Rose and Carl Boyd, Yavapai Hills residents since 2004, where they immediately felt welcome with open arms. They enjoy the sense of community and the friendly people who always wave while walking or driving through the neighborhood. They also enjoy the many social activities at the Clubhouse, especially the events where neighbors mingle and dance to music. Rose loves to dance and needs no encouragement to get out on the dance floor.

Rose uses insomnia as an excuse to be creative in the middle of the night. She prefers to paint rather than count sheep. You can see an example of her artwork in the clubhouse. It’s a painting of a bobcat that she donated to our community. It hangs in our clubhouse by the game tables.

This night owl also dabbles in poetry and has managed to publish two novels since retirement: 

THE SPAGHETTI SET, Family Served Italian Style set in post WWII New Jersey.

And just recently, 

DEPENDING ON YOUR VIEW: A Snoopaholic’s Quandry – set in modern day Prescott AZ.

Here’s a short excerpt from her ‘snoop” book:

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Maria continued to watch through her binoculars, hoping for signs that Denise hadn’t been totally maimed. She expelled a sigh of relief when she saw the young woman hobbling with her son in tow. But she panicked when their lights went out. She considered Bob capable of slitting his wife’s throat. She refused to imagine what he might do to his children.

Adrenalin pumped through her veins as she stumbled down from her wrought iron perch. She ran back to the bedroom and, halting at Jack’s bedside, nudged his shoulder. 

When he didn’t awaken, she whacked him harder. “Jack, get up! There’s a problem across the street. We need to go over there!”

Jack lifted his head and sputtered, “What? Where?”

Maria took a deep breath and then repeated her words even faster. “I saw Bob Bendon throw a chair at his wife,” she added. “I’m afraid he’s gonna kill Denise.”

“Maria. Calm down. You must’ve had a nightmare.”

“If you won’t help, I’m calling the police.”

“No. If you call the cops ’n tell them you’ve been peeping in the neighbors’ windows, they’ll arrest your ass. Now come back to bed.” Jack grabbed hold of Maria’s arm and pulled her onto the mattress. He held her to his chest. “Relax, Maria. Relax.”

“Let go of me!” The more Maria thrashed the tighter Jack gripped her. “Who’ll help her if we don’t?” She kicked a foot backwards against his shin. Why’d I bother to wake him?

Jack wrapped a leg around the two of hers, immobilizing them. “Come on. Knock it off, Maria. You know you’re no match for me.”

She struggled for several more minutes before she went limp. “Jack, please. Let me make that call. I have to help her. Devo.”

“Nope, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Can’t let you make a fool of yourself. You’ll thank me in the morning.” He nuzzled the nape of her neck. “Calm down, Maria. Everything will be all right. Like I said, you just had yourself a nightmare.”

Maria stiffened. “NO! L’ho visto. I saw him attack her with my own eyes.”

A vision of Bob wielding a butcher knife threw Maria’s adrenalin into wilder fluctuation. “Let me call the police!” she shouted. “Denise needs their help! Let me dial 9-1-1!” She repeated raspier versions of the same hysterical refrain until, exhausted from the effort, she fell asleep in Jack’s arms.