My Dearest Brother-
We are experiencing one of those grey, and very wet Eastern springs you so successfully escaped there in North Holly Wood. I envy you your balmy clime, though I imagine if we were to relocate to the west, we should find ourselves discombobulated by the similitude of the seasons. I suppose the hay is always sweeter on the other side of the pasture, isn't it?
Our dreary endless weekend was punctuated with both a wonderful gift and a nasty surprise. The gift came from a lovely woman I know from the Contra Dancing and consisted of approximately thirty beautiful little strawberry plants for my new gardens! To make the exchange, we met like thieves in the night under the sign of the Buck and the Star, carefully transporting the pail of garden treasure with washed and gloved hands so as not to pass the fever along with it. I hurried my new charges home and, ignoring the rain and chill, popped them straightaways into their new beds. There they now rest looking for all the world like tiny promises of summer. If I can manage to keep Nubbins 1, 2, and 3 from devouring them, we might even have fresh berries this year, though past gardening disappointments have taught me not to count my bounty until it's on the table and topped with cream.
The nasty surprise happened to our poor Nigel cat, who suddenly developed an unpleasant open wound in a rather delicate portion of his anatomy. Fortunately our local veterinarians at the Township Line Animal Hospital are bravely staying open during the Quarantines. What heroes! Again I ventured forth to another parking lot to make a masked exchange, this time handing over my yowling feline to a gowned and gloved technician who whisked him away for treatment. Twenty minutes later she fetched him back with a freshly shaved backside (the cat's, not the technician's, you silly oaf), a fortnight's worth of those miracle antibiotics delivered in one simple injection, a vial of medicinal honey to spread upon the site twice daily and, to his utter mortification, a Device of Discomfiture which he must wear for at least a week. We are now safely home, though I can still hear him racing about the house and bashing into the furniture with his dreadful shame cone. I declare, if the abscess isn't the end of him, the resulting concussion might be, if he does not settle soon. I have enclosed a picture that you might see his pitiful state for yourself.
Otherwise we are all still hale and healthy and looking forward to sunnier times.
All my love to you and the Irish wife,
Sarah, Bill and the Lads
We are experiencing one of those grey, and very wet Eastern springs you so successfully escaped there in North Holly Wood. I envy you your balmy clime, though I imagine if we were to relocate to the west, we should find ourselves discombobulated by the similitude of the seasons. I suppose the hay is always sweeter on the other side of the pasture, isn't it?
Our dreary endless weekend was punctuated with both a wonderful gift and a nasty surprise. The gift came from a lovely woman I know from the Contra Dancing and consisted of approximately thirty beautiful little strawberry plants for my new gardens! To make the exchange, we met like thieves in the night under the sign of the Buck and the Star, carefully transporting the pail of garden treasure with washed and gloved hands so as not to pass the fever along with it. I hurried my new charges home and, ignoring the rain and chill, popped them straightaways into their new beds. There they now rest looking for all the world like tiny promises of summer. If I can manage to keep Nubbins 1, 2, and 3 from devouring them, we might even have fresh berries this year, though past gardening disappointments have taught me not to count my bounty until it's on the table and topped with cream.
The nasty surprise happened to our poor Nigel cat, who suddenly developed an unpleasant open wound in a rather delicate portion of his anatomy. Fortunately our local veterinarians at the Township Line Animal Hospital are bravely staying open during the Quarantines. What heroes! Again I ventured forth to another parking lot to make a masked exchange, this time handing over my yowling feline to a gowned and gloved technician who whisked him away for treatment. Twenty minutes later she fetched him back with a freshly shaved backside (the cat's, not the technician's, you silly oaf), a fortnight's worth of those miracle antibiotics delivered in one simple injection, a vial of medicinal honey to spread upon the site twice daily and, to his utter mortification, a Device of Discomfiture which he must wear for at least a week. We are now safely home, though I can still hear him racing about the house and bashing into the furniture with his dreadful shame cone. I declare, if the abscess isn't the end of him, the resulting concussion might be, if he does not settle soon. I have enclosed a picture that you might see his pitiful state for yourself.
Otherwise we are all still hale and healthy and looking forward to sunnier times.
All my love to you and the Irish wife,
Sarah, Bill and the Lads
_____________________________________
Lon Gowan is an actor/stuntman/writer and the most excellent brother a sister could ever want. His "My Dearest Sister" letters may be the best thing to happen to me during the COVID-19 Quarantines.
Julie Dolan is an actress, musician and favorite Irish wife/Las Vegas Showgirl. We were thrilled the day she married my brother.
Bill Quern is my Beloved Husband and we're known collectively as Box and String.
#COVID19 #LonGowan #MyDearestSister #Julie Dolan #Coronacation
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