Darn, I'm must live in the SOUTH!

I am the proud recipient of a summons for Jury Duty! Proud? Well if I'm summoned, I must be officially a Tennessean, albeit recently transplanted.

I decided to wear teacher clothes, which some people might call business casual, to show proper respect for the court. To me that meant slacks, a sweater, flat shoes, and an extra sweater in case the courtroom was freezing. I knew denim was out of the question, though jeans are pretty much my go-to Tennessee uniform.

Wrong! Jurors showed up in jeans—and worse.

The summons mentioned both Circuit Court and Criminal Court, stating I would serve in Circuit Court. I was disappointed because Criminal Court would have been more to my liking.

Wrong! The summons is for Criminal Court, but doesn't actually say so. There are two judges that cover seven counties on a circuit--hence the name. That also explains why court only convenes as needed. "In fact, there isn't much scheduled for June," the clerk of court said.

The judge picked the grand jury first. He selected 15 people at random, 12 jurors and 3 alternates. They meet one day a month for four months.

Then he divided the rest of us into 12 person panels. We have a 2-month commitment on an as-needed basis. Since there are no cases this week, we're to check in next Monday after five in the evening to see if any cases are scheduled. The website will list which panels are to report for certain days and when the site must be checked again. I'm assuming a jury will be seated from the panels called.

The clerk instructed us to note any days we are unavailable for duty on the top of the jury information sheet and to consider our planned absences excused and confirmed. (Good, I'll be at my signing on 5/19.)

The judge assigned me to panel 2 and excused me and the rest of my panel for the day at about 9:30 in the morning.

Then I went to the Sheriff's department next door in hopes of finding someone to answer my questions about local law enforcement. A friendly lady at the window in the lobby sent me upstairs to the Sheriff's office manager who answered my questions—I have some editing to do on my work-in-progress. [Please note: The reception worker did not call upstairs first, verify my name, make me walk through a metal detector, or call an escort.]

Dorothy, you're not in Kansas anymore.... or Broward County either for that matter.

Why I've been quiet on this blog: I blog when I have a bee in my dandelion—or bug in my bonnet, if you prefer a tried and true cliché. Lately, most of the buzzing that has ignited my passion relates to politics. I reason, I suspect accurately, that the world is a better place with one fewer opinionated political blogger.

Later.

GEB

We arrived in Middle Tennessee on January 2, 2016 and moved into our new house in the woods on July 2. Notice the word woods. We live in the woods, not the forest, as I was advised by my Tennessee writing group. The difference, it appears, is semantics—which I need to internalize because my series characters, Sophia Burgess and Ray Stone, have moved here with us.
 
Imperfect Defense, book three in the Imperfect Series, is nearly complete. I hope to finish the conversion this week, upload to CreateSpace, then commission Victoria Landis to create another wonderful cover. Then I'll click the magic buttons to go live in a couple of months, and, maybe, schedule a signing at Murder on the Beach in Delray for May.
 
My work-in-progress is the fourth book in the Imperfect Series and is yet to have a solid title. Progress has been slower than usual—I'm at about 20%--due to moving, distractions, company, and general laziness. But it's a new year, it's winter, and I have a comfortable, quiet writing place.
 
We have now lived all four seasons here. Each one has its magic. Beautiful flowering trees, daffodils, and tulips—for example Bradford Pear and Redbud—herald spring. Lush green surrounds us in summer. The temperatures can be warm, even hot, but it's cool enough to work outside in the mornings and late afternoon. Fall brings a flush of color, falling leaves, and cooler temperatures. This year, because of the warm days and drought, the color wasn't as spectacular—so they tell me. What do I know? Finally, winter. We still have some warm days, and some cool. The weather forecast calls for SNOW this week. The trees are naked, and the forest floor is thick with leaves.

​Cumberland Cove is a cross between a rural and retirement community. There are deed restrictions that serve to maintain the woods and keep up appearances, but it's not like living in a South Florida condo. There are no age restrictions, so there are families with children living here, too. As a new resident, you'll as likely be asked, "Where in Florida are you from?" as anything else.
 
