And I was doing so well!

I was so proud (and smug) about how I continued to exercise outside this winter, and then along came March. And a virus of some sort, that laid me low for a week or so. And then the worst cold I have had in decades (thanks, g'daughter!), which is on day 17 and finally loosening its grip. I missed the last two yoga classes from the winter session, then spent most of the two weeks in between sessions prone on the couch, so no, no walking occurred. The new session started last week, and I was able to drag myself through both classes, but just barely. I may have to rethink my lackadaisical attitude toward flu shots - if I got the flu, I might be down for a month. Unacceptable.

However, I did manage to binge watch all seven seasons of "Nurse Jackie". Gah - what a cautionary tale!

Keep moving

After a brief period of hibernation, something (pants too tight?) got me out and about this winter. Almost every morning, I go for a long walk, outside, regardless of the weather, which recently has been schizophrenic. Some days are springlike, others bitterly cold, but so far, none have been absolute deal breakers. The trick is to hit the road early, before the wind picks up. Then even 2 degrees (F) is tolerable, provided one dresses for the weather one has, not the weather one wants.

Product plug: This winter I invested in some wonderful long underwear, purchased from Vermont Country Store. The dual-layer set has cotton on the inside and a merino/cotton/nylon blend on the outside. They provide a yummy level of comfort even in the coldest weather.

I confess to being a calorie counter again. My calorie counting app (MyFitnessPal) is linked to my Fitbit and to Runkeeper. When I exercise, I earn extra calories, which is surprisingly motivating. I still consume a bit too much, so the weight loss has been disappointingly glacier. However, I have lost some inches, so while my pants are still too tight, they are now less so.

I have my usual solo routes around the neighborhood, but sometimes I enlist the help of others. My SO and I have been mall walking twice a week, in the afternoon. We have found that, by ourselves, we can barely stand one circuit, but with company, two laps pass quickly. Then we reward ourselves with iced Americanos at Barnes and Noble.

I am not above inviting my daughter and granddaughter along for a hike in the woods. I also purchased an eliptical machine, to exercise those muscles that are neglected because I live in a ranch-style house (no stairs). My granddaughter can pedal circles around me on that thing. Even on a playground, she goes non-stop at full speed while I trail along, trying just to keep an eye on her. The energy of a five-year-old is inspiring... me to take a nap.

The best thing about getting the bulk of my 10k steps in early is I can make an ass dent in the couch for the rest of the day, while I knit or read or watch TV, without (too much) guilt.

Multi-directional cat

North

East

South

West

Habits of the heart

Last night I took refuge in the three gems: the Buddha, the dharma, and the sangha. This annual ritual that involves some chanting and tying a red knotted string around one's wrist is as formal as my meditation group gets. I debated whether to do this, decided I would attend the session regardless, then went through with it. Right now my reaction is "meh".

Don't get me wrong. I will continue my meditation practice and attend sangha when I can, maybe even take in a retreat sometime. It's the ritual that leaves me unmoved. Too churchy, I guess.

(An interesting aside: Attendance last night was up. The first meeting of the year attracted some peripheral members who are not on the mailing list and who don't attend often enough to know what was planned. They were nonplussed to say the least.)

In The Barn at the End of the World, author Mary Rose O'Reilley spends a month at Plum Village, where someone addresses her struggle with the precepts by describing them not as commandments, but as "habits of the spirit". She also defines the precepts differently, making them more resonant with her life. I've done the same:

• To the best of my ability, I will develop the habit of compassion for all life.
• To the best of my ability, I will develop the habit of contentment and sharing.
• To the best of my ability, I will develop the habit of responsibility in all relationships.
• To the best of my ability, I will develop the habit of listening mindfully and speaking kindly.
• To the best of my ability, I will develop the habit of health.

These "goals" don't meet the criteria of SMART (Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Relevant, Time-related). In fact, they are vague, loose, idealistic, cosmic, and open-ended. And that is okay. I know what they mean to me today; their intent may change with time and context. And that is okay, too.

