I don’t know if it’s because there’s another chapter in the news concerning Weiner Gate and his sexting; actually it’s not funny since that sicko, married to Ms Abedin, Killary’s # 2 hench person, i.e., Goonette, bragged about using his four-year-old son as a “chick magnet” in his sexting–but for some reason this morning I am remembering a former coworker from my early twenties named JoAnn, and a certain Dr. Q. I’m laughing at the way that JoAnn and I, after she identified who the man was, who was standing by an elevator leering at me, (i.e., THAT’S Q—-z!) linked hands after exclamations of horror and kind of half danced half ran to the back of the office where we hid well out of sight, for more reasons than one.
About twenty minutes ago, the sun was lowering in the sky, platinum gold, and it reflected like a mirror in the windows of the Galleria, thus sending that late summer dappled light into my home. Here in the Ernest Hemingway Room, the wall was filled with the hanging shadows of slivered palm leaves, perfectly cast, as if, like Peter Pan, the trees had lost their shadow and escaped on the wall. up.
Alas, perhaps a dark subject, but in the all important world of TV viewing, two important events and a ghoulish response on my part. It’s about two characters, and I have to say, I’m so glad they killed them off. 1) Dougal on, “Outlander.” I could not stand that man. Overbearing, Neanderthal, know-it-all, after Claire to be his wife waiting for the English to execute Jamie; just couldn’t stand him. Glad he is daid, daid, daid. 2) Marisol Campos on, “Ray Donovan.” Played by Lisa Bonet. Can’t stand Lisa Bonet. Admittedly she has always been an exquisitely beautiful girl and young woman, hands down. In middle age, she is still beautiful in an anorexic sort of way. She played the half sister of a boxer with whom she was in an incestuous relationship. He married someone else and wanted her to leave him alone, but no…she kept it up. When he is on the eve of taking another title, she goes on live television and discloses to everyone that they had been lovers. A real winner, a drug addict, an arrogant drug addict with a filthy mouth. So, I can’t say I was sorry when her half brother went to see her after her tell all and as she acts seductive with him, enticing him to share a bath with her and he follows, he pushed her arrogant sick head under the water and drowned her. I felt no remorse. Quelle dysfunctional family!
There’s a lot of pictures in this link, and a wonderful story how that hauntingly beautiful, cozy inn featured in, “Nights in Rodanthe” was saved and restored. I only wish they had included Jean’s room where there were portraits of all her angels, and guides, and people important in her life. But I love this place, and you know, I’d like to stay there. I adore the blue shutters, and the blue chairs, and the iron door, the kitchen, everything…
I love lavender.
Find I’m in the mood to watch, “Nights in Rodanthe.” Again.
Found myself thinking of these two songs driving home and had to hear them, had to share them.
Looking at the news this morning, # 9 is not in the Yucatan Strait, but entering the Gulf via the tip of Cuba. Or should I say, Coo-Bah.
It was such a lovely, lovely weekend. Finished, “A Dying Fall,” and, as the truly addicted, started the next in sequence, “The Outcast Dead.” I’m wondering, did you want to be a Druid? Is that what you were talking about?
Well, goodness, there’s a Tropical Depression about to enter the Gulf of Mexico by way of the Yucatan Strait that is simply, for the moment, called, “TD 9.” It’s expected to turn into a strong hurricane and at the moment Florida seems to be in its crosshairs by way of weather models but at this point it’s all up for grabs. If that thing moves over Louisiana I don’t think it will be tolerable given the devastation already in place. If it comes to New Orleans, I’m sheltering in place. I can’t take another evacuation.
Just emerged from the shower smelling like violet soap and lavender hand creme. What a glorious swim this was. The water was no longer bathwater warm; it was cold, almost like swimming in a stream but not quite, yet close. Birds were crying; fallen hibiscus buds the color of sunset were floating in the pool; it was quiet, peaceful and I swam non-stop for one hour and fifteen minutes. I think I must have swum at least forty laps across the length of the pool with no effort, and I know it’s because of the earing regime I’m following. The only thing that chased me in was the threat of dark clouds looming overhead, but now they’ve cleared. The water was the color of the blueberry snowballs I used to get from Macaluso’s snowball stand; a wasp joined me briefly to get a sip of chlorinated water from the surface and flew away. Back and legs feel much better; I’m blissfully relaxed…going to read, A Dying Fall (Galloway).
Out of fairness, must revisit the new, “Ben-Hur.” I’m told the chariot race is completely awesome and makes up for the rest of the badness–the movie is worth seeing for this. Now if they would have just gotten rid of the are we having fun now brother…however, I did also learn that in the filming of the Chuckles Heston version, they used trip wires to make the horses fall and some of them had to be put down. That’s really beyond lousy and puts a damper on it for me completely. But it’s still just about my favorite movie.
