With great delight I am reporting to you that I am safely again at chez de Guerre, ensconced in my own delightful bed with the extra pillows and a small cup of chocolat' at my elbow. My darling Dervish and monsieur le chat, Dominique, are on their pillows nearby, and peace has returned.
After my recent illness in Vienna, which Miss Angleterre persists in attributing to an excess of pastry (but, entre' nous, dear ones, this is not the true case) -- well, in what I would call an excess of caution, Miss Angleterre invoked the powers of my travel insurance and had me flown home. She has told others that I was "med-evac" or evicted, or something like that, but in fact I had a comfortable reclining seat in first-class, my own nurse, and wheelchairs waiting at each airport. One felt quite cherished, in fact. In truth, I was weary of Europe (how, you say, could that be?) but as we grow more mature and wise, home becomes more dear to us. And my loves, the money is too, too confusing. One never knows from dawn until dark whether one will have the necessary for dinner and lodging. Miss Angleterre was required to wire funds several times because I simply cannot make out the prices in "euros" and simply resort to handing shopkeepers and waiters some money and hoping for the best. In any case, I digress. One was rather saddened to leave the kind ministrations of one's physician in Vienna. When I spoke of dear Fritz -- excuse me, Herr Doktor Strudenheim -- Miss Angleterre merely sniffed in that slightly annoying British manner and said that proved it was "past time" for my return.
And now I come back to my adopted home to learn that Monsieur le professeur Malone, like so many before him, has fallen from grace. My, my -- as our neighbor says, "Couldn't happen to a nicer feller."
Well, I shall enjoy catching up on the past weeks' postings, reading my mail, and continuing to slowly regain my strength with some fortifying dark chocolate raspberry creams. If I can remember where I hid them. Miss Angelterre is becoming rather tiresome on the subject of whole grains, but as she is presently deep into her third reading of the new Henri Potter book, I shall go on a quiet search.
Invictus, mon cher, you could have availed yourself of Dervish's services had you asked. A simple phone call to Miss Angleterre, a small deposit. I do not, however, allow him to work for anyone except the HGC's and a few lady friends. In fact, I was most grateful that Miss Angleterre re-directed our friends Boudreux and Thibodeaux from la Louisiane with their alligator friend. However, I have cautioned Miss Angleterre that encouraging someone to take a dangerous animal to certain locations on Jamestown Road could be misconstrued as a threat. It is fortunate that they did not come to my home, however. I would most dislike the large fine we would have incurred for allowing Dervish to harm the creature.
In other news, I have had the most delightful chat this afternoon with my dear friend W.J. Johnson, speaking of the new branch campus at D'Lo. I understand that I may be offered a position in both academic administration and decorating, apparently a new trend in academia. Tomorrow I shall take out the 'vette for a trip to the paint store (no, not that one-- do you associate beige with moi?) The possibilities are most, most exciting. However, we have still not filled the vacant chauffeur position, and I am somewhat concerned because, alas, I do not actually know where D'Lo is. However, I am most hopeful it will all come out in the laundry, as you say.
Bon soir,
M. de G.
PS I am happy to report that the raspberry creams were located in a bookshelf behind my copy of David McCullough's wonderful John Adams. Perhaps we all should reacquaint ourselves with your noble Founding Fathers.
And of course, I did not think that Miss Angleterre would be terribly drawn to biographies of your revolution, hence the hiding place ideal. And I am much fortified, thank you.
Here is a "classic" Monique de Guerre, kicked for the benefit of a new poster. If I recall, Mlle. de Guerre had been in Europe for the summer with her German cousin, and had been taken ill.
The alligator incident refers to Hurricane Dennis evacuations, when their friends Boudreaux and Thibodeaux, along with their pet gator T-Fred, proposed coming to Hattiesburg, and were given directions to a certain house on Jamestown Road.
Also, Miss Angleterre is not the housekeeper -- there is one, but I don't remember her name. She is Watson to Mlle. de Guerre's Holmes, you might say. Keeps everything as under control as possible, not always an easy task apparently.
You can google these names and find some of the old posts.
And now I come back to my adopted home to learn that Monsieur le professeur Malone, like so many before him, has fallen from grace. My, my -- as our neighbor says, "Couldn't happen to a nicer feller."
Bon nuit to all my dear friends.
Monique de Guerre
What did I miss? Is Malone gone? If so, was he fired, or was it a voluntary departure?
That was posted back in the summer, after Malone seemed to lose his exalted status as boss on the coast. Far as I know, he's still around, just no longer in charge of much.