A Cat With Our Name on It

My weekly column on Westport Patch:

"The strangest, most unexpected and rather wonderful thing has happened: my family and I have fallen hard. For a cat.

It all started two weeks ago when I went to the Puppy Palooza pet adoption event organized by T.A.I.L.S. to write an article for Westport Patch. I brought my 5-year-old daughter with me, which probably wasn't my wisest tactical move ever, given that we weren't really in the market for a pet. There were about 100 dogs there, each one cuter and more friendly than the next, all eager for not much more than a warm place to sleep and a bowl of food. It was heart-breaking, all those innocent animals, lots of whom had been underfed or abused but who still had joyful spirits.

And then there was the cat room, where a pile of kittens tumbled and rolled around together. Man, those little balls of fluff were cute. My daughter tugged on my sleeve incessantly, "Please, Mom!" she wailed. "Can we take one home?" "

Read the rest at:
http://westport.patch.com/articles/a-cat-with-our-name-on-it

Did You Know?

Did you know that it's officially Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day? Seriously. It's every last Monday in January. I heard it on NPR, so it must be true. I'm wondering what's next: Tin Foil Appreciation Day? Cardboard Appreciation Day? Post-It appreciation Day? (Actually, I do really appreciate those.)  The possibilities are endless!

So, apparently bubble wrap is 50 years old. It was originally designed as -- get this -- wallpaper. Brilliant idea. You'd have to re-paper a room every time your four-year-old went in and popped all the little blisters.

Sorry, bubble wrap, but it's true.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

My regular weekly column on Westport Patch. It may seem a little out of synch since it's going to be 55 tomorrow. But it was cold, really!

"As much fun as the snow can be, it comes with one pretty big downside: the cold. With the exception of yesterday, all of January has been pretty brisk.  Now, I know, it could be worse. My Canadian friends scoff at even wearing a jacket in this type of weather. Call me crazy, but to my mind, 27 degrees, for instance, with a wind chill of 17 is pretty darn frigid. And the biggest drawback isn't the chattering of bones, but the tendency we all have to hibernate.

My family and I live on an ideal street. Our association includes 31 families and something like 25 kids. Before winter set in, the street practically turned into a block party in the afternoons. Kids would be out on scooters and bikes and skates, racing down our little hill and looping around the cul-de-sac. Packs of older boys would be skulking around in the bushes with their Nerf Blasters, planning some sort of surveillance on the younger kids. As for the parents: we were all outside, some of us with lawn chairs and magazines, chatting and overseeing the madness. It was all great fun, and helped us be connected to our little community within a community. Nowadays, we parents gather at the corner at 3:25 p.m. to collect our children, but shortly after they pile out of the bus and take off running down the street, everyone ducks back inside their own house where it's nice and warm, but sometimes a bit lonely."

Read the rest at:
http://westport.patch.com/articles/baby-its-cold-outside?

Irony on Greens Farms

My Sunday column on Westport Patch, about lessons we can learn from recent death of a young Westporter:

"Every time I drive up Greens Farms Road, I can't help but think about the young man who died on it right after Christmas. He was a lance corporal in the Marines who had served in Iraq and was about to deploy to Afghanistan. He survived a war zone, only to come home and lose his life – ironically -- in a single car accident on a pretty little street in Westport.

I don't know his family, but I can only imagine how much they must have worried about him when he served his recent nine-month tour of duty. I suspect his mother was already fretting about his next deployment, which would have happened later this month. But an ordinary activity like driving in a car with his friend was probably the least of her worries."

Read the rest of the article at:

http://westport.patch.com/articles/irony-on-greens-farms

Bring it On, Snow

Is it a sign of immaturity that I was hoping for a snow day today? I felt like a kid last night with my nose plastered to the window, watching for flakes. Snow days are just so much fun with their hot chocolate and sledding and movies by the fire. (That is, until the kids get completely bored and cranky.) Plus, there's that sleeping-in bit that's a nice little bonus.

But it wasn't meant to be today. Maybe next time.

Thanks A Lot, Kid

I've been very excited about my new Kindle, which I got for Christmas this year. I've wanted one for ages and surprise, surprise, Santa must have read my letter.

But QB had to let the air out of my balloon. The other day he told me,

"Mom, you know that thing is already out-of-date, don't you? You can read a book on an iTouch."

Look, kid. Just let the old folks adjust to one new piece of technology at a time, will ya?

Out with the Tree, In with the Hearts

The worst part about packing away all the Christmas stuff and hauling the tree out to the curb is that the living room looks so bare now. Boring. Dull. The mantel is empty, uninspiring. The spot that the tree filled is blatantly vacant. It's a little depressing. I mean, why couldn't we have lights strung around the house all year long? It's kind of fun.

But, hey, I guess if I really wanted to, I could start decorating for Valentine's day soon. I got an email today, January 5th, advertising some V-day gifts and treats. It's never too early to start shopping for little pink hearts and boxes of chocolates!

It never ends. I would say some really nasty things about marketers and advertisers right about now, but I am married to one of them. So never mind.

You Know You're in L.A. When.... (part 3)

...you see something else like this in the neighborhood and it's not all that shocking:

(Rumor has it this large, Elvis-like cut-out is a photo of the owner, who, evidently, is not suffering from either a case of subtlety or low self-esteem. His name is Norwood, hence the "Norrywood" sign on the roof of the house. The neighborhood used to loathe all the gates and myriad David statues that he installed when he bought the place, but now I think they're a bit endeared by the kitchiness of it all.)