Besides, the precepts are preferable to my usual resolutions of eat less, exercise more, and keep a cleaner house. And probably more achievable.

A walk in the woods

On Thursdays, my SO and I attend senior yoga at the Community Center, have lunch together, then hang out the rest of the afternoon - our midweek "date day". With the temperatures ridiculously warm, I suggested we hike the north side of Metea County Park. Neither of us had been there in a while, but we managed not to get lost. We put about 8K on our Fitbits and 14 flights of stairs.

Chimney in the middle of nowhere

Fungi

Candy cache!

Geo cache!

Tree fungus

Get out of town

The family spent a weekend in Three Oaks, Michigan. I found the rental through HomeAway, which worked out well. The house slept 11, was nicely decorated, and was clean (sometimes a concern with vacation rentals).

Three Oaks is very flat, and everything is within walking distance. I was afraid that businesses would be closed during the off season, but not so; they even had a small xmas parade Saturday morning. I cooked dinner Saturday night, but otherwise, we ate out. It was a relaxing time, which was the whole point of the weekend.

The weather cooperated - cool but sunny. Saturday we explored the town. Sunday we hit the beach, at both Warren Dunes and Grand Mere state parks. I put "only" 8K steps on my Fitbit on Sunday, but 24 "flights of stairs" - those dunes are challenging!

I would definitely go back.

The rental:

Buck in the woods

Moo!

Aga range!

Local activities:

Still working on the border

Finished

Get me down!

The dunes:

Obligatory snow fence photo

Lake Michigan from Warren Dunes

One of many dunes at Warren Dunes

Arty photo of dune grasses

Arty photo of sand and shadows

Wetlands at Grand Mere

Looking for the lake at Grand Mere

Lake Michigan from Grand Mere

A sangha of one

A while back, I met a friend for coffee, and she gushed, "I'm in love!"

We had both recently lost our aged dogs (mine was a basset mix named Charlie). She, however, had a new puppy, a shiba inu that looked like a little stuffed animal. I oohed over the photos, then enumerated all the reasons I was not getting another dog, the primary one being I was at work all day. She said she had thought the same thoughts, then decided she didn't care.

This resulted in my getting another dog, Betsy Beagle. I too fell in love. But when next I met my friend for coffee, I commented that, by getting a new dog, I missed an opportunity to face my self. She said, "And that's a good thing."

I knew that this was *not* a good thing, but life was full of distractions.

Fast forward. While rereading Teach Us to Sit Still, by Tim Parks, I paused to look up the definition of a term online. Included in the resulting search list was a link to the Insight Fort Wayne group, described as a sangha practicing Vipasanna meditation.

My SO practices meditation twice daily. I have tried meditation off and on over the years, mostly off because I have not been able to establish the habit. The FW group meets on Tuesday evenings, not the best day for me because of conflicts, but a Monday evening class for beginners was starting soon, so I signed up for that.

It's over now. While I don't think I learned anything new about meditation per se, being in a group with a teacher has helped me start a regular practice. I started with a 10-minute "sit" in the mornings, to set my intentions for the day. I tried complementing that with a longer sit in the evening, for 20 or 30, someday 40, minutes, but if the day had been full, I sometimes forgot or, if I remembered, struggled with nodding off. Now I sit for 40 minutes most mornings.

I have managed to attend the regular weekly meditation session on occasion. First comes a 40-minute sit, usually in silence. This is followed by a dharma talk, either one delivered by our teacher (Tamara Dyer) or a prerecorded one by another teacher, like Gil Fronsdal, a co-teacher at the Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, California and the Insight Retreat Center in Santa Cruz, California. (Audio Dharma is a source of free dharma talks.)

And that is it.

