Say Pearl, when you get a little time between your efforts to persuade the City Council to improve pedestrian safety in and around The Lanterns and the marinating of meat that you do – would you help me rearrange the American holidays? I refer particularly to Labor Day and New Year's. The man on the street has little nostalgia for the Labor referred to in Labor Day. He is mostly – if we're being honest with each other – concerned to get the little tykes back to school, to put away the white shoes, to look around for bargains on this year's model cars. Where is the Labor in that? Conversely, there is nothing particularly New about New Year's Day. In all respects it is quite the same as the day before it and the day after it. It falls in winter, in the post holiday season that is vaguely depressing no matter how jolly a person you are.

Pearl, would it not make a lot of sense to switch the two holidays around? We have in the first part of September a great feeling of new beginnings. Of one way of life being over and another one starting. A fine place to start counting the New Year's days and nights! And what better time to think of the sacrifice and diligence of Labor than in the cold dark days following the exertions of the Christmas season? Oh Pearl, let's take it on, shall we? You are such a whiz at organizing things I feel sure that we could overthrow the tiresome status quo. (Please don't let Mrs. Highbottom know what we're up to. She is completely attached to the no-white-shoes-after-Labor-Day and will be confused with a change.  Plus, she has begun to drink too much since Mr. Highbottom passed away.)

I Remain, As Always,
Your Devoted Miss Blue

Yes, it is astounding, Miss Blue, that you have identified me after all these years, intuitive as you are. Many years ago, when the forests were young and heavy with succulent plants and smells, I was born. And I have lived on in many forms and always surrounded with the poppies and pomegranates, milkweed and dandelions; handy stuff for the nymph way. Miss Blue, you say you were once a French Monk given to good deeds so that impecunious folk could be helped in their impecuniousness. The story makes perfect sense and I am thankful that all is said at last. And now I must comment on the boy Toby and his brilliant companion Cat Toffee. Of course, laughter comes with the dance... fingers and paws stretching and feet tapping out the tune. I think of the Cheshire cat just lolling and leering on Alice's page, never to know the laughter and the dance. But I digress. Returning to the Wood Nymph and the French Monk, I  agree with your story. How True to the Bone. Further comments about other things and such, at another date. Until then I remain,

Pearl, WN

The picnic in the rainy woods sounds perfectly misty and silvery and dreamy. The tenderloin on the grape leaves was a masterful touch. Pearl, you always were so inventive with vegetation. Perhaps in another life you were a wood nymph. Perhaps it is the wood nymph memory somewhere in your being that calls out to you to walk with The Stick. And to keep the ancient dried poppies in that vase as the years roll by. And the milkweed. Isn’t there milkweed somewhere in the music room? And the pomegranates that no one else would think to dry as you do. And that little habit you have of forking the roots of plants? Yes, I think it is quite probable that you once lived as a wood nymph.  I feel strongly that we all had prior lives, Pearl. I expect I’ve been something other than a lady at some time or another. There’s my aversion to chintz and other clutter. And the way I like really strong cheese. These tend to point to a former existence as a French monk, I would say. Of course! That would explain why I’m always so overjoyed to hear of good hearted volunteers helping the poor and impecunious at tax time. Why, I’d do something for them myself if I had the time. And if they weren’t SO impecunious.

Oh Pearl, I almost forgot. The photo is of Toby and his cat Toffee. They dance together. His mother says that they must think the same to be able to dance the same. But Toby says he doesn’t know what Toffee thinks. He just knows “we laugh at the same things.”

Your Devoted Miss Blue

How like you to quote the tragic prince re the hanging cups, Pearl. The Bard himself would have approved of the homey way you capture the dilemma: To chide or not to chide? I feel quite certain this is probably just what he had in mind when he penned the part about the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. But one can never be absolutely sure, of course. Like most famous people, he is dead.  (I do think it is always better to chide when in doubt. It sometimes loses friends but it does so keep the wit sharp. And that is the important thing, is it not, my friend? Keeping the wit sharp?)  Of course you made a great impression on me when you pointed out how the fluttering of the cups in the wind is so much more a poignant reminder of the human condition than their mere lounging about the cupboard could ever be. You are a poet, Pearl! Even when you don't rhyme, you are always finding the speck of grandness that is in everything good.

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

To chide or not to chide?  That is the question, Miss Blue. To hang the mugs or to set them upon a shelf?  Is it your notion that swinging mugs are somewhat giddy in effect whilst unswinging mugs capture our most noble instincts? I have checked the many references re mugs and find not even one that would tell me about the swinging and sitting mugs.  D'Amico's will be alerted this very day; but I will continue the tedious research so that we will be able to settle the question. . .

Your Friend in Hamlet, Pearl

Garlic all the way from China?
No. You are quite right to find that ridiculous, Pearl. I'm afraid the Chinese are being quite misled into thinking they are indispensable to those of us here in America.  There's toothpaste. And toys. And ever so much clothing. And fragrances. And computers. And televisions and stereos and microwaves irons and toasters and nail clippers and rubber gloves and couches and, well, just everything seems to be made in China these days.  And I have it on the very best authority that we are not paying full price for most of it! Grrrrr!As if we needed charity! As if we were not the richest country on earth! It positively makes my blue blood boil, Pearl. I feel you and I should lodge a ladylike complaint immediately! Perhaps I'll just have my crumpet untoasted tomorrow. 
Yes. That's exactly what I'll do. You?

Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Pearl ,

I'm afraid, dear friend, that the news is mostly all bad.
An earthquake in Peru . A bridge collapse in Minnesota .
Dead miners in Utah . That horrible hurricane in Mexico .
Preening candidates vying ceaselessly for our attention.
The ugly, ugly, unending war in Iraq .
The bickering about it all.

It is simply too much. My head reels. My heart breaks.

Oh darling Pearl would you join me in a call for a change?
No more gathering in our living rooms at the end of the day to

watch the news. A break, please, from the headlines and

the agitating pundits.

Instead of The News, let us propose an hour a day to be spent

immersed in beauty, in music, in art, in wonder, in laughter.

The Olds, we'll call it.

Soldiers will still fight. Debates will still rage.
Dreadful things and dreadful people will still be all around
us. But we will be stronger and calmer, deeper and braver
for remembering the best efforts of our perplexing humanity.

Give me a call the moment you're free. I have not the
slightest idea how to change the world without you.

Your Devoted Miss Blue