This post was written by guest blogger Carrie Frye.
Just a reminder that Maud is away this week, enjoying a working holiday at the Stephany Aulenback Writing Retreat Center in Canada. It sounds wonderful, though I must confess I felt some concern when I heard that Anne of Green Gables had reneged on the girls’ coffee date, in favor of having them over for a “nice tumbler of raspberry cordial.” You see Anne’s got a history of this sort of behavior and it isn’t pretty:
“Now, please help yourself, Diana,” [Anne] said politely. “I don’t believe I’ll have any just now. I don’t feel as if I wanted any after all those apples.”
Diana poured herself out a tumblerful, looked at its bright-red hue admiringly, and then sipped it daintily.
“That’s awfully nice raspberry cordial, Anne,” she said. “I didn’t know raspberry cordial was so nice.”
“I’m real glad you like it. Take as much as you want. I’m going to run out and stir the fire up. There are so many responsibilities on a person’s mind when they’re keeping house, isn’t there?”
When Anne came back from the kitchen Diana was drinking her second glassful of cordial; and, being entreated thereto by Anne, she offered no particular objection to the drinking of a third. The tumblerfuls were generous ones and the raspberry cordial was certainly very nice.
“I must go home,” repeated Diana, stupidly but determinedly.
“Let me get you a lunch anyhow,” implored Anne. “Let me give you a bit of fruit cake and some of the cherry preserves. Lie down on the sofa for a little while and you’ll be better. Where do you feel bad?”
“I must go home,” said Diana, and that was all she would say. In vain Anne pleaded.
“I never heard of company going home without tea,” she mourned. “Oh, Diana, do you suppose that it’s possible you’re really taking the smallpox? If you are I’ll go and nurse you, you can depend on that. I’ll never forsake you. But I do wish you’d stay till after tea. Where do you feel bad?”
“I’m awful dizzy,” said Diana.
Ah, the old currant-wine-as-raspberry-cordial switcheroo. Sure, Anne, it was an â€œaccident.â€
Here’s hoping the ladies in Nova Scotia are finding plenty of scope for imagination and enjoying good writing. Maud and Stephany may chime in from time to time during the week. Or they may not — choosing instead to spend the week in productive silence. (We hear Burroughs wrote some of his best stuff while on raspberry cordial. Bukowski too.)
In honor of our sisters in Canada, Emma and I have stitched up some rather neat examples of Nova Scotian native costume, which we’ll be wearing all week. Emma’s dress is a lovely black-and-white checked sateen with puffed sleeves (since she begged for them). Mine is a snuffy-colored gingham. Try not to get too turned on.