Jan. 11, 2016
Dear Hildie:
I read Felix Francis’ latest Dick Francis mystery. OK but confusing—two sets of unrelated crimes—not fair to the reader. Am now reading Julie King’s THE BONES OF PARIS. Good, but for one typo—She has a character back from the WW I front in 1913!
Things slow here.
Take care.
Love,
M
Dear Hildie:
They caught el Chapo. Now, if they hand him over to the US, maybe you can get Murphy and Riley included in the deal.
Love,
M
January 7, 2016
Dear Hildie:
Watched the KILLING FIELDS night before last, where they “re-opened” the Eugenie Boisfontaine case—You know, the 34 year- old LSU grad student who was abducted from Stanford Avenue in 1997 and turned up as a skeleton in Bayou Manchac. They say the DNA doesn’t match Derrick Todd Lee, but everything else seems to. But, God, who can believe anything on TV? I see the most ridiculous programs on the “Discovery” and “History” channels, that have nothing to do with real discoveries (except the ones they’ve manufactured) or history (e.g., ancient aliens). And the ID channel, which deals with crime, is so low in production values it should be convicted of a crime against their audience; I think they use the same generic police car for all their programs. I get so tired of seeing these 20-something writers and actors having their “policeman” of the 1960s and before using two-handed pistol grips.
Working on another proposal. Devil’s Swamp. I remember my grandmother telling me about people who wandered into it and were never seen again. I’m sure every locality has such stories.
Take care.
Love,
M
Dear Hildie:
I seem to be about over my cold. Not bad as colds go, I guess. I’m trying to get another book going but it’s hard–so much to work out beforehand. I find I’m running down, like a clock with an old spring.
Take care,
Love,
M
January 5, 2016
Dear Hildie:
Late Thursday, as the New Year approached, I was feeling pretty melancholy. Ever since Mr. Schreiber, the neighborhood piper, moved away and then died, New Years have been dreary for me, and I suspect for a lot of others around here. We go out, shoot a sky rocket at the stroke of midnight, and then go back inside. There seemed very little to celebrate, and I could only think of the loss of a beloved friend, the perpetual wars and killings, and the endless succession of midnights until the final dissolution. The fact that I had a bad cold made it all the worse. I only wanted to repair to my bed and shut it all out. MM claimed she heard a pipe somewhere but I was sure she only said it to bolster my spirits. I didn’t even break out a small bottle of champagne, as I have for years, to ritually celebrate the changing of the years.
Then, from somewhere, I heard it, too—The unmistakable sound of Auld Lange Syne, and the sound was growing louder! I rushed out in my shirtsleeves and there, passing the house, was a mob of revelers, following a kilted man with a bagpipe. I followed them to Mr. Schreiber’s old house, where the piper played Amazing Grace, and the revelers were invited inside, as Mr. and Mrs. Schreiber used to do. Mirable dictu! The world was not lost at all! There was hope! I went to bed feeling that, if all was not exactly right with the world, it was at least survivable.
Happy New Year!
Love,
M
January 4, 2016
Dear Hildie:
Okay, three masses for your soul. I’ll pay for them, but which church? Roman Catholic or Anglican, or does it matter? As for me, when I predecease you,
And if you come, when all the flowers are dying,
And I am dead, as dead I well may be,
You will find the place where I am lying,
And kneel and say an “Ave” there for me.
You can also hire a piper, about whom more tomorrow.
Love,
The (soon to be) late,
M