This is my driver Tarique.
And that is my home behind it. Isn't Crofton glorious? Such a well kept secret laying just outside the Metropolitan DC area.You should visit - you can stay in the stables (see the stables in the distance? Behind the shrubbery?) Well last fall when I was bored I converted the stables into a pool house. A pool house like the one in the Philadelphia Story movie (no. Not the movie with Tom Hanks dying of aids.) The Cary Grant one with Katherine Hepburn where everyone lived and got married all over again. A movie that proved that if you had money and connections and a small 1700 acre horse farm in Connecticut swarming with blue bloods wearing questionable hats - that you could be happy. That happiness would find you. Isn't America swell?
Actually I think it is...but not for those reasons.
So back to the pool house. Yeah, I did it on a whim. It was a knee jerk reaction to having way too much limestone and cash on hand...but I needed a place for Kelli. A place outside of the mean city where she could come and relax without the pressures of watching my household activities. My tiresome letter writing, thanking friends for mini holidays at their palaces overseas. And then there is all the books that I have to select for napping with. You never know when Warren Brown is going to stop by unannounced and find you nodding off in the sun room. And you don't want him finding you with the latest issue of OK magazine propped on your lap. You want something more impressive...like a well worn Sun Tzu or Dostoevsky...(which by the way is a bitch to spell). Plus no one has ever fallen asleep in the middle of OK Magazine. As I'm sure Warren would agree to.
He's a smart cookie - that one, but he cheats at gin rummy.