Author: lizzayn

I’m Shocked To Still Get Traffic Here

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I just logged in after a couple of years to find I’m still getting decent traffic for an abandoned blog. Perhaps it’s a sign. Maybe I’ll start posting again. Essays? Micro fiction? What would you like to hear from me? I tried to disappear, scrub my online presence but there are still a kind few of you who consider me a friend. Thank you. It means more than you know. Unfortunately, there are also a persistent few who are less kind. No worries. Truth will out and we all get what we deserve in the end.

Even you.

Especially YOU.

🐐

I’m Shocked To Still Get Traffic Here

He Really Pulls the Room Together

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I was doing a little shopping for the guinea pigs Saturday with my mother. The local humane society was having a small adoptathon at the pet store. In no way was I looking for another pet but cute animals always catch my eye so I rubbernecked as we passed. My mother spotted a cat that looked quite a bit like the cat she had when she was growing up. We stopped to look at it. My mother chatted a bit and I was ready to move on, make our purchases and leave. Memory being the funny thing it is, I’m not sure if the woman helping with the adoptathon pointed the other cat out or if we were drawn to it in fascination of his stature but we somehow ended up at the cage of Lebowski.

The woman offered to get him out of the cage but he was sleeping and extremely large so I didn’t want to wake him. You see, I love animals but I have had mixed results with cats. The majority of cats I’ve met in my life were aloof jerkfaces. The one I owned was a demon from hell (I later learned that he came from feral cats which explained A LOT about his behavior.) The last thing I wanted was a very large, very pissed off cat to be thrust into my arms. As I was chanting, “No, no, no, that’s okay,” she took him out of the cage and showed him to me. He opened his eyes to slits and then held out his arms to me to be picked up. I took him from the woman. He placed his front paws on my shoulder, laid his head down, and purred.

I held him, petting him while he purred, for a good fifteen minutes. No biting, no scratching, just love. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted an animal so much in my entire life. After I reluctantly handed him back to the woman, I told her that I had to make a phone call.

“M, you need to come down to the pet store.”

“*Sigh* Why.”

“I just met the coolest cat.”

“No.”

“It held its arms up to me to pick it up. Like a baby!”

“It will eat the guinea pigs.”

Oh, yeah. We have guinea pigs. I glanced to the pile of hay, treats, and a snack shack placed aside when I picked up the cat.

“I can put something on top of the cage.”

“No. Come home.”

“If you just met him.”

“No!”

I hung up. The woman was showing cats to another family. I her eye, shook my head, and mouthed, “Sorry.”

Since then, I’ve been checking the Humane Society’s web page like a stalker, seeing if he’s still there. Part of me hoped that he’d be adopted by a great family that would take really good care of him. Part of me hoped he’d still be there so I can visit him.

If you want to meet the coolest cat in the world, he’s in the lobby of Heartland Humane Society.

My guinea pigs will thank you

Cats & Kittens
He Really Pulls the Room Together

Now I’ve Got a Dash Cam, Ho Ho Ho

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Merry holidays!

In the spirit of New Year, New Me, I’ve resolved to write blog posts more often. It’s now January 10th and this is my first one so I think it’s pretty obvious how well that’s going.

Though one behavior that’s improved dramatically is my road rage. For such a small person with a fairly charmed life, I have a terrible temper. This has only gotten worse since my cancer treatment. There are many, many survivors out there that see every day post-cancer as a blessing and greet every day with a smile. Cancer taught me that life is too short to deal with other people’s bullshit. This is only made worse when I hit the road and have to deal with the multitude of morons lovely people who share the road with me. Why is it so hard to drive correctly? If only there were rules one could learn to accomplish this.

