surrounded by friends

We have a social, rather than an arts-based, weekend planned. It feels like we'll get a nice rest and renewal before we take off this weekend for parts south and lots of family time.

Last night, we had dinner with an old friend of mine who had never met Robert before. About twelve years ago, I accepted a job at a crazy dysfunctional company. The few good things to come out of it (besides a segue into my next job, which lasted nearly nine years) were a few lasting friendships, one with JaneT, and one with DebbiB.

At the time, Debbi had a young nephew, Thomas, who had been diagnosed with some horrible form of cancer. While she was struggling with what it would mean to lose Thomas, I was staring down the road at Mark's death. Thomas and Mark died within a few days of each other, and it turned out that their birthdays (though not birth years) were within a few days of each other too.

Debbi and I stayed in touch for a long time, and then she dropped off the face of the earth. When Robert and I were in Egypt, she stopped by to visit, apparently connected nicely with my friend Cen, and then she and I re-established our friendship. It turns out that she's buying a house in Maynard (yippee!) so we'll be nearly neighbors.

Last night, Robert, Debbi, and I had dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, Nancy's Airfield Cafe in neighboring Stow. The food was incredibly good (we each had one of the three specials -- yum). And it was Nancy's birthday, so she was out and about and came and talked to us for a bit before settling into her own celebration.

Tonight, we're dining with Robert's ex and recent office mate, Dawn. We're celebrating the new job that Dawn is starting on Monday (hooray!) and we're looking forward to another repas a trois to celebrate Robert's new job when that happens.

And tomorrow, we're dining with my old friend MarkW and his newish and delightful wife, LeeAnn. I met Mark's first wife, Char, nearly ten years ago when she became my office mate. After Char left the company, she got sick, and eventually died. While she was still around, she engineered a friendship between Mark and me. And though we no longer talk every day or even every week, Mark and I remain close. I was delighted when Mark met LeeAnn, and now LA and I have formed a friendship. So it'll be nice to see them too.

And on Wednesday, we jump on an airplane and go zooming off to Costa Rica. It won't be a major trip -- we'll be there less than a week -- but we will have time to hang out with family and enjoy their company. Our friend Cen will once again stay here to keep Ms. Koa company and the household running.

And then we come back and stay put for a good deal of the summer. I love being away, but being home is nice, too.

wild wet weekend

We went to dance camp this past weekend, held at a small and lovely YMCA camp in Northeastern Connecticut. About 100 of us gathered to dance and schmooze and eat together. Our main contra caller was Donna Hunt, someone unfamiliar to me, but a lot of fun. She called flowing, intriguing dances and very much became a part of our group.

Our band was Spank Me, a group that seems to have started with us and branched out to play at other venues as "Mr. Spankee" (the name change was at the insistence of other dance organizers hoping to avoid offending delicate dancers). A silly tradition of Leopard Print and mock S-M has grown up around them, so our Saturday night costume ball was all about the leopard, with marvelous and silly results.

For some unknown reason, I wore a skirt for most of the weekend (no, not the same skirt; I have more than one).

And it was very very wet; it's been raining for days, and there was a lot of walking between buildings. Fortunately, at the last minute, I threw my giant Muck Boots and my giant umbrella (I worked at IBM and all I got was this rather nice umbrella) into the car. So I was dry and happy and able to splash in mud puddles all weekend.

I was also able to dance a lot; my ankle held up well and was only slightly tender when we got home. I had scheduled an acupuncture session for yesterday, but there wasn't actually much for my Li.Acc. to do, fortunately. What a difference from a few years ago when I barely limped through five dances in an entire weekend (and that's dances, not sessions).

Anyways, food was decent, sleeping was good (note to self: always bring a furry husband and a warm quilt on these weekends), dancing was fun and high-energy, and the company was terrific (note to self: always bring 100 of your favorite people on these adventures).

*****
The rain continued through yesterday. A few areas to the northeast received over a foot of rain, and we're hearing a lot about flooding and evacuations. Our house is up the hill from the closest river, and we're surrounded by wet lands which sponge away the moisture. But a friend had three feet of water in her basement, and last I heard, another friend who lived three houses from a river was probably going to be evacuated.

I drove by our local river yesterday and crossed over it a few times. It's definitely high, about as bad as some of the worst spring-melt floods. But we'll be fine for a while longer. And today, the sky has a strange blue tint, an unfamiliar look. I'll take it. That is, before the next storm approaches, perhaps tomorrow.

