Sunday, February 26, 2006


My cats don't drink out of their water dish - ever. I clean it. I change the water twice a day, but they still won't touch it. Instead they lurk about the sink waiting to catch a drip from the faucet. Any glass half full left about is theirs, even if it means carrying it on their head because they've got stuck inside. Or it seems that no matter where they might be hiding in my home, when the toilet flushes, they appear.  People who have been long-time cat lovers may be already familiar with these bizarre idiosyncrasies, but for me, it is all new news.

I've found a happy solution. I recently purchased some cat grass. The bright, green blades looked so hopeful on a gray, winter day. I would water and trim it and fantasize about what life might be like in the suburbs. As soon as the water poured, the cats came running. They popped out from the hole they made from inside my couch, bounded over toys and table and onto the window sill. Crowding each other out they fought for the precious, grassy, dirt filtered water.

Ahhh - refreshing.


I finally, FINALLY got my Canon EOS 20D back from repair, and they did indeed take the entire two months to fix it as they said. I was so excited to have it in my hands again and started snapping away at anything just to hear the shutter in action. But, low and behold, LOOK...

The invasive blue line is still there.


Thursday, February 23, 2006

Bear Talk

I’ve learned something new about parenting tonight. A few weeks ago, Chloe left her very favorite stuffed bunny at the farm. It was bedtime when the realization occurred and both of us were desperate. She was so sad, not the whiny, trying-to-get attention cries, but she was sad with that deep loss when someone you really, really love cannot be with you. I was sad knowing how hard this was for her. I picked up a stuffed bear we had recently bought on vacation and began talking to her through the bear. She sniffled a bit but was soon thrilled that I had turned an ordinary stuffed animal into a friend who wanted to talk and snuggle with her.

This got us through a few nights until we could return to the farm to reunite with her precious bunny. It is now our new bedtime ritual to have “puppet-night”. The amount of characters keeps increasing every evening. Tonight it was already past bedtime so I wanted to rush through her friends. While performing “snuggly bear” Chloe whispered something in the bear’s ear. She told him a secret – that he can’t tell anyone – “don’t play with Queenie (one of the characters) because she isn’t our friend.” I nearly gasped. Do kids become this mean so young? We had just come home from a school open house and she was playing with kids from different classes. I can just imagine her in a gaggle of girls talking about excluding another child. Or perhaps she was on the other end. I was concerned and didn’t want to ignore this.

My usual reaction would be to lecture Chloe. But instead without really thinking about it, with the bear in hand, Snuggly Bear told Chloe a story about when he was the new kid at school, the other kids didn’t want to play with him because he wore funny clothes and it made him feel very sad, blah, blah, blah. She listened so intently to the bear as though she had climbed mountains to receive wisdom from a great master. Indeed, she felt sorry for excluding the other doll. If I had told her this directly, she would have rolled her eyes and said something like, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I know, I know.”

Hmmm. I think I like puppet-time.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

I've Been Tagged

I'm a little slow at this Internet tag game but here it goes... I've been tagged by two terrific women, LoveMom and Dusty. This I will try to play in my own, meandering sort of way.

Recently taken in Brooklyn by my brother-in-law, Christian, this image invokes memories from ten years ago which leads me to the question (all that I'll answer tonight), "What were you doing ten years ago?"

Ten years ago, I was dating my husband to be, George. New York City was magical that winter. Blizzard after blizzard kept the city covered in snow. The day of one such snow dump, I was in Brooklyn, and in spite of the city being virtually shut down, I managed to get into work to close up the office (the doors unlocked automatically during business hours). I slogged through the snow and met George at his office in the World Trade Center where he worked at the time. We ate pizza with the traders and techies who stayed in hotels the night before to keep the markets open. Later, we escaped to Chelsea to hang out in his closet-sized apartment and watched in awe as people were skiing down Broadway (there was probably a fair amount of smooching going on, too). With a blanket of snow, NY looked like time had reversed about a hundred years. I was so in love - with George, with the city, with the snow. I thought life was perfect.

