The Bad Old Cays: Another Maine Murder

The puffins on this book cover are adorable, the bright blue backdrop serene.  Even the girl clinging to the cliff edge for dear life has a comfortingly cartoonish quality.  But Leslie Meier's Invitation Only Murder, the 2019 installment in her popular Lucy Stone series, is more creepy than cozy.  

Reporter-slash-sleuth Lucy is at it again.  But this time she's ventured from the relative safety of Tinker's Cove to an island frozen in the nineteenth century.  Peculiar patriarch and billionaire Scott Newman has plunged his family, which includes his second wife, two sets of twins, and a skeleton crew of salt-of-the-earth staff, into the ultimate eco-warrior experiment: modern life minus modern conveniences.  No cell phones, TVs, or electricity.  Or, as they said on Gilligan's Island, not a single luxury (although even the Professor had a coconut radio).  Just miles and miles of pristine Maine countryside -- where no one can hear you scream.  

And you thought your family was crazy.

Scott claims it's all in the name of protecting Mother Earth, but his controlling ways suggest that something far more sinister is afoot.  And then someone turns up dead, with two more lost in the fog-shrouded forest.  I couldn't help but think that this setup of a strange, wealthy family marooned in the boonies had an air of Agatha Christie.  And when I got to the part where Lucy tries to talk herself off the ledge, my hunch was confirmed:

"Get a grip, she told herself, determined to resist the paranoia that seemed to be infecting the house.  This isn't an Agatha Christie story; people aren't going to disappear one by one, slain by a killer intent on avenging a past wrong." (167-168)

But rattled or not, Lucy isn't one to throw in the towel.  So, like Hercule Poirot, she puts her little gray cells to the test.  She's not a journalist for nothing; her ease with people and observational skills prove invaluable as she works to unmask the killer.  

Invitation Only Murder wasn't what I expected.  It's grimmer than the average Lucy Stone caper, going so far as to include a description of Scott's faithful servant laying out a dead body.  Nevertheless, I found it intriguing, spellbound by the eerie vibe and fog to find out if the good guys -- whoever they were -- would survive.

And also, at the very least, it made me appreciate Wi-Fi. 

Two Plaids, Four Fads, and a Rag Bag Revisited

Coat: So, Kohl's

I'm kicking off this post with a very cheesy -- but very necessary! -- line: so many plaids, so little time.  Because I was so excited about my new pair of plaid minis that I decided to build not one but two looks around each.  

First up is this purple skirt in an outfit we'll call "funky fur."  The skirt is preppy, but the color is kooky, and that's the part I decided to run with.  More mushrooms and My Little Ponies, please!

Yellow Garden Necklace

Top: Delia's, Dolls Kill

Barrettes: Dolls Kill

Bag: Amazon

Next is the same skirt styled in a more scholarly yet fairy kei way.  Looks like "pastel prep" to me!    

Sweater: So, Kohl's

Ring: (old school) Delia's; Barrettes: Dolls Kill; Mint bangle: Decree, JCPenney; Yellow bangle: B Fabulous

Skirt: Almost Famous, Kohl's

Teddy Confetti Necklace

Sweater: Pink Republic, Macy's

And that brings us to my second skirt, this colorful flared affair from Delia's for Dolls Kill.

But first, a little tangent. 

A year or so ago, I bagged up some clothes to donate, shoved them in a closet, and promptly forgot about them.  I wasn't about to haul them off to Goodwill with COVID still surging.  But I recently went into that closet to get something else, saw the bag there, and thought, I wonder . . . 

I don't have to tell you that I was soon surrounded by a colorful sea of my so-called castoffs.  Rifling through those garments -- even the hideous ones -- gave me a lot of joy.  There were even a few pieces that were still kind of nice.  This is how hoarders get started, I thought, examining an almost brand-new pair of chocolate flats I'd once deemed too small.  I set them aside; I could make them work with pantyhose.  I also rescued a cutout black sweater that I could probably get away with over a tee shirt, a floral red button-down perfect for Zoom meetings, and, finally, the maroon, blue, and mustard sweater I'm sporting in this ensemble.  At the time, I thought the colors were too drab or collegiate.  But after fishing it out of the bag, I remembered how much I liked the fit and considered reinventing it with a bright bottom.  Enter this sunshiney plaid number!  When the husband snapped my pic in it, he said I looked like I was ready to head to Riverdale, which I loved.  Even though to me the vibe was more Mean Girls.  

Green bracelet: Parade of Shoes; Blue bracelet: Cloud Nine, Ocean City; Ring: Making Waves, Ocean City

Skirt: Delia's, Dolls Kill

Suzy Snapshot Necklace

Tights: Isadora, Zulily

Finally, I curated the same skirt in a different way, with an oversized pastel sweater and eclectic accessories.  The leopard pumps were another near-discard; they're a little big, which is why I'm rocking socks.  And then there are my crooked cobalt tights.  What is it about vertical-striped stockings, anyway?!  Sometimes the stars align and everything falls where it's supposed to.  But more often than not, no amount of twisting and untwisting can correct a configuration that's woefully catawampus, and I feel as uncoordinated as a kid who can't tie her shoes.  That's why I'm dubbing this outfit "unkempt kitsch."  It's a not-so-subtle reminder that things don't have to be perfect to be pretty.

