The Thursday Murder club

A couple of weeks ago, we had our first "official" murder mystery book club meeting. Held at the public library in Deltona, a local suburb, about a 20 minute drive from my house, I ended up arriving a bit too early. 

While sitting out of the way, waiting for book club to start, I heard a woman yell--yes, yell!--across the library to the front desk that the room she wanted to use was locked. At the sound of Victoria's voice, I figured it was time to wander over and settle in for our meeting. 

With about ten minute to go before book club started, Victoria and I were the only members. Unsure about how to approach her "we do not visit before the meeting" edict, I sat and waited for her to initiate a conversation. Fortunately, Victoria did as much, demanding to know what happened to my hand, and followed up by telling me about her cat, how much she loves Halloween, and how she decided our murder mystery book club would be called, the "Thursday Murder club." 

I pointed out not only was that the name of our book to discuss that day but the name was already taken. "Sue me," she shrugged.  

Eventually three other participants arrived and I wasted no time inquiring about everyone's well-being. I shared how Victoria just told me she likes cats and whipped out my pictures of the Overlords to let the gang ooh and ahh over, prompting the other pet owners to do the same. Even Victoria joined in. And just like that, the ice was broken and the edict not to visit before the meeting now shattered. 

However, Victoria then threw a curve ball my way. I was to be the leader of that day's discussion. I pointed out I did not sign up for that particular endeavor and a bit of notice that I had been randomly chosen is considered protocol for such things.    

We had a lively discussion and I made sure everyone had a chance to share. The questions were the basic who, what, where, when and why-type but I guess the way I phrased them sounded like I knew what I was talking about. 

Then came time to pick next month's book. Being proactive, Eileen, one of the sweetest and more timid of the ladies offered to lead the next discussion. She also suggested "Agatha Raisin and the Deadly Quiche." Victoria said she hated the story and Eileen's face fell. However, the rest of the gang mutinied and that's what we are discussing on the first Thursday in November. 

The book was an easy read and I sent Eileen a note last week, telling her I enjoyed the story. She wrote back thanking me, because she had thought about retracting her suggestion, given Victoria's reaction. I reminded her this is HER book club too--she has a say in what we read. Eileen told me that made her feel better. 

Though next month's book isn't great book club fodder, I expect it will be a lively discussion. If not, I will work on my own personal mission of getting Victoria to crack a smile.

Roosevelt Update

After several hours at the local vet, and at the emergency vet hospital in Daytona Beach--where the only orthopedic veterinarian resides in a 100 mile radius--it is official. Our sweet Roosevelt has broken his hip. 

Roosey is a young cat (about 18 months old) and is relatively healthy otherwise. So there's no reason not to perform surgery. We are told he should recover nicely. When Marty and I left the vet hospital and I looked at the astronomical estimate we're committed to. I said to Marty, "That boy owes me grandchildren."*

Our vet said the injury is common in young male cats. The analogy for this type of injury that was created was along the lines of a 22 year old man, out past 11 p.m. in the wilderness with his buddies. Before fate slaps him upside the head, the young man in question utters the words, "hold my beer." Essentially Roosevelt's not underdeveloped frontal cortex talked him into doing some dumbassery stunt thinking it would go well. Our theory is this happened when he zoomed out of the house two days ago and tried to jump the fence.   

Currently, Roosey is sleeping in the dog crate, doped up on two different pain meds and curled up dozing in the (unused) litter box instead of his comfy pillow. When Buck wakes up, I have a few ideas on how to modify this arrangement to create more room in his cellblock, but it will take a bit of engineering. 

Looking forward to the day he can do this again.

*Lest you have an opinion about who should pay for Buck's cat's surgery, please keep it to yourself, thankyouverymuch. Marty and I are fully aware of what we are doing and don't need others sharing their thoughts with me about our young adults and their life journey. I've heard from enough people over the summer who offered their unsolicited opinions. I wrote the above because I'm interested in grandchildren. Eventually. 

Arbitrary DeBary

 

Roosevelt in more content times

Just a typical day in the Sunshine house, in the Sunshine state. Oh... how I missed sunlight when I lived in East Texas. Even on a clear day in Texarkana, the sunlight was muted. 

But on to the week's events. 

