au lait!

It's now November in Vermont. This is truthfully my favorite time of year. The sky alternates between gray and icy drizzle or bright metalic blue. It's quiet nesting time, but a latent energy is starting to build in anticipation of the holidays.

Today is especially great, because we have a new friend coming to stay. We're adopting my sister's cat Au Lait. Hannah found her this past spring underneath the cooler at the coffee shop. She coaxed the skinny kitty out with a bowl of warm milk, hence the name. Now she's skinny no longer. In fact, she may need to go on a diet, the greedy gut! But we're very excited about the addition to our family. Here kitty, kitty!

moss fairy, kitty kitty

We woke up early this morning to the bright, April sun shining in our window--the lake still sleepy-eyed. My mummy was already awake (she and my dad stayed in town last night). She was feeling very poetic and inspired, so I helped her set up a blog to write down what she was thinking.

She called it Moss Fairy, and she's very silly. So is Au Lait, our kitty, and not very modest at all, is she?

litter box blues

There are certain quotidian household items -- televisions, microwaves, and other appliances -- that seem to get the short end of the stick when it comes to modern design. Let’s face it: they’re square and really don’t look good anywhere. I’m thinking about this after spending at least two hours last night trying to find a nice litter box online for Au Lait.

I’m not asking for much, just a pretty little box or bowl that (1) does not look like a Rubbermaid garbage can in the middle of our small apartment and (2) makes Au Lait feel like the princess that she is. Ideally, it would be small, minimalist, made of bamboo, and under $100.

Apparently, this IS too much to ask. If you Google “designer litter box” or “stylish litter box,” what you get is anything but. You’ll find a large selection of the aforementioned Rubbermaid style -- covered with cheesy leopard spot decals, robotic self-cleaning machines (ghastly!), and massive wooden box furniture doubling as cabinets to hide those “unsightly, smelly litter boxes.” Here’s a better idea: keep the litter box clean and build a better-looking litter box in the first place that doesn’t need to be hidden.

We don’t have room for more furniture. What’s more, the smell is not an issue: we have to keep Au Lait’s box clean -- not only because it’s a small apartment and you can smell everything that goes on there -- but for the health and well-being of all of us, including kitty. We’ve tried putting her outside, but she prefers to go in the box, so we fill it with the wonderful and odorless Swheat Scoop and scoop it at least twice a day.

What’s bugging me is the ugly plastic bin we all have to look at every day.

It doesn’t have to be this way: ironically, designer (people) toilets seem to be getting a lot of attention these days. Why not cat litters too? To be fair, I did find a designer bench by Kattbank -- also designed to “hide” the kitty litter. But it costs $2000 and I have no idea where we would put it. I also found this cute Cottage litter box from Litter Lofts, but Colin nixed it right away. Besides, Au Lait’s not really a cottage girl. She needs her NYC style studio.

Okay, this is it. I’m putting out an S.O.S. Who will find my litter box?

clean for kitty

Always keep your rooms tidy and your dress presentable, my mother used to tell us girls, just in case the Queen Mother decides to pop in for tea. She had the right to be so silly, for one day when my mother was still a young impressionable child, the Queen’s mum actually did pop in for tea. And she stayed the night too! Or at least that’s how the story goes.

Well, I have another reason to be clean: Au Lait. My silly cat in a strike against hunger (I’m trying to help her lose some weight) has taken to licking—nay eating—my clothes if I forget to put them away. At first it was just ribbons and plastic bags, then woolly hats. Now if I leave the closet doors open, she’ll start hacking on the hems of my lovely skirts at random. Dear God, if the Queen Mother ever does come to tea, please don’t let her wear lace.

I found Au Lait chewing on the sleeve of my favorite jacket today. Does it taste good? I can’t imagine that it does. I said, “No!” very sternly (just how I learned in self-defense class) and squirted her with the water gun. That’s the fifth time in two days and now I’m beginning to think she likes it. Am I creating a mutant? The other night she almost tried to jump in the bath. Who ever heard of a sea-faring kitty? In any case, I still love the little beast dearly. I need her and she needs me.

And now for the moment at least we’re both clean.

finally, designer kitty!

