I’ve spent the last few days hovering on the edge of being sick; sort of feverish and queasy, wondering when the ebola was going to strike. Turns out it was just a reaction to a flu shot I got last week, but that didn’t stop Saki from occasionally checking in to see if I was dead enough to eat.
This was all shortly after Secret Agent Fred and I returned from New Orleans where Fred entertained the hotel staff by raiding the self service bar in the lobby and then settling in to take a nap on the couch there despite the staff’s efforts to shoo him off to his room They seemed fairly amused by the whole thing in describing it to me the next day, which says a lot about both Fred’s charm and their pleasure in watching me squirm as they dragged out each mortifying detail. All of which I repeated to Fred, except for the parts I exaggerated. And the ones I just made completely up.
I also was able to check in on the progress of the renovation of my house there which was terribly gratifying. I was especially please with the big back room. I took the back two rooms on each side of the double and combined all four into one ginormous room and then put in a wall of windows across the back to see the garden, which currently is a mud and mildew pit, but one day soon will be full of Camellias and elephant ears and crape myrtle and other old timey New Orleans garden stalwarts.
|Currently, complete with riff raft.|
|Again, before. Who knew what horrors lay beneath those innocent looking dirty walls and cheap tile?|
|Windows. Lots of Windows.|