Awakened after a truly blissful night’s sleep in a happy, wonderful mood. Feel like a page was turned yesterday for the better. Instead of lolling in my nightshirt with coffee as I usually do, I put on shorts and a T. About to go for a swim, the morning is just too beautiful, hot yes, but gorgeous and I want to beat the rain because the cumulus have been building all morning. Let the fresh air in early and listened to the beloved cries of the bluejays squawking. A crow lit on the telephone wires across from my porch and cawed loudly, scaring the hell out of me. The cheeky bloke.
Last week I found an online Scrabble game. I haven’t played scrabble in so many years,my main playing partner being my mother, with Earl occasionally sitting at the table with us on my lap and falling asleep with his head on the table. Well, I played round after round of online Scrabble enjoying it very much and I beat the computer every time. Well, I learned from the Master. I remember not long after Daddy died and she was under so much stress and worry, Mom bought a Scrabble board and would sit on the living room floor and play games by herself. Her scoresheet read the contestants, You, Me. She said it calmed her. Eventually, she got her friends hooked on it and they would indulge in Friday night orgies of Scrabble playing only stopping at 11PM. She whipped the tar out of them always, even a school teacher who also played. She usually whipped the tar out of me as well but I learned some of her tricks and thus I whipped the tar out of the computer. I lost our Scrabble board When the Workmen Trashed my Apartment, hereby to be future known as, WTWTMA inn reference. But I think I’m going to buy another board and do what Mom did–play herself. I always loved board games, but I don’t know a lot of people who still do–too busy picking at their smart phones. Yeesh. Off to the pool!
Returned to choir today after three straight misses; only Stephanie, Jan and Margaret were there although it was close to four, the latter two looking rather nervous, especially since Joan is now retired.
“Can we sing, just the few of us,” asked Margaret and then Jan nervously. Privately I was daunted by the idea of it, but something just made me say, ‘We’ll belt it right out of the church!” They both picked up on my bravado and agreed and we laughed. Well, thankfully, a few more came, and I know they were nervous because Stephanie no longer stands in front of us directing, but she has taken Joan’s place as cantor for now. But we sang; Stephanie’s voice was especially beautiful today, clear and high like a church bell. For all our worry, and for all Joan’s being gone, after Mass a lady came up to us and said, “Every time I hear this choir sing you sound lovelier and lovelier!” It was a beautiful Mass and I did not walk up to Communion alone.
One nice thing that I ordered and did not have to return was a flounced, tiered denim skirt that I found online. Exact duplicate of one that I had fifteen years ago and wore on the press tour for the Creole Nature Trail. It was my go-to attire for writing assignments outdoors when shorts were too casual and jeans too hot; for Mass; for work; wore it until it just died and haven’t found another like it until. I wore it today to Mass with a royal blue top; don’t know what it is about that skirt that makes me feel both so feminine and useful at the same time. Crazy thing, though, washed my hair this morning and used mousse, then styled it and used hairspray…my baby fine wispy hair felt like it weighed a ton on my head with all that crap in it; couldn’t wait to come home and give it a good brushing, now it’s just piled on the top of my head in its comfort zone. I’ve been eating a lot of protein this week and no carbs, actually this is the way I ate as a teenager and older when I was skin and bones, i.e. lettuce )hearts of Romaine) used for bread to hold meat; cheese; and I read somewhere such a diet lowers blood pressure. I have felt much better and calmer eating this way. Think I’ll stick to it, although tonight I will be bad and have some bone chilling ice cold Pinot Grigio.
Working my way happily through the Ruth Galloway books. Nelson is a trip, I love him; as is Cathbad, the Druid that I also love; hate to admit this but Ruth, in temperament, reminds me of me in a lot of ways, a lot of ways. Temperament. e.g., she arrives home one night exhausted, and the line reads from her narrative viewpoint: If Kate (her toddler) “could get to sleep by 8, then perhaps she could sit down and drink white wine and watch crap TV. Heaven.” Kate is her daughter by DCI Inspector Nelson, conceived in what Ruth describes as a “one-off,” new term for me but I get the drift. They’re Brits, after all. She is a forensics anthropologist who teaches at a University (fictional). Nelson is married to a glamour girl hair stylist named Michelle whom he loves but with whom he has very little in common and they have two daughters who are now, by this reading in chronological order, in University. Both Nelson and Ruth deny to themselves they are in love with one another. They don’t see each other romantically except for one other slip up on a snowy night when they’re secluded by a blizzard and are in fear of little Kate’s life. Ruth sees another man now, but every man she meets, although she tell herself she is not in love with Nelson, the men have a problem because they are not Nelson. When either is in trouble, either is the first person they call. So, I know they are in love, but hey, life…Nelson can’t get Ruth, nor his daughter Kate out of his mind, but hey, he loves Michelle very much and doesn’t want to break up his family. He’s got some teriffic one liners when he thinks.
I hear thunder, a good rainy Saturday night. In October, it is my sincere intent to get to eye doctor and get new glasses. They haven’t been changed since 2009 and I’m really getting more myopic as time goes by.