollo ponies on a wind-swept estancia in Argentina, Tennessee walkers on Washington State's Orcas Island, ancient creatures outfitted with even-older wooden saddles (!) in Guatemala.
Still, I long for the time in my life when riding was less an infrequently indulged hobby and more an obsession.

Was anyone as consumed with horses as I was at 13? Equine tales ruled my bookshelf: BLACK BEAUTY, MY FRIEND FLICKA, and MISTY OF CHINCOTEAGUE.

I drew horses on my paper-bag book covers during school, and dreamed of them all night. When
I got Val, a beautiful quarter horse, we galloped over open pastures and through orange groves, on land planted now with south Florida strip malls.

I loved that horse so much that I slept overnight in her stall on a bed of hay more than once.

Does anybody feel like that about a hobby?

I still get a guilty twinge, all these years later, remembering how I cast my horse aside once I discovered the world of boys and dating. Of course, we found her the perfect home, with a young girl still safely in pre-adolescence. I sobbed when they loaded Val in the trailer to go.

How about you? Have you ever been emotionally attached to a hobby -- or a horse? And how did you feel when you let that hobby go?

**

Deborah Sharp is the author of the Mace Bauer Mysteries -which have been described as Agatha Christie meets "My Name is Earl." Check her out at www.deborahsharp.com She's a gem! You might also have seen Deb on the Today Show! Or you might want to listen to an excerpt. It's all there on her website.

Flying High

I came back from Chicago last night and am leaving for Las Vegas Sunday morning. Just home long enough to do laundry and pack up my family.

The weather in Chicago was perfect - no sweater or air conditioner needed. One of the few times I was leaving better weather than I was going home to in L.A..

I was a little concerned when I got on the plane. The new American Airline planes might be more efficient, but they are even more lagging in leg room. When I sat down, I felt like the seat in front of me was going to smother me. Okay, I’m a little claustrophobic which is why I always get an aisle seat. But then wonder of wonders the plane was so not crowded, I ended up with the whole row of three seats. It meant I could stretch my legs out and crochet another little cover for my BlackBerry. I wasn’t even bothered when the people in front of my reclined their seats.

I love looking out plane windows, though not enough to give up the freedom of my usual aisle seat. So having the whole section was great because I got to have both. When I finished the People Magazine crossword, which I love because I can actually do it, I started to look out the window. The sky looked like a midnight blue dome filled with stars. More stars than I ever see around my house. I could even see the milky way. For most of the way the ground was dark with clusters of lights here and there, but when we got near Las Vegas there were bigger clusters of light. I think it is so neat that I can pick out the ghostly ribbon of highway 15 - the same road we’ll be driving on to Vegas. I’ve traveled this air route enough to recognize places even at night. I knew when we passed the Lenwood exit near Barstow. We always stop at the Starbucks there both going to Vegas and on the way back home. After Barstow, the light show really began. We went over the high desert with Apple Valley, Victorville and Hesperia and then the plane went over the mountains and suddenly there was the whole Los Angeles basin filled with light as far as the eye could see. Lower and lower as we got closer and closer to the airport. By the time we went over the 405, the cars were looking pretty big. Then over the parking lot when the plane seemed so low I had a momentary feeling we might be landing there. But we made it to the runway and with a slight bump we were back on the ground.

And now to that laundry....

Time Out

I'm taking a break from cyberspace this week. I've just spent too many hours hunched over the computer meeting my book deadline. And reading Facebook statuses, and checking out my favorite movie stars.

I need to refresh my screen, reboot my system. I'm choosing to do it away from the computer this week. Back next week.

In the meantime, I'd like to take a moment to remember those who died in the 9-11 attacks. I'm reading Three Cups of Tea, Greg Mortenson's story of how he built schools in Afghanistan. Despite the fact that it happens before the terrorist attacks, it's a fitting read for today. He got past the tribes and the hate and the religious differences and found the soul of the people he met. And that made all the difference.

My wish is that we'll learn to live together someday.