The Welcome Center—I'd call it a Community Center or Club House—has the office functions for the Homeowner's Association as well as a large room for meetings, clubs, social gatherings, and classes. It's at these events that we've met many of our neighbors, made acquaintances, and formed friendships. I've joined the garden club and the book club. We participate in some of the community events, and I'll be the new editor of the newsletter starting in February—long story.
 
What's missing? Florida family and friends, many of whom have visited. We've traveled to South Florida several times. I admit to missing my writing group intensely—I'm still an electronic member—and all the much-loved people in our former everyday lives. Having said all that, I don't miss Florida's heat, congestion, traffic, or crime.

I'm glad we moved, I love our new less-stressed lifestyle, our new home, our Tennessee friends, the mountains, trees, four seasons, and the relief from the heat. For more years than I can count, I've wanted to move to the mountains, and this qualifies. 

​Our dear friends, Ginny and Lloyd, live here, too. That's how we knew about the Cove and why we picked this location. They've made us welcome and for that I'm thankful.
 
Later.
GEB

While talking to my son Benjamin on the telephone, I realized he didn't fully realize where we had moved--in relation to the terrain, I mean. He mentioned something about us getting to know our adjacent neighbors, commenting on how we chatted with every one in the neighborhood in Florida when we walked the dogs.
 
Neighbors? I've posted many pictures of the house, but not the surroundings. Here's the yard and the road in front of the property. (In Coral springs our neighbors were 15 feet away.)

​​We visited South Florida in the middle of August. That might sound like an odd choice, weather wise, but I had a talk to give at Murder on the Beach Mystery Bookstore, and we wanted to celebrate our anniversary with family.

It gets plenty hot and humid on the Upper Cumberland Plateau—not as hot and humid as South Florida however. The difference is that here it warms later in the day, leaving the mornings cooler so we're free to work outside and not fry. Then as it dinnertime approaches, the world cools again, making walks enjoyable--unless you listen to the sounds coming from the woods. (I've been advised by my Tennessee writing group that I live in the WOODS, not in a forest. More on that topic in OMG #6.)
​ 
Now, in mid-September, the difference is more pronounced, even though, I'm told, we're in the middle of an unseasonably warm fall. I'm hoping traditional fall temperatures will be upon us soon.

​The cost of living is different as well. It's common knowledge there is no income tax here. (There is a tax on proceeds from investments in certain circumstances, however.) We got our first full month's bills for gas, electric, and water. The total was half my summer electric bill in South Florida. The cost of real estate taxes, insurance, and car registration are also dramatically different, as is the cost of gas.

The cost of food seems about the same, overall. What is interesting, and annoying, is I couldn't get a turkey for Rosh Hashanah at Kroger. The man at the meat department said they don't get them until late October. Likewise, you can't get turkey broth or challah. An hour and a half long trip to Publix in Knoxville solved all that—we had a function to attend, so we stopped on the way home. There are other things we can't get locally as well, so a trip to Knoxville, which is a nice place to visit, always includes a stop a Publix.

My plan is for OMG #5 to be about making friends.

Later.
​GEB

​When I posted the initial pictures on Facebook, someone asked, in jest, if I was on speed. I replied in sensible mode, saying we'd had six months to decide where everything went—trust me, there isn't a lot to do in the winter while watching a house get built. Later I thought that I should have said, "Well, we are in Tennessee, you know."
 
I felt instantly comfortable here. Part of that, I'm sure, is our furniture fits like it was designed for the place. But, it also looks and feels like our home. 

​Unlike living in suburbia, window coverings are optional. We've ordered some for the bedrooms and bathrooms for light control and to keep the critters (see below) from becoming voyeurs. We do have three windows that face the street, and there is a car or truck passing by a couple of times a day. We also see our share of walkers—two or three people a day at least.
 
Our house in Coral Springs was built in 1973, and finding places for stuff was always a challenge. Here we have three—really—three linen closets, one of which is adjacent to the dining room. Of course, there are things I thought I had, but apparently threw out or forgot to pack. I have half empty shelves, excess hanging space, and a garage to myself and my Little Blue Mini Car.
 
