Maggie Pill Mysteries

I can predict the future--but only when it involves my husband. Example #1: He asks, "Do you think we should buy a camper?" "No," I reply. "We've done that several times, and we always end up not using it much. It's so easy to drive anywhere we want to in a car and stay in a motel." At the same time, I begin watching second-hand stores for decent pots and such, because I know there will soon be a camper in my yard. The request for my opinion was academic; he'd already decided it was time to try the camping life again. To be honest, it doesn't make much difference to me, since he's willing to do all the work of setting up and taking down, but I knew from that initial question what my future held. Example #2: We're leaving on a camping trip. He says we should take off about noon, because most campgrounds have mid-afternoon check-in times. What I say out loud is "Okay," but what my spousal clairvoyance whispers is ...

Well, technically, there are a few that taste okay, and they make really pretty additions to summery salads and such. But mostly, flowers are to look at, and for some reason, they make me very, very happy. Hubby does most of the vegetable gardening these days, but I still love my flowers and refuse to let my aching back keep me from them. My lawn is full of flowers, and I try to arrange it so they're there from early spring to late fall: daffodils, tulips, narcissus, crocus, violets, and hyacinth come first, blooming in various places at various times, depending on where the sun hits. Then come the flowering bushes: lilac, snowball, spirea, and a little one I always forget the name of, though I look it up every year. Peonies, iris, lilies of  the valley, day lilies, tiger lilies, and other colors of lily come in their turn, along with the potentilla bushes and clematis, who take a while to warm up enough to bloom. Add whatever annuals I choose in a given year: lots of petunias...

I like listening to famous authors tell about their writing process, because they're all different. Here are a few examples I've collected, with my reaction. Lee Child says he writes a book once and allows his editor to make a few suggestions for changes, but only two or three.    I could never operate this way, being one who needs feedback. If it works for him, great. Mark Billingham says his process often involves lying on the couch staring at the ceiling for long periods of time.   I can relate to that, although if you're a regular reader, you know I'm more likely to take a walk when I need to think things through. Robert Barnard said he simply began writing and went where the story led him. He admitted he sometimes ended up stuck but said it was like climbing a mountain. You might come to a spot where you can climb no farther, but looking around, you see where you've been and where you need to go. That's most like my process. I simply cannot p...

Making coffee: fill your coffeemaker with cold water and the correct amount of coffee. Explain to cat that you aren't doing anything she should worry about. For the 9 millionth time. Fill cat's water dish. Set it down carefully, avoiding cat's attempts to bump it with her head. Making the bed: straighten the fitted sheet, moving cat gently aside. Smooth top sheet over bottom, at which point cat will hurry to the center and crouch down. Wait for cat to get bored with being covered up and squirm her way out the side. Smooth sheets again.  Pull spread over sheets, being careful not to upset cat, who is now tumbling along with spread. Ignore her glare at the very idea that blankets should be flat and smooth. Clean catbox. Get in and out as fast as possible. Cat is waiting to use it. Work at your computer, making sure cat has a comfortable spot where she can monitor your accomplishments. Make lunch. Explain to cat that a running can opener does n...