As I sit here, slathered in sunscreen, gazing out at the water from the deck of my beautiful (featured in Architectural Digest) oceanfront mansion, Bucky lying nearby under a protective canopy, I am deeply grateful to be an American. Yes, an American who speaks fluent French and feels at home in almost any country except Wales (it's COLD there), but an American nonetheless.
If I may wax patriotic for a moment, I must pay tribute to those who fought and died so that we do not have the Queen on our money.
And it is a pleasure to at last have the possibility of optimism about our beloved country. If I become any more patriotic than that, it will raise Deep Thoughts, which give me the dickens of a headache.
Suffice to say I have a house full of guests from the fashion industry, who even now are laying about my garden in gin-and-tonic induced stupors. (Fortunately, there are enough beach chairs.)
I wonder what the poor people are doing? Oh, yes, they're cleaning my driveway, preparing luncheon and making up the beds. One might say I am creating jobs--are you listening, President Obama?
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog