Elizabeth Milligan
Writing Assignment for November 19, 2007
Prompt: “Our ancestors survive somewhere in our faces” & Dialogue
Mary-Ad
When I was a child living at home, it always used to distress me that my mom treated her aunt Mary-Ad’s frequent phone calls so casually as to seem disrespectful. Mary-Ad would call several times a week, sometimes several times a day, and often when my mother was preparing dinner.
Mary-Ad would talk and talk and my mother would hold the receiver on her right shoulder tucked between her ear and her chin and listen, uttering a few words here and there so that her aunt knew she was still on the line. Standing near my mother, usually by the sink, I could hear my great aunt talk away and it did seem that she was oblivious to whether her niece was really there. Usually, she talked about things that worried her.
All this time, my mother would be rattling pans, running water, chopping, and cooking within the area circumscribed by our brand new twelve foot curly telephone cord. Sometimes, she would get all tangled up in the cord. Sometimes she would roll her eyes. Most times, Mary Ad spoke loudly enough that I could hear her.
“Louise, I can’t believe you are letting your children learn to drive on the junkers that Jake insists on keeping. It is so unsafe. It worries me so.”
“They’ll be fine Mary-Ad.”
“Louise, I can’t believe that you are taking the children to that optician in the run down town near you. That place seems shady to me. Well, not so much shady as that the optician does not seem to be terribly skilled. I’ve never heard of her. You don’t want to fool with eyesight. I hope you are not doing this just because the price is lower. After all, you get what you pay for.”
“True, the town has seen better days, but I like the optician and I know her mother – the best science teacher in our high school.”
“Louise, I can’t believe that you take the children to that orthodontist for braces. I know braces aren’t cheap, but I have never heard of this fellow. I mentioned his name when Mildred and Fred came over last night for cocktails and they both raised their eyebrows. They didn’t know him either and they have heard all about the city’s best orthodontists because their daughter just researched them for her own children.”
“Well, Jake’s nieces and nephews all went there and their teeth look fine.”
“Louise, I can’t believe that you are putting Betsy on a city bus to get to her tutoring sessions this summer. That neighborhood is very dangerous. I don’t want her standing out at a bus stop in the evening. I know that this is Jake’s doing. I’ll buy passes to Yellow Cab that she can use for the summer. You just tell them where to be when and they will have a cab waiting for her.”
“That’s very generous of you, Mary-Ad. Thanks”
“It’s the least I can do, Louise”
“OK. I have to run now. Jake and Johnny are leaving now to pick you up. I see them backing down the driveway. They should be there in about fifteen minutes. Just wait in the lobby and watch for them. They’ll pull up to the front door.”
“Alright. I’ll watch for them. Only fifteen minutes? I hope Jake drives carefully. And Louise, I made some meringues for dessert.”
Monday, November 19, 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
Dragon Lady
Elizabeth Milligan
Writing Assignment for November 5, 2007
On Specifics and Character
Dragon Lady
- Sylvia, her regal profile would have graced a Roman coin with distinction
Houston, Texas - It was near the end of a week day in 1981. I was sitting at my desk, gazing out the window at the cityscape below, when the phone rang. It was my friend, Sylvia. Her voice, usually strong and mellifluous, was weak and wavering. I switched from a speaker phone to a conventional phone. “Elizabeth, Jim just put me on four weeks notice.”
Sylvia worked at Oil Partners, a small independent oil company in Houston that specialized in buying land leases. Her news was simply a sign of the times - the price of crude was $13 a barrel and business was slow, lines for unemployment checks were long. But she was undone and I had never before heard her so distressed.
What could I do?
The nicest restaurant closest to both of us was the Rainbow Lodge, a restaurant that Sylvia had recommended to me once. Since then, I had booked my favorite table there whenever I wanted quiet and elegant comfort.
“Sylvia, meet me at the Rainbow Lodge at 6:30, my treat”
At 6:30, the hostess ushered us to the table in a small windowed alcove overlooking the grounds. A stream cascaded down strategically placed rocks surrounded by plants and trees decorated with strings of colored lights. The interior looked like a great hunting lodge and massive beams hovered high above linen-draped tables. Usually, the clash of the riotous external décor with the high caliber of the service amused me to no end, but my attention was elsewhere this time.
Both Sylvia and I ordered bourbon on the rocks with a splash of water and a twist. After the server brought us our drinks, Sylvia began to talk.
“Jim was not only like a father to me, he was a good friend. He and Helen, his wife, had me over to their place for dinner many times. I guess I could have seen it coming. Times have been hard in the oil business and Jim’s company is small. He held off for as long as his partners let him. I have never seen him as upset as he was when he gave me notice today. He says I can use the company’s resources for as long as I need to find a new job.”
I nodded in empathy. As I studied the candle flame, I noted Sylvia’s hunched shoulders and wet eyes.
“I grew up in Brooklyn. All of my relatives lived nearby. If I fell and scraped my knee anywhere, I knew that relatives lived on that block and I could just go to their door for help … Back then, I wanted a store-bought dress more than anything. My mother made all of my clothes; such fine hand-stitching and finished inseams and hems. When I was thirteen, I was allowed to buy dresses off the rack and I was amazed at how poorly they were made; such sloppy workmanship … I got married when I was seventeen. I had just graduated from high school. Even though my parents had married at the same age, both of them wanted me to wait until I finished college. So, I promised to get my college degree … My husband was very successful and my parents adored him. Daddy started to carve a cradle for his first grandchild.
“After I graduated from Barnard, I worked at Davis Polk in Manhattan …”
“Sorry Sylvia, I know I should know but I don't. What kind of a firm is Davis Polk?”
“…Oh – the biggest law firm in New York. You know, the baby lawyers there called me the Dragon Lady”, she chuckled softly.
I chuckled, too. We ordered dinner and our server took our menus.
“Anyway, I worked there as the head of legal assistants and mentor to new lawyers. At our first few regular meetings, they always tried to impress me with their positions. Very soon, they realized that I knew more than they did about the law and about the firm. Very soon, they realized that except for meetings with me, they would be doing nothing more for the first year at Davis Polk than carrying partners’ briefcases.”
I laughed at the image of Sylvia herding baby lawyers around Davis Polk.
“After ten years, I finally accepted that my husband did not want children. We divorced and I moved to Houston. At Davis Polk, I had worked with a big firm in Houston that always wanted me to head up their staff of legal assistants. The baby lawyers in Houston called me the Dragon Lady, too.”
Smiling, I shook my head slowly and commented, “I think that male lawyers do that when they feel threatened by a competent woman.”