Right now I am a little confused about the difference between Zen and Vipasanna Buddhism. Gil has trained in both the Japanese Soto Zen tradition and the Insight Meditation lineage of Theravada Buddhism of Southeast Asia, so they must not be mutually exclusive. Our local teacher, Tamara Dyer, is a retired psychotherapist and is of the Insight school. From my own readings, Zen sounds more rigid and ritualistic, at least when compared with what I am experiencing with the local group. Maybe that is one reason I find myself responding favorably.

I plan to continue attending the sessions when I can. Meanwhile, I listen to dharma talks at home and practice on my own. Maybe I will wake up to my life, maybe I will come home to who I am. Better late than never.

If I were to suffer a heart attack, it would have happened at Starved Rock

I am a firm believer of vacations. Besides the obvious benefits of R&R, it is good to get out of town once in a while, and see something different. When my daughter changed jobs, she took no time off; in fact, the two jobs overlapped for a while. Crazy! I said, and urged her to take some time off, somehow, someway. Since I am sharing the inheritance from my dad with my kids in the form of subsidizing travel, money was not a real issue. All she had to do is take a few days off and choose a destination.

The end result was a girls weekend away, my daughter, granddaughter, and me, with guest appearances by my son and his pseudo-stepdaughter (that is a long story and not mine to tell). My daughter chose Starved Rock State Park because 1) it is close enough not to be an ordeal to reach, 2) it offers plenty of hiking experience, and 3) it is not in Indiana.

Fast friends

Starved Rock consists of 18 canyons along the Illinois River, near Utica, IL. The 13 miles of trails are well marked, including little signs that indicate whether one is moving toward or away from the visitors center, very helpful when one decides enough is enough. Going off trail is an invitation to disaster: the last time I was at the park, with my SO, a young boy slipped and fell into the river; he was rescued by a boater, but his uncle, in an attempt to save the boy, drowned. A more recent incident resulted in a spinal fracture.

Starved Rock itself as viewed from Lovers Leap overlook

Knowing this, it was tempting to put a leash on the granddaughter. Fortunately, she understands (at least, for now) the necessity of following rules, even when those around you are not. I was a little shocked that parents let their kids scramble around off trail, even taking pictures of the little monkeys. I hope they all get poison ivy, a distinct possibility because it was all around.

Anyway, we had a good time. It would have been nice to stay at the lodge or in one of the cabins, but they are booked well in advance. Instead, we took up residence at the Hampton Inn in Ottawa (not the best Hampton Inn I've stayed at, but perfectly adequate, plus free breakfast! And a pool!) We arrived on Thursday night, so we could have a full two days of fun before returning on Sunday. We hiked the trails for about two hours Friday. My daughter signed up for a guided hike Saturday, and my original plan was to do something outside the park with the granddaughter, but when I told my son our plans, he decided to join us on Saturday. I figured he would not find the Scarecrow Festival in Ottawa all that fascinating, so we hiked the trails again.

One of the shorter stairways

Here is the thing about the trails at Starved Rock. Hiking there involves going up and down a LOT of stairs, especially if one decides to visit a canyon floor. Even though we did not traverse the whole park nor visit every canyon over the course of our visit, my Fitbit registered 80 flights of stairs in two days. The map displayed symbols I originally took for bridges on the trails, but in actuality were "major stairways". Climbing those lifted my heart rate to its maximum, requiring a rest or two on the way up. Some stairs were so steep I insisted on walking in front of the kids on the way down, in case one tripped. I am surprised there are not more injuries, but off trail antics aside, people must be careful enough most of the time.

Wildcat Canyon

Starved Rock is open year round. When it is rainy, there are waterfalls. Migratory birds stop by (we saw white pelicans on the river) and bald eagles nest there in the winter. Fall wild flowers include mostly asters, golden rod, boneset, and jack in the pulpit. There is a dam on the river, and we watched tug boats push barges through the locks. I recommend visiting during the week, because it gets quite crowded on weekends.

