The Wormlips Scrapbook

Letter from the Katie Archive

Bella,

Peter and Raychel came home today and said there had been a lengthy assembly at school which was devoted to internet social websites. I said, “oh, you mean like MyFace?”

Love,
The Pale Beauty

She tried to drown me once. Not long after, she poured a half-gallon of lemonade over my head just because I tried to poke her eye out with a pencil.

With those round, brown cow eyes of hers she’d look straight at Mom and Dad, pure innocence, and flat-out lie to get me in trouble. If I’d had any say in the matter, she wouldn’t be alive today. But she is and I’ve come to accept that. I would go so far as to say there are times that I’m glad she’s on this planet.

Katie is very, very funny and she’s a good writer — like E. B. White’s Charlotte, but with fewer legs. Last night, when I got yet another delightful e-mail from her, I had an inspiration: to gather some of her finest letter-writing onto this blog.

I asked her permission and, though she was bemused, she granted it. I have at least several years’ worth of her e-mails to go through, if I can figure out how to unearth them from dusty, expired data drives.

Letter from the Katie archive.

Hello Wearied Belle,

I’m so sorry that all this madness is descending [ed note: work], especially in a time that ought to be somewhat relaxed. All I can say is, when life hands you crap, make frappe.

If it is of any consolation, it is 90 some degrees here and very sticky. This is my time to have hands free, before a small and charming creature [ed note: her grandson] is placed in my arms for the day.

Andy [ed. note: son, who is working as a park ranger in Alaska] is doing well. He is busy. They just had to dispose of the remnants of a poached (and scrambled) black bear. Its head was gone, as were its paws and it was skinned. People who are caught doing this usually plead self defense. Yeah sure, I often have heard tell of being frantically pursued by a bear pelt.

I go now.

The