How To Keep Your Cool

DEBORAH CROMBIE: So we are in the dog days of July, and surprise, surprise, it's really HOT in north Texas. How weird is it that we always know it's coming but somehow we are never prepared for it?

I shouldn't be complaining--we are not into triple digits, just upper 90s, although the 100 degree weather is coming the first of August.

And as I may have mentioned (once or twice) the downside of living in our charming turn of the (last) century Craftsman house is that is a SIEVE. This house was energy efficient in 1905, when the temperatures were lower, the breezes blew across the prairie (not the concrete), and those deep eaves and myriad (open) windows kept things relatively cool. (Of course, this is me fantasizing, since I didn't actually live in north Texas in 1905. Maybe they thought it was hot as blazes, too.)

Our more than twenty-year-old compressors struggle valiantly, but once we hit 95, it is, honestly, hell. We limp through every summer, dreading the day when we will have to replace the whole heat/air system, because we will certainly never make up the cost in utility savings. Unless we live to be about 110.

SO, how to stay cool? Sunday, we went to a friend's pool party, and it was glorious!!! Sitting outside all afternoon and evening, comfortably, dipping in the lovely cool water every so often and then letting the moisture evaporate in the breeze. Heaven! But no pool for us, because the digging of would kill our huge hundred-year-old elms and pecans in the back yard. Then what?

Not our friend's pool, but very cool!

I tried the newly cleaned and refilled inflatable hot tub (that's another story) set at 100 degrees, and literally had to come in and take a half-hour cold bath to lower my body temperature enough to go to sleep.

Here are my better suggestions:

As few clothes as won't get you arrested if you walk out the front door.

Ice. Ice. Lots of ice. And I confess there are moments when I stand in front of the open refrigerator door.

A wet dishtowel, held in front of the fan, then draped around one's sweaty neck.

Fizzy coconut water. We had that at the pool party. With lots of ICE. And lime. Great way to stay hydrated.

Unsweetened ice tea is good, too, even though I know it's a British no-no.

And here's a strawberry cucumber margarita recipe that made me feel cooler just looking at it. Going to try this, as soon as I get strawberries. (This week, overloaded with blueberries, blackberries, peaches, and plums.)

Afternoon naps. There is a reason siestas were invented.

Fans. Lots of fans. In every room in the house. And if you sprinkle yourself with water, they work even better.

Slow cooker. And grill. Although when it's over 95, standing in front of a blazing hot grill in the west sun is not very appealing. The main thing is DO NOT USE OVEN.

Lots of salads.

As many cucumbers and as much watermelon as is humanly possible to eat.

Cold baths. Literally. 

And my last fun thing. Here is the sno cone stand a block from our house. I see it from my kitchen windows. I don't actually like sno cones, but that's not the point. It's the ambiance. It says

SUMMER. 

JUST CHILL.

And one of these days, I'm going to just go buy a cup of shave ice, without the syrup, and maybe dump it over my head.

REDS AND READERS, how do you keep your cool?

 

The People Next Door

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: When I was…oh, I guess sixteen, I was out on a sort-of “date.” Those  were few and far between and I remember nothing about it except: When I called at 10 to see if I could stay out later, my mother said: “Come home right now, the barn is on fire.”

When we arrived, there was a conflagration, and firefighters everywhere, and the ladies auxiliary had set up a picnic table in our front yard with hot dogs and lemonade. Weird, huh?

Anyway, turned out, we began to hear, the kid next door, a very strange 10 year old, had set the fire. The family soon left town.  

Yeesh.

These days--I realize—I know who lives right next door to us on both sides. And they are not pre-adolescent arsonists.  But the next houses? NO idea.

The wonderful Nancy Cole Silverman has her own “house next door” story.

Family Secrets and Urban Legends

By Nancy Cole Silverman

When I was a little girl, my family and I used to visit my grandmother’s home in Seattle. She had lived there since she had been a young bride and had many stories to tell about the neighborhood and times past.  

One of the more curious tales concerned a mysterious house next door, a turn of the century Craftsman with a large front porch and a view of Puget Sound.  Gramma said the house had once been the prettiest on the block with hanging fuchsias and Boston ferns, but that the lady who lived inside, hadn’t been seen in years.

Rumor was there had been a murder in the house. Some suspected the woman had killed her husband, other suspected something far more sinister.  

Whatever it was, my grandmother didn’t tell me. Only that it was something, a young girl didn’t need to worry herself about.  Grandma was like that.  If you didn’t have something nice to say, she didn’t say it.  

All I knew for certain was that the cops had come, the cops had left, and nobody – particularly the women in the neighborhood – were talking about it.  It was my first experience hearing about an unsolved crime and a recluse, and I was determined to see if I might spot her. 

I don’t know what I expected, probably something very Hitchcockian. Maybe a little, old gray-haired lady, dressed in black mourning clothes and carrying around a candle while peering out laced-draped windows.  Despite my staying up way past my bedtime and sitting by the guest bedroom window and straining my young eyes to see if I might catch a glimpse of her, I never did.  But my memory of my nighttime posts, and later some of the urban legends about reclusive old ladies and serial killers was seared in my mind. For years when I’d visit my grandmother, I couldn’t help but flash back to the memory of the strange house next door and wonder about its occupant. 

But time and distance faded those memories, and I hadn’t thought of that incident again until I started research for Room For Doubt, book four of the Carol Childs Mysteries.  About that time, there were a couple of stories  in the paper; one about a group of bad cops on the take and another where two sweet looking little old ladies had been accused of multiple murders. The story was slugged, Black Widow Murders: Two elderly women found guilty of conspiring to kill homeless men.

