It's Making Me Nuts

The weather, that is.  Today we had above freezing temps but also spitting rain and sleet.  Tonight it started to freeze and now it's snowing.  Snowing like crazy.  Aaaahhhhh!  Checking the weather on my phone shows me that it's supposed to be like that until Sunday midday.  Good thing I ran errands today so I can spend the next two days cooking, knitting, and maybe sewing.  And shoveling snow, of course.  Bah.

Today's cooking was a batch of Lightened Up Broccoli Cheese Soup.  Oh, yum.  This is the perfect place for a brick of Velveeta which melts so nicely even if it is processed cheese food, bright yellow pseudo-cheese.  But it tastes like cheese once it melts and there's a cup of fat free half and half in there too so it's ever so rich.  Mmm.  So good on a cold, damp day.  Only 5 WW points per 1 1/3 cup serving and worth every one.



I know this looks the same but I finished the tenth row of ribbing and am in the middle of the first row of the sweater body.  I'll admit it is the same (knit 1 purl 1) but the next row is all knits which will make the body stitch and look different from the ribbing.  Really.

24 January--Barbara Malcolm, Three Cheers for Murder.

The police detective’s office was a welter of files, empty coffee cups, and fast food wrappers.  The dirty walls were an odd shade of pinkish beige that must have been even uglier when fresh.  Det. Archibald had covered the walls with framed photos, citations, and maps.  He was wearing dark navy slacks, a white shirt with the collar button undone and his tie loosened.  His sport coat was hung on a hook behind the door of his office.  He sat slouched in his chair behind his metal government issue desk talking on the phone when he realized he had a visitor.  He quickly wrapped up the conversation and hung up.  Reaching across the desk, he directed Dirk Davis to the chair beside it.

“Mr. Davis, I appreciate you coming in again.  Please have a seat.  I have a few more questions.   Could you tell me again just what you saw and heard Monday night?”

Dirk Davis looked like he hadn’t slept in the two nights since he discovered his wife’s body.  His usually neat appearance had given way to wrinkled jeans and a flannel plaid shirt that had definitely seen better days.  He was sockless and wearing the oldest tennis shoes Det. Archibald had seen in a long time. 

Sighing, Dirk rubbed a hand over his face, “Detective, I told you everything the other night.  What good could it do to go over all this again?”

“You must understand, Mr. Davis, we have to keep going over and over the evidence to find the killer.  Just relax and tell me again what happened.”

“Well, Tiffy always stayed at the boutique for a short time after closing.  To finish the accounts and get ready for the next day.  But she was usually home by 10:00 or 10:30. Last Monday I figured she’d be home even sooner since she was so excited about an offer I’d gotten earlier that day from one of the networks.  We’d sort of planned a little celebration.  I got done at the station where one of the guys was helping me put together a demo tape about 9:30 or so.  Went home to make sure a bottle of wine was on ice and then sat down to wait for Tiffy.  I must have dozed off because I awoke with a start and, when I looked at the clock and saw 11:45 and realized Tiffy wasn’t home, I got worried.  So, I jumped into the car and drove over to Blossoms.  I could see that the office light was on and figured she’d gotten involved in something and lost track of time.  I was alarmed that the front door was unlocked, and I went in calling her name.  No one answered.  I walked through the store toward her office expecting to hear her or see her come out of the door.  When I got there, I saw her through the door looking like she’d fallen asleep at her desk.”   With that Dirk stopped, pinched his lips together and dropped his head to control his emotions.  

Det. Archibald could hear him drawing deep breaths trying to regain his composure.  Several moments passed before Dirk resumed telling his story. 

“I called her name again as I was walking toward her.  My hand was out to touch her shoulder and when I touched her, I knew something was very wrong.  She was cold.  I shook her.  I hollered her name.  Then I grabbed the phone and called 911.”

I spent part of the day trying to condense a description of my novel, The Seaview, into a three minute pitch.  I'm going back to the Writers' Institute conference in Madison in March and scheduled an appointment with an agent so I have to be able to convince her to represent my novel in the allotted eight minutes.  I'm not at all sure that I want to hang my ego out that far but trying for an agent is the logical next step after all that writing.
--Barbara