Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.

Author's Notes: I'd made a comment about Jake's future on the SentinelAngst List, and a listsib who hasn't read the Sparrowhawk series asked about sentinel children. I explained my junk-genetics theory about sentinels and guides intermarrying... and then had a horrifying thought. Not intended as a serious part of the SSS AU... just the worst possible sentinel to spring up from another branch of the family tree.

A Letter from Mimsy
Unofficial Entry in The Sparrowhawk Sandburg Series
by
Besterette
Besterette@aol.com

 

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Dear Blair,

How's the whole Cascade Brigade? Hope Aunt Naomi isn't still giving you too much aggravation about the whole cop thing, and that Jim and Beau and Little Jakey are all okay, and that things are still hot and heavy between you and that saucy Aussie of yours.

So, you're going, Mims, this is a letter, and we do phone calls and notes in Hallmark cards and little email thingys in a major crisis? Well, cuz, I think I need your help.

Have you ever had a like totally life-altering experience where you're not really sure if it's going to get better, or worse, you just know your life's going to be waaay different and there's nothing you can do about it? Like you know how I was so mondo bummed when they discontinued my totally favorite signature nail polish color Strawberry Supreme, but then I found Tartan Red and it actually goes better with my skin tone and coloring because it's a bluer red so it all really worked out for the best?

So it all started a while ago. Josh and I have moved into this cute little house out in Greenbriar, in a good neighborhood with great schools for when Kitty starts kindergarten in a few years. His practice is doing really well, they've even taken on a couple of partners and all. He's still driving the Beamer but my little red runabout went to car heaven when the transmission died and he bought me this sweet SUV so I can still do grocery runs and antiquing and all without looking too much like a soccer mom even though I'm going to be thirty before I hit the end of this paragraph almost.

So I have been like frazzled running around doing the house, getting new carpets and wallpaper and curtains, and trudging around trying to find furniture, and hitting the antique shops for little finishing touches and haggling over every stinking penny, I mean some of these guys must have thought I was from Iowa or somewhere, the prices they were asking for like junk that wasn't really that great when it was new and only gets a few style points for retro value. And I still haven't gotten over having the baby, I mean the best part of being preggers is that it wrecks your figure anyway so you might as well play piggy. Ask your sis, sweetie, she'll tell you. Unless Beau didn't gain five extra pounds while carrying Jake in which case I hate her. Kidding.

So Josh notices I'm kinda turning into a fat old housewife hag totally before my time, I mean you're usually around forty before you start letting yourself go, right? But my darling hubby doesn't say anything until I have the house perfect, and the yard's finally looking decent after I've had to call the nursery people fifty-seven thousand times, and I've found an absolute jewel of a cleaning lady... and then Josh surprises me with a stay at Le Spa. Isn't he just the sweetest ever?

So I go shopping for some new clothes to be fat in, and some workout togs to get fit in, and scout out a new wardrobe of cute outfits I can buy when I come home all skinny and sexy again, and off I go.

And it's just as great as I remember from that spring break Mom and I spent here. Okay, so my personal trainer is really relentless, and half a fresh peach with a tiny dab of cottage cheese is not my idea of a healthy and nutritious breakfast, but I can totally feel the pounds just melting off. And then there's the facials and body wraps and manicures and pedicures and just basic pampering to take your mind off all the icky exercise and sweating and stuff that happens earlier in the day. Plus they have a pool.

And guess what but Aunt Naomi could make a fortune because this new agey stuff is getting really trendy or whatever because they're doing aura cleansing and that junk at Le Spa. I didn't really go to many of those sessions because they kinda assume you know what they're talking about and I just didn't pay enough attention when your mother visits so I don't want to look like I'm dumb!

But they have sensory deprivation tanks, and I was thinking that sounded kind of cool, getting in touch with your inner self and all that, and it would be something I could talk to Aunt Naomi about next time she called, a shared experience sort of thing because she doesn't do the sales like a normal person. No offense, Blair. Like Beau and my Mom trying to bond at Bergdorf's. Not gonna happen. So I get into my new tankini and get into the dep tank and it's all dark and quiet and I'm just floating there, and at first it's boring, but then I start thinking about stuff, and I'm not sure it was the mystical experience of self-awareness that it said on the brochure but it sure was relaxing, and I kinda dozed off for a while. It did seem like I was in there for a long time, but when they did let me out, I found out that the girl who put me in got into a fight with her boss over her boyfriend... who was also her husband or something shatteringly tacky like that, and got fired, and took off in a huff, and the timer on the tank I was in was broken.