For Christmas, I asked for and received a dash cam. It’s a lovely dash cam that streams to your phone but also has a memory card in it so you can save all of those miles and miles of footage. Strangely, this has dramatically reduced my road rage. The simple fact that I now have tangible proof of other drivers’ constant and continuous mistakes quells the red hot fury within me. Though it’s not just drivers! The dash cam has a near panoramic lens so that the completely hypothetical bicyclist who insists on inconveniencing everyone by riding on the four inches of shoulder when there’s a perfectly good bike lane twenty feet away that will keep them safe and away from cars is now on camera. Hypothetically. *glares*

Or the hypothetical middle aged white male pedestrians who make gestures towards me but drop their arms and look straight ahead when I cut my eyes towards them. You’re on camera! Hypothetically. *evil grin*

My kids have even made a game out of it. If you slam on your brakes and turn in front of me without signaling (hypothetical black SUV), my kids yell, “DASH CAM!” If you drive 25 in a 35 then speed through a 25 (hypothetical white truck) we all yell, “DASH CAM!” If you weave over the yellow lines while going 30 in a 45 (hypothetical blue compact), a chorus of voices will cry out, “DASH CAM!”

In all sincerity, I’m nearly drunk with power: the power of proof, the power that I’m right, and the elation that comes with such righteous vindication has the odd side effect of quashing the anger, the road rage.

Go ahead, cut me off. Flip me off. Drive in the bike lane and weave over the yellow line.

DASH CAM!

Now I’ve Got a Dash Cam, Ho Ho Ho

Candid photos

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M is a techie but he’s also a snob so he waffles back and forth on buying new tech toys. A deal came up for a doorbell camera over Black Friday that he couldn’t pass up so now we have a doorbell camera with motion detection. I receive a phone alert whenever the motion detector is set off. We get the usual mail people and UPS delivery guys along with the occasional pizza delivery just to spice things up. Unfortunately, our neighbor’s car backing out of the drive at 6 a.m. sets it off. As does the porch light which is on a timer but can also be controlled by our phones. It’s not special our phones control most of the lights in the house, the other security cameras, and the thermostat. God forbid we lose WiFi.

There’s a third category of things that trip the sensor: local wildlife. So far, we’ve gotten these two alerts in the past two days accompanied by candid photos.

Here we have a lonesome wander, possibly the phantom pooper of years past (if I haven’t told you this story, let me know. It has M. Night Shyamalan level twists)

This one popped up today while we were out. For some reason, I find it very amusing. My own little nature show.

So if you’re strolling past my house and get the unsettling feeling that you’re being watched, between this camera and the other four, you probably are.

I always feel like somebody’s watching me…

Candid photos

Key Books

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I have a million deadlines so I decided to write a blog post. Remember this blog? I have a blog. This is the blog.

Today’s topic is what I like to call key books. Key books are little Rosetta stones that open you up to new genres, the kind you thought were difficult to read or not to your taste. For example, I thought I didn’t like science fiction. Then in college, my buddy Brad forced a copy of Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson in my hands. Above my very loud protests, he insisted that I’d love it. I insisted that I wouldn’t. He won that bet. It was my key book into sci-fi. The majority of books I read are still horror or mystery but I’m open to sci-fi books as well. The same thing happened with fantasy novels. Many years ago, before a certain HBO show aired, Kate, who just happens to be Brad’s wife, was visiting me. When she discovered that I hadn’t read Game of Thrones, she literally made me drive to our local indie book store that minute and bought it for me. Again, I insisted that outside of King Arthur, sword and sorcery stuff just didn’t appeal to me. A snotty joke may have been made comparing the names of George R. R. Martin and J. R. R. Tolkien. I’m not embarrassed to say that I tore through the book in less than three days. Game of Thrones became my second key book. Fantasy no longer repels me, though I do lean towards grimdark. You can take the girl out of the book store’s horror section but you can’t take the book store’s horror section completely out of the girl.

Fast forward quite a few years. My older son, Thing1, loves to read. He’ll read anything he can get his hands on. Though he has favorite genres, he doesn’t discriminate. Books, magazines, you name it, he’ll read it.

Unfortunately, Thing2 only likes non-fiction. I’ve watched him take a fiction book, fan through the pages, then claim to have read it; but give him a Guinness Book of World’s Records and he’s in heaven. He’ll read and reread it for days, yelling out his favorite facts to you as he goes. The thing is, in an academic setting you can’t avoid fiction. There’s no way around it. (Full disclosure, he’ll read books like Big Nate or Diary of a Wimpy Kid but we’d really like him to try books without pictures.) His teachers in grades one and two were happy he read and didn’t push the issue too much. In third grade, his teacher tried to encourage fiction reading but Thing2 is stubborn. That teacher ultimately gave up as long as Thing2 did the assigned class readings. His teacher this year is a very clever woman. Not only has she found ways to curb some of his poorer habits that don’t result in meltdowns, she also found his key book.

