The perfect Tuesday evening

"Delta, since you have the week off, will you come volunteer at the nursing home with me this week?"
It was so important to me that he came and saw the nursing home, which I have grown incredibly attached to over the last few weeks.

So I finally introduced him to Bertha (who knows everything there is to possibly know about 1930s Hollywood).
And to Eunice (who barks crabby coments at anyone passing by, but we love her anyway).
And Mary (who is disgruntled that the place is called 'Greenwich Village Nursing Home' when Greenwich village actually starts two blocks away).
And Julia (who sang Besame Mucho again, as she does for me every week).

And as I took him around the nursing home, it suddenly dawned on me how dear it had become to me, how much it now was a part of my life.

When we said goodbye to the residents that evening, I gave them each a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. ("What you hugging me for, they didn't even give me no turkey for Thanksgiving, that's the more important thing" Eunice grumbled, but I could still tell she was secretly pleased by the affection).

Most importantly, I could see how much Delta enjoyed it himself, and that just made my heart want to burst.

A quick look at Key West

I must admit, I was ill-prepared for everything that Key West turned out to be. I mean, I expected beach, and sand, and some lazy days. I had NOT foreseen the turquoise blue waters, the coral reef to go snorkelling in, or the dramatic sunsets.

When I told Richie Rich I was going to Key West, he whooped with delight. "There's that famous writer's house over there - you should go see it!"
"Jimmy Buffet?!" I asked. I mean, how was I to know Hemingway had lived there too.
"No, silly, a writer!"
"Erm, Jimmy Buffet?" I tried again. I mean, he wrote his songs, didn't he?
Richie Rich rolled his eyes at me. "Hemingway," he said, suddenly remembering, "and remember to check out the cats that live there. They have extra digits in their front paws. They're the Hemingway cats."
I rolled my eyes at him as one does at a child with explaining their fantasy world.

The entire vacation was a beautiful one - even so, a few memories stick particularly in my mind.

The early mornings, sitting in the quiet beach alcove by ourselves, reading our books and letting the soothing sound of the waves wash over us gently.

Our first night there, when Mrs. Pooks, Doobie and I sat in the hot tub, sipping our glasses of wine. It was midnight and we were the only ones around. As we caught up with each other, we listened to the waves lapping at the beach, just a stones throw away. And from the other side, trills of soft island music, drifting towards us from a nearby bar.

Parasailing tandem with Bobbis. As we sat together, suspended some 400 feet over the ocean, silenced by our awe of the majestic views around us. Miles and miles of shimmering turquoise in every direction. (I remember peering down to see if there were any sharks below us, just as a safety measure, and I was quite relieved to not find any.) "I could sit here for ever!" I remember exclaiming, as a breathed in the fresh air deeply and took in the panorama around me.

Snorkelling over the coral reefs, watching the waving sea sponges, and the brightly coloured fish weave in and out of the coral fronds. The sight was so magical it was just entrancing. (Just like in "Finding Nemo!", Mum told me when I described this to her).

Lying back exhausted on the boat deck after snorkelling, the sun was setting, and the sky was taking on its reddish hues. Suddenly Doobie had clutched my arm, "look!" she exclaimed. And there they were, a school of dolphins heading out to sea. Bobbing up and down in unison by the boat, and they stayed as though suspended there for a few moments, and then just as suddenly as they had appeared, headed off into the distant sunset.

Going to the Hemingway house the last morning before we left Key West. And as we wandered through the network of beautiful rooms and gardens, I suddenly stopped short, transfixed. There it was, one of the Hemingway cats, and it had an extra digit in its front paws. Well, I'll be damned.

A Typical Thanksgiving

In case you'd been wondering where I'd disappeared to last week, I thought I'd better send a quick summary.

After celebrating Thanksgiving last year in snowy Vermont, we decided to do just the opposite this year and head for the beaches. And so the week found us in Key West, the southern most tip of the US, only 90 miles from Havana.


Pushing new limits, keeping watch over the seas and the skies.




What can ya say, just your ol' typical beachy Thanksgiving.

Doobs Birthday # 3

As if we needed more proof that the seasons were changing, it was once again Doobie's birthday yesterday. This is now her third birthday we have all celebrated together.

Back in 2005, we had only just moved in together, and we had celebrated her birthday in the midst of unpacking IKEA boxes and multiple trips to Bed, Bath and Beyond. Last year, we'd been better prepared. Dinner at Le Colonial, drinks at a bar in the Village, just a proper night out.

This year, we were stumped. "I don't want to do anything," she had said emphatically. "Turning thirty is hard, you know!"

We were puzzled.

"But Doobs you're only turning 29," we'd pointed out. She was so focused on the self-pity, she had forgotten to focus on the reason behind it.

"Oh yeah. Okay fine. But still don't feel like doing anything."

"Okay what can we get you as a present? What do you need?"

"Nothing, I don't want presents this year."

Now how in the world do you plan for a birthday like that?!

But little by little, we pecked away at her veneer, until she finally conceded to having an intimate, quiet, low-key soiree. Just the girls (and boy), and just at home.

But let me tell you, once all the girls (and boy) are together, we are not soiree-like, definitely not low-key, and certainly not quiet. By midnight, the evening had proceeded nicely to champagne and dancing.

Some moments rather graceful.

Others, erm, less so.

But no matter, for such is the nature of quiet soirees at home.

The 5 Minute Get-Fit Program

Yesterday, I started a new exercise routine. That is, if you can use the term 'exercise routine' for brief periods of turgid activity.

The idea is that I wake up 15 minutes earlier than normal everyday, and spend those 15 minutes indulging in a splash of holistic yoga. You know, for my overall flexibility, digestion and sanity.

