It was too nice yesterday to stay inside writing and painting walls, which is what I had planned, so my excursion companions and I decided to jaunter off to a trout farm and fishing and dining place at the site of an old mill. I ate, um, trout and also trout. And then we stopped at another old mill. And then we went back home. Why, even after touring beautiful places do I always believe that the most beautiful is home? Must be some kind of pathology.
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1 comment:
Right. And you wonder why I am so attached to my rented loft. Ye who own three houses and live in a trendy Upper West Side rent controlled New York City apartment.
Let's see.
I didn't sell it for a song to a woman who immediately cut down my too-beautiful-to- believe fig tree and paved the lawn I spent 18 years tending.
I didn't turn it into a National Park.. yet.
I didn't sell my share of a family home on "One of Earth's Last Great Places" to my brother because I was broke.
Why would I want to stay where I am?
! guess I was happy here... for a while.
There's some that's got and some that gits. Gone, that is.
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