Beach House in the Burbs

Over the past week the response I've gotten most often to "My dad wrecked his Harley," isn't, "How is he?" but, instead is, "Your dad has a Harley? Cool." Because he is going to be okay, I can live with this response. And it made me realize I don't know anyone else whose 71-year-old father has a Harley that he rides regularly. (Or at least used to ride regularly. He's still not sure whether it's totaled or not.) He rides it so regularly, in fact, that he owns assless chaps and a reflective, nearly glow-in-the-dark Harley vest. He chipped his sternum in the accident, a break that takes a long time to heal because there's no setting it, and he can't stop breathing to hold it still. But his doctor says he'll be fine because he works out. My father, who was a couch potato of the highest order for at least as long as my mother's known him and they were high-school sweethearts, started going to the gym after he retired. Before...

For Eli's 15th birthday we ordered up snow! It was a gorgeous, windy, cold day. My nephews, Eli the birthday boy, and his younger brother Jake, enjoying the snow. It's always such a great surprise when it actually snows--especially in March.

I'm a member of Sisters in Crime . No, it's not a pack of gun-totin' women out to rob, maim and kill. It's a professional organization that promotes women mystery writers. We had our local (Atlanta) chapter meeting this week with Chris Roerden as our speaker. But, more than that, I got to host Chris overnight in my home! What a treat! Chris has been a book editor for years, and has edited some award winners. She's also written an Agatha-Award-winning book herself, the editing guide "Don't Murder Your Mystery." She's now written "Don't Sabotage Your Submission," which expands on the editing principles in "Don't Murder Your Mystery," and applies them to other genres. "Don't Murder Your Mystery" is a great book (I haven't read "Sabotage" yet.), and I give it lots of credit for helping get my manuscript in good enough shape to land an agent. But the real treat for me was having Chris and her fr...

"A dead cat! She brought me her dead cat," Susan, my forensic anthropology professor sister, said. "Wow! Your students must really love you," I said, after a bite of chicken vegetable soup. "Yeah, they do. Next week she's bringing me her dead ferret. Will you pass the cornbread, please?"

Tacky or charmingly retro? I've got to go with charmingly retro--though, in fact, it isn't retro at all, but the real old McCoy. My grandmother and the aunts sat around a card table decorating Christmas balls for years, it seems. One year, when my sister Susan and I were maybe eight and nine, we got to help. Grandma had tons of costume jewelry on the table. Lots of garish gold ribbon. Those weird satin-wrapped Christmas balls in every color imaginable (and some, like this odd salmony color, that really aren't imaginable). By the time she and the aunts finished the project, Grandma had an entire tree's worth of Christmas balls dripping in pearls, jewels and ribbon. She hung no other ornaments on her tree after that. Grandma latched onto a tradition and kept with it forever. Grandma died in the summer of 2001. We didn't have Christmas on our minds at the time. But off and on since then I've wondered what happened to her Christmas tree ornaments. This year I though...

... even the Pomeranians have broken out their winter sweaters! Fashionista the Princess Prissy Pants "Does this sweater make me look fat?"

These cakes are beautiful and weird! I can see them being served at the wedding of most any of my Redneck Tarot characters! Well, except Billy. He's having a Krispy Kreme donut cake. Almost makes me wish I could bake--almost!