7-26

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I TALKED MY CHAUFFEUR into driving me to southern Virginia to check on the house of my childhood, languishing there beside the Warwick River. The fig trees were thriving in the yard, but, alas, the mold and mildew were following suit in the house.




Which meant that: (1.) We would have wished--the chauffeur and myself--to spend all our time outdoors, waxing nostalgic over the scenery; except that any day since August 7, 1819, would have been a better day for this, temperature-wise. The thermometer read 105.

Which meant that: (2.) We felt compelled to abandon our blow-up mattress on the floor with the sheets that are supposedly queen-sized but didn't quite fit (corners of the sheet popping off the bed whenever we moved)...and head out into the peak-vacation- season-weekend-night at 3:15 in the morning to find other lodging.



(Con'td.)
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