Roosy has a bum leg. It is bad enough to need vet attention. Buck, who is fretting about not being employed is beside himself, not only because his cat is hobbling, but because he hates debt. However, life will work itself out, the vet bill will be a thing of the past and our sweet furboy will be all cuddles again. 

And as a side note to Roosevelt: had you not run outside yesterday, you would be jumping into our laps right about now and purring. So, let's call this a life lesson and be an indoor cat. Please--! because there were about five hawks or osprey (though it seems a bit far inland for osprey) circling above your head.

It has been four weeks since I broke my hand. The finger is not healing super-fast. The hand and wrist are about 95 percent and my typing is coming along--as long as nothing I write needs question marks and quotation marks. And there's a lot of backspacing. 

Marty and I haven't heard from the zoo. I'm slightly annoyed we aren't even worth of a rejection letter. I think Marty has opted against the job if they call. I see it as an opportunity to get out of the house, pay the upcoming vet bill and fodder for my next book.  

Karen, my sweet neighbor, invited me over again to visit with the ladies and play cards yesterday. I walked in the door and one of the woman announced "Oh good you came back. Ladies, she's a hoot!" I don't know if anyone has ever referred to me as a "hoot"* before. 

*quotation marks, courtesy of copious editing. 

The K-Mart Group Therapy Session (or, "Job Interview")

I'm not making this up. I swear. 

And I will type this out, even if it takes me a week (stupid broken hand). 

So, I applied for a customer service job at the zoo. I mean, that sounds like something I can do. "Yes, the elephants are this way." "No our zoo doesn't have snakes. Walk 3 feet off the property in any direction and you can see all the snakes you like. And seriously, you just spent money in FLORIDA to see snakes?" "Would you like to buy a hat? Here is our fine selection." 

It also turns out Marty applied for the same job. The ad said they were hiring multiple people. He saw it as a fun, customer service retirement kind of thing. We could work there together. What could go wrong?

Because this is the first interview I've formally had since Bush 1 was in office, I put some thought into the entire thing. Marty and I went back and forth on what to wear. This appeared to be a lower-level job. However, I figured I couldn't go wrong looking more put together, so I shelled out $16 to Amazon for a new skirt. After all, job interview. Marty went with black jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. 

We were overdressed. Of the four women, I was the only one who looked like I hadn't just left my job supervising the daycare playground. Of the four men, Marty was the only one who looked like he hadn't just left his shift at a meatpacking plant. 

Additionally, the three folks on the interviewing panel caught me off guard, mainly because I was expecting something professional. But the three folks started this way: Tiffy wanted to wait an extra 15 minutes to start this group interview so that anyone who hadn't shown wouldn't feel shamed by coming in late. Tiffy also announced she was flying to Ohio in the morning, making me wonder exactly how she'd get through the TSA with three tons of shrapnel coming out of her face. Mykael let us know upfront his bedroom preferences. Now, I don't care about anyone's sexual orientation, but this was supposed to be a job interview. And then there was Jay, who began by giving us a commentary of our current presidential administration. Again, don't care about his politics, and do I need to know any of this in a job interview? 

Essentially, if I were to be hired, these three would be my bosses.

Mykael asked us to go around the room and introduce ourselves and say what "hospitality" meant to us. Because Marty threw me under the bus, I went first. Marty spoke. Adam--who gave off serious school-shooter vibes gave an answer. Izzy shared she was part of the LBGQABCDEFGHIJK movement and provided her answer. Then Mykael redirected and offered the answer he wanted the remaining applicants to say (something along the lines of what Marty and I said). However, the next person slated to reply was Terehrie (pronounced "Terry." He wanted us to know how it was spelled) who announced he was too shy to talk in front of people and wasn't comfortable answering. Tiffy said that was fine, everyone needed to feel like this was an inclusive space. 

Did I mention this was a job interview? Just making sure that was clear. 

I'll skip over the next 90 minutes of crazy and go straight to Mykael's last getting to know you directive: we job applicants were to walk around the room and find out five bits'o trivia about the other candidates, because I guess, Jay, Tiffy and Mikael didn't want to do anything else. Marty referred to this as a "K-Mart Group Therapy Session."

