The Man Fridge

Years ago, Parade magazine interviewed a female private detective, who maintained women make better detectives than men because if a man opens the refrigerator door to look for something, unless it’s right in front of him, he won’t find it because he won’t “move the mustard.”

That phrase has stayed with me.  The truth of it rings in my head at least once a week.

I once hid a bottle of champagne on the bottom shelf, in back of my refrigerator, for six months. No one noticed. Why? Because that would involve moving the mustard.

I have decided my path to riches will be the invention of The Man Fridge. The shelves will be only as deep as a gallon of milk. Initially I thought of using baseball’s “strike zone” as the height, but I’ve concluded that won’t work, because the bottom shelf would be too low. The ideal height would be waist to eye level on a six-foot man.  Even then, the lower shelves might be invisible.

The inevitable problem with The Man Fridge would be the width. It would need to be a minimum of three times wider than an average refrigerator in 2020.  Man Fridges could conceivably take up entire walls in kitchens.  And that creates the problem of doors. How many doors would be sensible? If a man won’t move the mustard, why would he open multiple doors? The doors, I’ve decided would have to be a deep as the shelves. That way, perhaps only twice the width of current refrigerators would work. Many refrigerators do have double doors.

Maybe this could work.

 

 

 

MJ Monday-Manuscript: Excerpt

From my current work in progress, BESIEGED BY THE MOON, currently scheduled for July publication.

Phoebe wished she knew of a way to make Parker angry enough to stalk off and brood. To leave her alone. She didn’t want him around while she meditated. His presence was too disturbing, too disruptive to her calm.

She turned to face the hiding moon. Turned her back on her mate. He was throwing everything off schedule, off kilter.

Velvety ribbons of mist twined in the trees at the back of Helga’s yard. The air was heavy with a storm warning. The night should have been cool, but left-over heat from the day further weighted the atmosphere.

A sign, Phoebe thought. An omen.

“I’ll leave you alone to meditate.”

There might have been disgust in his voice. Distrust. He was one way with his friends, his pack, all show, but when they were alone, he changed.

She could let that bother her. They were mated. Neither of them could do anything about their status.

Inhaling deeply, she settled on the damp grass for a short meditation session. The neighborhood skunk had made his rounds and left his calling card. She placed her quarterstaff next to her. The meditation would purify her, remove the stain of her conflict with Selena. Many tasks needed to be accomplished this night. She’d sloughed off enough.

The Winter Side of No Make Up

If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, you know I stopped wearing make-up several years ago. It happened one hot July day, when I realized how much money I was wasting wearing makeup that would be melted off an hour later. The time, effort, and money weren’t worth the outcome. I figured I’d start again after Labor Day. But Labor Day became Halloween, became Thanksgiving, and so on. After a year (or maybe two) passed, I ended up chucking most of the cosmetics taking up space in my house.

Recently, I’ve discovered a winter upside of no longer coating my skin with color: my winter coats and scarves stay cleaner. I can pull the fabric up against my face for warmth and nothing happens except warmth. In past years, makeup on the collar was always a winter-coat issue. Never again.

 

MJ Monday-Music: Simon & Garfunkel/Paul Simon


Paul Simon wrote a good portion of the soundtrack of my life. From The Cyrkle’s hit  “Red Rubber Ball” to his solo album Graceland, I was a fairly steady Paul Simon fan. (I lost track after Graceland. I’m not sure why.)

My favorite years are, of course, the Simon & Garfunkel years, and his first two post-Garfunkel solo albums (he recorded a solo album before S&G “hit”, The Paul Simon Songbook).

In high school I wrote a term paper comparing the lyrics of Paul Simon with those of Bob Dylan. I found many parallels.

Even now, when I am officially older than dirt, I continue to sing snatches of his lyrics as situations warrant. One of my favorites is “I’ve got the paranoia blues…” which is from his first post-Garfunkel solo album,  Paul Simon.

A younger generation was recently introduced to the power of his lyrics when Disturbed covered “The Sound of Silence.” Does it make me a traitor to admit what Disturbed “did” to the song is far more powerful than Simon’s version?

 

 

Book Review: Linda Howard-Mr. Perfect

Image credit: tieury / 123RF Stock Photo

I recently learned some people have stopped reading Linda Howard due to alleged racist comments she’s made on social media. I haven’t seen the comments, so I’m not going to judge.

I’ve also read that people think Mr. Perfect  is a dreadful book because of the way she treated one of the characters who some might consider marginalized. As an author, I’ve often been told as long as something is well-motivated, an author can do anything. And that is the case in this book. The motivation is . . . perfect.

Mr. Perfect is one of my favorite books of all time. It starts out with a group of friends–co-workers–who get together every Friday night after work for dinner and drinks. This circle of women reminds me of my friends and how much fun we have when we get together. One Friday night, these women laughingly put together a list of what they think would constitute the perfect man. Some of the items are ribald and made in jest; others are serious and thoughtful.

Little did these four women know their fun time was about to turn deadly.

The main character has just purchased her own home and is having issues with her cranky neighbor, who turns out to be a cop. A sexy cop. A sexy alpha male cop.

My biggest complaint about this book is the negative portrayal of a cat. It’s well known that Howard is a dog person. She doesn’t understand cats.

Five stars anyway.