My daughter brought work along, for which I properly chastised her. On the way home, she admitted the work had gone untouched. Instead, she hiked and swam for two days, read a whole book, enjoyed some quality time with her daughter but also some grown-up time away from her. Mission accomplished.

Color my world

When I was in college, back in the Stone Age, I (re)discovered the calming effect of coloring. I bought some crayons and a coloring book and when feeling stressed or overwhelmed, retreated to my dorm room to color. I don't recall sharing this activity with anyone, and my roommate was not often present, especially on weekends, so it was my private little vice.

Once again, I was ahead of my time. If you flash forward to now, you will find that "adult" coloring books and apps are all the rage. I tried one app, Colorfy, and while pretty good, it doesn't allow for shading or enhancements. However, you will never color outside the lines, as each space is filled with the color of your selection - no actual coloring required. I didn't find that as satisfying as the coloring apps targeting kids my granddaughter's age, although the subject matter was generally more interesting than fairies and Hello Kitty.

Barnes and Noble had some adult coloring books on sale, so I picked up one with a garden motif and one of Norse designs. (I'm clinging tenaciously to my Danish ancestry.) I also purchased some pens there, which I both love and hate. Each pen has two points, one short and stubby and one long and pointed like a paint brush. That's the love part. The hate part is there is no way to identify the true color of the ink without yanking off the rather tight caps and scribbling a bit. And some pens seems to have a different shade at each end. And if you don't get the cap back on completely, they dry out rather rapidly.

Naturally, my granddaughter wants to use MY pens and color in MY books. (Boundaries, child!) Yesterday I purchased an "advanced" coloring book for her at United Arts and Education (paisley prints) and some new pens for moi. I have more colors now, but the tips leave a lot to be desired.

I still find the act of coloring to be soothing, sort of like knitting but without the counting and the frustration. Sometimes I am in the mood for the tiny details in some pictures, other times I need to make broad strokes. While coloring, my mind wanders hither and yon, and I get some real thinking done without pulling a muscle in my brain. It easily becomes a time suck.

This pastime continues to be a secret, mostly, as I imagine some people just would not understand and/or approve. I figure it is no worse than watching TV. And maybe someday I will learn to share.

Up to a point

If one's fifties is the decade of regret, the sixties seem to be the age of reflection. At least, that is what I have been doing lately when not involved in this, that, or the other thing.

One thread of musing has gone along like this: How come I never became really good at something? I recall reading articles as a teenager where the author insisted that everyone is good at something, you just have to find out what that is. I don't remember being particularly encouraged by anyone, so blamed "them" for that. Then I wondered if maybe no one saw anything in me worth encouraging. Hmmm.

After I brief respite from that topic, I returned to it from another angle: what was I good at, and what happened along the way? In high school, I was very good at math, loved plane and solid geometry and trig. But then something happened in college when I hit calculus. I never quite understood calc, nor the higher math classes I took while pursuing my computer science degree. So maybe I was good at math, but only up to a point.

Speaking of computer science, I loved designing and writing software and believed I was good at that. But then along came a paradigm shift, from procedural programming to object oriented and event driven software. I understood both at an abstract level, but my OO efforts still looked like procedural code. My brain just did not want to make the shift. So I was good at software development, but only up to a point.

What else? I was good at sports when we lived in Illinois, but the competition was sparse because back in the dark ages, there were no interscholastic team sports for girls in that state. We moved to Massachusetts my senior year, where they were more enlightened and I was less good compared with the others. Not to be deterred, in college I tried out for volleyball and sprained both my thumbs the first day of practice. After that, I stuck to intramural sports. As an adult, I did continue to play tennis, teaching my son until he surpassed me. I also played in a parks and rec league, until I got tired of losing all the time. Now I play golf, and even though my form is good, the results are inconsistent. Again, I'm good, but only up to a point.

I'm a good gardener, up to a point. I'm a good knitter, up to a point. I'm a good cook, up to a point.

