That’s the last I’ll bore you with our L.A. journey, but I couldn’t resist sharing this glimpse of the Good Life. The photo has NOT been monkeyed around with. The pool is really that ghastly. At least William Holden wasn’t floating around in it.
We’re back in the old digs for the moment, but not resting. We’re running around more here in our own home than we did in the Valley eyeballing houses. The circles are tighter is all, and the work of constant cleaning more strenuous than snapping photos. Our usual comfy-cozy hideaway has become so clean that I’m considering taking up a sideline of microchip production. Not that we were dirty before, mind you, just informal; informal in the sense that Cro Magnon Man was informal. I mean, even before the Great Purge you could see people outside through the windows, but they looked like trees walking. Now the windows are HD.
I’ve always envied people who had the will and strength to keep their homes this tidy. It seemed like an expression of good character. Now, after all these weeks of dusting, polishing, vaccing, waxing, stowing, dirty-clothes-hiding, scouring, grouting, mowing (of lawn), trimming (of hedges) and watering (of flowers) — after all this I have changed my attitude: people who keep their places this clean either have help or are deranged.