Yesterday was Day 1, and the 15 minutes looked like this:
- First I hit the snooze button on my alarm and fell back asleep (9 minutes)
- Took a minute to force my eyes open and orient myself (1 minute)
- Did 5 suryanamaskars (5 minutes)

Today (surprise, surprise), my 15 minutes looked like this:
- Hit the snooze button, fell back asleep (9 minutes)
- Jumped out of bed with more gusto and determination than yesterday (30 secs)
- Did 4 suryanamaskars (4 minutes)
- Collapsed from the muscles I had pulled yesterday from those 5 minutes of exercise (1 minute 30 secs just lying on the floor)

Yes, as you can see my fitness program is on to a great start.

The Wild West

If you've been wondering where I'd gotten to, my sweets, it's because I spent last week in San Diego. Yes, that's right, our company has team meetings in the land of sand and sunshine. And big zoos. And forest fires, but let's leave that out for now.

Got off the six hour flight from New York, jumped into a cab, and asked the cabbie to take me to the W Hotel downtown.
"Work event?" he enquired.
"Yep."
"Wow, your work puts you up in a party hotel?!"
Apparently.

And he wasn't kidding. I walked into my room and there was a welcome note, along with two beers, some beach flip flops, a set of his and hers boxer shorts and a teddy bear, all compliments of the house. And an enormous satin stuffed ball on the bed which I'm sure was meant to be funky but which made me kind of nervous so that even when I slept I kept my body straight along an edge, with a wary eye on the monstrosity which dominated the rest of the bed.

I made mental notes of the street names I passed so that I could come back and tell Mr. and Mrs. Pooks (for this is the land from whence they hail), but as soon as I got on the flight to return, I promptly forgot.

I do remember eating some authentic Mexican food though, and some thai food to die for. And I distinctly remember some hours spent around the fire at the rooftop beach side bar.

And I do remember some work, but that's a hazy blur in the distant past.

And such was my introducton to San Diego.

Instant rewards

I was running out of things to procrastinate with at work. I'd already checked my personal email addresses for the tenth time (no new emails as usual), my facebook account (no new messages), read through CNN (the country is still at war), I was really running out of things to do.

Carmen popped her head into my office. "There's some spare cookies going, if you want," she announced.
"Nah, I'm not really hungry at the moment."
"Suit yourself honey, but just so you know, they might be gone by the time you're hungry."
That caused an instant surge of panic. "Okay I'm coming!" and I ran into the kitchen and ate a cookie. Even though I wasn't hungry. THAT is how bored I was.

And heaven forbid, I couldn't work!

So I though, might as well check what my credit card rewards program is like. It took me half an hour to log into the site. If you're ever looking to kill an ineffective half an hour, I highly recommend calling your bank's rewards program hotline. Anyways, so I got it sorted in the end (the operator was really nice and cracked a couple of jokes, which immediately redeemed my experience).

And then I logged in to see what this Mastercard rewards program was all about.

And ended up spending hours rubbing my hands in gleeful anticipation of all the presents I can get myself.

A toaster with an inbuilt egg-poacher; a day white water rafting; a whole set of MTV Power Yoga DVDs; a pair of battery-free flashlights

Now I can't WAIT to go out and spend more money so I can earn more points!!

A day late and a penny short

Yesterday, New York witnessed the 2007 NYC Marathon. Our very own Mrs. Pooks participated in this, so all of us got in the spirit of things and ventured out to indulge in a bit of jubilant cheering. I'd been telling everyone who'd listen that Mrs. Pooks was running in the marathon. Mostly I think because it made me feel more famous and important to know someone who actually ran in the marathon.

And we might as well clutch at as much vicarious glory as we can.

Because it's not something we could do ourselves, this running thing. I mean, the other day Delta and I just walked ten blocks and we had to head back home and take a nap.

So instead we nominated ourselves as the chief photographers for Mrs. Pooks' crowning moments. For since we bought our new SLR, Delta and I have been quite fancying ourselves as new generation photographers, running all over the city with the camera hanging around our necks, trying to capture forever those artistic glimpses of normal life (most of them quite blurrily, but this is just the beginning stages yet).

"Taking photos of Mrs. Pooks running is different, it's hard to get action shots," I pointed out to Delta the day before the marathon.
"Well we can't afford to mess up with Mrs. Pooks," Delta responded, "so we better spend today practicing action shots!"
"Good idea," I agreed, "now all we need is a moving target to practice photographing."
"Well, why don't you keep running rounds around the apartment and I'll take pictures of you," Delta suggested.

Yes, he seriously suggested that I run in circles around the apartment so that he would have a moving target to click at.

Obviously, I was rather nonplussed. Instead, we ended up going to the ice rink to take pictures of ice skaters, a decidedly more positive result as you can imagine. So after an afternoon of practice, we felt adequately equipped to film Mrs. Pooks as she ran past us in the marathon.

So yesterday we headed over to 60th and 1st where we could watch the thousands of marathoners enter the city. We beat our way through the crowds of onlookers to find ourselves a niche spot ideal for capturing the perfect picture. And we crossed our fingers and wished and hoped for the sun to stay out and maintain the perfectly diffused lighting it was casting over the city. And we held our camera aloft and clicked away at everything moving, just incase it turned out to be Mrs. Pooks.

And then we turned around, to speak to Davis, Gus and Kate, and all caught up in the conversation for a couple of minutes, and suddenly realised (too late as usual) in that moment, Mrs. Pooks had passed us by.

Did you know Hogwarts was real?

Did you see that? The address for this place on Hudson is # 639 1/2. AND A HALF.

Which made me start thinking, now that has to be the most Harry Potter-esque thing I have seen in my life.

Which made me start googling Harry Potter chat rooms to see if others were seeing the same things. And this what I found. Blimey. I just want to let it be stated for the record that I am not this involved.

I just really like the half address, that's all.