What is this point I reach where my talents don't develop further? Maybe I get bored easily and don't stick with something long enough to become better. Maybe I am lazy, just don't want to put the work into becoming better. Or it could be I am simply average (HORRORS!)

That is when it is helpful to remember, We don't all have to shine.

Still getting used to this retirement thing

I've been retired for a little more than a year now, and my new lifestyle is still evolving. A few activities have fallen by the wayside completely (Wild Walkers), some are worth doing but not so often (volunteering at Salomon Farm), some I want to do more (senior yoga and golf), and there are yet more things to try (memoir writing, shibori). I'm still knitting and gardening, cooking less, reading more, and grandma'ing as needed.

I've read several columns lately that could have been written by me. One celebrates the idea of being "too old for this", and by "this", the author means things like feeling insecure about one's looks or worrying about other people's opinions. Another is by Gina Barreca, who is cultivating the art of not caring about things like fashion (comfort trumps beauty), toned arms, and symmetrical eyebrows. I haven't cared about a lot of these for a long time, but something clicks once one reaches a certain, ahem, maturity that solidifies all this not-caring. It's very liberating.

So now I wear skirts that don't hide my varicose veins (they stop at the knee instead of descending toward my ankles, thus avoiding the member-of-an-evangelical-cult look), am growing my hair out (tough right now in the heat and humidity of August), and I talk back to my doctor. I still pluck chin hairs but am more lackadaisical about hair that grows elsewhere on my body. I would still like to lose 30+ pounds, but (Whole30 or not) I'm not giving up the occasional dish of ice cream or bottle of beer to do so.

I am also abandoning attempts to like activities or support causes that don't really interest or move me. It isn't that these things are not worthy; I'd simply rather focus my energies and money elsewhere, guilt free. Life is too short for "shoulds".

Life is also too short for fear. I hope I do not turn into one of those oldsters who is afraid all the time. Not that I don't nurse my share of fears, irrational and otherwise, but I don't want them to rule my life. At least, not yet.

Homewrecker

I've been calling the cat-with-no-name "Beau", which rhymes with "NO!"

Some days, Finn and Beau get along fine. Other times, I think Finn is going to kill Beau, pinning him to the floor and administering some punishing bites. And yet, Beau keeps coming back for more.

Beau is an indoor cat, so Finn gets respite by going out most nights. I put them in separate parts of the house when I am going out. But I wonder what will happen when Beau reaches his full size.

Whole30, more or less

My daughter lost 15 pounds following the Whole30 way of eating, so I gave it a try. The first time, I lasted about two days. The second time, I kind of eased into it, but still could not make it all the way through 30 days. And I lost only 2 pounds. Nevertheless, I continue to eat Whole30 sorta - consuming lots of vegetables (averaging 2 cups at each meal) with animal protein and fruit on the side, avoiding processed foods, avoiding sweeteners (artificial and otherwise), avoiding grains and legumes, making my own mayonnaise using olive oil, etc. - because it feels like a healthy way to eat.

And now I have pseudo proof that it is good for me: my total cholesterol dropped 40 points and LDL fell 30 points, as compared to last year. Whoohoo! So often we do this or that, because someone somewhere says it is the healthy thing to do, but rarely do we see direct results from our efforts. While there may be other factors at work in these results (e.g. my life is less stressful since I retired), I am choosing to believe my new way of eating has a lot to do with it.

My doctor was not impressed, however. True, my numbers are still too high, but I received no kudos for my accomplishment, no questions about how I did it. Instead, I received the Statin Lecture (and a few other lectures - I'm a non-compliant patient). I held out, but left the office rather upset with the doctor.

Two days later, I think I have figured out why she was so adamant about statins, when in the past her attitude has been "You have no other risk factors, so I wouldn't worry about it": the Affordable Care Act. It is my understanding that doctors are now being held responsible for the outcomes of their treatments, just as teachers are being held accountable for their students' success. I'm generally in favor of the ACA, just as I am generally pro-education reform. However, I take issue with how they measure accountability. I don't know how best to measure accountability, but using test results, be they medical or educational, does not make sense to me.

