By now we’ve probably all sorted through which presents to keep and which to quietly ditch. Speaking of the latter, my husband Patrick gave me a little keyring locator. I don’t need a gadget for that, of course; delegating the key-finding duties to Patrick normally works quite well for me. But he likes gadgets.

This one is supposed to flash and beep when called. Unfortunately, whistling doesn’t “call” it. Neither clapping nor snapping one’s fingers activates it. Coughing does. Laughing does, sometimes. When I get vehement, just speaking can set it off. My whiny dog Asia can trigger it with a whine and keep that piercing staccato beep going for a solid minute or more. (By which time I am more than ready to feed the thing to her!) My imitation of Asia sometimes works, to the bemusement of any audience, but sometimes it doesn’t--to the further bemusement of any audience. Oddly enough, the most reliable “call” for it I’ve found is biting into a cherry tomato. That first bite produces a sound that I can barely detect, but that sets off a perfect orgasmic tizzy of beeps.

It’s January. Think a moment about the ready availability of cherry tomatoes in January.

This part of Florida does have winters; they just don’t normally last long enough for an inside-kinda person (like me) to haul the overcoat out of the back corner of the closet. On Monday afternoon, as I came home from work, I ate a sun-warm, perfectly ripe cherry tomato off the vine in my front yard. (bee-bee-bee-beep! bee-bee-beep!) On Wednesday, I ate two icy tomatoes off the same vine. (bee-bee-bee-beep! bee-bee-beep!) On Thursday evening, I picked one and it was mush. Not even beepworthy. While it tasted fine, I’d plainly missed my chance to pick clean the rest of the vine and make green tomato salsa.

Making January salsa is one of my little traditions: something to mark the wheel of the year, and something to look forward to as I struggle to pay the air conditioner-bloated electic bill in August. For those who collect factoids and don’t understand the weather here on the Gulf, tomatoes generally don’t bear in August. It’s just too hot. I’m not terribly productive in August either, except when I give in to the marvels of modern technology and crank up the AC--never mind the budget. (Y’know, I kinda suspect the AC coming on would be interpreted as an attempt to locate my keychain.)

The keychain has been banned from the bedroom.

I am considering using the keychain-locator as a prize in one of the several mini-contests I’ll be running to publicize the January 15 release of my new novel, BAREBACK. Here’s a peek at the cover: http://loose-id.com/detail.aspx?ID=641
As of this writing, the link above did not have a linked excerpt. If you see one, do not click it unless you are legally adult and unlikely to spit diet soda over your keyboard. The publisher picks the excerpt, and some past choices have been a bit racy.

Excuse me, please. Asia is whining. I think she’s hungry.


Amber

Labels: Winter Garden Annoyances BAREBACK