Dear Pearl,

The most exciting news, Pearl! Linguini and Louise are sparking! What joy! Glocca Morra left her in a most romantic frame of mind and then Linguini's Nessum Dorma swept her right off her feet. Fanny says we should give them the rest of the month off. And I'd love to. But custom dictates a certain decorum, even indifference, be observed about the lives of others. So I shall strive for that. I suppose it is the right thing to do. For appearances, I mean.

Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Pearl,

Louise is always so frantic and disorganized when she cooks, Pearl. There are sure to be spills and drips, loud angry murmurings and doors slamming while she is about it. We have learned it is best to stay out of her way, out of the kitchen, out of the whole east wing when she is preparing dinner. So it gave me great pleasure to read your description of the formidable Julia's technique. The ingredients neatly arrayed before her, the utensils at the ready. What the French call mise en place, isn't it, Dear? If only there were more mise en place in our troubled times! A place for everything and everything in its place! How peaceful that would be.  You simply must have a chat with Louise when you visit!

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

Burnt Soup

I watched Julia as she shared with us the art of soup making. There it all was, the fennel, the carrots, the onions, the chicken broth, all displayed elegantly in front of her. And the slicing began, thin slicing.  She spoke with firmness and I followed her every move as one by one, fennel and onions and carrots were tossed into the saucepan to become tender in the olive oil. She would wipe her very large hands against her skirt and smile at us all.  We were there, she Knew we were there, watching with moist eyes (onion tears) And then, over in another pot, she showed off the chicken broth she had made early that very morning, having taken the EL to the studio so that the broth would be finished in time. And it was (finished in time) and with a gigantic flourishing motion the broth was added to the vegetables.  She had a little watch hanging from her wrist that she looked at once in a while. We were relieved when the pot was pulled off the flame and the pureeing begun.

The story could end there, Miss Blue, but unfortunately it does not. Little Yellow and Black bowls (honoring the New York Cabs) were filled with the elegant yellowish soup, topped with fennel fronds and a swipe of black pepper and served to the guests. Julia, being the Perfect Hostess, waited until the show was off the air for her soup.  And this is the very sad part, for the pot had just kept on simmering and all was scorched and lost.  Not a drop did she taste. This is a True Story,

Pearl (Never Knowing)

Pearlescent,

As usual your beloved opera has shed light on everyday matters. The chorus panting Fortune Plango Vulnera as if they were the condemned dragging their heavy chains toward the gates of Hell. That was just the feeling in the midnight cacaphony in the courtyard! Perhaps Mr Orff was a guest at the same little inn and took his musical inspiration from the howling cats. I have heard that great artists often do find their muses in the most ordinary places. There is a rumor that Edvard Munch painted The Scream after spending a most unhappy weekend trying to teach himself how to knit his brows.

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

Thanks for the CFS (Cats Feigning Singing) there in the Courtyard of the Almost Idyllic Inn.  There must have been some inner turmoil to have caused the carousing; In one of their Nine lives it is possible they sang - upright of course - and that they provided the voices of the choir in Carmina Burana.  I must admit it comes to mind, Miss Blue, as I study the peculiar and savage expressions they exhibit.  The agonizing truth, Miss Blue, cannot be avoided.  They were singing in Italian, Latin, and German.  Cat/Swiss - had you known the language - wouldn't have helped anyway.I have received the recipe for the elegant soup you mentioned when we last met, Miss Blue.  Also referred to as CFS - Carrot Fennel Soup - an odd coincidence, don'cha think?  Anyway, I have always wanted to slice up the Fennel Bulb.  My friends in the Village will be properly impressed with my many culinary skills in addition to my involvement with the Senator and the Rep. And that's the tall and short of it!
Pearl, Revolving

Dear Pearl,

Fannie and I traveled to Switzerland to visit Mrs Highbottom over the weekend, Pearl. We stayed at a charming inn that had been highly recommended. But we were not at all happy there. The cats in the courtyard kept us up all night with their carousing. Some cat holiday, I suppose. I couldn't make it out. I don't speak Swiss or Cat. Mrs Highbottom is coming along very nicely and promises to be home by the holidays. Oh joy to the world!

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Pearl,

So you are famous in the Village? Yet another conquest for you, Dear. Everywhere you go you are adored. You will carry the day for Hillary come election time! Do be careful what you say off the cuff though, won't you? As Emily Dickinson so presciently noted, "Fame is a fickle food, Upon a shifting plate." Keep a firm hold upon the plate, Pearl, and don't actually swallow anything!