The dogs took immediately to their old sofas, and months of bickering for position on the futon in the rented little house vanished. The doggie door, deck, yard, and walking in the evening have been different matters. After three weeks, Rex—the challenged one—has finally learned that he can go both out and in the doggie door. They also are not comfortable with the noises outside at night—which is good because they aren't allowed to go out alone at night and be coyote food. The ten steps to the yard have been challenging. After a few days of bribing them with treats, they seem to have the hang of it. Old dogs . . . new tricks. However, yesterday, Max fell down a few steps when he was in a hurry and now we seem to be starting over.

Though the wildlife stays hidden for the most part, there is a variety. Yesterday we saw a doe with two fawns and a wild turkey hen with two chicks. There is a bear living somewhere in the Cove. When our friend Mike visited last week, he spotted a red fox slipping into the woods, and on delivery day, our mover saw a bobcat about a mile from our house. We know there are coyote, raccoon, squirrels, moles, mice, a variety of snakes (some poisonous), and a plethora of insects and spiders. The house, however, is not overrun with critters and, in fact, we rarely spot anything on our property, though I'm sure they live back in the trees.
​
Later.

GEB
​

Over the years, we visited the mountains from time to time. Returning home to the flat lands always left me a bit sad and empty. With that in mind, perhaps the things I'm enjoying the most are the hills, curvy roads, and multitude of trees.
 
There are 56 state parks in Tennessee (FYI Florida has 161), at least that many are listed in a brochure I picked up at Burgess Falls State Park.

​We hiked the main trail, discovering remaining damage from last year's tremendous ice storm, which prevented hiking to the third and highest falls. However, as you can see by the pictures, the part of the park we did hike was well worth the effort.
 
We intend to visit as many of the parks as we can, starting with the ones in the middle of the state first and working both ways, as we are able.

First, I love Tennessee. I love everything about it. The living in the country. The driving for groceries. The peace. The quiet. The kindness of the people. The learning to garden in zone 6. The wildlife. The listening to speech patterns to include in my books.
 
However, I dislike Frontier Communications Corporation. Here's why.

• On January 4th or so, we ordered a bundled service from Frontier to include DISH, telephone, and Internet. It is a two-year specially-priced package deal.
• DISH installed on January 6. Yippee.
• Frontier no-showed for four separate appointments. We called in each time, got transferred four or more times, spent two hours on the phone, then were forced to accept the next Friday after 2:00 time slot.  Then one day, on or about January 28th, a supervisor arrived unscheduled and did the work. Yippee. He was the first competent, efficient person we dealt with.
• We paid the first DISH bill, knowing it was billed separately because of the Frontier installation fiasco. We paid the Frontier bill with installation charges, partial month charges, etc. I admit we didn't pick up on the overcharges.
• We were surprised when we got a second DISH bill. I called DISH and was told that Frontier had rejected the charge and the services were unbundled at that point. (When the services are bundled for payment, DISH bills Frontier who then bills the customer.) They assured me they would have the services re-bundled going forward and credit would be issued for any amount due us.
• Then on March 10th we got the Frontier bill and were blow away. It was over twice what had been promised. I called DISH the next day and learned, among other things, that our services were bundled going forward but we needed to pay the bill. I also learned we weren't being charged the special package rate.  The agent spouted some nonsense about a gap in billing, therefore the charges were correct, as was the amount included on the bundled Frontier bill. The fact is our DISH bill covered service until March 24th, while the DISH component of the Frontier bill covered from March 10th to April 9th. It took some time for him to understand that we were double billed for two weeks and were due a credit. The man promised to enter the credit and sent me on to Frontier to deal with them. Please note that, at least, he did not transfer me to five different agents.
• Interesting to note is the fact that Frontier Bundles in their marketing seem to apply to special package pricing. In reality, it applies to bundled billing, and apparently the special package pricing is another thing. Based on the original purchase, I assumed when the DISH agent said our services were bundled again, that meant our original price agreement was being implemented. Silly me.
• I then called Frontier Customer Service and spent over two hours on the phone being transferred around from person to person until someone said they could help. I learned that the DISH credit would take a month—I hope we see it. I also was told we were billed for both DSL and dial up—which we don't have. And, was being charged for the Broadband Max Internet service that we don't get. The helpful lady credited those services and reviewed the various line items with me so we could study future bills for accuracy.
• The next day, March 12th, our Internet went dead. I called Frontier. By the time I was transferred to six different people, I learned our service had been suspended. One tech transferred me to a representative in the Philippines whose job it was, apparently, to collect my payment—which is not and never has been overdue. More transfers and calls yielded the theory the service was suspended when the erroneous billing items were corrected. I was told someone would be out next Friday to correct the problem. Even though the service was suspended remotely, they couldn't restore it remotely because a service ticket had been created—by someone, who knows?
• After much demanding and persistence on my part, our Internet was restored—remotely. I couldn't, however, access it because the account was reset. It took another hour on the phone to correct that problem.