Topic of Topics

I enjoy blogging so much that I do it on other sites, too! I’m scheduled to post once a month on A Slice of Orange, the blog for the Orange County Chapter of Romance Writers of America. This month, I asked people to tell me what they wanted me to blog about in the future. Now, bloggers on that site usually don’t get many few comments, but I did get a few. I’m going to attempt to accommodate those who made requests of what they’d like to hear from me.

I suspect that next week I may have a topic lined up, since I’m starting my research in earnest for my new upcoming mystery series about Lauren Vancouver, Pet Rescuer--a spin-off from my Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter series. I’ll be visiting shelters as well as Los Angeles Animal Services and the Los Angeles Animal Cruelty Task Force.

But what about you? What would you like for me to blog about in the future?

By the way, on the Today Show yesterday, I heard that one of the people whose 100th birthday was being celebrated loves shopping at WalMart for her crafts materials to make afghans. Crafters can apparently live for a very long time, fellow bloggers!

Random Thoughts

The golf game last Thursday was a disaster, I was off my game nearly the whole round. The ninth hole was my best, it was like I finally woke up. On the other hand I played yesterday and actually made par on the fourth hole – I couldn’t believe it. My first par. On the green in two and so close to the hole it just went straight in when I tapped it. Of course on an earlier hole I shot a twelve – seven strokes to get the ball in the cup. I don’t know why that happens. It’s one example of why I love golf and another of why I hate this maddening game - in the same round!

Buttons and Bones continues to trot along. It’s very satisfying when a story just about writes itself, I put my fingers on the keys and things start to happen. It’s almost like what people who don’t write think it’s like for people who do.

Have any of you ever seen pole bending at a horse show? They had a competition of it at our State Fair and it just happened to occur when a friend and I went into the arena to watch the horse judging. Pole bending is a timed event during which a horse and rider run up a row of six poles about twenty feet apart, weaving in and out as they go. They make an impossibly sharp turn at the far end and weave their way back down again. The competition we saw was for female riders fourteen and under – I think one rider was only six years old and I know another was only eight. One child rode a very tiny pony lickety split and finished third. The poles are set on small, round bases and they tip over very easily – the lightest touch from a horse going by would set a pole wobbling. If it fell over, the rider was eliminated. The fastest times were just over eleven seconds – first and second place riders were thousandths of a second apart – the slowest something over seventeen seconds. I could probably do it in a minute and a half. What was interesting was how many of the horses came into the arena dancing with eagerness to have a go.

Right on schedule, some of our maple trees are starting to show their brilliant fall colors. Autumn is my favorite season, even though I know it means winter is coming hard on its heels. I’m not as eager to embrace it as I’ve been other years, because we didn’t have a roasting-hot summer, but a rather cool one.
Attendance at our State Fair set records on several days because the weather was so pleasant. Normally sticky-hot, there were early mornings when a jacket was actually welcome.

My eyes are just about healed. The right eye is about as good as it can get, the left is still lagging, but much improved. I am so relieved and grateful!
　

A story of its own

Here's a shot of the latest scene my niece (the hard parts) and I created this weekend. The handcrafted cherrywood desk is a replica of an antique high corner bookcase desk.

The other special piece is the "vase." If you look at the closeup you'll notice it's a life size bullet casing! This summer I received a wonderful box of miniature furniture and odd pieces from the mother of a friend.



There were two casings in the box; I haven't decided what to do with the other. Maybe I'll make myself a pendant.

The woman who passed the box on lives in the midwest (Protecting the innocent and all, I won't name her.) Her son is a very smart, mild-mannered engineer going for an MBA. Her daughter is an amazing woman, a writer with a law-abiding partner and child. I can't imagine anyone in the family having done the deed that resulted in this spent casing.

How did my benefactor come by these casings? Was she a cop in an earlier life? I think I would know. A hunter? Not. Could she have ... ? No, no, no.

I'll just have to create my own story.

Have you ever come upon something like this, that seemed to have a secret story of its own?

Mastering the Art of Moving--A REAL Labor Day Trick for Me

“The trick, of course—and it is a hard one to master—is to think of home not as a place we go to or come from, not as something inherent in the world itself, but as a place we carry inside ourselves, a place where we welcome the unfamiliar because we know that as time passes it will become the very bedrock of our being.” Verlyn Klinkenborg, NYT

Last Tuesday we arrived at our new home. Boy, do I feel beat.