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

The Bovine Story

I have Him here on my Porch where he looks out on the cozy little neighborhood. A Sentry is what he seems to be. The children playing in the cul de sac have noticed him and they have climbed the wooden fence that separates their playspace from our yard. They call to him, "Hey, what are you doing up there?" Two of the bigger boys have carried him off (they plan to mechanize him, an experiment for their AP Biology Class and, if all goes well, extra credit so that they will graduate from college sooner than later. Parents are grateful to me, thinking of the money I am saving them in tuition).So you see, Miss Blue, relocating the bovine has been a blessing to all of us.

(I have quite a following in the neighborhood so that I am now recognized with or without my Coco Plum Stick. I worry about the Paparazzi .)

Pearl at Large

Dear Pearl,

Oh dear! I can only imagine how hard you are working to make the Village safer, Pearl. There are many challenges to being a leader. I just know you will prevail. You always do. If I may make a suggestion? Perhaps the signs could be a bit less obscure. I'm totally perplexed and I am a native speaker. Imagine how confused the tourists will be! (Also, if there is another place for the barnyard animal to stand? I would move him there.)

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

Oh My Dear Miss Blue,

The Scolding Louise has been transferred to Glocca Morra! I am enchanted with the idea of an Italian Tenor, rummaging through the cupboards in Louise's orderly kitchen, all the while imagining the opera stage. Powerful notes accompanying the slapping of the Pizza Dough. A brilliant move, Miss Blue. Fanny will find solace while she listens to the passionate sounds of an Italian Tenor Cook Embracing all that is Italian. He will entertain beyond his cooking duties; possibly teaching Fanny the favorite little poem/story, Little Gussapina. There is no end to an Italian's love of Opera.

I do hope that Linguini has the good sense to display the Red, White and Green Italian flag (it being So Stunning) on the Sideboard there in the dining room. Atmosphere is important to Italians.

In the meanwhile, here in the Village I am working determinedly with the folks responsible for the badly designed Intersection. Fraught with fecklessness. I fear nothing will come of it all.

Pearl, After All

Dear Pearl,

Your preferred Paris was a rather headstrong young man, don't you think, Pearl? In our modern times his kidnapping of another man's wife and setting off a terrible war would be considered well, boorish, I should think, wouldn't you? Perhaps civilization is moving onward and upward despite impressions to the contrary.I do apologize for mystifying you, Dear. I had thought to try out the device of the non sequitur to amuse more than annoy. My Latin is rusty, it being a dead language after all, so I may have done something wrong.

Little Fanny seems a bit down these days. She is anxious for her mother to be restored among us. To cheer her up I have sent Louise off to Glocca Morra for a bit and replaced her with an out-of-work Italian tenor who sings constantly as he goes about his household tasks. It is so nice to not hear Louise always grumbling about this or that. And Linguini, though shaky on the highest notes, is so earnest about keeping us amused that it makes one want to weep with joy.

I Remain, As Always, Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Miss Blue,

Posing the Question ... Paris, the City of Lights, is that the Paris you are researching in your Columbia Encyclopedia, Miss Blue? But then, I, baffled as I was at the question, found myself musing: how about Paris, the handsome Prince, how about theTrojan War, how about the outrageous antics of the Prince and Helen? Yes, surely you must have chosen That Paris. Silly but Shrewd Am I.

So, Aesop, the Slave, the Original Philospher, came before Paris, The Trojan Prince, before Santa Claus, the Elf, and before the Easter Bunny, Mother Nature's Fanciful Helper. . .

Pearl, Mystified

Pearl,
Well isn't that just it, Dear? There are no clear heroes and villains. We are silly. And we are shrewd. We are Crow. And we are Fox. We are Crox? Maybe it was simpler back in Aesop's day. That was before the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. I think it was before Paris. But I'll have to check that last one - I was never a whiz at history as you were.

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Miss Blue,

Oh, how captivated I still am over the story of the dapper looking Violinist: It is I, in perfect disguise. For you see, Miss Blue, I wanted to Be The Grasshopper. Hopping and skipping, flying and playing, singing all the while to his/my own tunes, smiling encouragingly to the house-carrying creatures, never looking over or up, or sideways, just trudging and obeying Mother Nature's tiresome Ant Rules. I too, have the deepest admiration for the Grasshopper.

Aesop, the Teller of Tales, how ever did he find the time to watch and listen? Because he was a Slave, that is why; he contemplated the whys and wherefores of needs and desires, hurdles and surprises, as he went about being A Slave.