Dave Barry is a famous writer of both fiction and non-fiction. Even I’ve read a handful of his books, mainly compilations of his newspaper columns. I did not know that he also wrote fiction. Children’s fiction to be more precise. Thing2’s teacher had one such book. Above Thing2’s loud protests (I have no idea where he gets this behavior from) she informed him that if he read 50 pages of Science Fair by Dave Barry and Ridley Pierson, and he didn’t like it, he could put it down and find something else. Not only did he read 50 pages, in the next two days he read the entire book. Then he asked to go to the public library, a place he usually won’t let me drag him to unless I allow him to check out CDs and video games. Once there, he made a bee line for the Dave Barry books and got The Worst Class Trip Ever. He read that one in less than a day!

We’ve still got a way to go in getting him to branch out but this is a huge step. Sometimes that first step is all you need. In summary, don’t turn your nose up at that genre that you think is trash or you definitely don’t like. There’s a key book out there for you.

*While writing this, a pattern’s emerged that perhaps Brad and Kate are my key people. I should look into that more.

Key Books

Adventures in Cavysitting

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Like most children, my boys have been begging for a pet for years. “Please, get us a dog! We swear we’ll feed it and walk it and pick up its poop! Please get us a cat! We’ll play with it every day! Pleeeeeeease!” Quite a while back, we bought them betta fish. One, Tandoori Chicken (named for its distinct red/orange color), died only weeks ago. Though it survived a trip down the garbage disposal six months ago (long story: it jumped out of the net when I was changing its water, the disposal wasn’t running at the time, and I swear after I got it back in its bowl, it glared at me for days), so I believe it lived a long and full life for a betta. The other betta, Lightening, named for it’s stormy blue hue, is still alive and kicking. Or swimming. You get my drift.

My mother, being the cliched grandmother who was super strict to my sister and me but now lets my kids run around like crazies, giving them every sugary concoction or cheaply made toy their hearts desire, began taking them to the local humane society. Just to look, of course. (insert eyeroll here) Every time they went, which was more often than I’d like, the boys would come home and beg for a dog. “Barkley is a nice dog. I think he liked me!” “Samson looked so sad when I left. We should go back and get him.” “Queenie is the cutest dog EVER! Please, please, please!”

Being the meanie I am, I pointed out that our yard is small; we travel a lot; they don’t even like playing in the rain, much less walking a dog in it; and they’ll have to pick up steaming, hot poop and carry it around in bags. “Noooooooo! We’ll take care of it. We will!” And, of course, the classic, “We’ll never ask for anything else as long as we live!”

One day, they came home and told me about all of the cats and dogs they played with. Then they mentioned rabbits and guinea pigs. I love guinea pigs. I’ve owned quite a few in my life. They are sweet animals that interact with people but don’t need to be walked. Certain sounds (the crinkle of a bag, the fridge door opening) can set off a series of squeaks and chirps. Even M, the pet-resistant curmudgeon, agreed that perhaps a guinea pig would help the boys learn a bit of responsibility. We decided two would be better: one for each boy and the piggies would have a buddy to keep them company.

The following Sunday morning, we bought the supplies at Petco and headed to the humane society as soon as it opened.  We handed in our paperwork and, after a short wait, the piggies were boxed up for travel.

We are not their first family. They are still skittish around people. The woman at the humane society’s front desk told us that she didn’t think their previous family socialized them. Not to mention, one of them was dropped by a humane society visitor the day before we adopted them.  However, we’re gaining their trust, day by day, treat by treat. The children are learning patience and tenderness, kindness and responsibility.

I still end up cleaning the cage.

Adventures in Cavysitting

Agatha Christie: Mystery G.O.A.T.

