Dear Lily
It rained again last night as it has for the past twelve nights. Even though the mud it leaves in its wake is of a particularly sole devouring nature (I lost my left shoe to it last Tuesday, if you’ll pardon my little joke.) I think that I shall miss it when and if it stops. It is a constant companion in a time of few friends and drums me gently to sleep with liquid fingers on the roof of this old house. I tell you Lily and I know you will understand, that it’s very strange being back here after all these years. Comforting, yes, but also sad and painfully lonesome. With all the past ghosts living here I’m surprised there’s room enough for me to walk down the hallway. Do you remember that chair railing in the parlor? I was dusting it when I found that spot where you lost your front tooth. Remember? We were playing and I pushed you? Mama got so mad us that day. But seeing that little indentation made me smile.
I saw that Istvan boy the other day. He was running, naked and a jay bird, down that little alley between the old revival church and the rust garden. He didn’t see me though. I must confess that I know I should have felt some shock at seeing this half grown boy out in the streets in nothing but his birthday suit, and I might have been if it weren’t for that…I don’t know what to call it…clacker he was using. He was running back and forth looking in every fence hole and drain pipe shouting some name or other and clacking this wooden clacker. It was an odd sight. But then I suppose it’s to be expected from the child of foreigners. I swear Lily it’s like they don’t even want to learn the rules of this country that took them in and offered them freedom and comfort. Why they just don’t go back to whatever “istan” they came from is beyond me.
Oh but that reminds me. I had the oddest visit the other day. Do you remember Dr. Winslow? Well he’s retired now, but his son Bo took up the calling and is now the town doctor, I suppose this town will always have its Dr. Winslow. It just seems fitting, change is such trying thing. Anyway, as I was saying, Dr. Winslow, the new Dr. Winslow that is stopped by the house just after lunch last Thursday. I thought it was maybe a package I had to sign for or maybe a flower delivery from some secret admirer (As if). But there was the new Dr. Winslow standing under an absolutely monstrous umbrella. He said he was just out for a walk and thought he would check in with some people and see how the rain was treating them. I told him the rain was treating me just fine. I invited him in and we had tea and passed the time in pleasant enough conversation. Then he starts asking me the strangest questions. Like had I seen anything odd at night, outside? Only the rain I said, and that isn’t all that odd, especially at this time of year. He asked if I had seen any lights out there or heard anything unusual. Then he asked if I was sleeping alright. I told him I was. All this time he’s looking at my eyes. Not into my eyes, but at them, although he’s doing it in such a manner that I’m guessing I wasn’t supposed to notice. All those times I thought about how nice it would be to have a handsome young doctor look into my eyes were erased by this rather forward and disturbing behavior. The questions he asked! I shall see if I can remember some of them…Have any strangers come to the door recently? Has anyone tried to enter the house? (I tell you Lily it will be a wonder if I sleep again after that one.) Have I heard any strange sounds like loud sniffing noises outside my door or windows? Have I noticed any strange symbols drawn on any of the doors or windows? Have I heard anyone call my name after midnight? Well I was getting a powerful case of the fright chills and called attention to the late hour and how I had several more chores to do before supper. Oh I know that was a lie, and I do feel badly about saying it, but I was getting scared. The old Dr. Winslow would never arrive at a body’s home uninvited and start asking such questions. Just thinking about them put the devil to work on my poor imagination. You know I have an overactive imagination to begin with, I have since we were children. Remember those stories I used to tell you hangman ghosts and hobo walking shoes? Oh but those were just stories and we would get so scared that we just had to sleep with mama and papa in that big old bed of theirs. But these questions the young Dr. Winslow was asking…they didn’t feel like stories. Anyway, Dr. Winslow apologized for the visit and said that if it was alright with me he would check on me in a few days. Well I have to tell you that it wasn’t alright with me, not at all. But what could I say? It would be rude to say no, so I smiled and nodded my head ever so slightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice. But he did. Doctors are very observant people you know. Almost like detectives.
So now I have had to use the tonic to get to sleep. Yes I know, there’s no need to lecture me and I know you won’t mention it in your return letter. This is a medical use. I need it to sleep. It’s not like it was before, I promise you that. And anyway it’s a different tonic, this is professor Goodsir’s nighttime tonic. He’s a real professor, it says so right on the label. And I don’t care to believe that a learned gentleman like a professor, who after all went through years of school and hard work, would sell anything but the highest quality pharmaceuticals. And besides it tastes like rotten fish so it has to be good.
Anyway, I do have to be going dearest Lilly. Write to me soon won’t you?
Hugs.
-Franny
P.S. I found doodlekins, your old stuffed bear. He was behind the preserves. If you wish I can send him to you. I’m sure you miss him.