One part of this Group Therapy session of note: one of the candidates publicly announced they were a gamer and then asked if anyone would be interested in playing some online video game with them that night, while passing along their long list of video game credentials and contact info for the rest of us. And nobody found this to be strange. 

When this madness ended, the three bosses declared they'd be in touch. There was no commitment to a discussion about salary, hours, expectations or even a job description. Just "Bye. Have a nice weekend." 

Marty thinks he and I are too normal to be hired. I'm sure I can deal with the three bosses better than Marty. Buck seems to think if they bring me on, I'll be running the place in six months. However, if hired, my true motive is to get out from under those guys and find a position with the botanical garden division anyway. This is just a stepping stone. But I'm thinking Terehie has a better chance of being hired than we do. 

The Epitome of Fall in Florida

 

Fall in Florida

I never had a colorful front yard in Arizona full of tin doodads. I learned in Texas, a colorful yard attracts pollinators--the type which help farmers and gardeners grow food. I am prepared to live and die on this hill if the HOA wants to quibble. 

Wins

Welcome to another edition of "I've spent more time fixing this post's typos than actually typing it out."  

First, Buckaroo just celebrated another year around the sun. We are making this a month long event because his celebration bucket list is extensive. His birthday present from us was a Saturday martial arts seminar, where he and his sister paid money to channel their inner Bruce Lee. From what I understand, a good time was had by all. Later this week: minigolf and eventually a family trip to the zoo. 

Buckaroo, 20 years ago. 

I am in talks with a small publishing house to work with them in a sales capacity. I am not sure this is a good fit for me. I was approached by them. I'm asking a lot of questions and I think I am making the leadership squirm. I do not know if I am a good fit. I do not know if I am not. I do know that I am not super excited about a sales role. 

Speaking of zoo, this coming Friday I have an interview for a seasonal, part time position at the zoo. It pays very little, but sounds like fun. In fact, as I write this, I am thinking this would be more fun than selling publishing services to independent writers. If I get this zoo job (which isn't mutually exclusive to the publishing gig), I am already counting my hundreds that I will spend creating my garden.  

Let's talk about other's employment. Polly is the first of us who got a job. She's working at a martial arts instructor--a job she once held in Mesa.  

Speaking of wins, today is the first day since we moved here that it hasn't rained. I celebrated by repotting two plants and finding a place for them in the front yard.  

Random DeBary Rain Day Edition

Doc says my hand and wrist are healing nicely. The jury is out on my finger. It will be reevaluated in three weeks, but I've been warned it could be 12 or more weeks for full healing. Sigh. Typing punctuation is coming along, as long as question marks and quotation marks and apostrophes aren't needed. 

No master gardener meeting today because Marty had an interview. That was okay with me because I got to talk to my friend Valerie instead. Plus it is raining. It rains a lot here. A lot. 

Speaking of rain, I've heard from four folks in four different states in the past 24 hours, concerned if I'm prepared for this upcoming storm. News flash: there's a hurricane brewing in the Gulf. 

A word about hurricanes brewing in the Gulf: they tend to be slow moving, storing up energy as they take in more warm water. When they get going, they can be super-powerful. But not always. This one is currently a category 2.  

However: 1) this particular hurricane is scheduled to make landfall around the Florida panhandle and cut through Alabama (oh, what a bummer). 2) I live about 25 miles (ish) from the Atlantic Ocean and about 85 (ish) miles from the Gulf. I think I'm gonna be just fine if this particular storm changes trajectory. 

Things are Growing

I have three (and possibly four) social engagements this week. Though this doesn't seem newsworthy to most, this is NOT how things went for me a month into moving to Texarkana. So, color me surprised and battle worn.

First, neighbor Karen has invited me to her friend's house this afternoon to play cards. Her group of lady friends started getting together during the pandemic. Does this sound the least bit familiar? (cough, cough, my Texas
Coronas!) I'm nervous, but in a slightly different way.  

Last week after book club, I found Sabita before she left and with every bit of courage I had in my soul, invited her to lunch this week. Fortunately, she said yes! She's from Ghana or Toronto. She's mentioned both. She has a lovely, gentle energy which totally does not match mine but reminds me of my friend Bliz (who is chill in all circumstances except when she isn't). Anyway, tomorrow is our lunch. 

