And she is a wonderful hostess. I arrived to find fresh flowers in my room, blueberries and yogurt in the fridge, truffles on the counter, a spa guest robe and an array of scented beauty stuffs in the bathroom, and her kind readiness to let me nap. Last night we went for "CalAsian" food at Yamashiro, another valley view to die for, and today we had lunch someplace with a weirdly inappropriate name, California Cantina, I think, which is actually French in proprietorship but has an Italian menu. I had lovely bruschetta and pasta and am so garlicky right now that you are probably saying "ahhh" to yourself because you'd been wondering where that smell was coming from.
I have napped and napped and napped and lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed et cetera, till armed-response alert recordings woke me and I drowned. It's a very well-guarded house.
Okay, I've stopped making sense. Tonight we plan in our vague and theoretical way to watch DVDs and Eat Things.
For "koimistress" my spellcheck suggests "koumisses," which I learn is a drink made from fermented milk, especially mare's milk, derived from the seventeenth-century Russian kumis, from Tatar kumiz. Sadly, I have a feeling I will never use that in a story.