Making Beer

Not me, DS was making beer today when I went down to the brewery to see how he's doing.  I was hoping that the bottling line would be running so I could watch but it wasn't.  He said that there are a few glitches that need working out so that it runs smoothly but they're still getting 6-packs filled and out into the marketplace.  If you're a beer drinker, go buy some.  Please.

Just as I finished yoga this morning a Downy Woodpecker male came to the suet feeder so I grabbed my phone and snapped a couple photos.  They're a little blurry but you can see the woodpecker all right.  I had to go get a new birdbath heater today because the old one wasn't working.  I knew that because the birdbath was frozen solid this morning.  I bought that and some suet pellets to put in a second feeder and I ended up having to do what I didn't want to do and that was walk down the top of the retaining wall because I couldn't reach the feeder to fill it.  You'd better bet I stuck right close to the fence as far from the edge as I could.  Scary.  I found a different place for that suet pellet feeder because I'm sure not going to make it a habit to climb up there all winter.

I was digging around looking for something to toss today and ran across a bag of old stamps, old postcards, and little sticker books.  I like postcards and I especially like old black-and-white postcards.  I find old foreign stamps that I glue on the picture side of the card and sometimes I stick a sticker of a bug, lizard, or fish on there too.  It's kind of arts and crafts-y and it amuses me.  So after supper I got out a glue stick and decorated a few postcards so I'll have them handy when I want to mail one.

20 October--Barbara Malcolm, The Seaview. 

              I lay in bed that night and thought about what I'd done that morning, how I paid out almost all of my money for a ramshackle hotel on a Caribbean beach.  The legalities took much longer than I had anticipated.  The seller's solicitor had to pontificate at length about protecting the interests of his clients, extolling their merits as residents of Anguilla and Sandy Ground village.  Mr. Abrahams sat there silent, nodding whenever anyone made a point he approved of.  I thought for a while that he had been struck mute but he eventually sat up straighter and in ringing tones sang my praises as a businesswoman and all around good egg.

            “Mrs. Rose Lambert is an honest woman,” Mr. Abrahams said.  “She has warm feelings for our beautiful island, and she will do her utmost to make Anguilla proud of her.  Her husband, James A. Lambert, has unfortunately passed but Mrs. Rose has bravely come here alone to pursue her dream.  It behooves all Anguillans to assist her in that and to make her feel welcome.  Helping her on the road to success is a badge of honor we should all seek to achieve.”

            I had no idea where he got all that but by the time he was finished I thought I might just run for Prime Minister or maybe even Queen.

            Drifts of papers backed with blue covers were signed and stamped with much ceremony.  The notary, an Anguillan woman heavily weighed down by the solemnity and gravity of her office, witnessed the signatures and pressed her seal onto all copies of the sale agreements.

            Once everything was in order and money had been exchanged for ownership of the building and land the mood in the office lightened considerably.  Stories were told of people who had stayed at the Seaview and tales of previous owners were told and chuckled over.  I was quizzed at length about my plans for the place, what sort of improvements did I have planned and when did I think I would be open.  The solicitor for the sellers handed me a large iron ring jangling with keys, some of them old skeleton-type keys and others modern brass ones.  It seemed like a lot of keys for a building with only four guest rooms, but he assured me that I needed each one.

            Soon the seller's solicitor and the notary left the office for meetings or to catch the noon ferry to St. Martin.  Mr. Abrahams, in whose office we had met, escorted me to the veranda wishing me prosperity and happiness on his island.  He bowed over my hand (I thought for a minute he was going to kiss it) then backed over the threshold, closing the door with a smile.

            I stood squinting in the sunlight and felt the weight of the keys in my hand.  My high heels crunched and wobbled over the gravel in the parking area as I walked to my rental Toyota.

            It's an unsettling experience to drive on Anguilla.  The vehicles have left-hand drive as they do in the States, but driving is on the left as it is in England so the driver sits on the outside of the lane, not on the centerline.  It takes some getting used to, especially around corners, and it's positively terrorizing in rotaries, I kept turning to go the wrong way around.

The shirts that I ordered from Land's End came today so today's toss was a bag of too big long-sleeved tee shirts.  It'll be nice to put on a shirt that fits and isn't too baggy in the neckline.

It's raining.  Blech.

--Barbara