“Anyway, on the plane to Houston, I sobbed like a baby. The man sitting next to me was Jim. He listened to me and bought me drinks. Usually, I did not drink so I felt rather tipsy when the flight ended.
Later, after I had been working at the law firm in Houston for a year, Jim called and offered me a job with his new company, Oil Partners.”
“Uh-hmmm”
“Tonight is the first time I have cried in public since that plane trip from New York. I feel much better now. Thanks, Elizabeth.”
Our dinners arrived and somehow I knew then that Sylvia would never again tell me so many stories about herself.
Writing Assignment for November 5, 2007
On Specifics and Character
Dragon Lady
- Sylvia, her regal profile would have graced a Roman coin with distinction
Houston, Texas - It was near the end of a week day in 1981. I was sitting at my desk, gazing out the window at the cityscape below, when the phone rang. It was my friend, Sylvia. Her voice, usually strong and mellifluous, was weak and wavering. I switched from a speaker phone to a conventional phone. “Elizabeth, Jim just put me on four weeks notice.”
Sylvia worked at Oil Partners, a small independent oil company in Houston that specialized in buying land leases. Her news was simply a sign of the times - the price of crude was $13 a barrel and business was slow, lines for unemployment checks were long. But she was undone and I had never before heard her so distressed.
What could I do?
The nicest restaurant closest to both of us was the Rainbow Lodge, a restaurant that Sylvia had recommended to me once. Since then, I had booked my favorite table there whenever I wanted quiet and elegant comfort.
“Sylvia, meet me at the Rainbow Lodge at 6:30, my treat”
At 6:30, the hostess ushered us to the table in a small windowed alcove overlooking the grounds. A stream cascaded down strategically placed rocks surrounded by plants and trees decorated with strings of colored lights. The interior looked like a great hunting lodge and massive beams hovered high above linen-draped tables. Usually, the clash of the riotous external décor with the high caliber of the service amused me to no end, but my attention was elsewhere this time.
Both Sylvia and I ordered bourbon on the rocks with a splash of water and a twist. After the server brought us our drinks, Sylvia began to talk.
“Jim was not only like a father to me, he was a good friend. He and Helen, his wife, had me over to their place for dinner many times. I guess I could have seen it coming. Times have been hard in the oil business and Jim’s company is small. He held off for as long as his partners let him. I have never seen him as upset as he was when he gave me notice today. He says I can use the company’s resources for as long as I need to find a new job.”
I nodded in empathy. As I studied the candle flame, I noted Sylvia’s hunched shoulders and wet eyes.
“I grew up in Brooklyn. All of my relatives lived nearby. If I fell and scraped my knee anywhere, I knew that relatives lived on that block and I could just go to their door for help … Back then, I wanted a store-bought dress more than anything. My mother made all of my clothes; such fine hand-stitching and finished inseams and hems. When I was thirteen, I was allowed to buy dresses off the rack and I was amazed at how poorly they were made; such sloppy workmanship … I got married when I was seventeen. I had just graduated from high school. Even though my parents had married at the same age, both of them wanted me to wait until I finished college. So, I promised to get my college degree … My husband was very successful and my parents adored him. Daddy started to carve a cradle for his first grandchild.
“After I graduated from Barnard, I worked at Davis Polk in Manhattan …”
“Sorry Sylvia, I know I should know but I don't. What kind of a firm is Davis Polk?”
“…Oh – the biggest law firm in New York. You know, the baby lawyers there called me the Dragon Lady”, she chuckled softly.
I chuckled, too. We ordered dinner and our server took our menus.
“Anyway, I worked there as the head of legal assistants and mentor to new lawyers. At our first few regular meetings, they always tried to impress me with their positions. Very soon, they realized that I knew more than they did about the law and about the firm. Very soon, they realized that except for meetings with me, they would be doing nothing more for the first year at Davis Polk than carrying partners’ briefcases.”
I laughed at the image of Sylvia herding baby lawyers around Davis Polk.
“After ten years, I finally accepted that my husband did not want children. We divorced and I moved to Houston. At Davis Polk, I had worked with a big firm in Houston that always wanted me to head up their staff of legal assistants. The baby lawyers in Houston called me the Dragon Lady, too.”
Smiling, I shook my head slowly and commented, “I think that male lawyers do that when they feel threatened by a competent woman.”
“Anyway, on the plane to Houston, I sobbed like a baby. The man sitting next to me was Jim. He listened to me and bought me drinks. Usually, I did not drink so I felt rather tipsy when the flight ended.
Later, after I had been working at the law firm in Houston for a year, Jim called and offered me a job with his new company, Oil Partners.”
“Uh-hmmm”
“Tonight is the first time I have cried in public since that plane trip from New York. I feel much better now. Thanks, Elizabeth.”
Our dinners arrived and somehow I knew then that Sylvia would never again tell me so many stories about herself.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Dedicated and Stray Neurons
Elizabeth Milligan
Writing Assignment, 21 October 2007
Detached Autobiography with the optional prompt of food
Every evening before joining his family at the dinner table, the father descended into the cellar for a bottle of his self-prescribed barley beverage. Then - he, the mother, and the two children took their seats at the dinner table.
Both children looked at their plates. One ate most of the food, the other mostly played with it. The father nursed his barley beverage with great relish, ate a piece of the steak and half of a baby red potato. As usual, he did not touch the fresh vegetables and salad. The mother looked at all three of them, and picked at her food.
She visualized coloring in the spaces of the moment. She imagined their shapes to be dynamic, pulsating electric reds, oranges, greens, and yellows. She wondered: Wouldn’t it be cool to visualize moments like these through electron spectroscopy.
The only sounds in the room were: overplayed jazz from the 1960s and 70s on the CD player, the intermittent hum of the baseboard heater, and her questions and comments. Invariably, any of her words would hang over the dinner table as if in suspension - before falling with a thud. Sometimes, the father would talk – IF she asked him about himself. Then, he would tell her about his work at the office. At this dinner, he responded to her query about his day with:
Pretty much what I’ve been working on these past few weeks. You know, OCV and OCR, mostly in a 32-bit environment, some in a 64-bit environment. I was working on manually updating the edge-width parameter control which was unique amongst all the controls within this tool edit control in that it was not a property-provider-based parameter. And so this meant that I had to implement electric mode by hand as well as subject-delegate queuing. Just so.
The fact that she knew what he was talking about made her laugh – a genuine and kind laugh - and prompted him to smile. This time the tight thin lips turned up slightly at the corners. For just a nanosecond – a shimmering of lime green space, the four of them breathed together.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Where I Am From
Elizabeth Milligan
Writing Assignment for October 13, 2007
Where I Am From
Where I Am From
I am from clouds and from my family
From hydrogen and oxygen, evaporation and condensation
From a tapestry of stories.
