March 5, 1997 (#17) (and before ...)


Oh my poor little foundlings, I write this knowing that you will never see it. Here I lie, (lay?), a little rug tucked around my legs trying to ward of f that late winter, early spring chill and all I can do is sip strong chamomile tea and try to be brave.

It all started innocently enough. I was off in Paris attending to old dear friends. Paris was actually just dreamy this year. It was cool, but not too, and there were some beautiful sunny crisp days. I also discovered something new that I am sure so many of you are already awares. At the very east end of Ile de la Cité, there is a monument to the Holocaust that is just devastatingly serene. You have to enter the park and and go off the the tip and walk down below the ground level. Thanks goodness Abattoir has those incredible Belgian eyes. He spotted it immediately.

So upon my "retour" you would thing everything was business as usual. I got around to fluffing up the garden for the spring time and other odd jobs here and there. A usual Trudy work day. Then, ring-a-ling, the telephone jangled in the next room. And I answered, "Hello" and it turns out it was my girls from New York all in a dither. They needed to camp out in my house for a bit and would I mind terribly. Well, although I rule with an iron fist, inside my heart just melts to think of them in trouble -- of course I said yes.

Well, hardly 36 hours later, a moving van the size of a small suburban duplex shows up and begins unloading. Now, I have a rather large home, however there are limits. My girls had yet to show up and I really didn't want to have the moving men waste their time, so I allowed them to start moving in the boxes and the what -nots. First they filled the garage, then the back porch, then while I was out having a personal moment, they started on the living room, the dining room, the other living room (which I never really used anyway) and a number of the bedrooms.

Finished, they were on their way. And then my ladies arrived. When I saw them, I didn't have the heart to scold them for not warning me about the moving van. I also forgot to count them -- they seem to have given birth (oh-- and such lovely babies these!) They obviously hadn't slept since we spoke and were looking in need of a stiff one. ahem. I would ask you all to please keep your mind on this very important story.

BUT, what really begins to frost me -- and remember I still love my girls (even the new ones) to pieces -- is that they brought company. Another woman. A meddling woman. An older woman. Always poking and trying to fix things. She passes Abattoir in the hall, gives him a squeeze and sighs, "Oh doll, you would be quite a catch for some nice boy out there." As if Abattoir could be swayed by money and looks. She is an evil serial busybody grandmother. And this "doll" this and "doll" that, as if I were constructed of plastic and polyester hair! Oh. Well, forget that last bit.

So in an effort to get everyone settled, I began assigning bedrooms and such and before I knew it, I had the rumpus room in the basement and that witch had overtaken my bedroom. All that incessant chatter -- it's no wonder she gets what she wants, it's under penalty of being talked to death.

I have yet to hear the story of what prompted the tearful phone call as they have been all sleeping so soundly that I am afraid to wake them. Unfortunately the shrew has been up every morning before me and is sitting in the kitchen with her coffee on long distance, waiting for my arrival. I am not always at my best in the morning, and I usually like to have just a few quiet minutes with my coffee before braving the dangerous world of conversation.

So after all this, if you even been able to find me since my whole life has been overtaken by faster forces than I, bless you.

If you haven't found me, I can only then raise my glass of sherry to our tearful reunion to be.

Don't cry for me suburbia -- I'll get even, don't you worry.