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It’s no secret that I’ve been on an Agatha Christie kick. In the spirit of “Everything Old is New Again,” I’ve been revisiting the classics. I love books but lately I’ve been unable to resist the siren song of the Agatha Christie movies and miniseries that have cropped up in the past few years. With star studded casts, lush period costumes, and gorgeous cinematography, they’ve caught my fancy as of late. The best part: they still hold up.

Crooked House

While on assignment in Cairo, a young diplomat, Charles, has an affair with a young Englishwoman, Sophia. He returns to London and becomes a private detective. It seems he wasn’t exactly a diplomat, more of a spy. And the young woman wasn’t a random Englishwoman. Sophia is the granddaughter of a wealthy tycoon, Aristide Leonides. He was found dead and she suspects murder. It takes little persuasion for Charles to accept her plea to uncover the killer but once he arrives at the stately manor, a long list of suspects emerges.

I love character actors and with a roster containing the likes of Glenn Close, Julian Sands, Gillian Anderson, Christina Hendricks, and Terrence Stamp, I was in heaven. Though I sussed out the killer by the third act turn, it was still an enjoyable watch. The act three climax was fantastic (and I did NOT see it coming). Crooked House is currently available to stream on Amazon Prime.

Murder on the Orient Express

PBS Masterpiece Mystery airs the Poirot series on a regular basis, along with Miss Marple, so I am familiar with the Belgian detective. It’s possible I’ve seen some version of this film in the past but, upon viewing, I couldn’t recall the plot other than there’s a train and someone dies on said train. It’s much more than that.

When his vacation in Istanbul is cut short to attend to a case in London, Hercule Poirot (NOT Hercules, he didn’t slay any lions!) is offered passage on the famous Orient Express by his friend Bouc, who just happens to be in the same bakery when Poirot is called back. The train is strangely full for the middle of winter. As the train travels across the continent, they find one of the passengers brutally murdered just before an avalanche derails the train.  Workers race to free the train while Poirot races to find the murderer.

The cast was even more star studded than usual with Kenneth Branagh, Daisy Ridley, Leslie Odom Jr., Penelope Cruz, Josh Gad, Johnny Depp, Derek Jacobi, Michelle Pfeiffer, Judi Dench, Olivia Colman, and Willem Dafoe.

Again, the story completely holds up. It was enjoyable to watch as the clues piled up and the great detective accepted then rejected various possible culprits. Great twists abound and the ending was satisfying. Murder on the Orient Express is currently available to rent on DVD and streaming.

And Then There Were None

Unlike the previous two, And Then There Were None was made into a miniseries for BBC One. Lifetime bought the American broadcasting rights. I’m sad to say I missed this one when it aired on television. Luckily, the amazing local library carries the DVDs.

A group of eight strangers are invited, each under a different pretext, to a remote island mansion by the mysterious Mr. and Mrs. Owen. The guests are met by the staff, a butler and his wife, the maid/cook (which makes ten people in total). The hosts are absent. The mansion itself is an odd one, beautifully furnished but, in each room, a framed version of the poem, Ten Little Soldiers, hangs on the wall. The guest who notices the poem also notices a strange centerpiece at dinner, ten glass figures. Over the course of the next few days, one by one, the guests die in ways that correspond to each soldier in the poem. One by one, the glass figures disappear.

This may be my favorite of the three. The remoteness of the house gives it a Gothic feel. Unlikable characters abound, so it was a shock to see who died in which order and how they were offed. A random unsettling moment at the beginning came back in the third act to cinch a great twist. Not to mention the wonderful cast: Charles Dance, Douglas Booth, Maeve Dermody, Burn Gorman (he was fantastic in TURN: Washington’s Spies and he was great here as well), Sam Neill, Anna Maxwell Martin, Noah Taylor, Aidan Turner, Miranda Richardson, and Toby Stephens.

Agatha Christie’s work continues to thrill audiences because she was such a strong writer. The plots remain relevant and the twists still shock. Kenneth Branagh announced that Death on the Nile will be released next year. I can’t wait that long for a Christie fix so I’ll be headed to the library to pick up some of her books. You should, too.

 

Agatha Christie: Mystery G.O.A.T.