I am from my adult-size playhouse perched on the hill in the backyard
(gleaming windows without curtains set in wood painted red.)
The Green Room for my theatrical productions
I am from Verbeena and Lilac bushes, Bleeding Hearts, and purple Baptisia
I am from the mesquite bush
Tumbling freely with the wind
I am from black tea and white coffee
From Tracey and Proulx
From the big house and a constant stream of parties
From loud dinner tables
and always doing-and-going.
From extra chairs at the table and open arms.
I’m from Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost
until the Waldorf Bakery closed.
From searching in earnest for Gloria Patri,
Always on Sunday’s program, Never to be seen.
I am from Athena, Monty Python, and Oscar Wilde.
From prosciutto, escargot, and the driest Chateau Steiner.
I am from my uncle’s murmuring heart and flat feet
From one grandfather’s rocking chair, silver hair, and pocket watch - always ready to gift his grandchildren with a coin hidden in his pocket.
From another grandfather’s country house, furrowed fields, beloved dog, duplex in the city, and aromatic pipe tobacco.
Shoeboxes crammed with personal correspondence hidden in my sock drawer and closet.
First, letters and birthday cards from camp friends and from relatives.
Later, also from fellow students, teachers, and beaux.
Sometimes, I re-read them
To remember and imagine
Me and Them
Past, Present, and Future.
Writing Assignment for October 13, 2007
Where I Am From
Where I Am From
I am from clouds and from my family
From hydrogen and oxygen, evaporation and condensation
From a tapestry of stories.
I am from my adult-size playhouse perched on the hill in the backyard
(gleaming windows without curtains set in wood painted red.)
The Green Room for my theatrical productions
I am from Verbeena and Lilac bushes, Bleeding Hearts, and purple Baptisia
I am from the mesquite bush
Tumbling freely with the wind
I am from black tea and white coffee
From Tracey and Proulx
From the big house and a constant stream of parties
From loud dinner tables
and always doing-and-going.
From extra chairs at the table and open arms.
I’m from Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost
until the Waldorf Bakery closed.
From searching in earnest for Gloria Patri,
Always on Sunday’s program, Never to be seen.
I am from Athena, Monty Python, and Oscar Wilde.
From prosciutto, escargot, and the driest Chateau Steiner.
I am from my uncle’s murmuring heart and flat feet
From one grandfather’s rocking chair, silver hair, and pocket watch - always ready to gift his grandchildren with a coin hidden in his pocket.
From another grandfather’s country house, furrowed fields, beloved dog, duplex in the city, and aromatic pipe tobacco.
Shoeboxes crammed with personal correspondence hidden in my sock drawer and closet.
First, letters and birthday cards from camp friends and from relatives.
Later, also from fellow students, teachers, and beaux.
Sometimes, I re-read them
To remember and imagine
Me and Them
Past, Present, and Future.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Two Americans, 1974, Great Britain, and Ireland
Elizabeth Milligan
Writing Assignment for 5 March 2007
Prompt:“All that road rolling and all those people dreaming in the immensity of it” Jack Kerouack
The End
That morning in County Kent, somewhere north of the English Channel, the sun peeked over the ancient emerald hills threaded with single dirt lanes. A solitary yellow VW Bug buzzed into the dawn, headed for the hovercraft back to Le Havre, France. As if on cue, “Here comes the Sun” by the Beatles began as they crested a gentle hillock.
From the Beginning
Day 1
Two hostellers from America stood in London, the hub of the vast web of hostels covering Great Britain and the Irish Republic. Their plan was to hitchhike or travel by rail across the Commonwealth for about three weeks and meet back in London. They rode the Underground as far west as they could, climbed the stairs into the sun, held out a piece of cardboard marked for their destination, and stuck out their thumbs.
A uniformed chauffer in a shiny black car picked them up. After they settled into the back seat, he asked: “Aren’t you two embarrassed to use other people’s energy to get around?” For a moment, an awkward silence like a kinked leash, hung between them and the driver. The chauffeur drove them to a bed & breakfast owned by a widow who was a friend. That evening after supper and a shower, they dried their hair next to a roaring fire.
Day 3
In a castle-turned-hostel near Inverness, alabaster statues loomed haphazardly throughout the wide halls. Their blank eyes seemed to follow the hostellers as they marched to their assigned dormitory. Once there, the hostellers tossed heavy backpacks next to iron bedsteads in a large white room. Its huge windows looked out over a valley and into a mountain on the other side. Far below, in the middle of the valley, a train puffed along a track that ran by the river.
The hostel’s warden wore a plaid kilt, grinned cheerfully, and regaled them with stories about the original owners, Lord and Lady Sutherland.
.... His Lordship speculated in developing the Highlands (the part of Scotland north of Inverness). To that end, he owned the railway that ran daily below his castle. He also had all of the trees in the Highlands cut for his sheep grazing ventures. When the Lord and Lady divorced, she kept the castle. He kept the train and the Highlands. She ordered the servants to lower the blinds whenever the daily train came through the valley.
Early in the morning, a painfully loud amplification of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony roused the hostellers from their beds. The warden wanted to be sure the hostellers would have time to complete their housekeeping chores before packing up and moving on.
Day 6
The Americans’ new Scottish friends convinced them that they must see the highest pub in Scotland. After seeing the pub, the Scots took the Americans to camp at the base of a mist-shrouded mountain in the central highlands. In the evening, a majestic stag with broad shoulders and a trophy of antlers surveyed them and their campfire near a cold clear brook. The American’s new Scottish friends had chosen the site for its beauty. In hushed voices, the Scots spoke of the lore of the heavy mists of the mountain. They told the travelers that many a man had perished in those mountains for want of the direction home.
Day 7
On a hill on the island of Skye, sandal and sneaker-shod hostellers with faded blue jeans, flannel shirts, and worn backpacks sprawled across the wide steps of the large white hostel. The Americans were trudging up the path to the hostel when two voices they recognized from another hostel, called out, “Hey, it’s the Americans!”
Day 8
Near the dock for the ferry to the Outer Hebrides, a large Celtic cross marked the hilltop grave of Bonnie Prince Charlie. The cross, rooted in the Isle of Skye, faced the Isles of Lewis and Harris to the north.
Day 10
On Lewis, the southernmost island of the Outer Hebrides, about seven hostellers, including one of the Americans, ventured out into the harsh cold and hiked west the few miles of dirt road that meandered across the island to the Atlantic Ocean.