How discombobulated my life is. Everywhere I go, I am surrounded by walls of brown boxes taller than I am. Awash in a sea of beige newsprint, wrinkled and smooshed, packing paper. Out of these cardboard containers tumble precious items, junk, necessary equipment, assorted odds and ends I can’t explain. Over and over, I pick up things and wonder: “How did this get here? What should I do with it? Why did I bring it along? Will it fit in here? Should I keep it or dump it?”

How fearful I am behind the wheel as I struggle to figure out exactly which road will take me where I want to go. All around me, other cars hurtle toward their destinations with the surety of creek water parting to avoid a stationary rock—that’s me!—in the midst of the flow. I grip the steering wheel white-knuckled, praying my Missouri license plates will buy me a crumb of driver’s compassion as I dither desperately trying to choose the correct lane, exit, or ramp.

How tired and ill-at-ease I am. Bursting into tears at the worst possible moments. Trying to be jovial, upbeat and positive, but sure that I am fooling no one. My body contends with a seeping sort of exhaustion. I fight the urge to lie down, pull the covers over my head, and sleep away the days. I’m not sure that it’s sleep I need so much as order. With order comes a sense of mastery that makes all activity less burdensome.

I keep wondering, “What on earth have I done? Why did I put myself through this? What did I hope to accomplish?” And yeah, I know the answers. It's all good. It will just take time.

There have already been moments of stunning clarity when I think, “Ah, this could be home.” And other joyous times: A small jolt of triumph and exhilaration when meeting my friend Emilie Richards for coffee in a nearby town made me nearly crow with joy: “I did it! I drove here! I navigated the beltway!” A sigh of contentment when I opened our mailbox and found items addressed to me, in this new home, postal offerings that followed me here. A stifled laugh when I awakened in the night and walked into a closet rather than the bathroom. (Fortunately, I was cognizant of the difference!) A shared moment of excitement when David and I saw the red fox pup who lives with his brother and mother behind our house. The little guy was sunbathing and grooming himself. After he'd licked his fur to his satisfaction, he ran over and pounced on his brother. How we laughed as they tussled with each other!

I try to take each day as it comes. Right now, after unpacking some of my office, I feel weepy. The sheer volume of stuff overwhelms me, weighs me down. Before, it was tucked away neatly. Now it’s all spread out, cluttering surfaces, and shaking a metaphorical finger in my face as if to say, “Why didn’t you sort this earlier? What were you thinking?”

I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I was on auto-pilot. Maybe we’re all on auto-pilot most of the time, and a move such as this forces us to be very, very present. Takes all our energy to cope with new surroundings, smells, flavors. Since all those senses are stimulated non-stop, and I’m struggling to cope, no wonder I want to go curl up and take a nap.

Tell me, how have you coped with moving? What kept you going?

For me, this is a Labor Day to remember!

What's So Great About Perfect?

I have my DVR set to record anything with the word crochet in it. I’ve gotten some weird shows like the medical mystery show where a woman got a crochet hook stuck in her foot. I do get the occasional Knit and Crochet Today Show which seems very randomly programmed. I like those shows as I have learned some interesting techniques, but most of all that there are numerous ways of doing the same thing in crochet. Things like how you add a new color of yarn.
This time when I checked there were two episodes of a sewing show, both of which were supposed to include something about machine made crochet. I watched both shows and boy did I feel out of touch with the sewing world. I was thrilled when I got a sewing machine that could go in reverse instead of having to turn the fabric around. These women had some kind of plastic tables that sat on their super computerized machines and they used something called a serger that had about four spools of thread.

On the first show, a woman demonstrated how to work with an embroidery pattern on her computer and then send it to her sewing machine. Then suddenly the machine produced this little square that had a little motif in the middle and sort of looked like thread crochet. She used it to decorate the front of her jacket. Her little square was perfect. No wobbly stitches or corners a little off kilter.

In the second show, a woman showed how to use her serger to add a layer of crochet like trim to a towel. She had already done a perfect monogram on the towel before doing the trim. To say the trim looked like thread crochet was a stretch. But the loopy row was perfect just like the monogram.

