and the voices of the thirty or so lively guests echoed in the large open area. Even though the room
provided enough space for everyone to be comfortably seated, most of the visitors were standing, chatting in small groups.
At the far end of the room a bushy Christmas tree was lit up with pink lights. At the other end, closer to the door where
Katharine and I stood, was a long table covered with a smorgasbord of food.
“Be sure to try the crab puffs.” Katharine handed me a china plate. “Ellie serves them with a fabulous sweet-and-sour dipping
sauce.”
I made my way down the line, filling my plate withpetite appetizers of all shapes and adding a spoonful of each scrumptious-looking salad. We stood as we ate, balancing our
plates and being careful not to bump into anyone or spill our cuisine.
Katharine introduced me to a stout woman who had lived in Carlton Heath her entire life.
“Miranda is curious about a photography studio on Bexley Lane,” Katharine said. “Do you know anything about the Carlton Studio?”
“Well, yes, of course. Wonderful people, the Halversons, weren’t they? They were in business there on Bexley Lane for years.
Such a pity when they moved, wasn’t it? We had our family photos taken at their studio when the children were young. Such
a loss when they went out of business, don’t you think? One can only assume the failure of the enterprise was the result of
the computer industry. All the digital cameras for sale these days. People are too impatient to wait and have something done
right or to go to a specialist to have it done. They would rather take care of everything themselves at home on their computers.
I don’t have a computer. I don’t plan to get a computer. This is all leading to terrible destruction, really. Don’t you think?
I tried to get my grandson to go one entire day without using any of his computer gadgets, and do you know, he would not do
it. He would not. It’s not only the computers, is it? It’s all the other machines they carry with them to listen to their
music and make all their unnecessary phone calls. Quite irritating, really. Have you seen them on the trains these days? All
wired up as if they belonged in a hospital bed in the cardiac ward. They have this wire that goes to this ear and this wire
that goesto that ear. Somehow they talk through something and carry on conversations that are entirely too private while out in public.
It’s deplorable, really.”
As the stout woman paused for air, I glanced at Katharine, and she attempted a polite escape for us. “Yes, deplorable. If
you don’t mind, I’ve a few others to introduce Miranda to before she slips out to catch the train to London.”
“You’d best check the schedule for the times. This being Christmas Eve, you know. I’m sure you’ve considered that. Tomorrow,
of course, being Christmas Day, well, it goes without saying that when it comes to National Rail, I’m of the opinion that
it, such as it is, is not accommodating the travelers trying to be with family for the day. No, I would think it’s more along
the lines of National Rail trying to accommodate all the employees who would doubtless ask for outlandish additional wages
on the holidays. Not that anyone—”
Katharine interjected, “Oh, I see someone I need to introduce Miranda to. You will excuse us, won’t you?”
Before the woman could answer, Katharine nudged me across the room through the maze of people. Some of them were still in
costume, which made the gathering a familiar setting and awoke childhood feelings in my heart. Doralee had a lot of opinionated
friends like the woman we had just listened to. I was much more comfortable around that sort of party guest than the ones
who might ask me questions. It was all part of my preference to blend into the background when in a crowd.
We came through the human obstacle course with our plates of food intact and only a few bumps. A
provided enough space for everyone to be comfortably seated, most of the visitors were standing, chatting in small groups.
At the far end of the room a bushy Christmas tree was lit up with pink lights. At the other end, closer to the door where
Katharine and I stood, was a long table covered with a smorgasbord of food.
“Be sure to try the crab puffs.” Katharine handed me a china plate. “Ellie serves them with a fabulous sweet-and-sour dipping
sauce.”
I made my way down the line, filling my plate withpetite appetizers of all shapes and adding a spoonful of each scrumptious-looking salad. We stood as we ate, balancing our
plates and being careful not to bump into anyone or spill our cuisine.
Katharine introduced me to a stout woman who had lived in Carlton Heath her entire life.
“Miranda is curious about a photography studio on Bexley Lane,” Katharine said. “Do you know anything about the Carlton Studio?”
“Well, yes, of course. Wonderful people, the Halversons, weren’t they? They were in business there on Bexley Lane for years.
Such a pity when they moved, wasn’t it? We had our family photos taken at their studio when the children were young. Such
a loss when they went out of business, don’t you think? One can only assume the failure of the enterprise was the result of
the computer industry. All the digital cameras for sale these days. People are too impatient to wait and have something done
right or to go to a specialist to have it done. They would rather take care of everything themselves at home on their computers.
I don’t have a computer. I don’t plan to get a computer. This is all leading to terrible destruction, really. Don’t you think?
I tried to get my grandson to go one entire day without using any of his computer gadgets, and do you know, he would not do
it. He would not. It’s not only the computers, is it? It’s all the other machines they carry with them to listen to their
music and make all their unnecessary phone calls. Quite irritating, really. Have you seen them on the trains these days? All
wired up as if they belonged in a hospital bed in the cardiac ward. They have this wire that goes to this ear and this wire
that goesto that ear. Somehow they talk through something and carry on conversations that are entirely too private while out in public.
It’s deplorable, really.”
As the stout woman paused for air, I glanced at Katharine, and she attempted a polite escape for us. “Yes, deplorable. If
you don’t mind, I’ve a few others to introduce Miranda to before she slips out to catch the train to London.”
“You’d best check the schedule for the times. This being Christmas Eve, you know. I’m sure you’ve considered that. Tomorrow,
of course, being Christmas Day, well, it goes without saying that when it comes to National Rail, I’m of the opinion that
it, such as it is, is not accommodating the travelers trying to be with family for the day. No, I would think it’s more along
the lines of National Rail trying to accommodate all the employees who would doubtless ask for outlandish additional wages
on the holidays. Not that anyone—”
Katharine interjected, “Oh, I see someone I need to introduce Miranda to. You will excuse us, won’t you?”
Before the woman could answer, Katharine nudged me across the room through the maze of people. Some of them were still in
costume, which made the gathering a familiar setting and awoke childhood feelings in my heart. Doralee had a lot of opinionated
friends like the woman we had just listened to. I was much more comfortable around that sort of party guest than the ones
who might ask me questions. It was all part of my preference to blend into the background when in a crowd.
We came through the human obstacle course with our plates of food intact and only a few bumps. A
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