Things Your Neighbors Want You to Stop Doing

"Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything." Ben leaned against the side of his car and

drew out a cigarette. They'd been doing a house-to-house all morning with the same result.

Nothing. Now he took a moment to study the neighborhood with its tired houses and

postage-stamp yards.

Where were the busybodies? he wondered. Where were the people who stood by the windows peering through openings in the drapes at all the comings and goings? He'd grown

up in a neighborhood not so different from this. And, as he remembered, if a new lamp was

delivered, news of it ran up and down the street before the proud owners could plug it in.

Brazen Virtue

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By Caspar David Friedrich - Photograph Own work User:Szilas, 

Taken in 28 April 2007, Public Domain, 

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5213605

It's not big deal to you, but your neighbors are rolling their eyes!

family handyman

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The harsh sound of his buzzer made him swear as he felt himself sucked back into that empty room. He considered snarling and waiting it out, then weighed in human nature and decided the intruder would probably keep coming back until he dispatched them once and for all.

Probably the eagle-eyed old woman from the ground floor, Preston decided as he started down. She'd already tried to snag him twice when he'd headed out to the club in the evening. He was good at evading, but it was becoming a nuisance. Smarter to hit her face-on with a few rude remarks and let her huff away to gossip about him.

But when he checked the peephole, he didn't see the tidy woman with her bright bird's eyes, but a pretty brunette with hair short as a boy's and big green eyes.

From across the hall, he realized, and wondered what the hell she could want. He'd figured since she'd left him alone for nearly a week, she intended to keep right on doing so. Which made her, in his mind, the perfect neighbor. 

The Perfect Neighbor

Give Someone’s Hand A Squeeze

“This will sting a bit.”

“What will?” Automatically Ben shot out a hand to grab the doctor’s wrist.

“Just a little tetanus shot,” John said soothingly. “After all, we don’t know where that knife has been. Come on now, bite the bullet.”

He started to protest again, but Tess took his hand. The sting in his arm came, then dulled. 

Sacred Sins

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By Daniel Sone (Photographer) [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

A new study, though, says that squeezing someone’s hand might be more than just a morale booster. 

It might actually be a painkiller.

MSN

Your Couch Personality

The room might be clean, but it did reflect his style.

The sofa was the dominant piece of furniture. Low and far from new, it was plumped with throw pillows. A Dagwood couch, Tess thought. One that simply begged you to relax and take a nap. 

There were posters rather than paintings. Toulouse-Lautrec’s cancan dancers, a single woman’s leg standing in a four inch heel, skimmed at the thigh with white lace. 

There was a Dieffenbachia thriving away in a plastic margarine bowl. 

And books. One wall was nearly filled with them. Delighted, she pulled out a worn hard backed copy of East of Eden.

Sacred Sins

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"Red sofa" by Lotus Head from Johannesburg, Gauteng, South Africa - http://www.sxc.hu/photo/190007. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Red_sofa.jpg#/media/File:Red_sofa.jpg

What Your Couch Says About You

It's like a crystal ball in the middle of your living room.

Everyone has a couch (hello, you have to sit on something while you watch your favorite TV show). 

But whether you choose a design based on comfort, style, or even price is quite telling. 

Find out what your sofa says about your personality:

ELLE DECOR

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He'd expected rustic and saw even in the half-light he'd been well off the mark.

In the spacious living area, the walls were a pale yellow. To mimic the sun, he supposed, and keep the dark at bay. 

The fireplace was built of polished stone in golden hues so that simmering logs glowed inside its frame. She had squat candles on the mantel in deeper yellows and dark blues. 

The long sofa picked up the blues and was decked with the toss pillows women insisted on having everywhere. A thick throw, with her key colors bleeding into each other, was draped over the back.

There were lamps with painted shades, gleaming tables, a patterned rug and two big chairs.

Watercolors, oil paintings, pastels, all of Alaskan scenes, decorated the walls.

To his left, stairs led up, and he found himself grinning at the newel post carved into a totem.

Northern Lights

Happy Thanksgiving

After an hour in the company of Senator Writemore, Ben had discovered the old man was vibrant, both in looks and speech. His opinions were hard as granite, his patience slim, and his heart undeniably lay in his granddaughter’s hands.

What relieved Ben was that after that hour he wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as he’d been prepared to be.

Initially the house had made him uneasy. From the outside it had merely been quietly elegant, distinguished. Inside it had been like a trip around the world in a first-class cabin. Turkish rugs faded just enough to show their age and durability, were spread over black and-white checkerboard tile on the hall floor. An ebony cabinet, high as a man’s shoulders and magnificently painted with peacocks, stood under a long curve of stairs.

