Yes, it's true. Herself has bustled back into town, undoing all the zen-like goodness that the last week with Jamie has wrought. I can only assume she was unceremoniously escorted over the border after annihilating their food reserves for the next year.
I did hear that she was harassed regarding the importation of a plum pudding (with hard sauce) on her voyage over but of course she had her way and it was finally delivered to the American cousins along with a jar of chutney. I suppose the authorities thought the pudding was some sort of incendiary device disguised as a curling stone. They professed themselves highly perplexed that anyone would consider the object a fit ending to a celebratory meal.
And what, pray tell, did she bring us? Hah! NOT. ONE. THING. I should mention that amongst other activities she visited the Peabody Essex Museum in the venerable town of Salem and returned with various items from the gift shop. I had hoped for a small souvenir of the place - perhaps a replica of a cudgel for striking witches or a copy of the original documents from the famous witch trials of the 1600's - but no. Either would have stood me in good stead in my daily dealings with Herself.
We are most certainly back to what passes for normal around here. We were thrown out into the elements at the crack of dawn, with a few scraps of hay to share amongst ourselves. I made my way into the hay storage area to forage and was soundly told off for my resourcefulness. Ditto for trying to ease my hunger pangs by chewing on the fence. I know how poor old Ivan Denisovich felt out there in the wastes of Siberia.