View current page
...more recent posts
Breakfast With Petula Dvorak
I was at the diner just now having breakfast near the mayor and that family that is always in there, and their little girl is just cute as can be, if you don't have over the top standards regarding cute. That crusty old wizened woman, who rules her small universe with an antiquated lack of charm and cash donations to various local organizations, came in to talk to the mayor, but he was just getting ready to leave, didn't have much time for her because he was going home to take a nap. Then I overheard a conversation about how it might be possible to get that sulfur smell out of the water at the bighouse without an expensive filtration system. I will have to talk to the waitress tomorrow because I didn't want it widely known inside the diner that I am an eavesdropper.
I perused the Washington Post between bites of scrambled egg and who shows up writing crime reports for the Post but my old friend who used to write crime for the Times Picayune, Petula Dvorak. She's not really an old friend, it just felt that way, seeing her name. I can imagine that some old school journalists might have found Ms. Dvorak a little too poetic for crime writing, but I always found her word wrangling appropriate to the subject matter, and occasionally, outrightly stupendous.
Somebody is offering me a possible ticket to Mark Knopfler in DC tonight, might drive in for that.
Ok, back to work on the cottage. Have cut all those giant bushes down, painting now.
