THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER -- ISSUE # ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIVE -- 15 OCTOBER 2020

It's dead calm as this newsletter is written and a fine crop of orange to yellow leaves is still on display, almost glowing against a sullen sky. Inevitably the winds that howl around Casa Maywrite will decimate them but when tempests visit, Wordsworth's describing autumnal winds in faded woods as wild music comes into its own, despite stray cold gusts of air chilling the ankles. And speaking of chilling, here's the latest issue of our newsletter. Read on...

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MARY'S BIT or A TALE OF TWO LADDERS AND SOME WHITE PAINT

Matisse opined those who devoted themselves to painting should begin by cutting out their tongues. He was of course talking about a different type of painting than that involved in the tale I am about to relate, but being as this is Liberty Hall we shall talk of our recent job: painting the inside of the sun porch.

But first the background . It is some time since the flat roof of the sun porch was repaired, a task that grew into a major operation since at the time we were arranging it we didn't know it was not just the northern corner of the roof that had rotted but also half the front wall. It seemed solid enough until a crew member tripped, banged his head on the wall, and half of it collapsed.

The construction work was accomplished mumblety-mumple months ago and a fine job it was too. We kept saying we really should paint the inside...and finally, a couple of weeks back, we went so far as to purchase paint, brushes and tray, drop cloths, masking tape, and one of those handy stirring sticks. We already had latex gloves and two ladders, as well as a screwdriver and hammer for prising open and tightly sealing the paint tins' lids. Not to mention a utility knife the better to scrape splashes off windows, which did not get much use since most of the dropped paint landed on the appropriately named drop cloth. Well, except when they landed on our clothing and shoes and occasionally our heads. The paint itself was wondrous to behold: it served as both undercoat and final coat all in one go. Talk about efficiency! And so we began the task.

It turned out the twirly stirrer was supposed to be attached to a drill, which we do not possess. So we just vigorously stirred the paint by hand as if it was Yorkshire pudding batter. On reflection perhaps we were too enthusiastic, since the operation caused the first minor splashes of white to spatter the drop cloth. Never mind, we said, on with the job in hand.

What we forgot was standing on even a small amount of wet paint leaves tracks.

We soon realised that although the paint was of the one-coat persuasion, what we had not reckoned with was the roof itself correctly had the rougher side of its boards facing inwards, while the stretch of new wall had its smoother side towards us and thus was easy to paint. But when we began to paint the roof this rough side drank up paint something shocking.

It was at that point we discovered one ladder was too short to comfortably reach the roof area and the other too long to be fully erected in one corner where the floor is slightly uneven. A burst of creative thinking produced the solution: duct-taping a brush to a broom and the roller to the handle of a plunger-less plumber's friend kept in case it would be useful for something some day. As indeed it was. Those parts of the roof and beams not reachable by ladder were dealt with by standing on the increasingly paint-spattered drop cloth with our heads at awkward angles, extending stick and broom with aching arms.

And so the job was done, although taking two days rather than just one as anticipated. It really doesn't look too bad so despite a few rough patches where less paint remains on the surface of the wood than elsewhere we may not need to give it another coat after all. But just in case we've stored the remaining tin of paint, the speckled duds we wore, and the plumbers' friend's handle.

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NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER

The ticker is showing some signs of life this time around!

SHORT MYSTERY STORIES or THOUGHTS ON THEIR POPULARITY

Of late short mystery stories have become an attractive choice for readers because, as so many are finding in the current difficult situation, our concentration has not been of the best. Many readers are fans of this type of fiction even in better times. Among them is Jane Finnis, author of the Aurelia Marcella series, who contributed her thoughts on the topic to our blog last week. Point your clicker to

https://ericreedmysteries.blogspot.com/2020/10/jane-finnis-on-why-she-loves-short.html

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ERIC'S BIT or A PROCLIVITY FOR PURPLE

Purple is my favorite color.

It's probably the only thing I have in common with Roman emperors like Justinian. Tyrian purple came to represent the emperor, who maintained a monopoly on the production of purple silks. In 532 when Justinian prepared to flee rioting mobs in Constantinople Empress Theodora convinced him to remain steadfast and face death because "the royal purple is the noblest shroud."

But my proclivity for purple predated any knowledge of, or writing about, Roman emperors. The color caught my fancy thanks to the Purple People Eater.

That Sheb Wooley number was my first Favorite Song. A lively beat, funny lyrics, a science fiction theme, and the silly voice of the alien himself. What more could a kid want?

In the summers, until I was in fourth grade my parents ran a lakeside picnic spot. It was summer when the Purple People Eater landed. My parents had their orders. I wasn't to miss a single radio play. If the tune came over the car radio while my dad drove around the park doing his morning clean up, or on the radio in the cottage as my mom cooked breakfast, or crackled out of a transistor radio while my parents were taking a break down on the beach, I had to be called so I could frantically race the opening notes in time to hear the first chorus. The alien invasion cost me more than a little skin off my knees.

Eventually I owned a plastic Purple People Eater, which, like most of the artist's conceptions that appeared in Look Magazine (if I recall) was colored purple, even though the lyrics make it clear that the people he ate were purple.

I suppose he might've been purple, too, due to his diet.

I have to admit I have always been a bit circumspect about my love for purple. I once used a purple theme for a blog but I never wore purple clothing. Mary is fond of the Jenny Joseph poem that begins "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple." Well, maybe someday, I'll be an old enough man to wear purple. But I doubt it.

The one time I dared to emulate the emperors and don the imperial purple was a debacle. My dad made me a Purple People Eater costume for the annual Halloween parade. To me it was the coolest costume ever. Unfortunately, I didn't win any prize at all. Not even an honorable mention. A big pair of dice won. Can you believe it?

Don't tell me a giant purple papier-mache head is the noblest shroud.

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AND FINALLY

It was, relates Poe, in a bleak December when a dark-hued avian visitor came a'tapping on the latticed window, reminding us we should mention the next issue of Orphan Scrivener will flap into subscribers' in-boxes on 15th December.

Meantime, stay safe, everyone, and see you then!
Mary R & Eric

who invite you to visit their home page, to be found hanging out on the virtual washing line that is the Web at http://reedmayermysteries.000webhostapp.com/ There you'll discover the usual suspects, including more personal essays, a bibliography, and our growing libraries of links to free e-texts of classic and Golden Age mysteries, ghost stories, and tales of the supernatural. It also hosts the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned! Our joint blog, largely devoted to reviews of Golden Age of Mystery fiction, lurks about at http://ericreedmysteries.blogspot.com/ Intrepid subscribers may also wish to know our noms des Twitter are @marymaywrite and @groggytales. Drop in some time!

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