Remember when I was whining about the lack of stylish litter boxes in the market? Well, I haven't yet found the box of my kitty cats' dreams, but I have found one company that brings us all a step closer. What's more, they're located right here in Burlington, Vermont!

Hepper Home is a pet products company that sells a line of stylish, modern furniture for cats and dogs. My favorite is a herringbone tweed nest bed, lined in fuzzy wuzzy sherpa fleece. Don't worry, I sent a request for litters and turns out they're already working on it. But for now, enjoy the fun offerings!

www.hepperhome.com

happy sad, part deux

Is this the year of life? Last year, friends moved away. In the spring, my grandfather passed. Then Granny Dot in the summer. Then our old family dog Caleb soon after. Then we got Suki. Little kitty, lovely kitty. To bring the old lady cat Au Lait some new life.

Is this then the year of life?

Elisa just had her baby a few days ago. Precious Zoe. Nicci will pop soon enough!

There will be weddings. At least four this summer... maybe more to come. I had to buy silver shoes for one of them. They came in the mail today. Must send them back. Too silver. Too tight.

When people get married, they lose a little piece of you. Or is it the other way around? When people get married, you lose a little piece of them. When people have babies, they gain a new world. Their life purpose is made more concrete. You start feeling a little more lost in the world.

When people go and buy a house, you're still a renter.

That's just how I feel right now. When we got Suki, Au Lait became just a little bit sadder. She always will be now—just a little bit sadder.

I think it's okay for me to feel this way. To feel left out during the great milestones of other people's lives. It's not that I'm jealous or that I want to be the one in the gown or in the maternity clothes. Or in the coffin. I don't just yet. Truly. I'm not ready to be there myself. Just yet.

It's just that when others are at those milestones—the weddings, the births, the passings—they're substantiated in so many ways. By cultural affirmations, physical affirmations, public affirmations, ceremonies and celebrations. At that moment, any old person can look upon them and say, "So, that's where they are in life."

Whereas, those of us who are not quite there yet—those of us who are still working towards great milestones—are left floating around the sidelines, semi-transparent. Indescribable and so therefore somewhat invisible. Swooping in every now and then to affirm, to listen, to praise and to celebrate the lives of others. Happy, yet hardly noticeable in the grand scheme of things.

It's okay to feel this way. I think it's perfectly normal for everyone to feel this way—at some point in their life.

Still, I'm quite sure this will be a year of life. Yes, I'm quite sure of it.

new york, new york (L.A. no)

At the end of March, Col and I took a trip to New York City. Actually, the purpose of the trip was two-fold: to visit our friends and to attend a baby shower in Connecticut. The girlfriends went together (the boys stayed in the city, watched ninja movies, and ate Burger King). We three--Courtney, Kathleen, and I--took the train to Norwalk. It was just like that episode from Sex and the City, with the single ladies from New York dressed in black next to the mommies in pastels talking about their diaper genies. We felt a little out of place despite the excitement of seeing our friend with a very large round belly.

Later that night, back in the city and back with the boys, we met up with Courtney's friend Fran at Little Frankies. The restaurant was closed, but we stayed there at the bar drinking wine and scotch and listening to this crazy English guy (who's in love with Fran) play us songs off his playlist until 5 in the morning. The best one--and the one that's still in my head--was Major Tom by Peter Schilling...

4...3...2...1...
Earth below us...

Courtney and Fran were off their stools and dancing at that point. Colin, Spencer, and I had started our own little conversation about Col's job: he had just found out the day before that Burton was going to move his entire department out to L.A. He had to decide if he would go out there. If he didn't, he'd be out of a job.

Drifting falling
Floating weightless
Calling calling home...

Sitting there at Little Frankies I just couldn't imagine leaving the East Coast. Neither could Col. But good jobs in Burlington are scarce.

Fran said, "Why don't you just move to New York?"

"I'd move to New York," I said, quietly acknowledging the surge of unease resurface in my belly. "I'd much rather move to New York than L.A. If I had to choose."

When I think about what inspires me, one thing that comes to mind is place. Or places. That's why one of the reasons I've been in such a funk over the idea of L.A. In my gut, I'm just not drawn to that particular place. Not like I'm drawn to Provence or Vermont or New York. Still I could imagine myself living on the beach somewhere in Orange County, writing my book, hanging with Poopy, never missing a blog posting...but then there's the freeway and how would I ever get from here to there on foot?

