The Promised Land

I’m in need of a little cheering up today. I’ve got a couple of very, very close friends who have the blues and there’s precious little I can do but listen, offer a cocktail and a meal or two. Life does get messy. Cary Grant was married five times, but according to David Niven, he rushed into each completely confident that the latest would be the one. My point is that hope always trumps experience in the easy and elegant life.

So today, I am taking the time to return, at least virtually, to the promised land glimpsed during the early nineties; that place where Mrs. E. and I once left espadrille prints in the white sand beaches of St. Raphaël, and followed in the footsteps of F. Scott Fitzhemingway, the Murphys and others. Ours was not a lost generation. We had been found.

Like the voice over once instructed, “sit back, relax and enjoy the show.”

Many thanks to kind reader DAS, Jr. for passing this along. It is much appreciated.

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