Come on, quit being cute and give me the info unless you are a very private person like Bob and do not wish to have Louisa diagnose your psyche.
Re: Bob… had it never occurred to him that when an artist does a study of someone, it is not with the intention of hiding the finished work under a bushel (or whatever)? Bob seems to have a little problem with cause and effect. I think you would do well to stick to griffins… they are easier to get along with.
The tomes are toted. My Head Man in Charge is finishing the third skylight and boarding in the vent pipe which had meandered unattractively across the back window of the attic and will now be craftily concealed inside what is probably going to be about the longest window seat in Durham, Me. The window itself is not large, but that is a deal.
Laura called a couple of nights ago. The Gang of Five are indeed planning a come and stay with me. I am thinking of ways to bed them all down. At first I was just going to stack them in a corner, but that does not seem consistent with the high standard of hospitality traditionally held here. The place was once a tavern, I’m told… or rather a coaching inn… no, not for coaches, but for coaches… the kind with a horse in front. The horses had to be changed for other horses when they got tired, and they would be left at a… yes, child, a coaching inn… to rest up while the new horse took over… and so on up the post road. Hence Coach House Inn is supposed to imply that the inn was once a coach house… which, entrenous, it may once have been but later became a turkey farm.. New England is steeped in mystery and romance of this sort.
It occurs to me somewhat belatedly that you may have trouble sorting out that last paragraph. For a while there, I was talking about the house I now live in. Then I sort of got back to Sudbury and the snide remarks you did so make about Grace and her high-class hostelry. You may wish to go back and reread it, bearing these guidelines in mind, though I can’t think offhand why you should.
They were also called posting inns. Or Taverns. I just put this in to confuse you further. There was usually more than one horse… two or even four… because the roads were so awful and the coaches so clumsy AND Heavy to pull. It was no joke being a post horse in those days. Nor is it now, as the unemployment rate is high and they mostly wind up being left at the post. The horses, I mean. I think I will stop this and go inquire whether Dana has fallen off the roof yet. I haven’t seen him go by, but one never knows.
Yours until the mountain
PEAKS to see the turkey
DRESSING*
Aunt Mehitabel
this was considered pretty juicy when I was in sixth grade. |
