Yesterday, after watching baseball games I watcher several episodes of Masterpiece Mystery. It was one of my favorite detectives Inspector Lewis.
I’ve been watching Masterpiece Mystery for a long time, back when it was simply called Mystery and the host was the late Vincent Price. All this got me to thinking of some of my Detectives over the years and why they are my favorite.
Inspector Lewis started out as a Sargent Lewis in the Inspector Morse Mysteries. I didn’t miss one episode, I also read all the Colin Dexter novels. Morse was another favorite, cantankerous with a mind like a steel trap. He drank too much and eat all the wrong things but he had an air of mystery surrounding him. Especially about his life before he became a policeman.
Inspector Lynley I only recently discovered. Probably because when he was originally broadcast I was working night shift. Thanks to Netflix I’m catching up on them.
Adam Dagliesh the poet Scotland Yard Inspector of P.D.James’ amazing stories.
I also discovered detectives from the golden age of mysteries and their creators. Ngaio Marsh, Dorothy Sayers and of course Agatha Christie.
These detectives are intelligent, moral, independent. A few of them are aristocrats some of them are amateurs but they don’t let that stop them. They and their creators have given me endless hours of joy, both on tv and in print. If my amateur detectives are half as good as they are, I’ll be happy.
I’m posting this for no reason at all except I like it. And it’s Friday.
There are a lot of clips on you tube from her movies if you want to check them out. She was the Madonna or the Lady Gaga of the 30’s.
When women go wrong, men go right after them.
I glanced in the mirror and ran my fingers through my short brown hair it needed to be cut but it will wait. The door bell rings again, this time longer, more insistent. “I’m coming , Ginger!”
Ginger Redbone, my agent had set up a meeting for me with some Hollywood director who wanted to make a movie out of my first book
She talked non stop as we rode to the restaurant, I only heard part of it, I was still trying to figure out how to write myself out of the miasma that was intending to be my next book..
As we pulled up to the restaurant, there were two men waiting. One looked familiar and when I realized who it was my mouth fell open, A word pooped in oscitate not that I remember the meaning but I certainly remembered who taught it to me.
Getting out of the car I waited for Ginger to introduce us, struck by the synchronicity of my life.
“Anna, ” she said, “I’d like you to meet Imago Lacuna ”
The man turned and enveloped me in a hug not waiting for her to finish. “Anna, Bella, it is so good to see you.”
Sunday is usually my favorite day. I make my version of egg mc muffin, with fewer calories and fat. We read the paper, when we walk over to Walgreen to get it. This time of year we watch baseball. About every two weeks Sunday Morning means critique group.
Today I got baseball but that was it, I spent the morning in the emergency room with my husband who was in the worst pain I have ever seen him in.
Had to cancel critique group today and got a friend to take us to the hospital. This good friend also waited in the emergency room for us. This is not the first time he’s done this for us. He drives a lot of people in this complex to appointments. He says he’s retired and has nothing else to do. All I know is that he is a good friend.
So hubby is home and ready to go to work tomorrow. His pain? Kidney stone. Hopefully he will pass it soon. I know he is feeling better because he blogged about the experience. Everything in his life is a subject for his blog I AM AN AUTHOR I MUST AUTH. I got my egg sandwich, we both did. And Baseball, even if the Red Sox didn’t win. 🙂
Another thing happened today, one of the sweetest people I know passed this afternoon. She was a lady in every way.I have never actually met her, but that didn’t matter. She was the mother of my best friend and Big Sister and never failed to ask after me or my husband. Even though we never met, I still called her mom. The world is a better place for her being in it and she will be missed by all who knew her.
And on this day ten years ago we all found that out, some of us more than others.
Ten years ago I lived in New Jersey. My husband watched horrified from a park in New Jersey as the towers he had watched being built as a child, fell into ruins. His parents apartment looks out on the Brooklyn Bridge and the Statue of Liberty. We drove to Kennedy Airport to pick up my in-laws who were on one of the first flights allowed back. They had been in Europe at a science conference.
What I remember most that day was two things. One, the first sight I had of the towers still burning is forever in my brain and two, after we picked my in-laws up and were back at their apartment.
Without saying a word, the four of us went directly to the living room window to see the hole in the sky where the towers used to be.
No We lost no one that day. My heart goes out to those who did, even now ten years later. I do know that my husband’s friend who made it out of Tower One, has never been the same.
Nor will it ever be the same, for any of us.
However I like a quote from one of my favorite old actors Danny Kaye It’s a fantastic piece of advice.
Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can. ~Danny Kaye
The door swung shut and she took a breath of sweet wonderful freedom. She wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder when she walked out the door. Never again. Shifting the back pack onto her shoulders she hurried down to the bus stop.
“Hey MJ, hold on a minute!”
She glanced down the street, where the hell was the bus. She waved to her friend Marie. “Hey there, what’s kicking?”
“Not much, you’re really going through with it huh?”
“I said I would, now’s the time to do it while he’s away.”
“You’re still not going to tell me where you’re going, are you?”
She shook her head. “We talked about that Marie. If you don’t know where I am you can’t tell anyone.”
“OK” Anna Marie sniffed. “Just please be careful.”
The bus had turned the corner, she reached and gave her friend a hug.
“I will, you do the same ok?”
The bus pulled up and she got on, paid her fare and turned to wave good by to the one person she would miss from her old life as the door swung shut.
If so inclined please like my entry linky on Rachel’s site it’s #222
I love cooking for myself and cooking for my family.
I know just how Al feels. I love cooking, always have. Some of my favorite memories are around food.
The first thing I remember cooking was when my mother taught me how to cook rice and tomato soup and hot dogs.Exotic, right? I think I was about 12 or 13 and I remember how grown up I felt cooking dinner.
When mom got sick I took over cooking dinner except for Sunday. That was my dad’s day. He could make a mean Sunday roast, among other things. My brothers didn’t always like what I made but they eat it. Funny though, the things they complained the most about my husband loves.
I love to cook for people, whether it’s a meal here at home or a potluck when I worked in an office, there was nothing better.
Holidays my husband and I love nothing better than to cook a huge meal for our friends. My family always had relatives in and out of the house for the day. My in-laws were the same and they always had one of two “extra’s”. People who had no family in the area and were invited for a holiday meal.
Since our families are on the east coast, and we are in Arizona our friends are our extended family, especially those with no family in the immediate area. I’ll cook a turkey or a ham, everyone invited is just asked to bring a side or a desert and we spend the afternoon eating and just hanging out.
It’s not just holidays either. What are your favorite food memories?