During another blizzard, I had spent nearly all day at church without looking outside a window. Around 4:00 pm, I emerged to find Brooklyn completely shut down. Not a car or bus in site as they were all buried under snow. The F Train was totally shut down past the Carroll Street stop where it inconveniently reaches the highest point in the NY City subway system. I was wearing pumps and pantyhose so the thought of walking home sounded cold and wet. My Bishop ran home to get me some boots, sweats and an extra hat. He walked me halfway to meet George on Fourth Avenue who would escort me the rest of the way home. When we met, I fell from laughter. He didn’t have any snow gear, so he had to rummage through my apartment in my absence. What he found for snow gear was a cowboy hat (from my cheesy, line-dancing days at Denim and Diamonds), a pink/purple/blue fuzzy scarf, and plastic garbage bags wrapped over his shoes. He looked like a drag queen. I turned to thank my Bishop and he had long, icicles hanging from his nostrils and beard. These were two, very chivalrous men - my knights of Brooklyn.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

SPT: All of Me

When dieting, alcohol's calorie content hasn't nearly as much impact on my waist line as does all extra food I consume along with it. Nothing seems to break my resolve quicker than a buzz. Sometimes it is not even the resolve at issue. I may be physically satiated, but the effect of booze somehow dispells that.

Here I am vegged-out, zoned-out, just put the kid to bed and too tired to do anything but eat, drink and watch TV.

This week I was sober, but not in a self-help sort of way. I was on some medication that would react badly with alcohol. I'm anxious to weigh in tomorrow to see if it made any impact.

PS: I cannot think of this month's self portrait tuesday theme, "All of Me" and can't help but want to expose negative aspects of myself. I'll try for some positive exposure next week.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

The UPS Guy

The same UPS guy has been delivering in my neighborhood ever since I moved here around five years ago. He is a friendly man with eyes that sparkle when he smiles. Running into him when my daughter and I are out and about gives me the sense that I’m on the set of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood and the Sesame Street song “Who are the people in your neighborhood?” starts bouncing in my head. When in his truck, he’ll toot his horn and wave. When on the street, he’ll shout hello. When I open my door to him, my daughter rushes out to hug his knees. (Once when a neighbor witnessed my kid’s familiarity with the UPS guy, I blushed and realized that I just might be doing a little too much Internet shopping.)

In spite of the fact that he’s seen me in my pajamas, a bathrobe, sweats and even once in an evening gown, our contact is all above the board. He has never met, nor seen my husband, yet he frequently asks me to send George his regards. I find that amusing, but I recognize this as confirmation that he is one who respects marital status.

The other day the UPS guy was entering my building laden with boxes. I held the door, we exchanged pleasantries, and I began to rush away to pick up my daughter from school. Then I heard it, “Mrs. P, may I ask you a question?” He smiled sweetly and looked directly into my eyes. “Are you LDS?”

Gulp, they found me. To any of you who aren’t LDS, that is code for a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or Mormon to be more familiar.

“Yes, well, I once was.” I responded. At the moment I didn’t feel the need to fill him in on my complex feelings and history towards “the Church”. He informed me that he saw my name on the list. “Hmmm, that’s nice.” I responded, said goodbye, and rushed away. That list can be an intimidating thing. To be on the list, you have been baptized. To be removed from the list, you have been excommunicated. To request to simply be removed by choice, well, that bears deep concern.

Now, the UPS guy is no longer just some guy dressed head to foot in brown with a big truck and the bearer of fun packages. I am a member of his Ward. He is an Elder of the Church. I imagine him sitting with members of the bishopric contemplating those mysterious “inactives”. Or perhaps he is the Bishop. I dared not ask.

Oh – the things he has delivered to my home (wink, wink).

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Something other than...

Just an image of my sweet cat to put something at the top of the page instead of my round, naked belly. She is readying herself to pounce on my dangling lens cap.

Thursday, February 02, 2006




Or Blog?

I lost 4 pounds last week. That's worth noting.

(Although I did finally remove my shoes when getting weighed in.)