High Noon by Nora Roberts

My review

Rating: 3 of 5 stars
Perfect summertime fare. A light read that won’t stay with you once you’ve put it down to grab another mojito.

I became far more wrapped up in the more interesting secondary characters… and though the end unfolded in more than 3 pages, which I appreciate, nothing more was forthcoming after the climax.
Did Essie ever leave the house? Did Ava and Dave get together? And what about that house, which was also a central character.
All those wonderful story lines fell by the wayside as the two main protagonists came together.

And by the way, Phoebe is basically Eve Dallas. Same tough cop, same tragic, violent childhood. And oh, look: same gorgeous, rich man comes along who loves her just for who she is.

Entertaining in spots, mildly suspenseful in others, I would have loved a deeper look into these fictional people’s lives, a la Sue Monk Kidd or Anne Siddons.

Merrick’s pig ears usually aren’t stamped. I hesitate to give this back to Bree knowing there’s ink in it…

These mammoth trees are hiding a secret.
I went out to join Bree in the backyard a few minutes ago… wandering around while waiting for her to finish, I looked up to identify the source of rustling in the dead palm fronds hanging from the largest tree.

Rats. Two rats, there were a twin pair of vile rat eyes and rat ears trained on me from above. I studied my opponents and decided that the trees will be trimmed, post haste. No free ride, here, boys; it’s time to move.

Pass the scotch.

I love sharing Things That Work, because so much doesn’t. So many highly touted pieces of Chinese made consumer goods are utter crap, which is part of the reason why I look for the Made in USA label.

Tervis tumblers are made here in the United States and after buying two of their 24oz I’m ready to get a set of 16oz, and some lids as well.
I never knew that the double walled glasses I saw at boat stores were Tervis… until I became frustrated with the cheap glasses made to look like Tervis… that lasted maybe a month.

Tervis tumbers are constructed of a polycarbonate ten times more impact resistant than other plastic. They do not sweat, but do float… and the best point? They are guaranteed for life. Tervis has good reason to stand behind their tumblers since 1946: they’re well made from quality products.

To buy, navigate to either tervis dot com or one of their affiliates on the net. I personally purchased my tumblers from Amazon dot com.

Well worth the price!

I’m 50. I know, it’s a milestone age. An age at which some people pause and take stock of their accomplishments and plan for the future. Well, not me. Don’t tell anyone, but I never thought I’d get old. Hell, I never really thought I’d grow up! Maybe that’s why I want to get a tat before 51 smacks me solidly between the eyes in August. You want to see despair? Rage? Come back then.

This old stuff is becoming a reality despite my best intentions and considerable maneuvers to avoid it… and the next person to tell me ‘it’s better than the alternative’ will be slapped. Consider this your warning.

Not one of those who begrudge the young their elasticity and firm thighs, I just want to be *me* again. I still like myself, there are just parts of myself I don’t recognize anymore. To that end, I believe some things should be made illegal:

Arm cellulite. I mean, WTF did I ever do to deserve this?
‘Wings’ Those of you who have no clue what I’m talking about are obviously too young to drink.
Spider/varicose veins. Holy Jebus, someone hates me.
Age spots. I know how I got these, and it was all my fault. Repeat after me: sunblock, sunblock, sunblock.

After a certain age, the older we become the faster the aging process accelerates. I think that’s wrong on so many levels. We should start getting those little ‘laugh’ wrinkles at the corners of our eyes at age 13, just as a precursor of things to come. By 20 a little bit of temporary incontinence when we laugh wouldn’t be amiss.

Some of us might need larger, more literal signs, such as a humorous poster bearing the visage of that ‘hang in there’ cat, except really old and ratty. Moth eaten, even. With the words ‘You start to die the day you’re born’ inscribed in pretty script.

There just oughta be a law.