Holiday at the Compound, Wednesday’s activities:
Spencer turns from the library window and speaks, “Little Darling Margaret, I received a missive from Aunt Bupp today. While she will, unfortunately, not be able to attend the One Hundred and Twenty-third Annual Thanksgiving Banquet of Joy and Wonder, she will, fortunately, be able to attend the Annual Christmas Beast and All Kinds of Pie Dinner at the Grange Building in Ponzer.”
Little Darling Margaret begins to clap her tiny hands in anticipation and celebration. “She is my most favorite of all! Please, dearest Spencer, tell me she is bringing her troubadour! What a time we will have! Remember last year? His plaintive song had to be sung by the saxophone… and the children quarreled over their games while groups of nurses looked on. And the gnome who accompanied his droll movements with savage shrieks, the canaries enclosed in eggs as if they were suits of armor with head-dresses made of canary heads put on like helmets, down to the neck?”
“No, dearest, you are remembering when Eugene and his crowd played Moussorgsky in the vestibule at your birthday party… as Cook unveiled her gift to you – the faux Hartmann lithograph of chicks in their shells. This year Aunt Bupp will be attended by her cousin Sperimanda. She is the Director of All Extemporaneous Productions for the Antiquaire House in New South Wails. What a time we will have then, but for now, we must expand our holiday invitations to include the entire staff. We must insure complete consumption of drool log.”
His dear wife slowly closes her eye lids, working on a meditation, her trance-like state of complete withdrawal. “I will begin my celebration now. Good bye.”
Spencer looks fondly at his beloved. “Sweet journey my pet,” he whispers, covering her with a tarp.