Dear Pearl,

Fanny is finally herself again! But it has been a most trying week juggling the various phobias of the sick child and the hovering but generally useless Melba. She missed three lessons with the new golf pro and was faint with hysteria by the time the doctor finally managed to fit us in to his hectic schedule. Fanny, he thought, would get better with plenty of rest and all the Brownie oranges she could eat. But he left an elixir for Melba. To calm her nerves and improve her golf stroke, he said. She has been fiendishly faithful about dosing herself at regular intervals. And she has a tee time at noon today which she anticipates with a disturbingly coy delight. (Oh Pearl, I do hope this is not the beginning of more drama for our glamorous friend!)

I Remain, As Always, Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Pearl,

"The Blue Wart"? How does that one go again? I'm sure you did it justice, Dear, whatever it was! Fanny, too, seems to have a talent for elocution. She certainly has inherited Melba's flair for the dramatic. Currently, for instance, Fanny doesn't just have a little cold. She has something perilously like the Bubonic Plague. She cannot breathe. Not at all. She will sneeze herself absolutely to death. The handkerchief is not soft enough. It feels like razor blades against her delicate skin. She needs to eat. She cannot eat. The food is awful. It has no taste. It tastes like poison. It's too hot. It's too cold. Maybe an orange. But it can only be the Brownies brand. No other. We hope Fanny is well very soon.

I Remain, As Always, Your Devoted Miss Blue

The news couldn't be better, Miss Blue, for I have not put an anchovy atop a swipe of cream cheese on my favorite garlic melba toast that I have not thought of our dear friend Melba, proud and entering into a new life of Golf. Although I will admit that the news is disturbing, for the golf course and its clubhouse offer up all kinds of popular drinks for those needing to celebrate the day of golfing. One Orange Blossom too many? A cause for concern. . . .I shouldn't run on like this, Miss Blue, keeping in mind that little Fanny will need Melba's clear-eyed loving attention as she recites the clever elocution pieces .  Why, I recall my favorite pieces - "The Blue Wart" and "Oh Joy, I Wish I Could Be A Boy." Everyone just adored me when I did my recitation, swaying back and forth, enunicating just right as I emphasized and pleaded and paraded around the room, so long ago when I was just about the age of Fanny. If I can be of any help, Miss Blue, just ring me up - I have saved my old Elocution Notebooks.

And now I must rewind the Cuckoo Clock and take the bourbon cake from the oven, Pearl

Dear Pearl,

Melba has returned! The old elegance is restored and there's a new glow about her. Fanny has barely let her out of her sight since she walked through the door! Between you and me, though, Melba seems a bit distracted. She is completely nutty about her new hobby - golfing - and sneaks away to the greens the moment Fanny is delivered to Elocution Basics. I sense a heartbreak ahead. Whose, I can't be sure.

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Pearl in a Cold Climate,

I have sent Louise to the pantry to check on the brandy reserves and count the cod heads directly, Pearl. She is particularly short tempered today as the holiday requires a great deal of effort on her part. One does not say "Happy Thanksgiving" to Louise. One does not even make eye contact with her until sometime tomorrow.

Dear Miss Blue,

My Missal does have a small section of Norwegian Prayers suitable for the Bad Tempered Louise: Ha Ma Vas, Skul Vi Ha? Lutefisk Og Brandy, Rah Rah Rah. Encourage Louise to keep on hand the Cod and Brandy. Both items keep well, Miss Blue, and could be a lovely peace offering for whatever ails her. My Faithful Norwegian Partner swears by it.

I am delighted that the St Pearl Mini's are being produced in time for Christmas! I imagine the children will be happy to suck on the Celery Flavored Candy Sticks, Green and White, of course, (Smart Promotion by the Folks at the Ford Company there in Dearborn). I just might be in New York City this Thanksgiving Holiday; no doubt the St Pearl Mini will be in the Parade. How Adorable. Hoping this finds you and Company enjoying Wonderful Times.(Has Louise met the YI? You remember how gaga she was over Linguini. . .)

Pearl

Dear Pearl,

Goodness! I had no idea you were a saint, Pearl. That must have happened when I was busy elsewhere. At any rate, I am not surprised to hear it at all. You are always so sympathetic and quick to lend a hand. Say, are you able to perform miracles? If so, I have a small list of things you could help me with. Louise and her very bad temper, for example. If there is a spell or a prayer you know to cheer her up in a permanent manner, I would appreciate your deploying it!