Foraging sheep and goats clambered over stingy gray rocks, craggy and worn, both. Some were loosely wandering, others in small knit groups, and all painted with colored hatch marks for identification.
Save for a single woman and several widely spaced, low slung peat cottages, the area was eerily empty of humanity. Celtic songs and prayers clung to wisps of hearth smoke. It was Saturday, a day for religious observance for the area. In layers of faded black dress and with an embroidered white head scarf framing her weathered face, the lone woman politely returned the hosteller’s greeting in Gaelic. When she saw they did not understand her, she looked very sad. They reminded her of all the young folk who fled to the mainland every year for better jobs, leaving the older ones and the children behind. In halting English and great earnestness, she sighed and gave the hikers her most sincere condolences for poor John Kennedy.
After the hostellers arrived at the western coast, the two blond Norwegians swam in the ocean. Fine pale sand defined a shimmering boundary between the ocean and the shore. Wildflowers blanketed the many low-slung hills and the Gulf Stream warmed the air. Like dazed foreign sentries, the other hostellers stood stiffly, sniffed the salt air, and gazed at the horizon.
Day 13
One of the Americans had a few hours before her train left Belfast for Dublin. With all of her possessions were crammed into her backpack, she wandered into the center of the city for a look see. There were great arched iron gates that contained the violent heart of the city. The only person in sight was a solid policeman several blocks away. He looked in her direction and good-naturedly shouted, “Hey you! Tell me, did you ride your bicycle all the way from America?” They both laughed, nervously.
Day 14
The hostel in Dublin was a tall brick building worn down at the heels and fronting on Mountjoy Square, once a very distinguished neighborhood. In 1974, Dublin’s prison was there and children entertained themselves by bashing parked cars with sledgehammers and pelleting them with their thin hard bodies. Gunfire, sirens, and flashing red lights scarred their nights. In 1974, many of Dublin’s children were bussed to the countryside for vacation.
Day 17
The Valencia Island hostel was a former Coast Guard Barracks off the southwestern coast of Ireland. When one of the American hitchhikers arrived at the hostel that evening, there was no room for her in the main building. She was assigned her own little cabin. Cold rains driven by high winds beat on her cabin that night when a battered looking backpacker stumbled inside. She was an American hitchhiker, too. She had been sporting a bright orange Barnard University sweatshirt in the green Republic of Ireland and could not understand why no one would give her a lift. Nonetheless, the two would often hitch together for the rest of the summer, even though they knew very well that a woman hitching by herself always got rides faster than two women together.
Day 21
At the end of their adventures in Ireland, the two Americans met on dock in Belfast to catch the ferry to Liverpool. Because paying the pedestrian fare for the ferry was a hardship, they approached a young family traveling by car. The family agreed to drive them onto and off of the ferry. In between, the Americans lunched on dry soup from their backpacks and hot water from the ferry’s kitchen.
At Liverpool, they thanked the family, navigated the city by map, and found Beatle Street - a very narrow and uneven cobblestone street sandwiched between two walls of tall, drab brick houses. Hanging over a nondescript wooden door in one of the buildings was a plaque with three dimensional figures of the four Beatles underscored with the words, “Four Lads Who Shook The World”
Day 22
The walk from the train station in Bath was long, downhill, and shaded by a canopy of shimmering green leaves. British tourists arched their eyebrows in disapproval of the two Americans as they soaked their tired feet in the largest of the Roman Baths.
Day 25
The Americans ended their adventure at the home of a new friend and his guests: a respectable white townhouse in King’s Cross, London and two other hostellers. Early the next morning, they crammed into a small car and, sharing a sense of adventure and a free ride, drove off into the sunrise to the ferry at Portsmouth.
Writing Assignment for 5 March 2007
Prompt:“All that road rolling and all those people dreaming in the immensity of it” Jack Kerouack
The End
That morning in County Kent, somewhere north of the English Channel, the sun peeked over the ancient emerald hills threaded with single dirt lanes. A solitary yellow VW Bug buzzed into the dawn, headed for the hovercraft back to Le Havre, France. As if on cue, “Here comes the Sun” by the Beatles began as they crested a gentle hillock.
From the Beginning
Day 1
Two hostellers from America stood in London, the hub of the vast web of hostels covering Great Britain and the Irish Republic. Their plan was to hitchhike or travel by rail across the Commonwealth for about three weeks and meet back in London. They rode the Underground as far west as they could, climbed the stairs into the sun, held out a piece of cardboard marked for their destination, and stuck out their thumbs.
A uniformed chauffer in a shiny black car picked them up. After they settled into the back seat, he asked: “Aren’t you two embarrassed to use other people’s energy to get around?” For a moment, an awkward silence like a kinked leash, hung between them and the driver. The chauffeur drove them to a bed & breakfast owned by a widow who was a friend. That evening after supper and a shower, they dried their hair next to a roaring fire.
Day 3
In a castle-turned-hostel near Inverness, alabaster statues loomed haphazardly throughout the wide halls. Their blank eyes seemed to follow the hostellers as they marched to their assigned dormitory. Once there, the hostellers tossed heavy backpacks next to iron bedsteads in a large white room. Its huge windows looked out over a valley and into a mountain on the other side. Far below, in the middle of the valley, a train puffed along a track that ran by the river.
The hostel’s warden wore a plaid kilt, grinned cheerfully, and regaled them with stories about the original owners, Lord and Lady Sutherland.
.... His Lordship speculated in developing the Highlands (the part of Scotland north of Inverness). To that end, he owned the railway that ran daily below his castle. He also had all of the trees in the Highlands cut for his sheep grazing ventures. When the Lord and Lady divorced, she kept the castle. He kept the train and the Highlands. She ordered the servants to lower the blinds whenever the daily train came through the valley.
Early in the morning, a painfully loud amplification of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony roused the hostellers from their beds. The warden wanted to be sure the hostellers would have time to complete their housekeeping chores before packing up and moving on.
Day 6
The Americans’ new Scottish friends convinced them that they must see the highest pub in Scotland. After seeing the pub, the Scots took the Americans to camp at the base of a mist-shrouded mountain in the central highlands. In the evening, a majestic stag with broad shoulders and a trophy of antlers surveyed them and their campfire near a cold clear brook. The American’s new Scottish friends had chosen the site for its beauty. In hushed voices, the Scots spoke of the lore of the heavy mists of the mountain. They told the travelers that many a man had perished in those mountains for want of the direction home.