What struck me about both examples of machine made crochet was they were cold. So they were perfect. Who cares? When you make it by hand there is just something extra that a machine can’t replace.

As an example of hand made versus machine made or nature made, I finally finished my cactus. If I didn’t screw up the picture should follow.

Birthday/deadline week

Last weekend was my birthday weekend so to celebrate I treated myself to a class at A Work of Heart Studio in San Jose. This is a magical place, run by Andrea Chebelu. We were able to schedule this fabulous Mirror class (all you need is two other friends and Andrea will make a class just for you.). The studio is also available to rent by the hour. There is plenty of room to spread out and work on projects. Andrea generously shares her expertise and all of her supplies with you, including glues, soldering irons, paper trimmers, inks, punches, dies and much, much more. If you want to try out a technique, this is a great place to come and play. Leave the mess behind!

http://aworkofheart.com/awoh-willow-studio.asp

We worked with the same supplies, but the results are all different and represent our individual tastes perfectly:

My mirror



Robin's mirror



Maureen's mirror


The world needs more places for adults to play, don't you think?

Fire

I live in the Hollywood Hills, just like the protagonist of my pet-sitter mysteries, Kendra Ballantyne. The back of my home faces the eastern San Fernando Valley. I never thought a whole lot about how much of the San Gabriel Valley it also faces, till this past week.

I usually adore the broad view from our back patio, overlooking the Valley, lots of palm trees, downtown Burbank and the Bob Hope (Burbank) Airport and more. But this week, I’ve had a horrendously scary view of what has been dubbed the Station Fire. It’s a huge fire that has engulfed a lot of the Angeles National Forest and beyond, damaging communities such as La Crescenta, La Canada Flintridge, Glendale, Sunland Tujunga, and north to Acton and beyond. Fortunately, there’s been little wind to increase its progress. Unfortunately, many of the areas affected are steep and remote and filled with dry brush that had not been burned off for decades.

Most of what I’ve seen is an increasingly vast field of fat, rising plumes of smoke beyond the mountains that stretch along the foreground. Now and then, I’ve seen smaller smoke plumes on this side of the mountains. And at night, while it was dark, I’ve gasped over the fortunately few, but irregular, patches of flame on the Valley side of the mountains--and the orange, pulsating glow emanating from the other side. For the last two days, there’s been such a pall of smoke covering everything in that direction during daylight that I can only see individual smoke plumes occasionally.

Sadly, two firefighters lost their lives in the fire. Others--firefighters and civilians--have been injured. Many homes and cabins were destroyed. Large numbers of people faced mandatory evacuation, although some defied the orders and stayed at their houses, watering down the dry brush and rooftops, in attempts to save their homes.

And then there were the animals. I can’t even imagine how much wildlife was killed by this horrific conflagration. Representative were some of the photos I saw online: a fleeing deer, a confused-looking rabbit. I heard, on a traffic report, that a baby mountain lion had died on a road and was affecting the flow of vehicles in one area.

Shambala, the wildlife preserve started by film star Tippi Hedron, had flames approaching from across the street. I read about how the brave staff, who trained often for what to do in this kind of situation, stayed to douse the fire and protect the animals--even while preparing to put the rescued big cats and others into crates to be taken away. Another wildlife preserve, Wildlife Waystation, chose to evacuate at least some of its animals, and called for volunteers to bring trucks to help. Apparently some of the Wildlife Waystation animals were taken in temporarily by the L.A. Zoo, and a couple of chimpanzees escaped for a short while! How ironic it felt for me to be proofreading the typeset pages for my upcoming Kendra mystery HOWL DEADLY, which takes place largely at a fictional wildlife sanctuary, while all this was going on.

Some people took their large pets like horses to places like the L.A. Equestrian Center and Pierce College to keep them from harm. Others had to leave them home and hope for the best.