Sunday morning and time to go home. I always leave New York feeling nostalgic. It's a sad kind of nostalgia. I'm reluctant to leave, yes, but I think the sad nostalgia is also due to an emptiness that falls in place after living and breathing concrete soul for two days. It's not a fantastic feeling, but there's a residual guilty pleasure tacked in there too.

Because the fact is, I love New York. I love watching the streets and storefronts whiz by as we make our way back to the good old Green Mountain State. Back to work. Back to kitty. Back to daily life. But what if this New York were my daily life? The sidewalks and Cafe Mogador. Spencer and Courtney living next door... I just don't know yet. Col's still in limbo with his job and I'm feeling an uneasy excitement at what's in store.

For now though, I'm just fine and dandy in Vermont.

one

This time last year, I was doing this:

I loved being pregnant and spent the last few days of my pregnancy just being. Then all of sudden, this happened:

We spent the first few days and weeks getting to know this strange little thing who had entered our lives. It was hard some days and I remember looking back on those quiet days of my pregnancy with yearning. I wanted to be back in that easy place where I could lay on the couch for hours and sleep and snuggle with the kitty and just be me.

But slowly and surely, this little creature edged her way into our hearts and our very beings. And now I look at that photo of the young pregnant woman on the couch, just on the cusp of a new life, and I just have to chuckle. How much she has learned and grown and changed. How much she's gotten wrong. But how much she's gotten right, too.

Tomorrow, our little girl will turn one. What a wild journey it's been so far. And on to the next!

Brand new

1 month old

Right before 2 month shots!

Almost 3 months old - This was the night before I went back to work

Almost 4 months at my birthday party

Her character started coming out in the spring

Lots of poolyside fun this summer

Beautiful baby at Hannah and Richard's wedding in June

Enjoying the beach with besties in East Hampton

First family trip to Southport, Maine

Papa Daughter time in Boston

Not quite sure about the Steam Punk exhibit at Shelburne Museum

Playing in the leaves at the Farmers' Market

Amelia's dedication on Mount Philo in October

On our traditional hike to get the Christmas tree at Paine's. She was a good sport.

multi-tasking is not conducive to the creative process. Or is it?

It's a Friday morning and I'm at home. Not at work, not traveling. Just home. And our little babe is asleep in her crib for a loooonng nap. Kitty is asleep cuddled up next to me. I can't remember the last time I had two minutes to rub together for such a quiet, unadulterated moment. And of course, the minute I realize, "I have MEEE time" I think of a million ways to fill it. So I clean the living room, delete old files off my computer, organize some photos, pay some bills and then I remember that I've been wanting to write more, so I open up my computer AGAIN.

But then I remember I had wanted to check my work email (why, oh why do I do that on my days off?). So I got distracted by that for a while. Then, only then, did I shut everything else down and turn towards my writing.

I remember that when I used to write in my journal, I would spend some time thinking about my day and what I wanted to remember from it—or learn from it. William Wordsworth described this moment as he lay on the couch as a "vacant or pensive mood" in which to be inspired. And so it was, I would seize upon a particular word or image, and then I would just let it flow. That used to be easy for me.

But back then, I was never very good at doing laundry or cleaning house.

Now, when I have one hand holding baby, another feeding the cats, another on my phone checking messages, another hand waving to Col as he gets home from work (and of course that dang work e-mail), and still another hand stirring dinner on the stove and stacking baby bottles in the dishwasher, the concept of quiet introspection seems comical.

And still, the drive to write and to be thoughtful is there.

I will never not want to write. So, maybe for now, when I start to hear whimpers from the nursery and my dang phone is dinging again and the washing machine is buzzing. For now, perhaps my writing needs to be short and sweet and inspired by the very chaos life has become. Perhaps a structured haiku poem to harness that chaos a bit? Yes, a haiku! Hang on, what are the rules for haiku again?

Hang on, let me Google it. Hang on...