Day 7
On a hill on the island of Skye, sandal and sneaker-shod hostellers with faded blue jeans, flannel shirts, and worn backpacks sprawled across the wide steps of the large white hostel. The Americans were trudging up the path to the hostel when two voices they recognized from another hostel, called out, “Hey, it’s the Americans!”
Day 8
Near the dock for the ferry to the Outer Hebrides, a large Celtic cross marked the hilltop grave of Bonnie Prince Charlie. The cross, rooted in the Isle of Skye, faced the Isles of Lewis and Harris to the north.
Day 10
On Lewis, the southernmost island of the Outer Hebrides, about seven hostellers, including one of the Americans, ventured out into the harsh cold and hiked west the few miles of dirt road that meandered across the island to the Atlantic Ocean.
Foraging sheep and goats clambered over stingy gray rocks, craggy and worn, both. Some were loosely wandering, others in small knit groups, and all painted with colored hatch marks for identification.
Save for a single woman and several widely spaced, low slung peat cottages, the area was eerily empty of humanity. Celtic songs and prayers clung to wisps of hearth smoke. It was Saturday, a day for religious observance for the area. In layers of faded black dress and with an embroidered white head scarf framing her weathered face, the lone woman politely returned the hosteller’s greeting in Gaelic. When she saw they did not understand her, she looked very sad. They reminded her of all the young folk who fled to the mainland every year for better jobs, leaving the older ones and the children behind. In halting English and great earnestness, she sighed and gave the hikers her most sincere condolences for poor John Kennedy.
After the hostellers arrived at the western coast, the two blond Norwegians swam in the ocean. Fine pale sand defined a shimmering boundary between the ocean and the shore. Wildflowers blanketed the many low-slung hills and the Gulf Stream warmed the air. Like dazed foreign sentries, the other hostellers stood stiffly, sniffed the salt air, and gazed at the horizon.
Day 13
One of the Americans had a few hours before her train left Belfast for Dublin. With all of her possessions were crammed into her backpack, she wandered into the center of the city for a look see. There were great arched iron gates that contained the violent heart of the city. The only person in sight was a solid policeman several blocks away. He looked in her direction and good-naturedly shouted, “Hey you! Tell me, did you ride your bicycle all the way from America?” They both laughed, nervously.
Day 14
The hostel in Dublin was a tall brick building worn down at the heels and fronting on Mountjoy Square, once a very distinguished neighborhood. In 1974, Dublin’s prison was there and children entertained themselves by bashing parked cars with sledgehammers and pelleting them with their thin hard bodies. Gunfire, sirens, and flashing red lights scarred their nights. In 1974, many of Dublin’s children were bussed to the countryside for vacation.
Day 17
The Valencia Island hostel was a former Coast Guard Barracks off the southwestern coast of Ireland. When one of the American hitchhikers arrived at the hostel that evening, there was no room for her in the main building. She was assigned her own little cabin. Cold rains driven by high winds beat on her cabin that night when a battered looking backpacker stumbled inside. She was an American hitchhiker, too. She had been sporting a bright orange Barnard University sweatshirt in the green Republic of Ireland and could not understand why no one would give her a lift. Nonetheless, the two would often hitch together for the rest of the summer, even though they knew very well that a woman hitching by herself always got rides faster than two women together.
Day 21
At the end of their adventures in Ireland, the two Americans met on dock in Belfast to catch the ferry to Liverpool. Because paying the pedestrian fare for the ferry was a hardship, they approached a young family traveling by car. The family agreed to drive them onto and off of the ferry. In between, the Americans lunched on dry soup from their backpacks and hot water from the ferry’s kitchen.
At Liverpool, they thanked the family, navigated the city by map, and found Beatle Street - a very narrow and uneven cobblestone street sandwiched between two walls of tall, drab brick houses. Hanging over a nondescript wooden door in one of the buildings was a plaque with three dimensional figures of the four Beatles underscored with the words, “Four Lads Who Shook The World”
Day 22
The walk from the train station in Bath was long, downhill, and shaded by a canopy of shimmering green leaves. British tourists arched their eyebrows in disapproval of the two Americans as they soaked their tired feet in the largest of the Roman Baths.
Day 25
The Americans ended their adventure at the home of a new friend and his guests: a respectable white townhouse in King’s Cross, London and two other hostellers. Early the next morning, they crammed into a small car and, sharing a sense of adventure and a free ride, drove off into the sunrise to the ferry at Portsmouth.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Steven Strange
Writing Assignment for 19 Feb 2007
Prompt: A First Time [for anything]
As I was returning the telephone receiver to its cradle, my mother asked, “So, who is this boy?” “His name is Steven Strange and I think he is a senior.”
Steven had asked me to go to the movie playing at the Regent Square, the local movie house. I was fifteen and it was my first date.
On the eve of the date, my father paced the forty feet stretching between the fireplace in the living room and the bookcases in the music room.
Carved into the dark oak of the fireplace mantel in the living room were the words, “Old Wood to Burn, Old Books to Read, Old Friends to Trust”. In the music room, large bronze busts of composers perched atop built-in bookcases and gazed protectively over the two baby grand pianos.
My mothered fluttered about, trying to look nonchalant. I hovered and tried to look nonchalant, too. My four siblings – all of whom were younger – hung over the walnut banister perpendicular to the front door. We were waiting for the doorbell to chime its familiar tune. When it would, my family would watch me open the door and they would all stare at Steven - the guy with the funny last name.
I knew they would be under whelmed. Steven was the smartest kid in school. In spite of that, I took solace in the fact that he was a senior. And because he said he would be “picking me up”, of course he had a car. I didn’t really care what it looked like – it was superficial to care about things like that and so not me. Still, I hoped his car was decent.
Where was Steven? It was 7:34 by the big clock in the front hall. “He said he would pick me up at 7:30. Maybe something is wrong with his car.” My father clenched his jaw and paced faster. At 7:35, the doorbell rang. Steven had arrived – breathless, in all of his thinness, gawkiness, and really bad acne. Standing in the foyer next to my father and under the scrutiny of my entire family, Steven looked very small.
My siblings, whose visible presence was predicated on their agreement to be silent, giggled very quietly in the background. My parents told us to have fun. And Steven and I stepped out into a balmy spring night. While keeping up a pretty meaningless stream of chatter, I looked for a car parked near my house. There was none. Then, in my best attempt at covertness, I looked up and down my street for parked cars. I didn’t see any. I tried to mask my disappointment with a strained smile. I exclaimed to Steven, “Oh – I thought you were driving tonight!” Although it was dark, I am sure Steven blushed when he responded, “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t drive yet. I thought it would be nice to walk to Regent Square.” Embarrassed, I blurted, “Oh, that is alright. And it certainly is a beautiful night to walk!”