Ah, so much to say. I am so excited with our new project, Miss Blue. Before the Bible there was Aesop writing the wisdom as he saw it and not to be believed whenever it suits us. The Crows here in the Garden have no notion of what happens when they meet up with the Fox, the Fox who tricked the Crow . They do not know that foxes have been seen in the Village. I have instructed the Crows to be on guard. Especially when eating Cheese. It is hard, Miss Blue, to not see both sides of this story as I am inclined to do in this instance. Am I Crow? Am I Fox? Eagerly awaiting your story,

Pearl with Aesop

Dear Pearl,

Oh I loved the story about the evening at the Shubert, Pearl. I feel I understand you a bit better for hearing the tale of Johnny Moth. A creature despised by all but you. Your dear soft heart alone seeing his humanity, his hunger. You alone pitying him. . . Perhaps it was at that performance, in the spray of Furrier I. J.'s spit, that your destiny was set. Thereafter you would devote your life to seeking out and protecting the underdog. You are so good at that. Perhaps you could help me refurbish the reputation of a certain underdog near to my own heart - the much maligned Grasshopper of Aesop's fable. Pearl, how did the poor Grasshopper became an object of contempt? Why was he rudely never given credit for being a talented musician dedicated to his craft even though he was homeless and broke? And how did the boring, judgmental, and punitive little ants became the heroes of the story? Why, it's all wrong in my book! Shall we, Brave Pearl, take on Aesop? Fabulous fabulists shall we be?

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dearest Miss Blue,

How deplorable, giving up the invitation to skate with the Glee Club Sopranos. The Skaters Waltz is what they sang, joined together in stride and song. Halloween, Mothballs and a small story to tell:

Furrier I J Fox stepped onto the stage at the Shubert Theater during intermission time (he being a prominent Angel of the show) and in a magnificent and thundering bass voice, sang the appealing story of Johnny Moth. I sat in the very first row, center, Miss Blue, spellbound upon hearing about little Johnny Moth, his search for food in the closets of the wealthy dons and donas. I shall give you the first stanza as he leaned on his hickory cane and sang (words accompanied by glassy spit, you know how it is, Miss Blue, first row). Mesmerizing words I think he wrote himself:

You've all heard of Johnny Moth
He loves to eat fur coats and cloth
He spends his summers living

In the closet there.

We did clap with sticky moist hands. As a final gesture, he left the stage and handed out cards with a beautifully shaped Moth on the cover and the story printed inside. I have kept the card in memory of Johnny Moth, creature unloved. But how can that be, Miss Blue? A genetic mistake, no doubt.

Love, Pearl Singing

Your thoughts on the theory of time were exceptionally abstract, dear Pearl. It is at such a display of brilliance that I imagine your brain to have voluminous pleats and folds that mine, alas, does not. My smaller gray matter occupies the inside of my head with just a few darts to ease the fit at the corners. Relatedly, I am quick to feel the cold when my ears are uncovered. The Glee Club sopranos invited me to go skating just this morning. An unseasonably early cold snap had frozen the koi pond in the park. But as my ear muffs are in mothballs until the day after Halloween, I had to decline. I just couldn't risk brain freeze. I hope I didn't hurt their feelings. They are a good natured trio as sopranos go. You still sing lieder, don't you Dear?

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Miss Blue,

Ah Yes, the sorrowful sight of the Elitist, the Sometime Student, challenging the theory of Time, maybe finding it too time consuming? When does Time start? They cannot find answers and so Time becomes their preoccupation there in the Room; feet relaxing on polished tables, heretofore holding the very books and periodicals they have discarded in their dismal attempt to Understand Time. It is possible, Miss Blue, that you were witnessing A Time Lapse, often referred to as Boredom. And for that matter, on the subject of yolkless eggs, I, for one, hail the advent of the yolkless egg as a triumph over nature. Who has not feared the yolk spot in the egg white when making the Christmas Divinity treat or others demanding perfectly beaten egg whites? Well, there it is, Miss Blue.

Signing off, Pearl

Shining Pearl,

The brothers rocking in their chairs inside the cozy cottage as the wind howls outside is such a lovely image, Pearl. Of course it made Fanny feel better. She is completely itch-free and well rested once again. The idea of the baby goat sleeping on the mat next to the fishermen has quite captivated her. Mrs. Highbottom has always taken a rather severe attitude toward any mixing of outside things with inside things. When Fanny had the hamster she was forced to keep it out in the hen house. His running incessantly on his squeaky wheel stressed the layers beyond belief and produced a bumper crop of eggs with missing yolks. Louise made souffle everything that year, vigorously whisking egg whites in the kitchen for hours at a time. Little Fanny kept her company holding a gigantic mayonnaise jar with holes poked in the lid - the hamster's spaceship for visiting indoors.

Your cleverness at writing is such a rare gift, Pearl. I only wish there were more cleverness in the world at large. Take the Halls of Science for example. Just last week I stopped by to see if a bit of philanthropy would be in order. I keep hearing about world poverty and I thought perhaps an old fashioned paper drive could be organized to help science discover a cure. You know how I love a project! Well, Dear, I was absolutely flabbergasted at the general level of indolence I observed. Perhaps it was the wrong room?

