Of Waves and Pens by Nancy L. Eady

Waves: 

One of the fascinating aspects of living in a small town is learning the language, both spoken and non-spoken. For example, when a person honks their horn at your car in a small Southern town, odds are they are just saying hello. I learned this lesson over twenty years ago, when Mark and I traveled to a small town in South Carolina.

On the main road through the center of town, with a posted speed limit of forty-five miles per hour, we got behind an elderly couple going twenty-five miles per hour at best. We were from Charlotte at the time. Mark honked his horn, hoping to encourage them to drive a little faster. The driver, the man, looked in his rear-view mirror to see who we were and turned to his wife. Even though we couldn’t hear him, we’re positive he asked her, “Do you know them?” The wife looked in the rear-view mirror at us and, shaking her head, indicated, “No.” They both took one more look to be sure, and then, on cue, not wanting to be rude, both of them waved at us on the off-chance we might indeed be someone they knew. Resigning ourselves to the twenty-five miles per hour pace, we waved back. They turned left after another ten miles, still periodically checking us out in their rear-view mirror, trying to figure out who we were. 

Pens: 

I have a junk drawer in the kitchen, and a black end table in the den. In theory, both the junk drawer and the top drawer of the end table are the designated spots for pens and pencils. That way, I always know where I can get a writing utensil. I have decided that these drawers are magic—the pens disappear from the drawers, never to be found again. Ever. I buy ten pack after ten pack of pens, with a few good pens thrown in from time to time, but there never is a pen in either drawer when I need one. The pencils, however, hang around indefinitely. I suspect the pencils are the culprits. How else can you explain a drawer with the same twenty pencils I put in there at the beginning, and not a single one of the 100 to 200 odd pens remaining? Someday, I am going to find the closet to which the pencils have exiled the pens. When I open it, and the flood of pens that has been accumulating since 1987 pours out on me, I will suffer serious injury, proving yet again that the pen is indeed mightier than the sword. 

Have a great weekend. 

Fire Hydrants and Street Signs by Susan Van Kirk

Each time I begin a new mystery about a small, Midwest town, I notice once again the quirks and benefits of my own town. Some of these episodes I use in my books just as they happened, and others I embellish. I have lived in a one million+ city so I’m not immune to the charms or drawbacks of large places. All the same, I love living in my small Midwest town, and, frankly, it provides great fodder for the settings of both my Endurance and Sweet Iron mysteries.

Just recently, I was daydreaming at the stoplight on my way to the bank. Several cars were behind me, and I don’t know how long I sat there oblivious to the light. Eventually, I looked up, saw the green light, and drove into the intersection. Ordinary, you say. So what? You think. If I were in a metropolitan area, I’d have at least six people honk their horns to move me along. Several would literally lay on their horns. But here in my little town, not a horn, not a road rage incident, and not a single person yelling out the window or making an obscene gesture. This is a great snippet of information for the book I’m working on where people from a more cosmopolitan area visit my little town. Its lack of speed will drive them crazy. Tee hee.

At the time I was daydreaming, I was on my way to the bank because I needed to get ten crisp one-dollar bills to put in my grandchildren’s Halloween cards. [Thank God they are still young enough to

Photo by Jen Theodore at Unsplash.com

get excited about a dollar bill; in the future this will bankrupt me.] I pulled up to the teller window and recognized all three tellers. When I told them what I needed, I saw a mad scramble to get me just the right bills—no teenage wadded-up bills, no bills with holes, rips, or tears. I watched as they searched every nook and cranny. As they collected the bills, I noticed the doggie treats and lollipops on the counter to give to customers with little passengers. Small towns. Gotta love them. These tellers know I write mysteries and understand that I have grandchildren, including two sets of twins. They are so helpful. Mission accomplished.

In Three May Keep a Secret, I used a situation in my town and exaggerated it a bit. An intersection in our town, just off the Square, was a through street with stop signs on the east/west streets. People driving north and south went straight through. East/west had to stop. It has been this way for decades. The town fathers—what were they thinking?—decided to change the intersection to a four-way stop. They put stop signs in the middle of the north/south street between lanes so people would notice them.

As Jill in my book said, “Drivers knocked over and splintered three sets of signs. Obviously, the four-way stop wasn’t working. So then they voted to put a sign in the middle of the intersection saying, “Stop if pedestrians are in the walkway.” This resulted in people slowing down to read the sign and getting rear-ended. [This part is a true story.]

As Jill continued, “Great day for Bert’s Collision Shop. And one of the casualties was Mayor Blandford’s wife, Polly. She was arrested for causing a public disturbance because she got out of her car and marched back to Genevieve Blackburn, who was talking on her cell phone when she rear-ended Polly’s car. McGuire [the policeman] had to pull the two away from each other, and Polly took a swing at him too.” [Well, so I exaggerated a bit.]

Right now I’m looking out my front window at the fire hydrant in my yard. For years I asked the fire department to paint it because it was an eyesore. They were “too busy.” I decided to buy the red paint and do it myself. I think there must be a story in this little incident. I’m working on it…