We kept up a brisk pace for the mile walk to Regent Square, arriving just as the trailers were rolling. The only available seats together were the two farthest left in the front row. Steven apologized for the bad seats and gestured to me that I should take the seat furthest from the wall. I smiled, gestured that it was no problem at all, and prepared for a crick in my neck. The movie was Cool Hand Luke and we were riveted to the screen until the lights came back on.
Steven walked me home and never once spoke of his bicycle. However, I know he had cycled because the next day, I found some broken branches in the bushes near the pergola over the driveway.
******************
The day after the date and forevermore, my father would laughingly relate that as soon as he saw that Steven was breathless, he knew I would be just fine.
Prompt: A First Time [for anything]
As I was returning the telephone receiver to its cradle, my mother asked, “So, who is this boy?” “His name is Steven Strange and I think he is a senior.”
Steven had asked me to go to the movie playing at the Regent Square, the local movie house. I was fifteen and it was my first date.
On the eve of the date, my father paced the forty feet stretching between the fireplace in the living room and the bookcases in the music room.
Carved into the dark oak of the fireplace mantel in the living room were the words, “Old Wood to Burn, Old Books to Read, Old Friends to Trust”. In the music room, large bronze busts of composers perched atop built-in bookcases and gazed protectively over the two baby grand pianos.
My mothered fluttered about, trying to look nonchalant. I hovered and tried to look nonchalant, too. My four siblings – all of whom were younger – hung over the walnut banister perpendicular to the front door. We were waiting for the doorbell to chime its familiar tune. When it would, my family would watch me open the door and they would all stare at Steven - the guy with the funny last name.
I knew they would be under whelmed. Steven was the smartest kid in school. In spite of that, I took solace in the fact that he was a senior. And because he said he would be “picking me up”, of course he had a car. I didn’t really care what it looked like – it was superficial to care about things like that and so not me. Still, I hoped his car was decent.
Where was Steven? It was 7:34 by the big clock in the front hall. “He said he would pick me up at 7:30. Maybe something is wrong with his car.” My father clenched his jaw and paced faster. At 7:35, the doorbell rang. Steven had arrived – breathless, in all of his thinness, gawkiness, and really bad acne. Standing in the foyer next to my father and under the scrutiny of my entire family, Steven looked very small.
My siblings, whose visible presence was predicated on their agreement to be silent, giggled very quietly in the background. My parents told us to have fun. And Steven and I stepped out into a balmy spring night. While keeping up a pretty meaningless stream of chatter, I looked for a car parked near my house. There was none. Then, in my best attempt at covertness, I looked up and down my street for parked cars. I didn’t see any. I tried to mask my disappointment with a strained smile. I exclaimed to Steven, “Oh – I thought you were driving tonight!” Although it was dark, I am sure Steven blushed when he responded, “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t drive yet. I thought it would be nice to walk to Regent Square.” Embarrassed, I blurted, “Oh, that is alright. And it certainly is a beautiful night to walk!”
We kept up a brisk pace for the mile walk to Regent Square, arriving just as the trailers were rolling. The only available seats together were the two farthest left in the front row. Steven apologized for the bad seats and gestured to me that I should take the seat furthest from the wall. I smiled, gestured that it was no problem at all, and prepared for a crick in my neck. The movie was Cool Hand Luke and we were riveted to the screen until the lights came back on.
Steven walked me home and never once spoke of his bicycle. However, I know he had cycled because the next day, I found some broken branches in the bushes near the pergola over the driveway.
******************
The day after the date and forevermore, my father would laughingly relate that as soon as he saw that Steven was breathless, he knew I would be just fine.
Monday, January 29, 2007
The Hungarian Chemist and The Chair of the Board
Elizabeth Milligan
29 January 2007
A dialogue created by combining one side of two random conversations
He looked to be in his late 70s or early 80s. He was over six feet tall and rangy with bright and intense brown eyes, unusually small and beady. He smiled a lot and his smile was relaxed and genuine. Although his jacket was cloth, it was not tweed or corduroy and it did not have elbow patches – clothes often associated with academia. His slacks were not rumpled. His dyed black hair was combed back from his forehead. The strands of hair were longish and the haircut was short, neither severe nor styled.
She looked to be in her late 40s or early 50s. She was about five feet, seven inches with blue eyes, a clear complexion, dark arched eyebrows, and straight blond hair streaked with gray and white and held back with a scarf. She too smiled a lot and her smile was relaxed and genuine, also. She wore tailored clothes, had the poise and demeanor of a successful prosecutor or talk show host, and the easy charm of a kind and secure person.
He said:
Like all of the Jews living in Budapest in 1945, my parents had been rounded up by the Nazis and shot. My grandfather had been a great war hero in World War I, but that did not do him any good. Between my wife and me, we lost thirty-six family members. I hate Hungary. They say that the only thing Hungary is good at is always being on the wrong side of a war.
She said:
Do have some tea or coffee, my husband is English so tea is very important in our house. Scones, fruit, and peanut-free truffles are on the table. Please help yourself.
He said:
I used to swim, play soccer, ski, climb, and more. You know, one time I was through with studying for the day and it was such a beautiful winter day and I went skiing – by myself. Let me tell you how I got the wind knocked out of my sails. I had just skied down a very steep hill and I was very proud of myself and then looked backwards and saw this 12 year old boy skiing the same hill and so fast and as he came down the hill, he picked up each red flag! That cut me down to size alright!
She said:
Now, we need two or three questions for a letter to the membership. What do you think? OK, it sounds as if we want to ask this and this and this. OK? Now, I seem to recall that a speaker has been lined up for a meeting, but just in case this is not the case, I was thinking that Michael Thompson might be good. What do you think? OK then, does anyone know Michael?
He said:
My wife is a very good psychiatrist. She went to the University of Pennsylvania. We have been married for 63 years. Do you know the secret to a good marriage? It is the three “C’s”: Communication, Consent, and Compromise.
My wife and I are very different in a way. She believes that everyone, no matter how miserable, deserves empathy. I do not. If I do not like someone, I do not talk to them.
She said:
I will contact the person who I believe may have already lined up a speaker for the next meeting, and if she hasn’t, then I will e-mail you so that you can call Michael. I realize that he will want to be paid, but we haven’t any money for that. What we can do is promise him an audience of independent schools and publicity.
He said:
Do you know why things dissolve in water? Let me draw you a picture.