One very tiny, but significant--to me--sign of hope in all this is that on Monday, I heard a thunk on my living room window. Much too often, that means a bird has flown into it and fallen to the paving below, dead. This time, a bird had indeed made the noise, a little female finch. When I went down to check on her, she was on her feet but didn’t move for a very long time except to blink, even letting me get close. I called my local veterinarian, and was told it would be best to bring the poor thing in to be euthanized, rather than let her suffer in the heat and smoke, and then die anyway. I sadly prepared to do so, getting a box ready to carry her. When I went down again to decide what to do, she still hadn’t moved, and I feared that this was, in fact, the best thing for her. Just in case, I clapped my hands to startle her--and she flew away!!!

And then there was the baby lizard that climbed out of our garden and came all the way up to our deck off the kitchen.

How about you--have you ever experienced a ray of hope during a difficult situation?

Willkommen!

Doing a little research in aid of Buttons and Bones this past Saturday, Ellen and I drove down to New Ulm, a placid little city on the shore of the Minnesota River about ninety miles from my home in the Twin Cities. New Ulm is very German, it was settled by Germans and they try to keep up the German atmosphere with such things as German restaurants, German gift shops, a beautiful museum built in German Renaissance style, and even a Glockenspiel.

Oh, and Herman the German, a statue in a park just on the western edge of town. Herman is really Hermann of Cherusci, aka Arminius, who in the year 9 A.D. defeated the Romans to liberate his people. He is a mythical figure in Germany and his statue in New Ulm is a scale model (!) of a much larger statue over there. Nevertheless, in America he is the second-largest free standing bronze statue, second only to the Statue of Liberty. If you look closely at the photograph at the top of my blog entry you can see two humans standing at his feet, which will give you an idea of the size of the fellow.

New Ulm is going to hold a big festival September 18 to 20 to echo faintly the enormous celebration planned in Germany to mark the two thousandth anniversary of that mighty victory.

And I was all excited to be in England in 1966 to mark the one thousandth anniversary of the Battle of Hastings during which William the Conqueror changed the course of English history b defeating King Harold. (There was a man in England who every year on the anniversary of the battle, put a notice in the obituary column of the London Times "In Memory of Harold, Last English King." I wonder if it still gets put in. Probably. Some people just can’t let go of things.)

The book I’m working on had come to another one of its inexplicable halts, but seems to have gathered itself for another run. I hope this time it lasts until the end. I have an extremely busy time coming up in October, doing lots of travel and signing for Blackwork, and I can’t afford to have Buttons and Bones go all shy and reluctant on me again on those short and broken periods when I can work on it. The deadline is December 1 and I am determined to meet it.
I got a panel at Bouchercon! It’s called Retail Murder and it’s about sleuths who are small business owners or in some fashion connected with small businesses. I’m going to have to squeeze more time out somewhere to make sure I’m familiar with the books of my fellow panelists, moderator Maggie Sefton, Madelyn Alt, Juliet Blackwell, and Kate Collins.

No golf on Tuesday, I had one of those days where I spent the morning on the phone and the afternoon running errands and writing. But I am determined to get onto the links tomorrow. Wish me luck. Maybe I’ll get another bogie.

Smaller than small

You'll never believe how small this Betty Boop is. She's standing inside the eye of an ordinary sewing needle!



The Simpsons are fighting on the head of a pin.

Willard Wigan is microsculptor who began his career as a 5-year-old child. Don't miss the video in which he tells the story of making houses for ants. Not life-size ant farms, mind you, but (really) tiny houses, amusement parks, and gardens that were ant-size.

http://www.ted.com/talks/willard_wigan_hold_your_breath_for_micro_sculpture.html


How does Wigan manage these miniatures, which are visible, and crafted, only through a microscope?

He enters a trance-like state, slowing his heartbeat, and works between beats (one and a half seconds). His ability to do this has baffled experts in medical fields. He paints using a "brush" that is actually a hair from a fly's head or one from his own face. In one piece he used part of a spider's web to make the reins for a horse and carriage.
After hearing Wigan lecture and seeing images of his work, it's hard to call my latest pieces "miniature."

[Pardon the weird spacing below; after many tries, this is the best layout I can get!]

THE LUNAR LANDING


THE MATCH



When I see work like this, it's hard to go back to my crafts table. Shall I try to take inspiration from it, or throw up my hands, as in: Why bother?
The jury is still out.