In Which We All Visit Suzannes

That's Suzanne's pond, above. Restful, as is everything here at Bear Haven, her country place. The Prince is still having a royal sleep out in the tool shed, one of several guest "rooms" on the 50 some acre property. There's also the pool house, an open air mosquito netted perch; the air stream trailer with the Ralph Lauren sheets; and the turquoise and white cabin cruiser overlooking the pool, the closest it comes to water. It's mainly used for cocktails on the deck.

We were coming for the weekend anyway, so the hurricane is just a bonus.



Suzanne and I drove out early yesterday, poking along and lunching and and shopping for victuals at Wegman's -- which, if you haven't been, is America's Answer to Harrod's. Have you ever tried caperberries? You don't get out quickly, or cheaply.

But you do leave happy.

The Prince chugged up at about six, announcing that he had a present for me in the truck (which we usually have out here because you never know what you'll find).

And there were Vinnie and Shakira, strapped into the passenger seat. Much as he professes to dislike them because the dislike HIM (they dislike everyone but each other) he was concerned that a tree might fall on the house or glass might break or who knows what, so brought them along. I'm glad they had quality time together. He claims they enjoyed the ride.

With the way he drives, if they ever decide to speak, the language will be salty.

But they seem happy enough.

Here they are at the pool.

The rain's come.