Invisible

'Most everything I did today you can't see.  I spent most of the afternoon sorting through photos on the laptop, trying to get the zillion of them sorted into folders.  I made it to the M's but it took me over two hours.  Trust me, I have a lot of photos.

Then I drafted a post for the Bay Lakes Knitting Guild blog.  I had an idea and if I don't grab the ideas when they're sailing by I lose them, so I did.  I'll post it in a few days.

What did I do this morning... oh yeah.  I dug out a box full of old glass vases, wrapped them in newspaper, and took the box out to the car for tossing at Goodwill later this week.  I talked to my friend, Lala, on the phone too, that's always fun.

This evening I sat down to watch TV and knitted on Stuck-at-Home Warshrag #6.  It wasn't until I laid it out to take its picture that I realized that I made a booboo.  If you look at the row of bricks second from the top you'll see that it's half the width of the rest.  Seems I knitted two rows of the pattern, then picked up the background yarn and kept going, instead of knitting the second two rows of the bricks.  I'm  calling it a design element.  I'm not going back, it's a warshrag, for crying out loud.

27 October--Barbara Malcolm, The Seaview. 

“What do you think of Julius?”  I asked Mrs. O’Neill, hoping she heard innocence in my voice.  I didn't want her to think that I was a merry widow.  After all, she had seen me in her restaurant with Jim at least once each time we had vacationed here.

“Why do you ask?”

I smiled at her.  “He stopped me on the beach to tell me that some crazy, no, he said foolish American woman had bought the Seaview.”

“He said it just out of the blue?”

“Not really.  I took a swim after working all day and was standing on the beach looking at the hotel imagining what it will look like when all of the renovations are complete.  He walked up behind me and told me about the foolish American woman.”  I shook my head.  “He did offer to entertain me, but I declined and then dropped the news that I was the woman who had bought it.”

She stopped chopping onions.  “I imagine he was embarrassed.”

“He was, but he recovered quickly and left, telling me he would be keeping an eye on me.  Should I be worried?”  I played with the stem of my wine glass, not meeting her eyes.

Mrs. O’Neill went back to preparing our supper.  “There is not much harm in Julius.  He keeps himself busy escorting lonely tourist women around the island, taking them to dinner, showing them the sights.”  She leaned forward across the counter.  “I believe he beds many of them and once he even got a Swiss girl in the family way.  Her father stormed over and forced a marriage, but once the babe was born, the girl went back to Switzerland and, poof, no more marriage.”

Her knife flashed in the overhead lights and two perfect pieces of fish lay glistening on the cutting board.  She turned and picked up a large sweet potato that she scrubbed at the sink and then cut into French fry-size pieces.  After she heated a large, oil-filled, cast iron skillet on the burner she dropped the potato pieces into the oil and stirred them with her tongs.  “You need to turn them when you first put them in so they do not stick together,” she said with an emphatic nod as if I were her pupil.

I was paying attention, but mostly to the layout and cleanliness of the kitchen.  I knew that my kitchen would need to pass a health inspection before I would be licensed to serve breakfast to my guests so that was uppermost in my mind.  “Is the Health Department inspector very particular?”

She smiled.  “Well, he starts out that way, but I hear he can be persuaded by the gift of a bottle of rum.  A nice one, mind you, no cheap rotgut for our government officials.”

“Really?”

“Well, yes,” she said a bit reluctantly.  “This is a small island and most everyone is related.  There can be a lot of persuasion in families, you know.  If your mama is cousin with his mama, it can be very difficult at church on Sunday or at family parties if he gives you a bad mark.  People pay attention to those things.  Why are you asking?  Are you opening a restaurant?”

I shook my head.  “Not a restaurant, only a bed and breakfast.  I want to make sure that I don’t say the wrong thing or make a mistake filling out the application so I can make breakfast for my guests.  I am certain that things run differently on Anguilla than in the States, the more I know about what to expect the better I feel.”

The oil in the skillet was bubbling around the potato pieces and she lifted another skillet off the rack over her head, wiped it out with a towel and set it on the burner next to the fries.  She transferred a bit of the oil to the new skillet with a spoon and turned on the heat under the pan.  When it began to sizzle she slid in the two fish fillets so that they skated on the film of oil and had no chance to stick.  “Would you like a salad?” she asked and when I nodded, reached into the fridge beside her and pulled out a handful of greens.  She tore them onto salad plates, cut a tomato into wedges, and sliced off paper thin pieces of bell pepper.  In a small stainless steel bowl she put a spoonful of brown mustard, a pinch of sugar and salt, a few grinds of pepper, and a dash of minced herbs.  Drizzling in a thin stream of pale green olive oil she whisked together the dressing.  Using a clean spoon she put a bit on the salad greens, tossed them with the tongs a few times, added on the tomato and bell pepper, a crumble of feta cheese from the fridge, and put just a touch more dressing on top.  Reaching into a sealed container she put on a few croutons and pushed a plate across to me.  “There are forks in that drawer just to your left,” she said.  “I hope you like it.”  She turned back to tend the cooking food while I started my salad.

“Mmm,” I said after the first bite, “this is wonderful.  I can’t wait to taste the fish.”  I could see her smile even though her back was turned.  The whole supper was superb.  I tried to use new adjectives to describe it as I ate it but I’m afraid I just kept saying “wonderful” and “delicious.”

I was confident when I walked back to Sydans in the pale blue moonlight that I had made a new friend, although I was back in my room before I realized that I didn’t know Mrs. O’Neill’s first name and I had forgotten to ask her for recommendations for an electrician and plumber.  I was too tired to worry about it.  Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to ask Anne and Silas who I should hire.

Tomorrow the guy from Critter Catchers is coming to see if he can find whatever was gnawing in the attic the other night.  Naturally I haven't heard it again since that first time but I'm not willing to assume that whatever it was is gone.  I'm willing to spend $99 to find out.  I am totally freaked out that something is living up in my attic or in the tenant's attic (since they're connected over the garages).  Nope, not risking it.

--Barbara