I knew, last night, sitting in my living room that perhaps I should have watched the news. Because even though our supper was over and the house quiet, I kept hearing little movements and I was smelling food. Not food I cooked, either. This had a tang I could not quite put my finger on—savory and a touch exotic.

Now and again, for whatever reason, I will smell food that nobody in the neighborhood of four houses (usually 3 of the 4 being empty) are cooking. And sometimes I recognize the smell….frying chicken, or apple pie. And the smell is not outdoors, as if coming from a neighbor; it is inside my house alone. And finally, the connection became clear. An enticing smell would fill my house and then a list of casualties would appear in my email box. So last night, when the smell of food filled my house, I knew that somewhere, bad news was being delivered. Someone’s last thought was of home and a favorite meal. What I smelled, I realized, this morning—after a sleepless night of searching memories, was mince pie. More spicy-savor than the nasty American jarred mincemeat…oh, yes, it is to weep.

And on Tuesday, five British soldiers were gunned down by a man in their midst; an Afghan policeman apparently disaffected with his employment and with links to Taliban tribal areas. Their names and other information will be on the next moon phase list.

But now, my sympathies to the families and beloved ones left behind by:

Cpl. Nicolas Webster- Smith
Sgt Matthew Telford
Guardsman James Major
Warrant Officer Darren Chant
Cpl. Steven Boote

It must surely be harder to bear when death comes in the hand of a presumed ally. I hope their families hold them in their hearts…and make a mince pie or two.

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