Sunday Bloody Sunday

Good song, that. I remember when U2 first hit the US with that song. I can still picture the video from MTV. I was in high school and the guy that my best friend *really* liked was into the group so then we had to be too. Good choice though. I'm glad he wasn't into something stupid. U2 has had so many good songs it's hard to pick a favorite. Their song "Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" will always remind me of the summer I worked Rimrock Summer Rep (as well as Tracy Chapman). Ah the memories. Plus anyone who knows me knows that I've always looooved anything Irish. :)

Today, I hope to do some reading. I don't think there is much on tv. The Steelers play this afternoon so Steve will be watching most of that. I'm not sure yet what to have for dinner but I'll come up with something. Just a quite, regular old Sunday. Gotta look through the want ads though I'm pretty sure I'll be taking the RMC job this week 'cause I need the income coming in.

I started VEIL OF LIES last night and though I got about 40 pages in, I just couldn't get much into it. It seemed very ... contrived somehow. I don't know, like there wasn't a passion behind the storytelling. I can't put my finger on it. So, I set it aside after a while and started THE BORDEAUX BETRAYAL by Ellen Crosby. This is the third of three so far in the Lucie Montgomery, operating her family’s winery in Virginia, in the Wine Country series. Here's the blurb:

During an oenophilic supper at Mount Vernon, glamorous guest lecturer Valerie Beauvais hints there's something suspect about the prize bottle—a Bordeaux Thomas Jefferson supposedly bought for George Washington in 1790—to be auctioned at the upcoming charity fund-raiser Lucie will be hosting. But before the wine scholar can make it to Montgomery Estate Vineyard for a personal inspection, she's the victim of a fatal accident. Or is it murder?

It was published in August of 2008 and has 288 pages. And here is an excerpt:

Chapter 1
St. Thomas Aquinas once said sorrow could be alleviated by good sleep, a bath, and a glass of wine. Lucky him, if that's all it took. Hector died shortly before Labor Day, the last event in a tumultuous summer weighed down by heat straight out of hell's waiting room. He'd been like a father to me, managing the crew at my family's vineyard in the foothills of Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains for the last twenty years. His death came hard on the heels of my second auto accident in the past three years, when the front end of my old Volvo collided with the back end of a large buck. And that event had been preceded by Hurricane Iola, whose wicked ways wreaked havoc just as we were about to harvest our white wines. If the month of August had been a fish, I would have thrown it back.
Fortunately autumn arrived in a kinder mood. The withering temperatures receded and the low-slanted sunlight washed everything in softer colors, blurring the sharp edges of the shadows. The air no longer smelled as though it had been boiled and the relentless metallic sound of the cicadas began to wane. Tonight, on an October Indian summer evening, the bullfrogs' serenade sounded plaintive.
I'd invited Mick Dunne, my neighbor and a man with whom I'd had a white-hot affair last spring, to dinner and a lecture on wine at Mount Vernon. Though we'd only just arrived, he'd glanced at his watch three times in the last fifteen minutes. Each time, I pretended not to notice.
When Joe Dawson, my cousin's fiancé, had given me the tickets, I figured asking Mick would be a good way to let him know I'd moved on since last spring and that we could still do things together as friends. Besides, he'd just planted thirty acres of vines on land adjacent to mine. We needed to get along.