On Speaking Terms

Last fall I bought myself a new laptop because my old one was acting crazy and that was after I'd had it into the shop for a tuneup.  At first the new laptop and the old printer got along fine but that didn't last.  First the scanning couldn't find the laptop or vice versa, then the laptop stopped speaking to the printer in color.  I thought maybe the cartridge was out--nope.  I thought maybe I'd somehow set it to "grayscale" but couldn't find a place to un-set it.  DS even took a whack at trying to figure it out but no luck.  I finally came to the conclusion that my new laptop and my five or six year old printer weren't on speaking terms so today I went to Walmart and for fifty bucks got a printer that the laptop will speak to, in color even.  I haven't tried scanning yet.  I'm saving that for tomorrow.




It was easy to make the decision which toy body to use today.  The next step was to pick up stitches on it to knit on ears/feet and arms.  I tried to use the darker body but couldn't see the black stitches to pick up one leg of the stitches, not even in the bright sunlight, so the lighter one wins.  I'm using the darker yarn for the appendages and haven't decided what color yarn I'll use for the faces, probably solid black.




As a break from the stitch-picking-up I'm back to knitting on the foot of the neverending Choco Rainbow sock.  I can't tell why it seems like each round takes forever but I'm determined to get the @$#%& thing done before the end of winter.  It shouldn't take five months to knit one sock but evidently for me it does.

I got through a few more chapters in the latest read-through.  I'm happy to say that I'm finding fewer mistakes or awkward phrasing this time through.  Only 13 more chapters to go.







07 December--Barbara Malcolm, Spies Don't Retire. 

George came to the decision that he would not be able to get Dimitri alone while Max was on the island; the responsibilities of being host required George to pal around with Max.  At first that responsibility delayed his opportunities to probe into Dimitri’s relationship with the unfortunate Ms. Shore.  Then George realized that he could say something to Max in Dimitri’s hearing to pave the way for a broader discussion.  Max’s youngest brother had attended the University of Hertfordshire at the same time Dimitri was there on his exchange, although Roderick was in the Math Department.  Asking how Roddy was doing would be a good segue into asking Dimitri about his time there.  An unanticipated opportunity came at the next birder’s meeting before he had been able to work the subject into conversation when Max and Dimitri were together.  Max decided that he was not interested in bird watching enough to get up before dawn to drive up to Karpata.  So George called Jeremy to ask him to tell Dimitri that he could pick him up.

As he idled the Rover a block from the Roskova’s house, he was filled with guilt but also a familiar tingling he recognized as that adrenaline surge he could count on just before embarking on a new job.  He had always thought of his missions as “a job.”  He felt that calling them missions gave them a false weight, like he was expected to act like that poseur James Bond.

Everyone who had ever watched one of those fantastic movies thought that espionage was littered with nubile women in bikinis eager to remove said bikini at the drop of a martini, a watch that shot bullets or poison, an Aston Martin sports car that either sprayed oil to make pursuers slide off the road or flew, and a pen that was a radio.

George’s favorite Bond gadget was a tiny mouthpiece with what looked like a pair of CO2 cartridges attached that allowed Bond to breathe underwater.  He heard that the military had called the producer asking where the technology had come from.  His faith in the leaders of England’s military had fallen quite a few notches upon learning that.  How gullible could they be, he wondered.

His thoughts were cut short when he saw Dimitri turn the corner, his binoculars swinging on his chest, a bottle of water in a pouch on his belt, and his big hat clamped on his head.

“Good morning, George,” he said when he opened the door.  “Did your friend, Max, decide this was too early?”

George chuckled.  “Yes, he did.  You have to remember he is on holiday.  I couldn’t very well drag him from his bed and order him along.”

Dimitri looked up from latching his seat belt.  “No, I suppose you could not.  I can not say I am sorry he did not come.  I have missed our little chats these past weeks.”

George felt a small pang of guilt.  He was not enthusiastic about his job and wished that Max had never handed him that envelope.  “I have missed them too,” he said.

Driving up the island in the pre-dawn darkness they talked about the birds they hoped to see.  Rumor had said there was a Caracara nest near the cliffs and everyone hoped to be the one to spot it.  George kept the conversation rolling on mundane lines like the jump in petrol prices and how hard it was becoming to find good meat.  They talked about the snorkeler’s group’s plans for a big barbecue the next week that Dimitri had volunteered to chair.  “Mike has promised to cook up a big batch of his special sauce for us.  I am very fond of that sauce.”

George said, “I think everyone is.  Sonia wheedled a jar from Ali and she puts it on everything.  I’m a bit afraid to walk from the shower to my closet without a towel on, if you know what I mean.”

Dimitri looked a bit shocked, the dashboard lights giving him a skeletal look, and then he burst out laughing.  “Oh, George, you are terrible.  Now I will never be able to look at your beautiful Sonia without thinking of her stalking you down the hall, a jar of Mike’s barbecue sauce in her hand.”

George chuckled along with him, happy that his oblique introduction of sex into the conversation had been so successful.

I had fun at my knitting friend's open house this evening.  A bunch of other knitters were there so we hung together and gabbed.  Her trees are beautiful and her house looked lovely decorated for the holidays.  I only bent my diet, I don't think I broke it, not completely.  Only a little.  Who can resist salty, crunchy things and cheese?  Not me.
--Barbara