So get this. I was in there for over a day! I mean, they put me in the afternoon and I was in there all night and all the next day and night and it wasn't until the afternoon of the third day that they found me. I had a bottle of Perrier so no damage except I think I peed the float-water. Ewww. I was thinking that maybe I should sue or something but I wasn't like hurt or anything, and they fell all over themselves trying to get me to not sue, I got comped for the visit, and they gave me a goodie basket with a jar full of the exclusive Dead Sea facial mud and bath salts and the good velour robe from the gift shop, the really expensive one, and all kind of stuff so I graciously forgave them.

So it's the day before check out, and I'm in the salon getting all gussied up to show my darling Josh what it turns out he didn't have to spend any of his hard earned money on after-all. And, this, like... stench hits me. I mean, nobody's ever going to invent a perfume called Eau De Perming Solution, but I could barely sit still long enough for them to do my 'do. I nearly, y'know, ralphed. And that worried me... I never have an oopsy-tummy that bad... It was like way too soon after Kitty to be dropping another acorn from the family tree, and certainly not after two weeks spent in the pursuit of Buns Of Steel. But I did the math, and no way.

Home again, and the cleaning lady really is a jewel because the house isn't way trashed although I can tell Josh snuck a poker party in 'cause of the cigar smoke sticking to my carpets, and I call him on it, and he goes no way should I be able to smell it 'cause that was the first day I was gone and he made sure to have the carpets shampooed because one of his old frat buds knocked over an ashtray. Anyway, Josh is really appreciative that I'm almost not quite but nearly back to my buff best, so he authorizes a shopping trip so I get my girls together and we hit the city. (Summer Kaplan says hi. You wouldn't know Bitsy, Fran or Maureen, but they'd say hi too, if you'd met them.)

So we're just coming out of Saks, and there's this sweet little old grandma out of Central Casting, and this terrible unwashed thug-type of the junkie persuasion... and he snatches her purse. And like, I know you don't get involved in that kind of situation, because god knows what these creeps are on, or if they're armed, but it just really really ticked me off. Now here's this little old lady, it turns out having saved up to come buy her granddaughter a sweet sixteen present, and this yucko is just going to take off with her purse? I don't think so, so as he's running past, I just kind of jab out with my umbrella and sort of get him in the sweet spot, so he goes down like a ton of bricks and meanwhile Bitsy ran inside and got this security guy and all of a sudden I'm like the heroine of the day. So now I can sort of see how you got sucked into the copworld, that sweet little old lady crying and thanking me was pretty much the neatest thing that happened that day.

Meanwhile back at the fort, things continue to get worse. Kitty's crying all the time and I suppose it's a horrible thing for a mommy to say, but it's really getting on my nerves. And I go to whip up a batch of Mango And Fresh Pepper Chutney that was in last month's magazine( I sooo want to be Martha Stewart when I grow up!) and taste just a bit the way you do while you're cooking, you know how you do. And Oh My God, I almost died! I mean, it's only got one measly little jalepeno and four red and green hot peppers in there.

I try to put on some eyeshadow and dang if it doesn't feel like I'm dragging an emery board over my eyelids. I can't leave the house without decent make-up!

So I am freaking here. Josh and I weren't fighting but he could tell I was getting totally tense and kept making these dumb jokes about my needing a vacation from my vacation, and I was popping Xanax like tic tacs. Which they sort of look like, I get the little white oval ones.

And then I have this dream. I'm walking through this jungle, which is not how most of my tropical dreams start out... but I figure I'll go along with it, and sooner or later I'll find the beach and Brad Pitt. But guess what I end up in this sort of place that looks like a set from Xena Warrior Princess or something, and the guy that's there is definitely not Brad Pitt. Benjamin Bratt more like. Which isn't bad either, if this was the beach and fruit drinks kind of dream, which it most unfortunately isn't. But the feathers are nice.

So the first thing he goes "Who are you?" which is really kind of rude and he should know, shouldn't he since it's my dream after all, so I go "Miriam Sandburg-Katz, who the hell are you?" And anyway, he goes on and on about something I don't know what he's talking about but I catch one word I get and it's sentinel, and when I wake up I remember you were doing something about sentinels when you were in school and all so that's why I'm writing. Not that I usually take advice from imaginary Native Americans, but can you maybe explain what's going on? What's a sentinel? Why am I one? And what's up with the invisible peacock following me around?

Kisses,
Mimsy
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~ End ~

E-Mail Besterette at Besterette@aol.com
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Page last updated 8/15/03.