In the meantime, Fanny and I are entertaining the dearest young man from Italy. If only he'd learn to loosen up a bit. At times he seems quite wooden! Perhaps it is his European manner. Europeans are rather aloof, you know. Likely because they've had so many wars and skirmishes over the centuries. And mad kings from time to time. And different foods they've had to get used to - snails in France, soured beef in Germany, blood pudding in England. Why, great, great, great, grandmother Elsa Lavender gladly endured the ocean voyage to New York just to never have to eat another piece of cod soaked in lye.  Good Grief! How did some confused housewife ever get that started?

Your (most reverently) Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Miss Blue,

There is a Saint Pearl, named by the Casual Catholics (CC's) in Michigan. They were wondrous in their appreciation of my unwavering energy. For though they were taught to observe the saints' way, they were CC's overwhelmed by the trials of everyday life. The acts of faith toward others and especially toward those in need were just too much for them to bear. So I was catapulted to Sainthood without the sanction of the Pope. It was an astonishing step they took (catapulting me), and one which we don't talk about in public. But I have a good mind to write to the Ford folk, there in Dearborn, just to offer St Pearl Classic as a name for their most recent model. It runs on celery juice, a popular crop in Michigan, I understand, which has caused the value of celery stock to skyrocket. Shareholders are going crazy with their newly discovered wealth. And the farmers, of course, are hurriedly planting celery. I have always loved the smell of Celery Leaves....

I know just what you mean, Pearl, when you mention how you slip softly by the church of the martyred St Stephen. I have been tiptoeing past the church of St Agnes in the same fashion for years and years. It's as if some portion of the saint's agony is still present in the bricks. And one must comport oneself in a reverent fashion to ease the pain.

The Glee Club sopranos are spearheading efforts to eradicate this sort of leaking guilt that occurs near church buildings.  They are proposing a wholesale switch between the names of the saints and the names of car models!  St Stephens would be called The Malibu. St Nicholas, The Hummer. And so forth. Gay, forward-looking names from the best people on Madison Avenue. Conversely, cars would be named after the saints, inspiring a genuine awe and respect in their drivers, as should be the case! The sopranos have not found much support for their idea. But I think it's just a matter of time until it catches on, don't you Pearl?

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue

Dear Miss Blue,

St Stephen the Martyr. A lovely grey stone church around the corner in the Village. Whenever I pass by I hurry softly so as not to disturb the martyrness of St Stephen. Further conflicting thoughts re. the usefulness of the martyr's anguish: The martyr is hated for his powerful belief, scorned by those souls of less imaginative and creative spirit who are unable to know the triumph of the spirited being. Sad, but true. St Stephen was stoned to death and one of the first martyrs. A cause defined by goodness.  By the way, whatever has happened to Celia Coxcomb? I read about a tragic incident involving a martyr-type wife and a dalliancing husband. Strange coincidence? Maybe.

Give Fannie my best. Tell her I am working hard on the Fishermen story and hope to have it finished by Dec 26, St Stephen's Day. Forever Pearl

Dear Pearl,

The house is almost too empty with all our visitors gone! I think Fanny is lonely. I have kept her close to me as much as possible, even showing her my favorite napkin folds and the log where I keep my reviews of cheeses. But still the glumness. Until Linguini - wonderful, impetuous, soul that he is - dressed up as an impish King Lear and told that whole story of old age and betrayal as a comedy that a six year old could enjoy. Truly a remarkable performance. I especially liked the part where Linguini had Goneril and Regan sing like The Chipmunks!

Your Devoted Miss Blue

Mother of Pearl,

What a week it has been! Fanny with more willing Old Maid players than she has ever had under one roof. And Louise rushing about, keeping fresh water in the cut flowers and harrumphing about the empty Bordeaux bottles accumulating in the pantry. The last of our guests will leave today. Brave, elegant, Mimi will pilot the SHIFT back to her own neighborhood. It's a rather insubstantial looking craft, if you ask me. But Mimi says it runs on free energy and that is what is so lovable about it. And I believe her. As always!

I Remain Your Devoted Miss Blue



GUY FAWKES LOVES A PARTY!