Despite my utter laziness this morning upon awakening (did you know there’s a study that said said lazy people have the highest IQ’s?) couldn’t tolerate a messy kitchen while all that wonderful air was singing through.  So, now, the house smells of eucalyptus, Fabuloso and fresh air.

My blue porch chair is cracking in several places now, the back, the seat are splitting.  Will have to replace it but I have such happy memories sitting in that chair for the last few years that I’m loathe to get rid of it.  I really am. Fireworks, full moons, half moons, stars, blood moons, hurricanes, cold nights wrapped in an afghan, birthday nights with champagne (especially Veuvey baby).  Maybe I’ll just move it into the Ernest Hemingway Room as a keepsake.  It certainly would fit in with the theme, and the blue bike I’ve yet to ride, the purple and blue swim noodles, the punching bag, and the big blue exercise ball.  Not to mention the hurricane tracking map on the wall and the palm trees outside.

You know, referring to the picture I posted of Joan Collins with Peter Graves.  I actually saw that episode when I first moved here and discovered MeTV (which I really miss).  Collins and Graves had amazing onscreen chemistry; I think it was the only time they had a Mr. Phelps love story on “Mission Impossible.”

I don’t think I am going to put the national news on at all this weekend.  A bit tired of wishing Trump would shut his piehole and watching Hillary slither through the grass as usual.

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