Captured, enjoying our Victorian fire-sitting, lace-doily making, and rat watching. Outside, the chill wind shudders the glass and Jack Frost nips unwrapped noses. (It's taken hours to zebo that grate! Will no-one think of the servants?)
Yes, there is Squirrel, suffering the stifling oppression of her Dickensian family. I am sure she reads improving and instructional work! (Unicorn crap and horse trash.) Imagine how the mother sits nightly by her side, repairing linen collars and cleaning boots. (Imagination is all.)
But soon enough, out comes the toasting fork! Now I expect the vicar to call. I shall dutifully polish our finest china and starch my apron. (Mind you, I shall count the teaspoons when he's gone.) Then we might sing Bless our Blessed Sweet Blessed Home, Bless while gathered round our old broken joanna. (Shit, I forgot. I gave it to the bloke who sings Any Old Iron.)
But then! Maiden in the corner projects the rest of us time-challenged gritties into the nearly present world of October 2012!
See! She has a marvellous electronic magic box! It offers infinite and wondrous instructions from all around the world! (Can you flip a dolphin into outer space?)
Aha! It also offers this. We are complete. In our evening of connectedness with our Victorian past, we also find instruction. Of sorts. May you too, in these winter days to come, and bless that home.
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