Which is as good a mantra as any for this recovering perfectionist.

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Flower barrette: Etsy; Bow barrette: Carole, JCPenney

Shoes: Journeys, Kohl's

Spider necklace: SHEIN; Love bangle: Boscov's; Choker: Mixit, JCPenney; Small bracelet: Cloud Nine, Ocean City; Large bracelet: Mixit, JCPenney; Barrettes: SHEIN

Sass by the Glass: Grape Expectations

My latest read, The Summer Job, was yet another recommendation from my favorite librarian, Ellie.  This debut novel by Lizzie Dent is the story of Birdy, a loser Londoner who decides to impersonate her bestie as a world-class sommelier for the summer.  Despite being unable to tell a citrus note from a Shasta, Birdy plans to wield her wine goblets at Loch Dorn, a sleepy hotel-slash-restaurant tucked into the Scottish countryside.  It'll be an adventure -- and best of all for suddenly homeless Birdy, rent free.  But things go, ahem, sideways once she realizes that the so-called hole-in-the-wall B&B is actually a posh spot helmed by a Michelin-starred chef.  High profile and demanding, her role as resident grape guru instantly gives her something to worry -- and, yes, wine -- about.  One cringeworthy incident after another tempts her to cork the Chablis and hightail it back to London.  But the quiet charms of a certain chef (not the Michelin man; he's a wanker) paired with her newfound need to succeed keep her as rooted as the cuckooflower for which she and the kitchen staff forage.  Soon, secrets at Loch Dorn and from the home front have Birdy working overtime on more than the wine list, making The Summer Job a classic tale of a screw-up (or, in this case, a screw-top wine aficionado) stepping up to save the day.

This book was the perfect palate cleanser after Nicholas Sparks's beautiful but emotionally draining The Wish.  It made me think of silly stuff like wine o' clock somewhere merch, UB40's "Red Wine," and, of course, Step Brothers's Catalina Wine Mixer, even though I don't drink wine -- or anything fermented.  It's one of those books that's fun to read but would be a trial to live.  At least for me.  Pretending to be a wine expert, or really, any hospitality professional, is at the top of my list of nightmare jobs, right under Uber driver and phlebotomist.  The stress!  The lies!  The hangovers!  It's no wonder poor Birdy didn't go into cardiac arrest and fall headfirst into a glass of Merlot -- even if she did just that metaphorically, as illustrated on the cover.  Indeed, the high-jinks alone are enough to make this novel into a hilarious movie.  I see Phoebe Waller-Bridge as Birdy, partly because Dent sort of looks like her but mostly because of her brand of over-the-top, elegant irreverence.  (Apparently, this was no accident; in the author discussion at the back of the book, Dent shares that Birdy was partially inspired by Fleabag's title character.  Even if Dent did go on to say that she'd choose Gillian Jacobs to play Birdy in a screen adaptation.  No disrespect to you, Gillian -- I loved you in Community -- but no one other than Phoebe Fleabag herself should rakishly don Birdy's apron.)  As for the fetching foodie, Kit Harrington would do very nicely.  His sensitive intensity is just what this recipe requires, even if I'm drawing more upon his performance in Modern Love than Game of Thrones.

But enough fantasy director league chatter.  The point is that The Summer Job serves up a grape escape.  

No doubt about it; Dent's debut goes down easy.   

Colorblock Brain Teaser Sneezer

Top: Bar III, Macy's

Bag: Harajuku Lovers, ROSS; Barrette: INC, Macy's; Scrunchies: Lady Arya, Zulily

Skirt: Amazon

80s Explosion Necklace

Jacket: Marshalls

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Dolls Kill

Top: Almost Famous, Boscov's

Bracelets: Jessica Simpson Collection, Amazon

Sweater: Crave Fame, Macy's

Rockin' Locks Necklace

Pink pumps: Jessica Simpson, DSW; Rainbow pumps: Anne Michelle, JCPenney

Scrunchies: Lady Arya, Zulily; Bag: Francesca's; Ring: Making Waves, Ocean City; Pink bangle: Don't Ask, Zulily; Striped bangle: Mixit, JCPenney

Whenever I hear the word "colorblock," I think of a Rubik's Cube.  Which is a puzzle I could never solve.  Thankfully, when it comes to fashion, the rules of color coordination are more forgiving.  That's why I love a good colorblock sweater (also, a good striped top, but this isn't about you, stripey).  Dramatic and bold, these pullovers put it all out there, giving the rest of your outfit a party palette to play with.  

