Mr. Hawthorne And Rosie Enjoy A Musical Interlude.

You probably don't remember our dear friends

the Bloomfields,

Ian and Annette.*

(And that's Ian with a long I - eye-un, not ee-un.)

Ian was the one who introduced us

to grilled soft shell crabs.

Plus he brings us fish

when he goes deep sea fishing

and deer meat when he goes deer hunting.

Ian called us Saturday and invited us

to our neighbors, Zach and Nan Wilson*,

down the street,

for a little impromptu musical extravaganza.

That's Zach on the left, Zach's brother in law in the middle,

and Ian-with-a-long-I on the right.

I must say, this is one very talented and entertaining bunch.

You must listen to their inspired lyrics.

Please enjoy their rather eclectic repertoire,

their dulcet, mellifluous tones,

their melodious lyricism.

This group obviously knows how to have fun

and how to release their inner Euterpe

and let her ascend, take wing, and soar.

Such innate abilities.

Such flair.

Such natural endowment.

(And that's a synonym for "talent,"

so don't go elsewhere with it, boys.)

A veritable breeding ground of musicality.

A fertile bed of euphony.

And another little ditty:

Had I but known that mere houses

down the street from me

was this cultural cornucopia of talent and creativity,

I would have gotten myself invited to

their little Algonquin Round Table sooner.

Thanks, Ian*, for inviting us,

and thank you Zach and Nan*

for your gracious hospitality.

*Names changed to protect the guilty.