Oh yes, haiku is 17 syllables, 3 lines in 5-7-5 pattern. Often about nature. Okay here's my Friday morning meeee time haiku (inspired by one of the loves of my life cozy next to me):

Cat, I love you, purr
Despite bites, blood, ER, pills
I still love you, Cat.

the best surprise

You know how sometimes you find yourself silently wishing for something ludicrous that you would never dare ask for out loud? Those unspoken wishes usually never come true. But sometimes... well, you just never know.

This morning, I found myself back in my shower again. I was running late for work as usual, but unusually late. Col--what a gent--had woken up early to put the coffee on, but then we realized there was no milk left. What is coffee in the morning without milk? I dare not tread that forbidden path, lest my stomach revolt in acid anger. So I decided to go regrettingly without coffee at all.

This all happened before the shower. In fact, probably part of the reason I was running so unusually late was due to the 10 minutes spent in bed deliberating on the no-milk conundrum.

In the shower, however, I had more time to think. Going to work without coffee was really not an option, I was going to have to drink it black and suffer the reflux consequences. Maybe I could mix in lots of maple syrup to soften the blow.

This is where the wish came in. I thought to myself, “wouldn’t it be so great if Col surprised me and ran to the store while I was in the shower?” I immediately brushed the thought out of my head. Just too cruel! But as I turned the water off and called out my usual after-shower “Hello?” there was no response. I opened the bathroom door, stuck my head out, and said it again. “Hello?” He wasn’t there. Au Lait, our kitty, was sitting outside the door looking back at me as if to say, “This really is unbelievable!”

At that moment, I heard the downstairs door open and close. I quickly closed the bathroom door and flipped the fan on, so as not to ruin the surprise. He came in quietly, and then said in belated response, “Hello? Are you still moisturizing in there?”

I said, “yup” and waited a couple seconds before going out to greet him. He was standing in the kitchen stirring milk into my coffee. Not only that, but he had bought me a donut for breakfast too. His face was glowing with smiles, “Look what I did!” I ran up to him and gave him a big kiss. “You’re the best,” I said.

kitty time

Au Lait and Suki's back-to-school photo. Suki's getting big, but Au Lait's still bigger. We are the proud parents!

better than hot water bottles

So much for the snow. We got nothing here in Burlington last night. But for the cold.

Our apartment gets heated by those old-school radiators, and they can take forever to warm up. When I get home from work, it's like a chiller in here. And yet I just can't bring myself to turn up the heat.

This time of day, I sit on the couch still wearing my winter coat, waiting for the cats to finish their dinner so they can come sit on my belly and warm me up. It's better than a hot water bottle, I'm telling you. Warm full kitty bellies purring on top of me.

sun porch

I stayed home from work today. It was gray and cold and I just couldn't get out of bed. When I awoke from a mid-morning nap, I found Au Lait my kitty curled up in the little nook behind my knees and the sun was shining in full force a mirror of light across my face. It's gorgeous out. And even warm enough to sit out on the porch while I type. I can see all of Burlington from up here. I can even spy on the Clavelles' pool next door (it's covered with a tarp right now).

Au Lait is exploring and sniffing all of the fresh spring smells and sounds. The wind is blowing across the lake causing the water to ripple like a million silver leaves.

I am feeling revived.

our new kitty

Her name is Suki. Enough said. (P.S. Spencer, yours is next, I promise)

day off porch pictures

I took the day off today before I start my new job tomorrow at EatingWell. I planned to get a lot done around the house, but it's just so nice out, I've been content to sit on the porch and enjoy the beautiful weather and kitty company. Here are some pictures (Au Lait likes to get in all the shots--what a prima donna!).

There's our neighbors' pool and downtown Burlington in the distance. And our new table and chairs that Heather gave us (now we can eat dinner outside!) and Au Lait's potted Cat Grass on the floor. She absolutely loves it. My rosemary and lettuce seem to be doing very well in the self-watering window box. Go figure. The other potted plants that rely on me, the ones that together make my make-shift garden, well, they need a little help. It's slow-going right now. Not enough sun maybe?

it's about time

Here I am sitting with my laptop, watching T.V., checking e-mail, reading magazines—everything, in fact, to avoid what I should be doing: writing. I never get writer's block, but for some reason the last couple weeks have been painfully void of any words to spare. I'm feeling laconic, and I'm feeling guilty about it.