One side benefit is that we've had a lot of wood stove fires lately, which makes the evenings even cozier. And they take a bit of chill and wet out of the air.

*****
Lately, I've developed a fondness for a particular blog. The writing is swift and impressive, and the stories leave me on the edge of my seat wanting more. Each story has been fairly plausible, but I think it's the number of fantastic coincidences and amazing connections that have raised suspicions for some people. One person on the web has led the charge to debunk the blog, and has been particularly nasty about it. Some of his "evidence" is believable; some of it is circumstantial. And at this point, the blog has shut down, possibly to return, but likely not.

I've always read the blog and connected to it as I did to the Armistead Maupin stories -- always hungry for more, never really caring whether the stories were "true". However, I think the debunker felt personally betrayed; he'd started up a correspondance with one of the three blog writers (though his contention is that there's just one person writing as three separate friends). To discover that an e-friend, one to whom you've developed a real attachment, is somehow a "fake" must be a blow indeed.

Brings to mind that old cartoon...

kitty (and people) trauma

Well, good thing we had a Plan C.

We're going away this weekend. I think we're generally agreed that Koa would do fine at the Cat Cottage, our local boarding place. We were ready to give it a try. The problem would be getting her there.

After long consultation with one of the CC owners, Plan A was for Robert or me to grab her by the scruff of her neck and stuff her into the carrier and deliver her to the CC where she'd spend a weekend in luxury. I've been feeling anxious about Plan A for a while. We've been practicing getting closer to her. Robert picked her up once when she was nice and relaxed and moved her six inches. I got her carrier out yesterday and put catnip in it.

Tonight, we arrived home. Robert was petting Koa on the bed. We did not close the doors (mistake number 1) and Robert went to grab her, but she slithered out of his arms pretty quickly and ran down the hall to one of her hiding places -- a bed with four drawers underneath. Koa ran behind that bed, glared at us, and then ducked between the drawers, where it would be next to impossible to reach her (short of disassembling the bed).

I drove over to the Cat Cottage to discuss Plan B with DeDe, the woman on duty. She said she'd come over to try to insert cat into carrier. Meanwhile, Koa ran back down the hall and jumped on the eight-foot high shelf.

DeDe arrived. We closed off the bathroom, and Robert went up on the bathroom counter to pet the kitty. He could barely reach her, but finally, after petting her and talking to her, grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and came down from the counter. He tried and tried to stuff her into the carrier, at which point she leapt out of his arms and, yes, I knew there was an origin for this saying, literally bounced off the walls, knocking things over. She finally took the back route back up to the shelf where she sat for a good long time. Robert said that she looked as terrified as she did when we first brought her home.

DeDe left, and with her went the hopes for Plan B and a nice weekend at the Cat Cottage. I cleaned up the spilled food, wet newspaper, cat pee (left by a terrified kitty), and went downstairs.

We finally heard a thud, and eventually, when I came upstairs, talked to the kitty while she was sitting at the top of the stairs. She ran under my bed, where she's stayed ever since.

So Plan C is that Chanda, also of the Cat Cottage, will come by a few times this weekend to clean the litter and replenish food supplies. Robert reminds me that this cat is almost monastic, and probably won't mind being left alone for a few days.

I'm exhausted; I'm sure our tiny cat is too.

Koa Kitty Katch-up

Sometimes it's hard to write about improvements in the Koa Kat's interaction with her humans. I'll walk into a room and she won't run away as long as I don't come too close. Or she'll walk away instead of running away. Or I'll look at her from across a room and she won't dive into hiding. As significant as these strides are, they just don't sound all that compelling.

But last night, there was some very exciting progress. Less than a week ago, I opened up the whole house, and she's been busy exploring. However, she's nervous about being in the new space, or at least about being noticed there. So typically, when I'm sitting downstairs and she comes down the stairs and sees me looking at her, even if I blink, she freaks out and races back up the stairs.

Last night, Robert and I sat at the dining room table and Koa strolled near by and allowed us to reach down and pet her. She laid down on the floor near us and kept us company. Then we moved to the living room, where we sat in our respective chairs. Koa wandered in and out of the room and jumped on Robert's chair and let him pet her there. She came over to stare at me a few times, but I was holding a big rustly newspaper, which she didn't want to get too close to.