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

More of Pearl's Story

The Storm

Not all of the days were spent fishing;

Sometime the winds blew with such force

That the chimney shook and

The peacock shutters banged and fretted

Until the brothers had to tie them back with
The net string they kept for repairing their fishing nets.

It was a very strong string,

Made to keep the tossing and flipping fish

From falling out of the net.

Morning, afternoon and then evening

And still the winds blew

And the waves slashed onto the shore

As if to settle affairs with the fishermen.

The stove had a good supply of wood

And so the brothers knew it was a good time

To cook fish and bake biscuits and

Watch the skies until they became dark.

The baby goat lay curled up on its straw mat;

And the brothers lit their pipes

And rocked back and forth

In their large wooden rockers

Until it was late enough to go to bed.

And that is what they did,

While the house

Shook,
And the winds

Howled

And the baby goat

Slept.

Pearl,

Fannie spent a restless night after the dark chocolate with raspberry creme filling. A slight rash bloomed on her lovely arms and legs and she was desperately itchy. I'm afraid she might have an allergy. Louise was so helpful about the calamine lotion and fluffing pillows. But the best remedy was provided by the Tale of the Two Fishermen Brothers which I read over and over to the weary child until she fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning. I promised her that I would beg you to send another installment at your soonest possible convenience. Oh would you Pearl?

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Pearl, I think a little Kentucky bourbon on the campaign trail will be entirely welcome. No matter in what form it is presented. And certainly it is a mark of earnest good citizenship - the queueing for movie star haircuts. (I had one of those myself once. But the marcel iron quite burnt my bangs and I was forced to grow it out. ) Do you imagine Bill will be accompanying Hillary for the SLOWER CARS Campaign Tour? He is really quite a fine looking individual. What we used to call the cat's meow,

Your Devoted Miss Blue

HILLARY/PEARL: HEALTHCARE AND SLOWER CARS FOR AMERICA. I will admit, it reads like poetry. The campaign slogan- is there anyone who would take SLOWER CARS seriously, Miss Blue? My experience here in the Village can be summed up in the desolate voice of the Jack S., Assistant Engineer of the Village "We can't tell the drivers how to drive." And my heart just broke, Miss Blue, for he obviously has no stomach for further talk. Thinking Ahead: Already Ihave put in a call to Hillary pointing out the value of meeting and mingling with the folks in our neighborhood. I have offered my place here at the Lanterns. Everyone in the building is overwhelmed at my audacity! They have been making appointments with Mark for Movie Star haircuts and buying out the upscale stores in the neighborhood. Imagine the great publicity, Miss Blue! Of course I will serve the famous Kentucky Bourbon cake. Oh, I'm so excited, Miss Blue. And to think I owe it all to you!

Pearl, Activist

Pearl,
I am so glad to hear that your exertions to improve the civic traffic conditions are proceeding. It is like you to consider the safety of others and to work on their behalf so selflessly. I have put your name forward as a sturdy candidate for Hillary's own lieutenant should the need arise:

HILLARY/PEARL

HEALTHCARE AND

SLOWER CARS FOR

A M E R I C A

Oh I do think it will catch on, Dear,
Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dearest Miss Blue,
I hope you and Fanny are doing well, Miss Blue. It is such a responsibility - the care of the child with such an unfortunate mother. Yes, it is chilling to know the effect it might have on a dear child, waiting for her mother to Dry Up. Do you feed her dark chocolate with raspberry creme filling just before bedtime? I always thought that I would like the treat at bedtime along with stories of the Flower Fairies. Sweet dreams for Fanny. . . .

I do not like the thieving monkey either, Miss Blue. His career has been abolished I know. The Organ Grinder and his Monkey that were once the summer delight of little children were outlawed many years ago and all have suffered because of it. Children loved the monkey with the organ grinder and his music. We ran to our mothers for pennies to toss into the little pillbox type red hat. The monkey held it out to us and then The Organ Grinder would start up the music for the monkey to dance to as we all stood around, clapping our hands in delight. Sometimes we ran home for more money, Indian Pennies we gave up to show our undying love hoping they would be back again to entertain us. With no career the little ring-tailed monkey has taken to thievery. How can we replace such joy, Miss Blue?  And too, the Cracker Jack Box with its metal - not plastic, not paper, but tiny silver and gold metal - replicas of cars and planes and boats, dollies and animals, and all sorts of toys, made our Hearts pound with anticipation whenever We opened the box. . . But the Monkey and the Organ Grinder were Our Theater.  We got to be an audience. That really was the best.

Love,

Pearl, Activist