It rained again last night as it has for the past twelve nights. Even though the mud it leaves in its wake is of a particularly sole devouring nature (I lost my left shoe to it last Tuesday, if you’ll pardon my little joke.) I think that I shall miss it when and if it stops. It is a constant companion in a time of few friends and drums me gently to sleep with liquid fingers on the roof of this old house. I tell you Lily and I know you will understand, that it’s very strange being back here after all these years. Comforting, yes, but also sad and painfully lonesome. With all the past ghosts living here I’m surprised there’s room enough for me to walk down the hallway. Do you remember that chair railing in the parlor? I was dusting it when I found that spot where you lost your front tooth. Remember? We were playing and I pushed you? Mama got so mad us that day. But seeing that little indentation made me smile.
I saw that Istvan boy the other day. He was running, naked and a jay bird, down that little alley between the old revival church and the rust garden. He didn’t see me though. I must confess that I know I should have felt some shock at seeing this half grown boy out in the streets in nothing but his birthday suit, and I might have been if it weren’t for that…I don’t know what to call it…clacker he was using. He was running back and forth looking in every fence hole and drain pipe shouting some name or other and clacking this wooden clacker. It was an odd sight. But then I suppose it’s to be expected from the child of foreigners. I swear Lily it’s like they don’t even want to learn the rules of this country that took them in and offered them freedom and comfort. Why they just don’t go back to whatever “istan” they came from is beyond me.
Oh but that reminds me. I had the oddest visit the other day. Do you remember Dr. Winslow? Well he’s retired now, but his son Bo took up the calling and is now the town doctor, I suppose this town will always have its Dr. Winslow. It just seems fitting, change is such trying thing. Anyway, as I was saying, Dr. Winslow, the new Dr. Winslow that is stopped by the house just after lunch last Thursday. I thought it was maybe a package I had to sign for or maybe a flower delivery from some secret admirer (As if). But there was the new Dr. Winslow standing under an absolutely monstrous umbrella. He said he was just out for a walk and thought he would check in with some people and see how the rain was treating them. I told him the rain was treating me just fine. I invited him in and we had tea and passed the time in pleasant enough conversation. Then he starts asking me the strangest questions. Like had I seen anything odd at night, outside? Only the rain I said, and that isn’t all that odd, especially at this time of year. He asked if I had seen any lights out there or heard anything unusual. Then he asked if I was sleeping alright. I told him I was. All this time he’s looking at my eyes. Not into my eyes, but at them, although he’s doing it in such a manner that I’m guessing I wasn’t supposed to notice. All those times I thought about how nice it would be to have a handsome young doctor look into my eyes were erased by this rather forward and disturbing behavior. The questions he asked! I shall see if I can remember some of them…Have any strangers come to the door recently? Has anyone tried to enter the house? (I tell you Lily it will be a wonder if I sleep again after that one.) Have I heard any strange sounds like loud sniffing noises outside my door or windows? Have I noticed any strange symbols drawn on any of the doors or windows? Have I heard anyone call my name after midnight? Well I was getting a powerful case of the fright chills and called attention to the late hour and how I had several more chores to do before supper. Oh I know that was a lie, and I do feel badly about saying it, but I was getting scared. The old Dr. Winslow would never arrive at a body’s home uninvited and start asking such questions. Just thinking about them put the devil to work on my poor imagination. You know I have an overactive imagination to begin with, I have since we were children. Remember those stories I used to tell you hangman ghosts and hobo walking shoes? Oh but those were just stories and we would get so scared that we just had to sleep with mama and papa in that big old bed of theirs. But these questions the young Dr. Winslow was asking…they didn’t feel like stories. Anyway, Dr. Winslow apologized for the visit and said that if it was alright with me he would check on me in a few days. Well I have to tell you that it wasn’t alright with me, not at all. But what could I say? It would be rude to say no, so I smiled and nodded my head ever so slightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice. But he did. Doctors are very observant people you know. Almost like detectives.
So now I have had to use the tonic to get to sleep. Yes I know, there’s no need to lecture me and I know you won’t mention it in your return letter. This is a medical use. I need it to sleep. It’s not like it was before, I promise you that. And anyway it’s a different tonic, this is professor Goodsir’s nighttime tonic. He’s a real professor, it says so right on the label. And I don’t care to believe that a learned gentleman like a professor, who after all went through years of school and hard work, would sell anything but the highest quality pharmaceuticals. And besides it tastes like rotten fish so it has to be good.
Anyway, I do have to be going dearest Lilly. Write to me soon won’t you?
Hugs.
-Franny
P.S. I found doodlekins, your old stuffed bear. He was behind the preserves. If you wish I can send him to you. I’m sure you miss him.
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