Then, there is a Master Gardener chat at the library on Thursday. I am dragging Marty. I won't be joining the Master Gardeners for reasons too annoying for this bit of cyber space, but I can still learn and continue my plant pursuits. By the way, my garden is on hold at the moment, more on that later. 

Now then, I will cancel the Master Gardener talk if I have to because...  SQUEE!!!! Mrs. Meadows happens to be in town!!! Okay, she's an hour away visiting her daughter. But, she's nearbyish and a lot closer in proximity than when I lived in Mesa and her in Cochise County. No date has been set for our visit, but if she wants Thursday, I'm game.   

The Writer's Meeting

My choice:
Robert Ross's Back Yard

Ok, so I am dialed into the writer thing right now. To be fair, peddling my books is the only source of income for my family. So please excuse my Socials. I'm annoying to me as well. I am pleased to say with what I've made so far, I could buy two gallons of ice cream and a tank of gas. Go me. 

Anyway, I went to the Volusia County Writer's meeting today. I thought it was sweet that we met at the Art Museum, until I found out I had to pay to enter the art museum. Um... that could have been mentioned. To be fair, even with the $10 price tag (so I'm down to one gallon of ice cream and a tank of gas), I still had high hopes. I met someone else entering, Zoe, who seemed as eager as I was. I wanted to ask her all the questions: what had she written, where was she in her writing journey, what genre did she specialize in, anything published? But we never got that far. 

Instead, we were shuffled to a workroom/closet, where three tables were set up. The woman running the whole show asked us to sign in, grab a pen and take a seat. She then wanted us to give our name and where we were from. I wanted to know everyone's lore, and would have been willing to share mine if that were the assignment. But Madam In Charge (MIC) only wanted our physical location. MIC then told us she's been a fiction writer for four years. She told us in a few moments, after the raffle, we'd mosey out to the art museum and select a painting. We were to stare at the picture for 15 minutes and answer basic questions. 

Basic question--I am not making this up: 

• What do I see. 
• What details do I notice
• What words come to mind when I look at the picture
• What looks out of place
• What would I ask the artist
• Why did I choose the picture
• How does it make me feel

THIS IS A WRITER'S MEETING not a 10th grade art appreciation class. Just saying. 

When our fifteen minutes were up, she then had us come in and (I'm not making this up) "write in the voice of the artwork." MIC said we would not be sharing our writing. She then gave everyone notebooks so we could do this longhand. However MIC had a computer with a keyboard. I looked back at their web site. Nowhere did it say we needed a computer--or a notebook. Did I mention I have a broken hand and cannot write longhand? I can sorta type.* After a bit of this, I decided I wanted to go home. So I did. 

I did not sign up for a creative writing class. There are those who need it. Hopefully this worked out for them. I signed up for writers working with writers. I will stay on the lookout for this. 

I would like to address the raffle. If this is your thing. Go you. No judgement. No judgement to MIC either, cuz this is definitely her thing. But she was raffling off tarot cards. Yep. MIC the fiction writer writes tarot cards for a living. My issue isn't tarot cards exactly--though the Catholic/Church of Christ adjacent girl in me cringed. My issue is that tarot cards as a raffle for a writer's meeting is as appropriate as raffling cat litter as a prize in an upscale Italian restaurant. Why not some cute pen/notebook/bookmark? 

They have another event coming up that is swinging towards the new age vibe. We can share our writing there. However, I can tell this venue would not be the right audience for my "writing." I'm guessing this group isn't for me. At some point, I might stick around and go to something more mainstream and see if I can meet a few others. But not just yet. 

*There was a lot of editing of this blog post today. 

Arbitrary DeBary More Critters and No punctuation

 I can sort of type as long as nobody expects punctuation

Commas, periods, apostrophes require particular hand and finger bones which are not yet up for the task

But I went back and hunted and pecked to insert those commas above because my head was exploding

Those three sentences took me five minutes to type cuz I can sort of type right now

In the mean time

Luna and her new pal

Clayton gets a makeover every month
Personally I think he is killing it in the pink beret

On my window this morning
Yesterday there were 9 of them
The Overlords are losing their minds 

And one for you Freedom

On my fence yesterday