No Baking Today

So my house just smells like a house.  Actually it smells a little like chlorine because I met KW at the Y late this afternoon for a 30 minute pool walk.  There was a group of teen boys playing "football" in the pool at the same time but they were pretty good about not crashing into us or splashing us besides, being the mothers of sons, we figured we could deal with it if things got out of hand. I got to the Y three times this week.  Yay, me!


We dodged the weather bullet today.  For most of the morning it rained, nice steady rain that farmers like in the growing season but isn't so great in late November but it wasn't cold enough to freeze...

and for a few minutes snowflakes the size of silver dollars (which you can kinda see) whammed down out of the sky.  But that was over quickly.  Thank heavens.



 

Right after lunch I met ACJ down at The Attic cafe to write for a couple hours but forgot the little notebook that I'm taking editing notes in.  Grr.  But I had another notebook and knew where I'd left off so I took my notes in there and then transferred them when I got home.


I just got a text from the renter that she grazed the side of the garage when she backed in tonight.  I never really got the backing in thing but will check it out on Friday when she's off.  Just what I need.

27 November--Barbara Malcolm, Spies Don't Retire. 

The most extreme example of how divided the group had become was on Windsock beach when all the expats went on Thursday afternoons for a cookout.  Dimitri and Irina arrived early, as was their habit, and they set up their chairs and umbrellas near the grove of scrubby trees on the north end of the beach.  Sonia and George were the next to arrive.  When she saw her nemesis, Sonia hooked a hand in George’s elbow and dragged him off to the clump of trees near the southern end of the strip of sand.

“But I’d like to sit by Dimitri,” George bleated as he stumbled after his wife, arms filled with beach paraphernalia.  Her back rigid and her head held high, Sonia marched down the beach with as much dignity as she could muster in the soft sand.  “But, dear, shouldn’t we sit closer to the group?” George said.  “We’re pretty far away from everyone here.”  He looked longingly down the beach at his new friend sitting like a cowed dog next to his imperious wife.

A steady stream of cars and vans were pulling up and parking along the back of the airport’s sole runway.  One by one, couples would cross the road carrying coolers and beach chairs.  The women would look up and down the beach.  Then would steer their hapless husbands either right or left depending how her sentiments lay; Sonia to the left, Irina to the right.

At either end of the beach was a tight group of umbrellas and chairs—and frowning women.  A few paces from each encampment (that’s the only word to describe it) were a confused-looking group of husbands.  The men edged toward each other across the barren, unshaded gap between the groups.  They looked like boys trying to escape a too strict nanny.  One by one they were called by their wives and one by one they turned and picked their way through the mild surf to dive into the sparkling blue ocean.  A few of the women stood and hollered at their escaping husband, but then realized how exposed they were to their enemies, so they sat rather abruptly to preserve a bit of their dignity.

I remembered that I want to knit one Christmas gift and had searched high and low for the perfect yarn.  It wasn't cheap but I bought it anyway.  So this evening I got out needles and yarn and started.  Well.  It's not at all what I hoped it'd be.  Back to the drawing board.

I'm looking forward to an afternoon spent with family tomorrow.  DS's in-laws graciously invite me every year to celebrate Thanksgiving with them.  Doing that eliminates the necessity of choosing which family "gets" which holiday.  That has to be a pain. I'm glad that we never had to do that.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!  Eat lots of pie.
--Barbara

I Thought Fruitcake Baking Smelled Good...

... but this afternoon the allure of baking fruitcake faded when I made the onion bread for Thanksgiving. (I love my KitchenAid mixer with its dough hook.)  Oh. My. Goodness.  That stuff smells like heaven.  It took all of my self-control not to slice into the loaf-shaped loaf since I plan to only take the turban-shaped loaf to dinner.  I'll bring up the slicer on Thursday morning and slice both loaves and then freeze the loaf-loaf to save for Christmas  when DD and family are here.  For some reason I've had fantasies of making grilled cheese sandwiches with onion bread for the last couple days.  That's why I made the loaf-loaf and that will happen next month.





This morning before I went to the Y for my session with T the trainer I used a kabob skewer to poke holes in the fruitcakes and dribble the first tablespoons of syrup on them.  They'll get more every couple days until the pitcherful is gone.  Then they'll just sit in their little pans and mature until Christmas.  Yum.  That bourbon and orange liqueur-laced syrup sure smells good.


First thing this morning I went out and took down most of the feeders, bagged them, and put them into one of the seed cans on the patio.  It took a while but eventually a few birds came for a drink and a bath so I guess they won't abandon me.  I made up my mind to do that when I noticed a path from the near feeders to the far feeders made by tiny paws.  Rats.  Gotta remove the food sources but I think it looks sad.  Maybe I'll take out the crooks too so I'm not reminded all the time that the feeders are gone.


In the afternoon I worked on the next read-through of The Seaview and will get more done tomorrow when I meet ACJ in the afternoon.

At suppertime I made a WW chicken pot pie casserole that serves six so there are five more suppers in the fridge.  I dearly love making food that lasts for more than a meal or two.  Now I have that pot pie, one serving of chili, and the tomato-basil soup I made yesterday.  I'm set for at least a week.

 26 November--Barbara Malcolm, Spies Don't Retire. 

Phones rang all over the island after Irina and Sonia’s latest sniping attacks—helped along by Harriet’s confidential conversations with nearly every expatriate on the island.  Harriet spent most of her afternoons chatting on her rented cell phone to each of her new best friends, swearing them to secrecy, and then detailing her long suspicions that George spent his working life as a spy

 “And I’m sure he was a big one, one of the higher ups.  He was always jetting off to places like Moscow and Warsaw.  Hotbeds of commies, those places are.”  The wires hummed with that little tidbit and others claiming that Dimitri and George had been long time enemies, spying on each other throughout their careers.