But back to the beginning and that cocky cube.  Being bested by it didn't stop me from buying it in tissue box cover form:

Tissue box cover: Amazon

It holds court in my craft room offering, not tissues, but the artistic equivalent of trash talk inspiration.

Hit me with your best snot, Sir Rubik.        

A Spark in the Dark

Some call him cheesy.  Or maudlin.  Or even a misogynist (that was me).  But even so, Nicholas Sparks remains one of our most gifted writers.  His novels of love and loss are universal, embroidered with the kind of idiosyncratic details that make you feel like you're there.  And his latest, The Wish, takes us on the most off-the-beaten-path journey yet.  A frame story told through flashbacks and letters, The Wish jumps seamlessly between the mid '90s and the present to tell a tale that's old-fashioned yet timeless.

When sixteen-year-old Maggie Dawes ends up pregnant, her parents ship her from Seattle to the Outer Banks to live with her aunt, an ex-nun lesbian.  Scared and sullen, Maggie finds Ocracoke rundown and boring.  But then she gets to know her aunt -- and meets her tutor-to-be, Bryce Trickett.  It's her relationships with both -- and seeing the world through Bryce's camera lens -- that transforms Ocracoke into a haven.

Inspired by Bryce's passion for photography, Maggie begins taking her own pictures.  And it turns out to be a therapeutic outlet, helping her through her pregnancy the way that painting helped the teens in her aunt's convent:

"I imagined pregnant girls in a bright, airy room in the convent with wildflowers blooming outside.  I thought about how they felt as they lifted a brush, adding color and wonder to a blank canvas and feeling -- if only for a brief moment -- that they were like other girls their age, unburdened by past mistakes.  And I knew that they felt the same way I did when I stared through the lens, that finding and creating beauty could illuminate even the darkest periods." (229)

Photography evolves into Maggie's North Star, guiding her into the future.  At the same time, the events that unfold for her and Bryce elevate coming-of-age angst to a new level.  In telling their story, Sparks weaves his magic to celebrate life's fragility.  

And although much of this story is indeed sad and dark, his metaphor of photography reminds us that pictures -- like life -- are all about catching the light.

Frosty Flakes and Mountainous Makes: Pass the Salt, Pretty Please

Dress: Vylette, Kohl's

Chalet Getaway Brooch Barrette

Bag: Circus by Sam Edelman, Kohl's

This post isn't about diabetes-inducing cereal or porcelain god offerings.  It's about winter.  Sort of.  But not really.  What it's really about is this Chalet Getaway Barrette Brooch I made last Monday after we got twelve inches of snow:

Now, we all know that I loathe the cold.  Which means that I'm no fan of mountains, much less chalets.  But even I can't deny that there's something magical about a white winter scene.  (Hey, Frozen's not a goldmine for nothing.)  It's pristine, it's peaceful, and the ice crystals remind me of rhinestones.  And as long as I'm observing it all from the right side of a window, I'm into it.  Maybe that's why I busted out of my beige rut and bought some blue eyeshadow.  Because January is prime time for ice queen eyelids.  No ice required.

Eyeshadow: Revlon, Walgreens

That said, here I am on my snowy porch when that Monday storm was swirling full force (no eyeshadow show-and-tell yet; the package arrived yesterday):

Hat: Nine West, Boscov's

It was so brutal that as soon as the husband snapped this pic, I took myself -- and my tam-o'-shanter -- indoors, where I swapped my icicle suit for pajamas.

Then I promptly parked myself at a window, hot tea in hand, to watch the world from inside.   

Lordy, Lordy, Look Who's Forty

Skirt: Modcloth

Spoiler alert: it's me!  Yes, it's official.  Today I enter my fourth decade.  There was a time when I thought that meant a minivan and mom jeans.  Or, worse yet, humiliation in the form of a Grim Reaper-themed rager.

When I was seven, my uncle threw my dad a surprise party for his fortieth.  There were black balloons everywhere, and the walls were covered with tee shirts showing my dad struggling up a hill.  There was even one of those canes with a horn on it.  Everyone was having a wonderful time, laughing and scarfing down shrimp.  And I was incredibly angry.  How dare they make fun of my father like that and ruin his birthday with hideous decorations!  (Years later, I learned that my uncle wanted to hire a stripper but didn't because my sister and I would be there.  That would've been truly traumatizing.)  Anyway, my parents explained that there was no need to be upset, that the party was all in good fun.  And I begrudgingly accepted that, taking comfort in my enormous neon green hair bow and an endless stream of Shirley Temples.

So today, I'm celebrating my fortieth, not in black, but the way I celebrate everything -- in big, bold rainbow colors.  I may be older and wiser -- and have a few gray hairs -- but I still have the carefree fashion sense of that little girl in the green bow.

That said, if you ever catch me in a minivan, then the Grim Reaper has already arrived.