The Stars and the Cookie Jar

Aww, wookit; my sister is good at something.

Really, til now I was never sure we were, in fact, related. But she, like myself, has a completely useless talent of some scintillation that will do nothing to earn her bread, ever. Hee!

Also, my job? Sucks.

(I figured you all knew that by now and I could just summarise.)

Kraada is ensconced in Amherst, and Sonya survived de-gilling; and rymenhild 's in CA and God's in God's Heaven; and soon Bast and I will be on the second story of the Farm, Summer Street, MA. (It makes me feel so regal to call it the Farm, in a bizarre way, like the Romanovs called their 'little' palace at Alexandria Peterhof... Maybe because the Farm reminds me of Peterhof, and of Tsarskoe Tselo, and all the abandoned, greened-over, serene, still places like that; it seems like a place where people lived once, but now they've faded.)

You are all welcome to visit, but under no circumstances will there be Upsetting of Grandmother Beryl. (This is a lot easier to manage than one would think... a lot easier... but the amaretto's under the kitchen sink.)

Home, home!

(First person starts singing Coldplay, gets it in the dignity...)