Life After Kids . . .

So, this is what happens when you leave your parents to their own devices - they run off and become pirates.

Is this just about the greatest picture ever? Too bad you can't hear the "arrgghh" Dad was making as the shutter snapped.

Sometimes I worry that my parents will be lonely with three girls away from home, at college and beyond. I really shouldn't - it seems everytime I call they're dining with friends at new restaurants, taking in stray cats (whom they've now dubbed "The Kids"), and galavating around Hunterdon County in swashbuckling attire - and dont' think mom is innocent in this; she's the one who dressed him!

All this fun they're having makes it seem all the more vital that Jess and I expedite the retrieval of our case(s) of Finger Lakes wine we've been storing in Jersey, on the premise of waiting till we found a car with which to cart it back to Brooklyn.

What scallywags could resist such prize booty??!!

Circus Kitties

Tried to train the cats today - Oscar and Lucy, the ultimate odd couple.

To better aid in the telling of this story, a couple of mental kitty portraits may help: Oscar is a fluffy, tiger-striped, slightly pudgy boy cat; Lucy is an anxious, tiny girl cat, snow-bunny white from the tops of her ears to the constantly ticking tip of her tail. The two alternate between devastatingly adorable snugglege and tempestuous brawls always consisting of Oscar exerting just enough effort to maintain his dominance over itty bitty Lucy. Lucy-Bitch we call her a lot. But not because she's Oscar's bitch - because she's a bitch. Period.

Anyway, Oscar has this cute habit of balancing up onto his hind legs, circus bear-like, in order to push his head up underneath a tantalizingly dangling hand, the curl of fingers a cat-speak "allioop!" So I attempted this afternoon, rare sunlight streaming the windows of our dead-end street apartment, to train both Lucy and Oscar to perform this feat on command. Miserable failure sounds harsh, but, there it be.

Having no designated cat "treats," I decided to use their usual food as my training tool of choice. Unfortunately, the cats were so excited by the prospect of a possible previously unscheduled feeding, that they wouldn't leave their food dishes, swishing and swirling amongst our cast-off shoes, rubbing up against them and each other. When I'd finally lured them away from their still empty dishes, Lucy seemed to show a thinly-veiled disdain for my high-pitched yippings and jerky hand movements, trying to signal "up, up!" Oscar, who as I said has done the trick on his own before, seemed too stupid to understand what I was trying to do. He sat and stared, blankly, stooping to eat bits of food off the floor whenever my arms movements became enthusiastic enough to let escape any kernels of the fishy smelling stuff.

My circus-ring yips getting fainter, more exasperated, I gave up and threw a bit of food in both their bowls, if only to get their uncooperative behinds out of my sight. Lucy-Bitch indeed.

blogging out loud

Blogging is like talking out loud - something I've never been totally comfortable doing. I'd rather think, write, re-write, edit, mold, tinker, tuck, pinch, nip, plump, cajole, convince the words I'm using to say what I want. If it needs to be written in less than an hour, I won't bother. Or at least, not till now. This is a new goal of mine - to be comfortable with the quickly jotted down word, the true snippet, the casual thought. Not everything needs to be born of divine inspiration. I think that way I will play more, write more, breathe more, get back in the groove. Feel like I can use my tool again. Get excited about it again. Make it a viable, present, working part of my life - give it greater precidence in my life than, say, the slightly depressing, partially maddening, pays-the-bills-job that I am grateful, resentful of. On, that lovely prepositional ending, good night. Off to West Wing it is!

Poem for a Saturday in Spring

walk through the park
see the magnolia trees in bloom?
walk to the gardens
6/15 community gardens
walk to 9th street station
you bought me a chocolate-filled croissant
(even though you thought it wasn't healthy)
walk down seventh ave to johnny's bar
it's early - i'm the first customer
i have no money
so johnny pours me glassfuls of ice cold water
from behind the bar
he prepares for the day
especially for margaritas
lime juice to wet the glass
big kosher salt to coat the rim
squeezer at the ready
he chops lemon and lime wedges while he talks
hair swinging about his chin and cheeks
slice off one end, then the other
stand the lemon/lime on one juicy cut end
slice it down the middle
notch the two halves in their center
where the seeds would be
lay the lemon/limes cut face down
slice them crosswise
into happy lemon/lime smiles
that will grin down onto salty coated rims
i pay for my water with a wave
get down off my stool, coat on
linger in the doorway
walk out into the sunshine
it's time to get a haircut
do my taxes
go to the gym
dig up the garden
clean up my room
sweep the house
(it is my turn on the schedule)
mail some magnets
do the dishes
go to the movies
crawl up to bed
my head two feet from the ceiling
close my eyes
bathed in the moonlight that is the
back alley street light
that soon will be broken
by us
with rocks