Then, we moved upstairs and got into bed to read for a while longer. Koa jumped up on the bed and crawled between us and let us both pet her. Usually, it's hard for her to be around one human, but totally overwhelming to be around two.

I've noticed also that she's somewhat friendly in the morning but much more so in the evening. And of course, this morning, she's back to her avoidance behaviors, skitting away, or running around me when I approach or when she wants to go past. We did, however, have a very satisfying session this morning with the fishing pole that ends with a couple of feathers. I had her racing around, leaping, grabbing, biting, and occasionally catching and sitting on the feather.

We'll be away for a little bit later in the month, and it will be interesting to see how she handles the changes. I'm noticing, though, that even though changes are unsettling for her, she's becoming far more resilient to them and bouncing back more quickly than before.

i've heard it's another country out they-ah

I just got back from the grocery store. I mostly went to buy produce, and at this time of year, it's a little hard to resist the asparagus. It's actually been good lately, even though it's not from around he-ah, as we say in New England.

Today, there was a big sign touting the imported asparagus. Whee -- Holland? Chile? where else do they grow it? I looked at the bundles, and there, in familiar blue and gold (like the license plates) was the place of origin -- California-grown.

Hoo boy. I wonder if I'll need my passport next time I head to the left coast?

Soft musings

On the way home today, I heard more news coverage about one of the two alleged plagiarizers who've been in the news lately. The president of Raytheon has written a book which he's mostly lifted from a book written in the 40s, down to the title. Today, the board of directors gave him a mild reprimand (boys will be boys, I guess). Meanwhile, a young woman, an undergrad at Harvard (did I mention she's female? and Asian? and at Harvard?) has been raked across the coals, humiliated in the press, had her books pulled from stores, had her next book contract canceled, all for similar, but perhaps lesser, offenses. Who I am to judge? Then again, who is anyone else?

I entered a raffle today. It was cheap, it supported a colleague's daughter's art efforts. It seemed like a nice thing to do. The only problem is that I hope I either lose or that I win prizes in the exact opposite order in which they're offered (that is, if I am to win anything, I'd like to win the fourth, third, second, and first prizes in that order). But I'll probably get my first wish, which is just fine.

And as I left work today, I was reminded once again of something a former office mate told me. This person had spent a lot of time in Ireland and had learned to say "Ay, tis a soft day". And it was exactly that today. The ground was soaking wet. You couldn't see the drops hit the ground, but you could see little bits of rain in the air. An umbrella would have been useless because the air was saturated. I believe "Tis a soft day" is an expression of gratitude for the day not being wetter. So I felt just a little grateful on my trek to the car. As I slid into my car seat, I gave thanks for being finely misted, but not soaking to the bone.

P.S. The astute observers amongst my handful of readers (and gratitude goes out to each of you) may have noticed a new link in my blogroll. The link goes to my Boston AIDS Walk page. If you are inclined to donate this year, that would be a lovely thing, and for a very good cause, too. The walk is Sunday June 4, and I'll be there as I have been every year since 1988. Thanks.

Number twenty-nine

I have a very cool co-worker named Willie. Actually, his name is Willie Williams and he went to Williams College in Williamstown MA and lived in Williams Hall on Williams Road. He's a few years older than I am and so got to live through more of the fun of the sixties than the tail-end that I managed to salvage for myself.

A few days ago, we welcomed a new co-worker, and I asked where this guy lived. Cambridge. Central Square. Oh really? I used to live in Central Square, on a street that very few people have heard of, even though it tees right into Mass Ave, the main drag -- Essex Street.

At this point, WW piped up, "Not number twenty-nine?" But of course, and that's how we discovered that we share a special connection.

He never lived there, but one of his closest friends is best friends with a man whose initials are CAT IV (son of CAT III, father of CAT V; the son is also known as Quint). Willie started visiting #29 in the early 70s before he moved to New Mexico for a while. Now, the best friend's son travels to Cambridge a fair amount and stays at Clifford's, at 29 Essex Street, so Willie continue to visit.

For my side, I blew into town in the fall of 1978. I'd dropped out of college, came to Massachusetts on a whim, and stayed in a friend's redone attic for a few weeks while I figured out my next steps. I eventually found a copy of the Real Paper and started reading ads for apartments to share. I remember visiting a lot of apartments, and finally found one that seemed reasonable, at 29 Essex Street.

What an amazing place. It was a classic triple decker. The landlord had rented out the back yard as a parking lot (eventually, the building was bought by a temp agency for the parking lot; the rent on the apartments was incidental). The back balconies had been falling off until the residents shored them up.

