Made it to the library yesterday, picked up, “Shattered,” and another book called, “Lincoln in the Bardo.”

Ran more errands, ran to Joe W’s because I decided that I would make a big pot of daube and spaghetti today–to this end found a lean rump roast that I cut in half, put one half in the pot, the other in the freezer. A pot of daube in tomato gravy is slowly bubbling now for the last hour; need to cook whole wheat bowtie pasta.

Yesterday, returned home for once just as raindrops were beginning to slowly fall and got in with everything before the deluge began. After another light lunch, got into my favorite spot to finish reading, “The House of Memory,” and the next thing I knew it was two hours later and the book was in my lap. Another zonk out. Why am I sleeping so much? But it’s wonderful, really. Yesterday, a foot of rain fell on New Orleans and many neighborhood streets flooded along with some houses. Not so bad here in Jefferson Parish, but the rain was unrelenting.

I finished my book and have to say I really enjoyed it. As an added dash, Haines added the character of Tallulah Bankhead to the mix, who was a good friend of Zelda Fitzgerald and a fellow Alabaman. They were both girls in their twenties in this, both on a mission to scandalize Montgomery where the story took place, and I loved both of them. Some of the story takes place at a mental institution, and I thought CH added an interesting soupcon of flavor to the story because, as much on a mission that Zelda was involved to get her young friend Camilla free of it, the sight of the institution made her freeze and she told Raissa she couldn’t stay there but couldn’t explain why. I know what happened to Zelda Fitzgerald.

“The Killer Angels” was awaiting me in my mailbox, and I signed my name and the date as I usually do when I receive a book, but on this one I signed in a purple-inked calligraphy sort of pen. I’m so glad I have it now.

Going to rain again today. I don’t mind. I have been enjoying my vacation very, very much.

As I look around, it occurs to me that the Ernest Hemingway Room sort of resembles a beach shack. The old blue porch chair is still here because I can’t make myself throw it out; the palms outside, the print of the hammock on the beach under the palms; my abstract, “Louisiana” grouped by the same print, with the autumn farmhouse, and for spring I just added a sketch I did of irises. “Louisiana” counts as winter because it has Mardi Gras in it, and that’s always in the winter. Call it decorating license. My swim noodles, the punching bag, the giant blue exercise ball looking like a giant beach ball, the blue hurricane map and the general Laissez faire of the ambience, yeah, it’s a beach shack all right, and that’s fine by me!

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