Reading recommendation: the Mrs. Pollifax series, by Dorothy Gilman.
In the midst of rereading Mrs. Pollifax on Safari, and becoming utterly enchanted by her once again, I remembered something I wrote once in a creative writing class. I am certain we were assigned to copy this style, but I can't seem to find anything that says WHAT I was copying, so...the words are mine, the form is likely someone else's. :)
Becoming Mrs. Poliifax
Right now as I am talking to you, and you are listening desperately to me, it is becoming clear that the reason you are listening so hard to what I have to say is that you can see that Mrs. Pollifax is coming up behind me and, begging my pardon, says she must use me to infiltrate Bountiful High School. Of course, I oblige, and she, apologizing most profoundly, punches me square in the jaw and I am knocked flat on my back. Now I stand back up and no longer am I the skinny little shrimp of a girl that I was, but rather a mature woman, a mother, a grandmother, and, an agent of the CIA. Being Mrs. Pollifax is rather more interesting than being myself ever was, because Mrs. Pollifax knows any number of useful and interesting things that must might come in handy, should we be attacked by terrorist groups and serial killers in the dead of night in some out-of-the-way hotel in Africa. Looking in a mirror as Mrs. Pollifax, I see a delightful older woman with white, curled hair worn close to the head, but mostly covered in an extravagant hat, which of course is a veritable garden floating in midair, supported only by the frame of Mrs. Pollifax. Of course, though she is a grandmother, a devoted member of the Garden Club, cultivated geraniums, and pushes the book cart at the hospital twice a week, Mrs. Pollifax also knows a great deal about guns, and has a brown belt in karate. And so, now that I have your attention, you listen more desperately than ever before, because Carstairs, the head of the CIA, always unexpectedly calls upon Mrs. Pollifax to go on some new unorthodox mission for him, which always ends up being more dangerous than any mission he would send his strongest and most able agents on.
And now Mrs. Pollifax is telling me that, while staying alive is of course an essential part of being an agent, that the real reason I must survive, and must be her, is that I must meet new people, and remember them, and learn from them. I must learn that people can change, just as Robin, the jewel thief did, when he turned good and now sends Mrs. Pollifax letters from all sorts of interesting locations from across the globe, greatly perplexing her mail carrier. I must remember what the Whirling Dervish taught me, and what being held hostage by terrorists is really like. Thank you, Mrs. Pollifax, for taking me into your inner circle of trust and teaching me; allowing me the opportunity to know what it feels like to be a CIA agent. Because, of course, despite any desires I might have to be one,one cannot simply walk into CIA headquarters and request to be an agent, and walk out with orders to report to Mexico City.
The only problem with me reading ONE Pollifax book, is that I want to then read all twelve or thirteen of them...which I unfortunately do once a year it seems, even though I have stacks of other books I could be reading instead. ;)
...But you don't have to take my word for it, check it out at your local library!
ba-dup-doot!
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