Since the beginning of the pandemic, I have used my time in isolation to watch old movies – mostly of a mysterious nature. I’ve kind of run out of the usual like, “The Maltese Falcon,” “Casablanca,” “North by Northwest,” “The Double Man,” and so many more. I love stories that I can get involved in, like putting the pieces of a puzzle together to find a solution. There are also a ton of television series that have appeared over the years, such as “Columbo,” “Murder She Wrote,” “Magnum, PI,” all the Sherlock Holmes stories – each one presenting a crime to start and then taking the steps necessary to put everything into perspective.

I’ve recently gotten into a British series called, “Midsomer Murders.” I love the English language, but have had to resort to closed captioning to understand the words more clearly. That alone can lead to some interesting stories. Anyway, the series takes place in a group of villages which make up the county of Midsomer. I’m not sure what the population is of this area, but with all the murders going on there, I’m quite sure it’s getting smaller by the minute. In every episode so far, at least three or four victims are done in.

The pandemic has left me with a change of sleeping habits. I used to go to bed at about 9 PM every night. Now I have difficulty falling asleep, probably because I’ve been doing little except watching the tube. It might have something to do with the content of what I’m watching, but nonetheless I take my nightly rest closer to midnight. As I remain glued to the television, my husband is sawing logs in our bedroom, which is upstairs. He makes a couple trips down the steps each night and has often wondered what I’m watching, with all the eerie music and sound effects. I think he may believe I’m gathering methods for a mystery novel, or even his own demise. Of course, that’s just plain silly. Although stranger things have happened.

In the meantime, my brain is on overload. I need to find an outlet for this creative spurt. Perhaps I should write a series of murder mysteries that take place at a gym. I could use my I-Pad to store ideas as I get in a few miles on the treadmill or rowing machine. I could spend time in the pool devising a plot for death by drowning. I could go to the weight room and watch others flex their muscles, while I come up with a story that would instantly deflate them. Of course if I used a gym as a setting, I’d have to actually work out, wouldn’t I?

On to plan B.