There's a big, swirling, multi-colored mass of weather coming this way. It's gonna rain on us, rain with vigor, and of course I have a list of errands to do today. I have to get Durwood some more Rosen's seedless rye bread for his traditional tomato-and-mayo-on-toast breakfasts, I need to stop at the library to pick up Carl Hiaasen's new book to read (I reserved it. Don't you love the library? Free books!), I told Mom I'd stop with some squash and tomatoes from the garden for her, take out her trash, return a recipe she lent my DIL, I need to take my overflowing cup of coins to the bank and exchange them for "real" money, and take my expiring coupons to JoAnn's to pick up a row counter or two. Let's see, what else? Oh yeah, I have to go get my nails done. I'd better get a move on.
August 12--Ischia, Italy. Surmounted by a medieval fortress and ringed by stone block walls, the little wedge-shaped island filled Erin's view of the Gulf of Naples. She had been staying in the pale green villa on the shore just up from the little bakery where she bought golden-crusted bread, olives, and young cheese for lunch. No one with a working nose could resist the aroma of fresh baked bread that floated up to her small terrace as she sipped her morning coffee. She had asked the Signora about the fortress over on Ischia and was told it was a ruin only lived in by goats, but her imagination was fired by the thought of the lives that had been lived in its confines. Two nights ago when the sky was cloud covered and the moon was new, she was sure she saw lights moving from the shore up to the fortress. She had mentioned it to Signora Martinelli who had laughed and shook her head but Erin had been sure that a moment of fear had darkened the landlady's twinkling eyes.
Dun-dun-dunnnnn. And it's Friday the 13th too. Ooooh, spooky.
--Barbara
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