Due to her years of living next door to Sonia and George, and the fact that her husband, Max, had been in the Royal Navy with a top-secret clearance, Harriet’s words were taken as fact.  In truth, she had a vivid imagination and a convincing way of confiding things that made her listeners believe her.

Like dominoes falling, rumors flew from lips to ears around the small island; both George and Dimitri’s reputations surged or fell depending upon where the sympathies of the teller lay.

“My dear, I heard that Dimitri shot George in the shoulder years ago.  Sonia nursed him for months, vowing revenge on Roskova.  That’s why she and Irina are always at loggerheads.”

The expatriate women, especially, latched onto the juicy details that greased the phone lines around the island.

“Did you hear that Sonia had an affair with Dimitri?  That’s why George hates him.”

“He should retaliate and have a little, well, you know, interlude with Irina.”

“With Irina?  I can’t imagine her climbing down from her high horse far enough to actually have sex.”

“Oh, you’re terrible, but I love it.”  These, of course, were Sonia’s friends.

Irina’s followers were different.  “I heard that Dimitri shot George in the shoulder when they were both working as spies years ago.”

“I heard that too.  I’ll bet Irina wishes Dimitri’s aim had been better.”

A gasp and a giggle.   “What a terrible thing to say!” 

“But I’ll bet she does.”

Art League and Literary Roundtable meetings became divided.  No longer did women circulate around the room, discussing art or books and sharing news.  Now there was a definite “no man’s land” down the center of the gathering, no one willing to risk censure by crossing over to the other camp.

I'm surprised that I can type tonight.  T the trainer concentrated on working my arms today and I was sure I wouldn't be able to drive home.  I had spaghetti arms but bounced back.  Still, I'll have a couple Tylenol for a bedtime snack so I don't wake up in the middle of the night in pain.  I hate that.  But I love my sessions with T.  Two more days until Thanksgiving, which is the perfect holiday.  Great food and no presents to buy.
--Barbara

Free Pie!

Every year for the last I don't know how many years our/my broker invites clients to the

office during Thanksgiving week for a free pumpkin pie.  This year they're collecting for a food pantry and have "luncheon" which is hors d'oeuvres.  I love making a meal of hors d'oeuvres.  Little meatballs, rumaki (water chestnuts wrapped in bacon), cheese stuffed mushroom caps, shrimp, cheese & crackers, veggie tray with dip, deviled eggs, cookies, and a pie.  I checked my diet at the door and had some of everything, visited, got my pie and a calendar, and left.  I went right to the Y to walk on the treadmill and while I drove home I thought about that pie.  I knew that if I cut a slice I'd eat the whole pie.  Not a good idea, so I texted my renter and offered them the pie.  She accepted so before temptation pushed me over the edge, I toddled next door with the pie.  Whew.  I'm saving my pie eating for Thursday.

I called the city rat officer this morning and he told me what I already knew--that I need to stop feeding the birds for a while so that the food source is gone.  *sigh*  He couldn't recommend an exterminator but did warn me to get references and check references, gave me a little lecture on not getting taken for a ride, but I didn't have time to do that today.  So I think I'll take down the feeders, keep the birdbath heater going, and spring for a Christmas tree to lean against the privacy fence so the birds have a place out of the wind after they bathe.  Instead of buying a 40# bag of seed (which I need) I'll spend the money on a tree.  I don't hate the RAT(s), I just want it/them gone.

In the afternoon I started the next read-through of The Seaview to find places to insert things about Zeke the roofer.  I put in the scene where she hires him but need places where she notices the noise he's making or sees pieces of roofing going up or down, stuff like that.  I am so glad that I figured out a couple years ago that if I email the manuscript to my Kindle I can read it like an ebook which makes it loads easier to find things that need fixing.




I got chilled this afternoon so I whipped up a pot of Fire-roasted Tomato-Basil soup.  It's a Cooking Light recipe that is delicious on its own or with a couple meatballs or a bit of rotisserie chicken stirred in.  It was just right for supper after my excesses of bad-for-me goodies at lunch.

I knitted on LC's hat tonight while watching Antiques Roadshow and it wasn't until I got about an inch of the red-purple knitted that I remembered I was supposed to change to a one size bigger needle when I finished the ribbing.  *sigh*  Oh well, I just knitted onto the bigger needle, nobody will notice.  Probably not even me.  I like the colors.



25 November--Barbara Malcolm, Spies Don't Retire. 

Irina’s eyes were reduced to slits, but she barely kept control of her temper.  Sonia had just made a smart remark about one of her poems loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.  The poem she had just finished reading was one of her latest efforts.  For weeks she had sat on her patio, notebook in hand, waiting for inspiration to flow down her arm.  Many hours she waited in vain even though their garden was much improved to look at from the view a few months ago.  Dimitri and their landlord, Mel, had been working for months to plant flowering or fruiting plants to attract birds and bats.  Irina had been certain that the renewed beauty of her view would lead to an increase of words on her pages, and it did, but not words she was happy with, not words that lit up the page and made her proud.  Until just now she had been sort of happy with what she had written, but hearing Sonia’s clear, oh-so-British voice say, “Oh my.  Not up to even our fairly relaxed standards, was it?” sent hot anger coursing through her.

They're threatening us with a storm starting tomorrow evening and into Wednesday.  The heaps of snow part is supposed to track to the north through the western part of the state and miss Green Bay but we're supposed to get rain and wind.  Lots of wind.  Goodie.  All I can say is it better be over by Thursday so I can feel comfortable driving to Shawano for supper.  I haz spoken.
--Barbara