Dear Friend Pog,

Well, I am back in the States after living aboard, yes,Pog aboard, even though I always said I wouldn’t move even an inch from the old neighborhood there near Worm Park. You must have heard me say that a million times. We seem to have returned to our old neighborhoods at the very same time - always the most satisfying place to be. You have the beautiful sound of church bells; oh, how I wish the little church around the corner would play their bells! I was told that the tone of of bells was tinny and so new bells are being considered. Thank goodness!

You must be wondering where and what I found so heavenly about being abroad to leave so abruptly. Why, Pog, I was looking for you! The postman delivered a letter from you postmarked Paris, France, and I was alarmed at the quickness of your leaving so I immediately packed my smallest suitcase - with just an extra ballerina suit and my best ballet shoes - and hurried off to the airport. I stayed three years, Pog, forever looking this way and that for the sight of my dear friend, Pagliacci. Dancing gracefully and always with the best toe-pointing and with smiling eyes toward the customers in the restaurants; small pittance, surely, but enough to buy my croissants and bits of cheese. Then one morning, early, I counted the coins in my small purse and found that I had just the right amount to purchase a ticket back to the States and that is what I did. The right thing to do, for you had also arrived back in the States!

I can hardly wait to see you, Pog, tomorrow, maybe. With a chilled glass of Drambuie to toast our happy reunion.

Love forever,
Small Trot