Peggy Dover

Summer’s here, and last week launched the season in style. 

Daughter Emily came down from Portland so we could reconnect and jive to the still fabulous Earth, Wind, and Fire band on the Britt Hill. It was fantastic and yes, of course we danced. Though limited on space for more spectacular movements, I busted a few within the two-foot radius allotted. This type of music is made for movement.

I have never understood what goes on inside a person who has paid good money to come to a concert like this and not move so much as a toe hair. Obviously, if they’re physically unable, it’s a different story. But there are always those who appear to be otherwise mobile who have me wondering, like the women behind me. I always seem to sit in front of non-dancers. How can they sit stock still while “September” is grooving? Hey, not sorry, but I must dance to this type of music, and I believe it’s expected. Their muscles were wearing straight-jackets, while mine ran on small auto-generated electric motors.

Like a dancing Santa, my dancing impulse turns on when particular beats are employed. I can’t help it. Emily is the same way as were many, many others that night. It proved to be an epic concert in June I will long remember. 

The following day, we drove to Lake of the Woods to gaze longingly and squint our eyes at that shimmering body of fresh water. We looked out the window over lunch and dawdled at the water’s edge afterwards looking for dragonflies, butterflies, and quiet reflection. Their lodge burgers win the prize, IMHO (in my humble opinion), especially for the price. I had the Swiss-mushroom number with onion rings that I repented of and ate the other half later.

I know the heat that signals hibernation is crouching around the corner ready to pounce. We’ve already had some dastardly high temperatures descend on us. I expect it will get worse. When that happens, I duck inside the cave and remain semi-aloof until fall. I use this time to fatten up for the cold weather ahead. I also use it to concentrate on reading classic literature or a non-fiction adventure, maybe to the Klondike, and for writing projects. I may even get around to cleaning out a closet or two, but I doubt it.      

Have I mentioned lately that I’m writing a new book? I know there’s one guy in Eagle Point who might hit me with an email accusing me of flagrant and shameless self-promo by using this space to mention it, but I’m getting excited. Plus, why would I not tell those beloved (you know who you are) who read my stuff that I’m writing new stuff? 

This new baby remains swaddled for now, but I can tell you this — it’s a cozy mystery. Cozy mysteries are murder mysteries without explicit gore/sex/foul language and usually involve a female amateur sleuth as the lead character. Her name is Marigold. It’s about two-thirds written and I plan to complete it during my summer hibernation. Let others swim, camp, toast s’mores, and greet the morning with flies and skeeters. I’ll have to settle for Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches and pesky cats. I have a murder to solve. 

This year, there’s extra motivation. I’ve signed up for the Ashland Mystery Festival in October. For the past two years, I’ve watched it come and go, thinking it would be a fun experience but the timing was off. I hope to have the project finished in order to glean the expertise of authors with good agents. 

Another Independence Day has arrived. May we never forget the meaning of the day and the word. As a thunderstorm rolls in tonight, I’m noticing the heavy, pink stillness before the boom. May a cleansing rain accompany the lightning to cool things down and prevent devastation. Happy Fourth, everyone.

Peggy Dover is a freelance writer/author. Reach her at peggydover@gmail.com.