I'm drawn to fiction because it takes me to a world like this. Bright summer day. At the house on Federal Street. Grace, Edna's sister, has come to celebrate little Betty's birthday. Jack finds the camera on the top shelf of the closet, comes out in the back yard and takes the pictures.
Let's see, what's REALLY going on here? Well, Edna has a thing for her husband, Frank, who often says he's grateful that his wild wife appears to be quite comfortable off stage. She was not only a great singer and dancer, but she also knew how to act. Well, Frank knows--everybody knows--this is not an act.
Grace is thinking of accepting Joe Palmer's recent marriage proposal. And why not? He's a lot like Frank. Sweet, kind, quiet, hard working.
And little Betty. Edna adores her. Frank adores her. Grace adores her. Jack adores her. "Yes, sir," little Betty sings, "That's my baby now!"
A couple months later Frank is reading the paper. A poem catches his eye. He reads it two, three times. Ah, yes. He cuts it out and pastes it on the back of one of the photos of Betty's birthday party. In his mind this sums up what it's all about.