 
Of particular frustration is that with each transfer the account has to be re-verified and the situation re-explained. Though they all claim to communicate and make notes, it appears to me they merely hit the transfer button and dispense with the troubled—and now irate—customer. For the last call, I used our Frontier provided landline to see if that improved the account verification process. It didn't. This technology company doesn't have the technology to identify their own customers.
 
The service is so bad, the transfers so many, the people so inept or untrained, that I wonder if their purpose is to provide the least possible service or merely to transfer the disgruntled customer repeatedly until the caller gives up and quits trying to correct the problem. Even when our issue was caused by Frontier's multiple screw-ups (and their partner DISH's), most technicians and customer service agents had little interest in helping. They do say, "I'm sorry," a lot, however.
 
Why do Frontier's employees act this way? Because they can. There is no competition, no choice. Frontier has a monopoly in this area. Cable refuses to serve the area, and there is no other choice.
 
I once thought that AT&T was hell to deal with, but, alas, they now seem rather efficient and well organized.
 
This seems to be a situation where this sole provider is too big to function and perhaps too rich (or stupid) to care.
 
Later.
GEB

​Entry 3/15/16: Within 48 hours, my complaint to the FCC generated a phone call from Frontier, an apology, a credit, and a promise to make it right going forward.

We are on the Northern Cumberland Plateau, elevation about 2000.  The area is mountainous, but not dramatically so—not like the Smokies for instance.
 
At the moment, we're living in a rented, furnished villa on the golf course and waiting for the construction of our house in the hills. The villa amounts to a one thousand square-foot house with two bedrooms, two baths, and no storage. It's reminiscent of my newly-wed days—way, way, way, way back when. The furniture is early hand-me-down. But it's cozy, clean, has a wonderful working fireplace, a big deck for when it warms up, and a beautiful view of the lake (read: pond).
 
We replaced the mattress on the futon, which serves as the sofa—six months is a long time to not want to sit on the sofa. We'd like to replace the mattress on the bed we sleep in, but that would be foolish, so we survive.
 

Planning a move is more fun than the mechanics of accomplishing it. Just so you know. However, we're enjoying a round of social events, dinners, and farewells. We appreciate all the kind words and well wishes.
 
The difficulty about being retired and preparing to move is on one hand there is so much to do; on the other hand, it's boring. The various things to wonder and worry about leave little room for other mental pursuits—like writing.  And, the tasks to be completed don't take nearly as much time out of the day as they take on paper. Our self-packing has reached the point where much of the remainder needs to wait for the last minute.
 
We've removed the pictures from the walls, patched the holes, and painted the patches. Arranged for our car, home, and health insurance, rented a villa to live in until the house is built, and scheduled the closing on the lot. The mover is hired. Storage of our goods is secured. Meanwhile, I feel like I'm living in a warehouse.

​Most of my orchids have new homes. A friend from the Coral Springs Orchid Society took the last bunch of give-a-ways. We are planning two good-sized garden windows in the sunroom of the new house. I'm taking eight orchids with me in hopes of them thriving in the new environment.
 
I'm far too distracted to start the next novel, though I have some ideas.  It's likely that at least some of my characters will be moving to Tennessee with me. I am keeping up with my edits on With No Defense, the title I'm pitching at SleuthFest 2016 in February. 
 