The three apartments were all shared by people who knew each other. The apartments' front door locks were all different; the back door locks were all the same. The two men on the third floor, Richard and Clifford, were ten years older than I was, ABDs in History from Brandeis. Richard was a waiter at a snazzy Cambridge restaurant. Clifford was making money by doing substitute teaching, driving a cab, and submitting to medical tests (early on, he was gone for a month, helping the medical community determine the effects of extended feeding through an IV. He was the control subject being fed).

But the person who decided I could live there was Charlie Reynolds. Charlie was delightful and perceptive and had lived there, but was too sloppy and crazy to be allowed to stay. (This is saying a lot -- both qualities remained in profusion after his departure.) However, everyone loved him, so he retained his key and came and went as he pleased. You'd come into the kitchen sometimes and there he was, calmly eating some cheese.

After a long discussion with Charlie, the guys decided that youth was one of those unfortunate things that most people grew out of, so they decided to take a chance on me.

I moved in to the front bedroom, a narrow room in which Clifford had built a loft bed with a single-sized mattress. I then went out and got a cat, Isaac, a playful kitten. And I got a short-lived job at the Boston Ballet, making costumes. (They hired me over the phone. They loved me, but ran out of money to keep paying me $3 an hour; fortunately, my rent was only $55 a month.) And I signed up for a car repair class, the best thing I could think of that distanced me from Swarthmore.

to be continued...

good food, at long last

When I first started my job, I was pleased to discover that there was a cafeteria in the building. It was Fine, but not stellar. They had a decent salad bar, some fun sandwich wraps, an occasional vegetarian entree amongst the one or two that they served daily, and a rare vegetarian soup from the one daily selection. And the people who worked there were very, very nice.

A few weeks ago, the cafeteria closed with a promise of reopening soon. Today was the big day. With some fear that things would get even worse, I went to purchase lunch and discovered that the company that had taken over was ... Rebecca's, one of the best concerns going.

If today is any indication, they will have four or five soups daily, one of which will be vegetarian. Three or four entrees daily, of which one will be vegetarian. An attractive and interesting salad bar. Baked goods that I'll need to exercise extreme discretion around. Food that appeals to a wide range of eaters, from plain to fancy, packaged to fresh. Sandwiches and fried and grilled goods.

This is a cafeteria that I hope stays in the building for a while. This is a cafeteria that can actually attract new tenants, and please existing ones.

(Oh yes. For lunch today, I had polenta with melted cheese, cooked mushrooms, fresh tomatoes, and artichokes on top. Yum.)

secret agent at large

After the play on Friday night, we attended two more concerts this weekend. One was in Littleton MA. Suburban orchestras are always a little scary, in that even I can sometimes hear how out of tune and out of rhythm the players are with each other. But this one acquitted itself well with music that was not necessarily easy to play. This is the second time we've seen them, and I've been more than pleasantly surprised each time.

This time, they played a piece by Carl Maria von Weber, followed immediately by a set of variations written by Hindemith, one of which varied on the first piece. The second half featured a piece by Lalo (French composer with whom I was unfamiliar) and a part for a solo violinist that covered all five movements (I'm used to seeing the soloist get a break for at least one movement). The concert finished up with a pleasant and fun piece by Rimsky-Korsakov.

Kudos to our friends who buy two extra tickets to their series and occasionally invite us along. It was a real treat, both to see them, and to get to attend the event.

Yesterday, we saw the final concert in our four-concert series of chamber music played by Boston Symphony principals. Yesterday's concert was an all-Mozart program. Our soloist buddy was back for one piece, but in a more supporting role. So we saw him perform twice in 24 hours. My wrists would be tired! One of my favorite instruments, though, one that I've never before seen live, was a glass harmonica (some samples are here). It has a sweet and quiet sound, at least in the hands of the performer, and melded beautifully with the strings and oboe.

After the concert, Robert headed south to visit his sister for a few days. I came home, and on impulse, opened the door to the addition and left it open. The kitty ventured out. I didn't see her for a few hours, until I looked up from the computer and noticed her in a regular spot, cleaning herself. She disappeared again. But this morning when I woke up, I gave her a quick call (brr -- brr) and there she was on the bed, ecstatically rolling around, asking to be petted. In the last few minutes, she's been tearing around the bedroom, chasing one of her toys. She seems to be having lots of fun.