I’ve been up since 2:45 AM.  As I said, find I’m enjoying these super early risings.  Went on the back porch, couldn’t find the moon.  Last night, instead of Soma, stopped at Joe W’s, bought a bottle of, as Justin Wilson used to call it, Jacques Danielle, and a plethora of mint and some sugar cubes.  Wanted as much mint as possible.  Muddled four sugar cubes with mucho mint, piled in the ice and poured old JD over it.  Watched the news a bit, Trump was speaking at the Lakefront Airport here, and when he took the podium, the YUUUUUUGE crowd erupted into loud of chants of, “Who Dat? Who Dat? Who Dat say dey gonna beat dat Trump? Who Dat?”   He got a YUUUUUUGE kick out of that.  Sipped my mint julep, wandered out to the back porch and inhaled deeply the carnal, spring fragrances that’s beginning to come forth here in Da Big Easy; pulled a dining room chair out there; and sipped and drank in the purple black night sky, and eventually a crescent moon.

Don’t know if it was the Jacques and all the wonderful anti spasmodic qualities of mint but I awakened this morning with scarcely a twinge of pain.  I’m remembering a nurse who said alcohol stopped spasms and contractions…and mint is wonderful for that.  Watched a movie I taped Thursday called, “The Story of Temple Drake.”  TCM has a nun hosting a serious of movies that were once condemned the the Catholic Church’s Legion of Decency–funny that would cross my mind last week with “Tom Jones,” and this was one of them, in addition to one I watched last night, “Black Narcissus,” one of my favorites, that I didn’t know was condemned.  I guess the idea of a nun going off her gourd with crazy desire for the hunky caretaker who showed up drunk singing bawdy songs at their CHristmas celebration was too much–and–gasp–she forsook her habit for a red dress and, and, and, RED lipstick on her way to seduce aforementioned gentlemen–who wanted nothing to do with her, and convinced HE had the hots for the beautiful Dr. Clodagh, Deborah Kerr, turned into a murderous maniac who tried to kill DK.

When I awakened this morning, made a French press of French Roast, and watched, Temple Drake.  Sr. Rose had a boatful of intelligent commentary about this one, loosely based on my least favorite Faulkner book, “Sanctuary.”

And, as the sun rose, there were things to do.  Civic duty, time to go vote in the Louisiana Primary.  The news had more interviews with Mitt Romney this morning and I was filled with loathing.  Tucker Carlson had a brilliant insight into his behavior–since he did nothing but trash Trump, and offer no backing to any candidate, and offered the advice for Floridians to vote for Rubio in his home state; Ohioans to vote for Kasich in his home state and Michigan to back Cruz, the result would be chaos and a brokered Republican convention when all the calculating little darlings could get into a back room and nominate anyone—and Carlson thinks Romney wants this to be he.  Makes sense.  It’s so low down.  Everything in me rose in anger and I wanted to vote for Trump just to show them and when I got into the booth, I actually wavered a few minutes before I pressed the button between the two.  But ultimately, I went with my plan for the reasons I mentioned and voted Kasich.  And if I ever find out he is a part of this Republican conspiracy led by Romney, I will be finished with him.

Took a drive to Pontiff Playground.  It was once called Metairie Playground, a small area with a good track that Earl escaped from me upon one Saturday morning, a few trees with swings, where I havent’ been since Mom died.  It was renamed for an LSU baseball player named Wally Pontiff who died in the early 2000’s as a very young man.  It has completely expanded several acres with baseball field, football field, and running tracks.  Walked along the grass for about 20 minutes because the hard concrete hurts my back and this doesn’t.  It was a nice morning and I was glad I went.  Will return for more exercise; felt wonderful after my little semi workout.

No housework today, not after the past two days.  Rest.  Finished “Crimson Shore,” it was good and now reading Laura Child’s,”Gossamer Ghost.”  It’s a lot of fun so far.

 

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