A Vomit of Diamonds Read Free Page A

me back to around three in the afternoon, when
grandmama would enter her domain and fix me up the most exquisite
collaboration since chocolate and hazelnuts married officially,
using her famous spread to great effect. Indeed, I have known no
greater comfort in life than those times when slowly nibbling my
way around the center of a peanut butter and strawberry jam
sandwich, wherein oozed the crème de la crème; meanwhile flipping
through a Calvin and Hobbes omnibus, and chuckling at their
nefarious deeds. Thoroughly indulged with comfort food and happy
entertainment, I fancied myself as rich as
Midas. Ah, the halcyon days of a
mollycoddled youth.
    But moving on from little me. Burgundy
in Summer! Great grandpapa shall be most pleased for the
opportunity to entertain his son and daughter-in-law with lively
conversations interlarded with Hellenic references — as is to be
expected from an emeritus professor of Greek literature. And a few
days meandering through Paris too, I think you mentioned in your
monthly. How glamorous. You and grandmama will be revisiting the
Monets and Cézannes no less? Though not an art connoisseur myself,
I will say that I derive a great thrill when studying the portraits
of Madame la Marquise de Pompadour and her Bourbon set — so full of
pizzazz!
    Sigh. I am presently imagining Paree,
the city of pleasures and elegancies, before the twentieth century
as depicted in the classical novels I enjoy reading so much; and
for which I am now in the mood to improvise a beginning.
    ‘A young lady sits in a rococo
armchair beside a tall window looking down onto a forest of
flowers. She has an exquisite figure, and skin as white as jade.
Today she is draped in a pale blue dress worthy of belonging to a
daughter of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Her dark hair is pulled up
after the current fashion, revealing beneath a melancholic beauty
sure to stop Monsieur le Marquis in his tracks; for her eyes are
moons, her lashes fans, her forehead marble, her lips Mona Lisa,
her neck Nefertiti, and her ears butterfly wings.’
    Pardi! I am daydreaming now. Such is
the way with minds that wander and leap from topic to
topic.
    Speaking of things that leap, my
latest passion is learning more about salticids, or more commonly
known as jumping spiders. They are fascinating creatures, you may
be sure. Though small they can carry prey many times their weight
while dangling from a silk tread. You can distinguish them from
other arachnids by their frontal eyes, which are very big —
personally, I think they look very cute. Jumping spiders are also
colorful little things; with a courting ritual that would put birds
of paradise to shame.
    But really now, I am vomiting words.
You deserve better reading than this.
    Speaking of reading, would you be so
kind as to look over an essay I wrote as part of an astronomy camp
application form? Please see attached. It is a little meandering in
places and overly bulky in others, it is true; and thus, I think,
would benefit from your editing chainsaw. Much obliged in
advanced.
    Meanwhile, hope all is well in the
hills of Perth. Are the wildflowers satisfactory this
year?
    The weather in Canberra is a true
autumn: pleasant to the touch but mothy to the nostrils. The fruit
selection has fallen off at the supermarkets, I have noticed. Gone
are the days of nectarines piled high in abundance; which reminds
me of the walks Nana and I used to take down the road, with our
pretty hats on and chattering animatedly among ourselves — like two
sisters in a Jane Austen novel — to Mr. Offer’s orchard whereat we
would buy a box of the plumpest, juiciest nectarines, apricots and
peaches arboriculture could engender.
    Moving on. I am presently reading a
story by Leo Tolstoy, and have noticed that for this particular
narrative he has adopted an uncommon grammatical prefix, which is
the insertion of a comma before an em dash. I observe that by
prefixing such an addition to a parenthesis, it magnifies