The story reminded me of Joseph Kesselring’s Arsenic and Old Lace. 

Kesselring based his light-hearted mystery on the serial killings of Amy Archer-Gilligan, who was believed to have killed between 20 and 100 people, including several of her husbands.  Kesselring turned what was a horrendous news story into a popular piece of light-hearted fiction. 

The story triggered memories of the mysterious house next to my grandmother and its even more mysterious occupant.  Why hadn’t anyone followed up on the idea that she might have been a serial killer, and why hadn’t the police arrested her or at least conducted a more thorough investigation?  I couldn’t help but wonder, was there a reason why nobody dared speak of whatever happened inside that house?

Imagination, it’s a wonderful thing.  It got me researching all kinds of urban legends.  One of which was the basis for my new book Room For Doubt. 

How about you? Any childhood memories or urban legends influence the theme of your work?

HANK: And let me ask you this, Reds and readers—do you know who lives next door?

ROOM FOR DOUBT

Yes, showing it again, why not? xx Hank

When radio reporter Carol Childs is called to a crime scene in the Hollywood Hills at five thirty in the morning, she’s convinced it must be a publicity stunt to promote a new movie. That is, until she sees the body hanging from the center of the Hollywood sign. The police are quick to rule it a suicide, but something doesn’t add up for Carol. Particularly after a mysterious caller named Mustang Sally confesses to the murder on the air and threatens to kill again.

With the help of an incorrigible PI, her best friend, and a kooky psychic, Carol is drawn into the world of contract killers and women scorned. As she races to find the real killer, she finds herself faced with a decision that will challenge everything she thought she knew.

• NANCY COLE SILVERMAN
• Nancy Cole Silverman enjoyed a long and very successful career in radio before turning to print journalism and later, to fiction.
  As a graduate of Arizona State University with a degree in Mass Communications, Nancy was one of the first female on-air television reporters in her hometown of Phoenix. After moving to Los Angeles in the late 1970’s she turned to the business side of broadcasting, becoming one of the top advertising sales executives in the market. After stints at KNX, KFWB, KABC and KXTA radio, she was appointed General Manager at KMPC, making her one of only two female managers in America’s second-largest radio market.
  But in her heart of hearts, Nancy thought first of herself as a writer. In 2001 she left the radio business to found and edit The Equestrian News, a monthly publication for equine enthusiasts. “That’s when I really began to write,” said Silverman, “toggling between writing articles for the News and fiction I’d been thinking about for years.”
  Today Nancy is a full-time author. Her new series, The Carol Childs Mysteries, with Henery Press, is available in bookstores and online.

Does size matter? Relax, we're talking houses.

JENN MCKINLAY

Rainbow over my house!

Hub and I bought our starter home, well, when we started eighteen years ago. We picked it because it was in a good school district, although, at this point the hooligans were still a theory and not a reality, and it had a pool, which was critical for this New Englander in the desert. It's a modest three bedroom home with a good sized yard, but if I need someone I can pretty much yell and be heard on the other side of the house. Yes, this is a plus point for me.

After ten years, we fully intended to sell and move into something larger, not much bigger but with an office for me since I was a paid writer at this point, but then the recession hit. The newspaper where Hub was a music editor folded, and the library where I worked part-time as a children's librarian slashed everyone's hours. Good times. Not. We decided to hunker down and ride it out.

The hooligans thrived and life got crazy busy, hectic with activities for them, deadlines for me, and gigs for Hub. Years passed. We debated moving on and off but something always came up and, quite frankly, Hub and I are both kind of lazy in the whole sorting and packing -- ye gad, we own a lot of stuff! -- department, so here we sit.

But now, we know it's time to get ready to do...something. In a few years, the nest will be empty. Since we move with the speed of a glacier (the ones that cruise at one meter/day not the swiftly melting ones), we figure we need to start fixing up the abode now and we might be ready to sell and make a change when the youngest one escapes us. Why the change? Well, we're both longing to live near water, so we're hoping for an oceanside or lakeside location. But here's the new dilemma - what do we buy next? We have no idea.

Darth Vader bathroom.

We like to rent VRBOs when we travel because you can try on different houses for size, like hats but with beds and junk. On our recent trip to Oregon, we rented a riverside house that was, frankly, ginormous because I got a smokin' good deal on it and we wanted a river view. We're talking three car garage, vaulted ceilings, a hot tub, three decks, a master bath that included a lounge chair, jacuzzi, and a ceiling of skylights that was pretty rad. Oh, and it had another bathroom that looked like it came right out of Star Wars so we made everyone hum Darth Vader's march when they went to the can because why not?

View of the Deschutes River from the deck.

There was a lot to love about the house, like the windows overlooking the river, but there was a feeling that whoever owned it had their self-esteem tied up in it. You know what I mean, those houses that say "look at me I have pots of money" instead of "welcome home". Personally, I will take light and airy, cozy and comfy, over showy and ostentatious every time. Truly, just the thought of walking up and down two flights of stairs to do laundry makes me tired. Needless to say, Hub and I knew right away that while this was a fun house to play in, we have no interest in owning anything this cumbersome. I think deep down we might be Hobbits.


While we fix up our house and get ready to launch the hooligans, we'll keep renting houses to check out places we think we might want to live. So far, Maine and Oregon are in the lead even as we'd like to keep a foot in Arizona. After this last rental, I think the size of the house will have to remain simple, environmentally friendly, and without a toilet that requires a sing-along.

What about you, Reds? What are your thoughts on house size? Are you a the-bigger-the-better type of dweller or a just-enough-space-to-get-away-from-my-people-when-necessary sort?