She said:
Oh yes, have you seen these triptychs of my boy? The photographer captured those darling conspiratorial expressions and poses after he asked them to think of a time that they would never tell their mother about! The eldest is going to Harvard next year. My younger son is a junior at Groton.
He said:
You know, not all of the music of Mozart and Beethoven is good music. For example, Mozart’s 21st Concerto and Beethoven’s 4th are very bad. Mozart’s 20th is good, though. But you need to listen to the performance of Rudolf Serkin and the Philadelphia Orchestra. Liszt was not very good. One good thing by him, however, is Music According to the Sonnets of Petrarca.
She said:
One day, when I was showing one of my sons the steps to swing dancing, I asked him to show me how to grind. I had no idea what that was. Well, he looked at me in horror and said, “Mom that is NOT something you do with your mother!”
He said:
You know the commandment that says thou shall not kill. It does not say that. It says thou shall not murder. I know because I have read it in Hebrew. Now, if I had been a Catholic, I would be a priest today since I grew up hearing the Latin Mass and I know it perfectly. I am a very serious student of the Jewish religion because we have paid with our blood. So much, over thousands of years. And I am a quiet Jew. The most beautiful city in the world is Jerusalem. Everything is there and so much history next to so much new. Now, you really should read the Old Testament and certainly Ezekiel and the Dry Bones. It is beautiful.
She said:
Excuse me while I put the dog in the garage so that we are not bothered by his barking. I don’t know what has got into him!
He said:
Oh, another good piece of music is Boccarini’s Nights of Marguerite. Also Edward McGee’s Indian Sonnets. And Wellington’s Victory and Consecration of the Horse, St. Stephen’s Overture.
She said:
So, we hope you will join us as Membership Chair for the next year. As you can see, this is a really great group!
He said:
Would you like to write down my name?
[And he writes] Geza Szonyi.
She said:
Do have some of the truffles. Please take some home. Now, who would like to go out for lunch?
He said:
You know about Malaria. It was wiped out in the US and the Panama Canal in the early part of the last century via constant drainage, netting, and lots of quinine (he pronounced it ‘queeneene’). It could be wiped out in Africa, too. The formula for it is very simple. [He draws me two pictures of cells and he points excitedly to two little circles within one cell.] See these two little circles? They are the answer. But nothing will be done about it. The governments in Africa are far too involved with themselves. It is not at all in their interests to eradicate malaria.
She said:
I am afraid that I can not stay long at lunch since I am having thirty for dinner tonight for another board I serve on.
He said:
Do you like jokes? Here is a joke about how a Biologist and a Chemist look at DNA differently. Biologists look at DNA and talk about the beauty of its structure. The chemists look at DNA and say: “Yeah, four compounds. What’s the big deal?”
She said:
Now drive safely. This morning’s dusting of snow can be deceptively slippery.
29 January 2007
A dialogue created by combining one side of two random conversations
He looked to be in his late 70s or early 80s. He was over six feet tall and rangy with bright and intense brown eyes, unusually small and beady. He smiled a lot and his smile was relaxed and genuine. Although his jacket was cloth, it was not tweed or corduroy and it did not have elbow patches – clothes often associated with academia. His slacks were not rumpled. His dyed black hair was combed back from his forehead. The strands of hair were longish and the haircut was short, neither severe nor styled.
She looked to be in her late 40s or early 50s. She was about five feet, seven inches with blue eyes, a clear complexion, dark arched eyebrows, and straight blond hair streaked with gray and white and held back with a scarf. She too smiled a lot and her smile was relaxed and genuine, also. She wore tailored clothes, had the poise and demeanor of a successful prosecutor or talk show host, and the easy charm of a kind and secure person.
He said:
Like all of the Jews living in Budapest in 1945, my parents had been rounded up by the Nazis and shot. My grandfather had been a great war hero in World War I, but that did not do him any good. Between my wife and me, we lost thirty-six family members. I hate Hungary. They say that the only thing Hungary is good at is always being on the wrong side of a war.
She said:
Do have some tea or coffee, my husband is English so tea is very important in our house. Scones, fruit, and peanut-free truffles are on the table. Please help yourself.
He said:
I used to swim, play soccer, ski, climb, and more. You know, one time I was through with studying for the day and it was such a beautiful winter day and I went skiing – by myself. Let me tell you how I got the wind knocked out of my sails. I had just skied down a very steep hill and I was very proud of myself and then looked backwards and saw this 12 year old boy skiing the same hill and so fast and as he came down the hill, he picked up each red flag! That cut me down to size alright!
She said:
Now, we need two or three questions for a letter to the membership. What do you think? OK, it sounds as if we want to ask this and this and this. OK? Now, I seem to recall that a speaker has been lined up for a meeting, but just in case this is not the case, I was thinking that Michael Thompson might be good. What do you think? OK then, does anyone know Michael?
He said:
My wife is a very good psychiatrist. She went to the University of Pennsylvania. We have been married for 63 years. Do you know the secret to a good marriage? It is the three “C’s”: Communication, Consent, and Compromise.
My wife and I are very different in a way. She believes that everyone, no matter how miserable, deserves empathy. I do not. If I do not like someone, I do not talk to them.
She said:
I will contact the person who I believe may have already lined up a speaker for the next meeting, and if she hasn’t, then I will e-mail you so that you can call Michael. I realize that he will want to be paid, but we haven’t any money for that. What we can do is promise him an audience of independent schools and publicity.
He said:
Do you know why things dissolve in water? Let me draw you a picture.
She said:
Oh yes, have you seen these triptychs of my boy? The photographer captured those darling conspiratorial expressions and poses after he asked them to think of a time that they would never tell their mother about! The eldest is going to Harvard next year. My younger son is a junior at Groton.
He said:
You know, not all of the music of Mozart and Beethoven is good music. For example, Mozart’s 21st Concerto and Beethoven’s 4th are very bad. Mozart’s 20th is good, though. But you need to listen to the performance of Rudolf Serkin and the Philadelphia Orchestra. Liszt was not very good. One good thing by him, however, is Music According to the Sonnets of Petrarca.
She said:
One day, when I was showing one of my sons the steps to swing dancing, I asked him to show me how to grind. I had no idea what that was. Well, he looked at me in horror and said, “Mom that is NOT something you do with your mother!”
He said:
You know the commandment that says thou shall not kill. It does not say that. It says thou shall not murder. I know because I have read it in Hebrew. Now, if I had been a Catholic, I would be a priest today since I grew up hearing the Latin Mass and I know it perfectly. I am a very serious student of the Jewish religion because we have paid with our blood. So much, over thousands of years. And I am a quiet Jew. The most beautiful city in the world is Jerusalem. Everything is there and so much history next to so much new. Now, you really should read the Old Testament and certainly Ezekiel and the Dry Bones. It is beautiful.
