The weirdness continues!
After a lifetime of genteelly shabby living quarters, I am ensconced in a '70s condo in Palm Springs, CA.
Mirrored ceilings, a wet bar, wall-to-wall white carpet--I like it! In fact, I am immensely, if not abjectly grateful to the GENEROUS friend who has left this lovely space to me for the summer.
Out by the pool, people introduce themselves by telling you how much the condos are going for, then reporting that Rock Hudson once lived in a casita on the property. So did Joan Fontaine. Marilyn Monroe was supposedly discovered at the pool in the adjacent Racquet Club.
I nod politely, then go back to my book: Janet Malcolm's Two Lives: Gertrude and Alice.
I'm telling myself I'm on some rough kind of "vacation," though I had an interview Saturday, an interview coming up Thursday, I submitted a ms. for a new book this morning, and at noon I have a coffee date to discuss ghost-writing a book for someone else. Still, just to be out of L.A. in some rough way loosens my usual schedule.
Did I say I have cable? With Roland Garros, Wimbledon AND the U.S. Open on tap?
I admit it: I watched the Sharapova/Safarova French Open match last night at 3 am while searching for linen skirts on ebay. My usual black garb and neck-swathing scarves are just not going to cut it here. Basically any garment weighing more than a spider's web feels oppressive.
I will probably become somewhat nocturnal.
"Silence is like fertile soil which, as it were, awaits our creative self, our seed."