The thing is, once you slip your rhythm, it's all too easy to say, "I'll get back on track tomorrow." Before you know it tomorrow becomes next week. Next week becomes next month. Next month becomes next year. And next year might as well be never.

So here I am sitting with my lap top writing whatever I can think of. Colin's still at work. He's been working a lot over the last few weeks and I can't remember the last time we had alone time together. We're supposed to hang out tonight. But he just called and has some urgent matter to take care of at work and so he wants to take me out to a late dinner to make up for it. We're going to Smokejacks. I hope we can get in this time.

And here are some other updates:

• Went to Newport this weekend. Tried the goose, but I liked my roasted vegetables and cheesy polenta better.
• Went to my dad's church and learned this proverb: "A foolish man lets out all his wrath, but a wise man keeps it back quietly." And this one, which I love: "Pleasant words are as an honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones."
• Went to book club last night to discuss our most recent selection, Water for Elephants. Loved it! Kind of reminded me of the HBO series, Carnivale, mixed with Waiting for God, that funny Brit-com on PBS. But it's a book, of course.
• Scooped a lot of kitty poop and tried to teach Suki how to lick her butt. Her butt really stinks.
• Finally, I just remembered that season 4 of Project Runway premiers a week from today on November 14. It's the only show I really care about and I'm panicked that I'm going to forget to watch it. Will somebody please remind me?
  

two weekends in pictures, plus more kitty

I just uploaded a bunch of photos last night from our escapades over the last couple of weeks.

A weekend trip to my parents' house in the Northeast Kingdom included wild turkeys in the garden, fly fishing, and creatures.

A long weekend in Nantucket with friends offered just what we needed: relaxation, good food, good company, and some quality time with Colin. Oh, and the ocean, of course!

Suki was glad to have us home last night.

body artist

So, I never ever thought I’d say this. Let alone write about it. But, I think I’m officially a snowboarder.

Sure, I've been riding a handful of times, but I mainly just wanted to see what the hype was all about and spend time with my boyfriend. Then something happened. It all started Friday afternoon. Col and I packed our bags and boards into Col’s car—a.k.a. the Tank—bundled Au Lait our kitty comfortably on my lap, and made our usual stop at Uncommon Grounds for some coffee before heading North to my parents’ house in Newport, Vermont.

The next two days were a fluffy blur. The weather forecast said 10-20 inches of snow were coming our way. We woke up Saturday morning to a fresh layer of almost two feet and it was still snowing. After a hearty Vermont-style breakfast, we drove off to Jay Peak. That’s when the Tank really strutted his stuff.

On the way, Col gave me a pep talk, “These are prime conditions. This is going to be your first time on powder.” Then in the lodge: “You will start giggling uncontrollably. It feels like you're floating on air.” Then on the chairlift, “You can fall as much as you want and it won’t even hurt. It will be orgasmic.”

Okay stop.

I had to take his excessive descriptors with a grain of salt. This was only my 6th time snowboarding—ever. I'm not exactly what you'd call sporty. In fact, the very word brings to mind other words and images: fanatic, dowdy, athletic, sweatpants, equipment, practice. Boring! Sporty is not a concept that guides my life decisions. Or is it?

Though I wouldn't classify my look or my mantra as sporty, my physical past might suggest otherwise. I've been a runner, walker, snowshoer, skier, hockey player, gymnast, dancer, and soccer player all at different and intersecting points of my life. I like to see what my body can do. I like to see what it feels like to occupy a different kind of physical space. I like how it feels to be out of breath and to burn and to overcome. I like the accomplishment of finding new limits and exceeding them. But do I have to call that sport? What about something like corporeal explorer. What about body artist?

I got off the lift and started to panic. I couldn't even remember which toe to point forward or how to turn. "Col!" I cried out, "How do I do it?" This moment was not about sport; it was about performance. I had walked out on the stage and forgotten my lines.

Col had no sympathy. "What are you saying?" he yelled back from down the hill. "Of course you remember--Come on!" Slowly I put a toe forward and immediately caught my edge in the deep snow. Pow. "Lean back!" someone from the audience in the chairlift above me yelled down. Here's another word: collaboration.

