writing

Declaration of War!

/ skidaz / Leave a comment

I consider myself a peace-loving person, who would not intentionally ever physically harm any living thing, but today I find myself in full Carl Spackler-Caddyshack mode. I am at war with coyotes!

Spare me your lectures about my encroachment on their habitat. I have lived on the same property and in the same house for thirty-five years and never had any issues with these critters. But four months ago, things changed when they decided to prey on my dogs. (My dogs range in size from 60+pounds to 15 pounds, and they usually all go outside together and wander around my acre property.)

The coyotes chose my eldest–a 12-year-old dachshund for their first victim. Luckily, she escaped with a few bloody nicks and a fear of going outside after dark. Several months later, their second victim was my young, small Bernedoodle who sustained puncture wounds to her back and her side. However, this week my coyote conflict escalated into all out war when I came eye-to-eye with four yellow eyes as they attempted to jump over my six-foot wall into my backyard! Thankfully, my barking dogs and my shrieking voice caused them to abort their mid-air vault. After I had my anxious and over-stimulated dogs safely sequestered inside, I contemplated my strategies. A wildlife specialist at Arizona Game and Fish offered helpful suggestions and an internet search provided even more.

If you would happen to drive by my house, don’t be alarmed. My yard is decorated with motion sensors, blinking white lights, and ammonia-soaked beach towels drape my six-foot block wall. Wolf urine flakes have been sprinkled around the wall. In case you’re wondering, human pee also serves as a deterrent. (I may have to a host monthly stag parties at my casa when I run out of wolf urine!) Finally, within the next week or two, coyote rollers will be installed on top of the block wall–pricey. But after all, my dogs are priceless!

Finally, my nightly attire is a camouflage jacket with an ammonia-filled, super-soaker squirt gun strapped across my chest and an air horn hooked on my belt. So Wiley Coyote and friends bring it on! Dr. Suze is ready! Beep, beep!

The Neighborhood Dive Bar

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I’ve just completed my fourth, and perhaps final novel, which is primarily set in several of these establishments. In order to infuse a dose of reality, I had to refresh my experiences in bars since my college days, and I discovered some of them are much classier than those I hung out in almost sixty years ago.

Upon entry, the first thing that struck me was they were lighter–I could actually see who was in there. Of course, this may be due to better lighting and the no smoking policy. Or it could be because these neighborhood bars don’t cater to the underage, fake ID, college crowds. Secondly, unlike college hangouts, food is served–not bags of potato chips and peanuts–real food, like veggie burgers, wings, club sandwiches, soups, and salads. (Yes, some of it is greasy food, but it’s quality fried pickles, zucchini, and mushrooms.) Thirdly, and most importantly, the bathrooms are immaculately clean. Gone are the phone numbers, the graffiti, and the lipstick smudges. The toilets aren’t clogged; the sinks and mirrors are clean, the waste cans are empty, and toilet paper doesn’t decorate the floor.

Over the last year, I’ve researched this industry and can honestly conclude the owners I interviewed were primarily in their 40’s, some of them were women, and all of them were very customer-service focused. In fact, the bartender immediately uncaps the customer’s favored beer or pours the “usual” before he/she take their seat. Some servers are so adept they can take dinner orders from a table of ten without the benefit paper and pencil–truly amazing what they can remember! (Which is why, at my age, I can’t be a server!)

Finally, my last word of advice, is don’t judge a neighborhood bar and grill by its exterior. Some of these establishments have been around for thirty or forty years. Instead, check out the parked cars, you may see high-end vehicles and fancy sports models. As long as the neighborhood is safe, you may become as fascinated as I am with this industry. Cheers!

Home Alone?

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My apologies to the movie. But for the most part of the last thirteen years, I’ve been the only human in my casa. Granted I’ve had visitors and weekend guests, but again it’s mostly just me who talks to me, who cooks for me, and who entertains me. However, recently I had an epiphany! I AM NOT ALONE.

Now, if my kids read this blog (doubtful), they’ll think I’ve lost my mind. In fact, I’m NEVER alone with five, needy dogs who are always hungry and in need of a belly rub. They also frequently forget to use their inside barks when the Amazon driver comes to the front door or when they’re absolutely sure there’s a boogie man in my backyard at three AM. Alas, I’m forced to scold their behavior, thank them for their vigilance, and urge them back to slumber.

Secondly, I AM NOT ALONE. There’s laundry. Laundry is always there for me. Since it’s currently sweltering in Phoenix, I’ve the absolute minimum of clothes to launder and oodles of beach towels. Further, I’ve a number of children and their parents who hang out in my pool, who forget their swim attire and towels when they leave, so I do their laundry too.

Finally, one of my long time Ohio friends reminded me this week of the third reason I AM NOT ALONE: garbage. Garbage is always there for me with an added benefit. Benefit? It demands I follow the schedule. Monday is pick up day, meaning Sunday night I must rid my refrigerator of expired food and clean up and bag dog poop. Obviously, one does not want to leave the shells from shrimp cocktail in 110-degree-heat for weeks in the trash can. It must go out on Sunday. Unfortunately, my friend owns two houses four hours apart, demanding a rigorous garbage schedule. She can head to her beach house on Wednesday afternoon to enjoy the weekend on Lake Erie, but she must return to the city by Tuesday evening in time to place her trash can at the curb. (After hearing her story, I’m very glad I only own one home. With my luck, I’d forget what day of the week it is and be left with sizzling stench.)

I offer this word of advice to my single friends. Life is all in how one looks at it. One can wallow in a broken marriage, an early death of a spouse or partner, or the loss of a best friend. Yet, no one is ever solely alone, even without pets. There’s always laundry and garbage….They are there for YOU!

National November Writing Month

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Familiarly known as NaNoWriMo, is an internet opportunity in which both professional and amateur authors attempt to write a 50,000-word novel in thirty days.  Now if November isn’t busy enough with Thanksgiving, holiday shopping, and decorating, thousands of folk embrace this endeavor.  I have a friend, who teaches full-time, has a family, and has engaged in this foolishness for the last three years.  Quite frankly, I admire her stamina because I personally couldn’t stand the pressure.  After all, timed tests freak me out.

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Early in July, I decided to write a novel.  Believe me, it’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.  It has consumed me, kept me awake at night, and even driven me to speak in dialogue.  Sue admonished her labradoodle, “Lexy, Sue doesn’t like when you bark.”  At first, I thought I was crazy; then, I realized I was still scripting in my head.

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I’m a tad over four months into my novel, and to date have written 77,199 words.  Though loosely based on my experience, I’ve spent hours researching and reading to give the book a bit of authenticity.  Thankfully, my brother, who conceived the original idea has provided invaluable assistance in forensic dentistry and tweaking and twisting the plot line.  We anticipate the first draft will be completed by mid-December, necessitating another three months or so of revising and editing.

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Believe me, this is not the great American novel.  It won’t make the best seller’s list, nor will it be picked up by a TV producer or professional publisher.  It may be read by five or ten of my family and friends.  Yet, my attempt has broadened my experience; it’s pushed me out of my comfortable, lazy existence and kept me off the streets!

Whether I’ll ever work this hard again, I doubt it.  But I certainly know I will not be a participant in NaNoWriMo.  Dr. Suze lacks self-discipline and persistence.

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