In the parlor, where a silent Oriental had served before-dinner drinks, two Louis XV chairs flanked a long rococo table. A cabinet fronted with etched glass held a treasure trove. Venetian glass almost thin enough to read through was stained with color. A glass bird caught and reflected the light from the fire. Guarding the white marble hearth was a porcelain elephant the size of a terrier.

It was a room that reflected the senator’s background and, Ben realized, Tess’s.

Comfortable wealth, a knowledge of art and style. She’d sat on the dark green brocade of the sofa in a pale lavender dress that had made her skin glow. The pearl choker lay against her throat, its glinting center stone pulsing with light and the heat from her body.

To Ben she’d never looked more beautiful.

There was a fire in the dining room as well. This one had been banked to simmer and pop through the meal. Light came from the prisms of the tiered chandelier above the table. Wedgwood plates, delicately tinted, Georgian silver, heavy and gleaming, Baccarat crystal waiting to be filled with cool white wine and sparkling water, Irish linen soft enough to sleep on. Bowls and platters were heaped. Oysters Rockefeller, roast turkey, buttered asparagus, fresh crescent rolls, and more; their scents mixed into a delightful potpourri with candles and flowers.

Sacred Sins

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Essential Thanksgiving

Your guide to the year’s most important meal, with our best recipes, techniques and tricks. Consider these building blocks, then make the feast your own

NewYorkTimes

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As the senator carved the turkey, Ben had thought back on the Thanksgivings he’d experienced as a child.

Because they had always eaten at midday rather than evening, he’d woken to the enticing smells of roasting fowl, sage, cinnamon, and the sausage his mother had browned and crumbled into the stuffing. The television had stayed on through the Macy’s parade and football. It was one of the few days of the year when he or his brother hadn't been drafted to set the table. That was his mother’s pleasure.

She’d take out her best dishes, the ones used only when his Aunt Jo visited from Chicago or his father’s boss came to dinner. The flatware hadn't been sterling, but a more ornate stainless. She’d always taken pride in arranging the napkins into triangles. Then his father’s sister would arrive with her husband and brood of three in tow. The house would be full of noise, arguments, and the scent of his mother’s honey bread.

Grace would be said while Ben ignored his cousin Marcie, who became more disagreeable every year, and who, for reasons of her own, his mother would insist on seating next to him.

Bless us O Lord with these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord Amen.

The last of the prayer always ran together as greed became overwhelming. The minute the Sign of the Cross was completed, hands began to reach out for whatever was closest.

Sacred Sins

10 Things Every Man Needs At Home

Carter checked the table in what passed for his dining room for a third time.

He rarely used it as he tended to eat at the kitchen counter or at his desk.

In fact, this was the first time he’d put a tablecloth on it.

Vision in White

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The new, designer-approved, bachelor pad essentials.

Fridge full of beer not included

ELLE DECOR

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His apartment was tidier than she’d expected. It was more than just a general preconception of a man living alone, Tess realized. Ben seemed too relaxed and casual in other areas to bother clearing dust or old magazines. Then she decided she was wrong.

The room might be clean, but it did reflect his style.

The sofa was the dominant piece of furniture. Low and far from new, it was plumped with throw pillows. A Dagwood couch, Tess thought. One that simply begged you to relax and take a nap. There were posters rather than paintings. Toulouse-Lautrec’s cancan dancers, a single woman’s leg standing in a four inch heel, skimmed at the thigh with white lace. There was a Dieffenbachia thriving away in a plastic margarine bowl. And books. One wall was nearly filled with them. Delighted, she pulled out a worn hardbacked copy of East of Eden .

Sacred Sins

 

People Don't Understand Cats

Have you ever wondered if your cat actually likes you? Or if it's secretly trying to kill you? 

John Bradshaw is an anthrozoologist and author of the book "Cat Sense," and he stopped by the "Daily Shot" studio to help us understand our feline friends just a little better.

YAHOO!

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“A cat too?” 

Amused, Tess strolled over to stroke it.  “What’s his name?” 

“Her. She proved that by having kittens in the bathtub last year.” 

The cat rolled over so Tess could scratch her belly. 

“I call her D.C.” 

“As in Washington?” 

“As in Dumb Cat.” 

 “It’s a wonder she doesn’t have a complex.” 

Running her hands over the rounded belly again, Tess wondered if she should warn him he’d be getting another litter of gifts in a month or so.

“She runs into walls. On purpose.” 

“I could refer you to an excellent pet psychologist.” 

He laughed, but wasn’t entirely sure she was joking. 

 Sacred Sins