Something clicked inside of me. It was that moment when, after looking at a blank canvas for days, you see a vision. You know what to do. You feel it all over. No more writer's block. I glided out on the soft powder. I carved into it. Like a powder pony, Col would later say. I hovered and caressed the slope like an upside down trapeze artist. I felt a rush in my skin. I was giggling and I couldn't stop. I was knee-deep in snow. And then I fell. But I didn't care. The powder cushioned me like a big pile of goose down feathers. Orgasmic.

By the end of the weekend, I had climbed the mountain in the swinging gondola, boarded down my first black diamond trail, and caught some air on a kicker we built in my parents' backyard. (Yup, I'm officially a snowboarder).

As I landed my last jump on my feet (in a perfect ten formation, by the way), my mind wandered just for a second to the sporty snowboarders competing this past weekend some 3 hours south at the U.S. Open. I've met some of those guys and gals before. They're not all that different from me, but they've been doing this boarding thing their entire life. I will never be as good as them. I'm just not that sporty. And I'm okay with that. But, even so, I never felt more like a leading lady than I did at that very moment.

being au lait

Au Lait has begun aggressively attacking me again. When I'm lying in bed asleep, she'll jump up from under the bed and claw me in the back. When I'm in the loo brushing my teeth she'll pounce and sink her teeth into my ankle. Just now, as I was sitting on the couch with my laptop open and my feet up on the coffee table, she exploded out of nowhere and took a big bite out of my leg. I sprayed her with the squirt gun--right between the eyes--but she didn't even run away. She just stared back at me with huge black pupils.

"What is going on, Girl? What do you want from me. What are you thinking?"

No reply. Just more staring.

If I could read my kitty's mind, what would I discover? If she could speak, what would she say?

"Meow. Play with me! Meow. Give me more food! Meow. Put me in a cardboard box! Meow. Stop blogging! Cat grass!"

Maybe. I do feed her. I do play with her. I give her boxes to jump in and chew on. I spoil her, much moreso than Col does. In fact, the irony of this whole situation is that Au Lait has only been attacking me. She won't go near her boyfriend.

Maybe that's it. Maybe she thinks I'm the other woman. I can see now this whole Three's Company scenario could get complicated. Is she trying to run me out of here altogether so she can have Cute Boy all to herself?

"If that's the case, Girl, I won't budge! You'll have to try harder than that. Or just give up." Is this the gratitude I get for all of my love and devotion?

Sick thing is, I still love that Girl. I'm still totally devoted.

cacophony

There are endless sirens today, it seems. Even moreso up here at sky-level on my porch, where one siren sounds like fifty, echoing off the pavement, the rooftops, and up over the trees.

It's hard to tell where they're coming from. They just well up like a cloud of noisy dust, from the pavement to the sky to my ears. Now there are motorboats on the lake. Loud and engine-y. The next door neighbors are having a party. They're swimming in the pool. They're playing basketball. I hear shoes scuffing the concrete like abrupt sandpaper. I hear the boom, boom, boom of the ball hitting the ground. The creaky high school boy voices. The clinking of forks on plates. Splashing. Dog barking. African drums floating over from Memorial Auditorium. The ferry honking its horn.

More sirens. Someone beeps his car horn somewhere towards downtown. Engines running. Engines moving. People laughing. Kids yelling. And my phone rings. I don't answer.

I'm silent. I'm all alone. It's getting dark.

Five quacking ducks fly by my view. In silhouette to the setting sun.

I hear crickets chirping. Another party has started down the hill. Sounds like: lots of men sitting around a game on the television. A can opens. A car starts.

The church bells strikes: nine times.

The party next door has ended. The engines soften, it seems.

Another church chimes further in the distance. I can hear jazz music rise up from Church Street. Quietly at first, then louder. A saxophone player practicing scales.

I still haven't spoken. I'm alone. What I sound like: click, click, click on my keyboard. That's all.

I look over to the chair next to me. There's Au Lait, my kitty. She's sitting silently next to me. What's she think about all this noise, I wonder.

I speak. "Hi, Girl. You want to go inside? Let's go inside."