A Soft Day

That's what someone said they call misty, chilly days like today in Ireland.  All I know is that I'm damned tired of the overcast sky and rain.  The maple trees on the block are bright yellow with a little orange and red thrown in.  So pretty.  For such a short time.





The gang of Bluejays (four of them today) was here this morning.  One of them found the corn cobs...




and two of them tried to hog the cracked corn under the feeder.  A chipmunk chased them off.




 


The Red-bellied Woodpecker swooped into the platform feeder for some seeds and suet pellets.  Which reminds me that I need to go buy more pellets.  A Nuthatch came for seeds a few times but it zooms in, grabs something, and is gone before I think, oh a nuthatch.





Lunch today was a cup of WW French Onion Soup.  Yum.  There's nothing like soup when it's damp and chilly.


Did I mention that THE RAT is wily?  I'm convinced that there's one more (I've caught two) and it's the craftiest of the bunch.  I put my Tomcat Snap Trap out with a piece of bacon, some PB and Nutella in the bait cup, and I sprinkle a few black oil sunflower seeds over it all.  Well.  This afternoon when I checked the bait cup was empty and the trap isn't tripped, which means THE RAT has figured out how to eat that stuff without touching the trip plate.  I... it... I am at a loss for words.  I can't think of how else to try catching it.  Maybe a hav-a-heart trap?  But then what would I do with it?  Gah!

22 October, Barbara Malcolm, Spies Don't Retire. 

Invitations were sent and accepted for cocktails and dinner at Billie’s hilltop estate.  Small paper Union Jack’s hung limply from the necks of the stone lions that perched on brick pillars that flanked the long drive.  As arriving guests crested the hill and swung around the last curve getting their first view of the house, most of their cars slowed nearly to a stop.  Billie had draped every balcony and window with bunting.  It looked like Billie was channeling whoever is the English equivalent of Betsey Ross.

The party was well underway when Dimitri and Irina made their entrance.  They had a habit of stopping in the doorway of whatever room they approached and surveying the inhabitants as if they might change their minds if the mix wasn’t right.

Irina was posed like an Art Deco statue, her back arched, her head cocked, and her hands arranged near her cheek.  Dimitri was her foil, posed to compliment her languid grace, but rather than gazing dreamily off into space like his wife, his cold gray gaze raked the room.  There was almost an audible click when he spotted George and their eyes locked.

George stiffened and looked around for Sonia to see if she’d seen what he saw.  She had.  A mask of steely determination replaced her usually soft expression; her warm brown eyes had become ebony granite.  Sonia and George’s eyes met and an almost imperceptible message passed between them.  They moved to stand together.

Dimitri and Irina straightened from their artificial entrance pose and stood side-by-side.

Billie Holland-Smythe floated into the center of the room, one hand outstretched toward each, saying, “Darlings, I was so hoping to finally be able to introduce you.”  She caught hold of Sonia’s hand and dragged her toward the Russians.  Sonia reached back to catch George’s arm as she was reluctantly drawn forward.

For their part Dimitri and Irina had drawn together, his arm tight around her waist.

The hum of conversation in the room had disappeared as one by one people became aware of the drama unfolding before them.  Only the music by the band in the corner and Billie’s chirping voice could be heard.

“Dimitri and Irina Roskova, I’d like you to meet Major George and Sonia Clemment.”  The men’s hands reached out to touch briefly and then fell to their sides like stones.

Billie’s eyes glittered and it was obvious that she knew exactly what she was doing.  “Well, I’ll leave the four of you to get acquainted.”  She fluttered her fingers at the silent foursome and left.  When she turned back to the room she was momentarily stopped by the stunned gazes of the rest of the people.  With a flick of her finger she ordered her staff to move among the guests, replacing flattened champagne with fresh, offering to remove soiled plates.  The spell was broken, shoulders relaxed, and voices began to hum again to make a counterpoint to the softly wafting music.

I've been getting in my 15 minutes of writing most days which means I'm getting words on the screen to fill up the story where it needs it.  Right now Rose is talking to a pastor about the original builder of the Seaview.  I need a couple, well, at least one more building scene, maybe a dive, a trip to the bank with the safe deposit key, and then I can rejoin the story where I left it when I wrote the break up last October.  A year!  I've been a year trying to fill in the abyss that one little scene created.  Oh, and I cleared out under the bed and still didn't find that packet of sailboat paperclips.  Now I really don't know where they went.

Eight years ago today Mom died.  I miss her. Especially when my sewing goes awry.
--Barbara