But the TV. It's an old one. Mr. Moon may have won it somewhere back in time as a door-prize or something. He is a lucky guy that way. Anyway, we never turn it on except to show the old VHS movies the boys love that we have. Aladdin, Robin Hood, The Little Mermaid.
But I watched it today and specifically, The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone, a movie I've never seen but it's adapted from a Tennessee Williams' novel and has a middle-aged Vivian Leigh in it as well as a young Warren Beatty who was rocking the Elvis look and a bad Italian accent.
Dear god it was terrible.
Old women who take up young boys who need lire and new expensive toys and clothing. Of course the charming Italian Lothario gigolo is cruel in his attentions and she is so filled with self-loathing when he takes up with Jill St. John that she tosses the keys to her elegant apartment at the top of the Spanish Steps to some other young hang-about who had been stalking her for the entire movie so that he may fulfill their destinies and cut her throat.
At least one supposes that is what happens as the "The End" floats across the screen and the young man enters her room and quickly dissolves into shadows with a decidedly scary look on his face.
1961 was not a good year for women's hairstyles nor designer clothing.
Pillow Talk came on immediately after but I just turned off the TV and went to sleep. I'd had enough helmet hair and fake sexual posturing for one day.
I've read some and slept a lot today. It was good. I feel as if I might live. I have walked out to the hen house exactly once. I am thinking about going again. I have eaten nursery food and I'm going to make poached eggs for our supper tonight. I'm pretty excited about that.
We are even discussing playing some cards on the new table on the front porch. I'm sort of excited about that too.
Quite frankly, I've had far worse Sundays in my life. I've also been far sicker before and I do suppose I've seen worse movies. That one I watched with Lon and Lis once starring William Shatner, entirely filmed in Esperanto, for example.
Incubus. Oh yeah.
So I'm chalking it up as a pretty fine day in the history of my life.
Is the bar set too low around here?