She said:
Excuse me while I put the dog in the garage so that we are not bothered by his barking. I don’t know what has got into him!
He said:
Oh, another good piece of music is Boccarini’s Nights of Marguerite. Also Edward McGee’s Indian Sonnets. And Wellington’s Victory and Consecration of the Horse, St. Stephen’s Overture.
She said:
So, we hope you will join us as Membership Chair for the next year. As you can see, this is a really great group!
He said:
Would you like to write down my name?
[And he writes] Geza Szonyi.
She said:
Do have some of the truffles. Please take some home. Now, who would like to go out for lunch?
He said:
You know about Malaria. It was wiped out in the US and the Panama Canal in the early part of the last century via constant drainage, netting, and lots of quinine (he pronounced it ‘queeneene’). It could be wiped out in Africa, too. The formula for it is very simple. [He draws me two pictures of cells and he points excitedly to two little circles within one cell.] See these two little circles? They are the answer. But nothing will be done about it. The governments in Africa are far too involved with themselves. It is not at all in their interests to eradicate malaria.
She said:
I am afraid that I can not stay long at lunch since I am having thirty for dinner tonight for another board I serve on.
He said:
Do you like jokes? Here is a joke about how a Biologist and a Chemist look at DNA differently. Biologists look at DNA and talk about the beauty of its structure. The chemists look at DNA and say: “Yeah, four compounds. What’s the big deal?”
She said:
Now drive safely. This morning’s dusting of snow can be deceptively slippery.
Sunday, January 7, 2007
Tea Dialogue
Elizabeth S. Milligan
Writing Assignment for 7 January 2007
Straight Dialogue that Describes a Place
Oh, hello! Just let me sweep the snow off the steps here and do come in.
Tobias, don’t jump on Pamela.
Bad dog!
Now love, do come in and leave your coat in the front hall.
Can you stay for a chat?
Unfortunately, I have to leave soon.
I have to get Harry to Cambridge for his Chaucer course, but we can visit for 10 or 15 minutes.
Can you do that? We can have a proper visit later.
If it is really OK with you, yes, I would love to stay and visit.
Can I get you something to drink? Tea or coffee?
Tea would be just fine.
It’s all organic, you know. I hope that is OK.
Of course.
Caffeinated or decaffineated?
Decaffineated would be just fine, thanks.
Something that gives you a mild buzz or something that relaxes you?
Oh, definitely something that relaxes!
Why don’t we sit in the dining room – it is so much cozier.
Sure.
Now, let me get our cups and saucers first.
I have to apologize for all of the boxes on the floor.
I have barely unpacked from my last trip to England.
Please… No problem at all!
Well they are a bother.
But there are lovely things in them.
It is like Christmas everyday.
Why – here are some new cups and saucers that are perfect for our tea today.
They used to belong to my great grandmother.
Oh – they are so lovely!
You know, everytime I go over to see Uncle Timothy, he insists that I bring things back.
He is trying to make more room in the house so that it is easier for him to get around.
He does want to stay in his own place, you know.
He is very lucky to have you. You’re always there for him.
Well, Harry and I enjoy visiting him.
By the way, I fear that the chairs are too hard.
I have neglected to put cushions on them so they are not very comfy.
We are so used to them that I rarely think about that.
I hope you don’t mind….
I usually sit in this chair because it is closest to the kitchen.
And I will sit right here at the end where I usually sit.
Oh those birds are certainly noisy today!
Why, I feel as if I am in the jungle!
Harry, the birds are out for their exercise; please hold the cat.
Did you just take the blanket off of the cage?
Oh no, we only keep that on at night.
They are particularly excited today.
I don’t know why.
Is the sun in your eyes?
Not at all.
You take cream in your tea – right?
Anything else?
I am afraid that all I have in terms of anything to eat is a loaf of brown bread that I baked this morning.
Nothing more exotic.
Can I cut you a slice?
Sure.
Jam or Marmalade?
Oh, Marmalade, please.
Now, I did e-mail you an invitation to our annual solstice bonfire, didn’t I?
Writing Assignment for 7 January 2007
Straight Dialogue that Describes a Place
Oh, hello! Just let me sweep the snow off the steps here and do come in.
Tobias, don’t jump on Pamela.
Bad dog!
Now love, do come in and leave your coat in the front hall.
Can you stay for a chat?
Unfortunately, I have to leave soon.
I have to get Harry to Cambridge for his Chaucer course, but we can visit for 10 or 15 minutes.
Can you do that? We can have a proper visit later.
If it is really OK with you, yes, I would love to stay and visit.
Can I get you something to drink? Tea or coffee?
Tea would be just fine.
It’s all organic, you know. I hope that is OK.
Of course.
Caffeinated or decaffineated?
Decaffineated would be just fine, thanks.
Something that gives you a mild buzz or something that relaxes you?
Oh, definitely something that relaxes!
Why don’t we sit in the dining room – it is so much cozier.
Sure.
Now, let me get our cups and saucers first.
I have to apologize for all of the boxes on the floor.
I have barely unpacked from my last trip to England.
Please… No problem at all!
Well they are a bother.
But there are lovely things in them.
It is like Christmas everyday.
Why – here are some new cups and saucers that are perfect for our tea today.
They used to belong to my great grandmother.
Oh – they are so lovely!
You know, everytime I go over to see Uncle Timothy, he insists that I bring things back.
He is trying to make more room in the house so that it is easier for him to get around.
He does want to stay in his own place, you know.
He is very lucky to have you. You’re always there for him.
Well, Harry and I enjoy visiting him.
By the way, I fear that the chairs are too hard.
I have neglected to put cushions on them so they are not very comfy.
We are so used to them that I rarely think about that.
I hope you don’t mind….
I usually sit in this chair because it is closest to the kitchen.
And I will sit right here at the end where I usually sit.
Oh those birds are certainly noisy today!
Why, I feel as if I am in the jungle!
Harry, the birds are out for their exercise; please hold the cat.
Did you just take the blanket off of the cage?
Oh no, we only keep that on at night.
They are particularly excited today.
I don’t know why.
Is the sun in your eyes?
Not at all.
You take cream in your tea – right?
Anything else?
I am afraid that all I have in terms of anything to eat is a loaf of brown bread that I baked this morning.
Nothing more exotic.
Can I cut you a slice?
Sure.
Jam or Marmalade?
Oh, Marmalade, please.
Now, I did e-mail you an invitation to our annual solstice bonfire, didn’t I?
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