On the topic of my writing—I anticipate more writing time—I'll release another book, Illegal Intent, on Amazon and CreateSpace in January or February, depending on when the cover is completed. For those of you who have kept up with my releases, this is the long awaited sequel to the first Tony Conte Mystery, Illegally Dead.
 
In Illegal Intent, Tony is under attack, under suspicion, and fighting back. Meanwhile, he needs to find time to get a life.
 
You'll be able to purchase the eBook on Amazon and the print book as well. If you'd rather purchase locally, I expect Murder on the Beach will carry the title or be happy to order it for you.
 
Steve is anticipating his new Man Cave. Our plans include a separate building for his shop. He'll be able to pursue his wood working (and my furniture repairs) at his leisure and in peace. I don't know of any plans for a recliner chair or television in the Man Cave—but it's a thought.
 
We are, in a sense, stepping off into an unknown. We've investigated carefully, have friends in the area, and will be closer to my brother and his family. Still, there are many unknowns. We eagerly anticipate the adventure and the next chapter in our retirement.
 
Later.
 
GEB

I'm a planner, arranger, perhaps a controller. However, with the sale of a house that I'm also living in, I have little control on anything of merit.  For example, the FHA appraiser was here yesterday.
 
"When will we know the results?" I ask our realtor.
 
"In a few days." "In a couple days." "Don't forget the holiday."
 
All valid answers, to be sure, but of little use in calming my out-of-control nerves.
 
"When will we know for sure our buyers are approved?" I ask.
 
"Not for a while yet."
 
Again, true enough, but uncomfortable. To be ready to move with some grace, I need to pack stuff, but first, good sense says, it should be sorted, some things trashed, and, perhaps, some things laundered, like our long-stored blankets. We'll need blankets when we get there. The same for our heavier coats. There is not problem with the heavier clothes. We don't have any except for an odd sweater or two. Suffice it to say, the house is gradually losing its personality and feeling of home.
 
Then will closing happen on time? An interesting thing about closings is that the sellers have to move out before closing in most circumstances. If the deal bombs, we'll have to have the mover bring back a portion of the goods. Now that's a scary thought.
 
Will our temporary housing arrangements pan out? What will we do if they don't? We do have a friend who has offered us the hospitality of their home, which does calm me. My friend Randy Rawls suggested Steve and the dogs can live in my Mini Cooper and I can sleep on the roof. Very helpful.
 
I spoke with my friend who moved to Atlanta last fall. I remember her going through many of the same things and feeling anxious. She reassured me that I will survive.
 
Then, we are taking a leap of faith into a new lifestyle. I grew up in a very small town, so I have some experience with country living. Steve is a Boston-bred city boy through and through. His leap is, perhaps, with his eyes half closed but his sense of adventure and desire for change fully engaged.
 
Next topic: Moving Induced Anticipation
 
Later.
 
GEB

I suppose Adventures by definition are new experiences, and I'm sure this one will live up to expectations.
 
Since Benjamin was eight-years-old, Steve and I have talked about retiring to the mountains. It has been a recurring theme in our conversations of what to do next, after we quit working real jobs, after our nest is empty.  Last spring we visited friends in southeastern Tennessee—I suppose it could be called central as well. It's off I-40, halfway between Knoxville and Nashville on the Lower Cumberland Plateau. We went back again this fall with the thought of looking around through do-I-want-to-live-here eyes.
 
The mountainous—little mountains or really big hills—forest community is woven with curvy roads, sharp inclines—enough to require four-wheel drive in snow or ice—wet-weather creeks and year-round streams, really big trees, and running-free wildlife. I've gotten the notion that residents view the key elements with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
 
So, the process started. We put earnest money on a lot and talked to a builder, then got a contract on the house here within a week, effectively moving our spring expectations up to a December 30th homeless date. The inspection has been done on the house with minimal concerns. Next is the appraisal. Meanwhile, the mover came to de-clutter—my stuff is their clutter, I guess—and we are trying to figure out what we need to live for 6 months in temporary housing.
 
Fun.
 
Later.
GEB