Now excuse me while I go eat a bit of BBQ beef and a whole lot of cole slaw.

Back home in Indiana

My SO and I visited New York City recently and ran ourselves ragged. For one thing, the city radiates energy, so it's hard to act laid back. Also, people walk really fast on crowded sidewalks, so you either keep up or get out of the way. Then there were the steps in the subways.

In three days, we put 92 flights of stairs on our Fitbits. Not for the faint of heart. The walking and stairs also explain why NYers are so thin. Not sure why we saw very few tattoos.

Getting there:

Our flight out of FW was delayed, but Delta automatically booked us on a later flight out of Detroit. Our original flight from Detroit was also delayed, so we made it to NYC almost as expected. We were happy to leave the driving to the professional cabbie who got us to the Hampton Inn Manhattan/UN in one piece.

This was Midtown, not as swanky as other parts of the city, but plenty busy and lively. After a nap in our tiny but nicely appointed hotel room, we started walking south, toward the Strand. LOTS of places to eat (we ate at the Shake Shack), plus street vendors selling fruit. We didn't make it all the way to the Strand, which clued us into the fact our idea about walking across Manhattan to the Highline was just crazy talk.

Although we've never had a bad experience at any Hampton Inn, the service at this one was above average, presumably due to the diplomatic clientele. It also had the smallest footprint of any hotel I have been in, just eight (smallish) rooms per floor, 21 floors, no 13th.

Except for the construction next door, the neighborhood was relatively quiet, populated mostly by foreign missions. In previous visits to NYC, I've had to sleep with earplugs to deaden the nightlong sounds of honking cars and garbage trucks in reverse (BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!) This time they served to muffle my bedmate's snoring.

Day 1:

After sleeping in, we ate breakfast at the Comfort Diner. I had the red flannel hash breakfast, made with corned beef and sweet potatoes (vegetables ARE for breakfast). It was very good especially with fresh squeezed orange juice. There were lamps made with sports trophies, like a tennis trophy and a bowling trophy; I could make something like that with my bowling trophy. There were also these weird children's book covers on the wall, like Little Bobbby's Drunk Again and It's Not Going to Get Any Better when You Grow Up. (These are for real.)

We decided to do the Whitney before the Highline, which was a smart move. There was a lot to see there. I did not like that the descriptions of the sculptures were on the wall instead of near the works themselves. The Vietnam Era work brought me to tears; wasted young lives. My favorite piece was constructed of handmade stuff like crocheted afghans, macrame, yarn octopus dolls, etc. It reflected my life in crafting, and made me want to go home and make something with my old afghans. Photos here.

My SO was really good at knowing which artists did what. We also discussed how I could turn my pile of old computer equipment into a work of art: my career in IT. We were sitting under the stairway to the Highline at the time.

We walked part of the Highline, but SO's feet gave out because he bought new sandals for the trip too soon to break them in. I was disappointed that we didn't do the whole thing, but we went back the next day, primarily to see the the sculptures. I liked how they incorporated the old rails and the idea of rails into the design. There were lots of places to sit.

We were also stopped by a tiny (presumably) Buddhist nun who (for a donation) gave us malas. They smelled like sandalwood. The malas proved useful for waving off similarly dressed monks.

Once we were off the Highline, we stopped at the Empire Diner for some dessert. I had the Dulce de Leche, which was WONDERFUL. Then back to the hotel for a rest. Then out again, to see the UN building. We ended up walking north to 50th Street, then west to Fifth Ave. Lots of tourists.

Day 2:

Breakfast at Pershing Square, right across from Grand Central Station. The place was busy, but FAST. The food was not as good as Comfort, but perfectly adequate for breakfast. Then we (well, mostly SO) took photos in the train station.

We expected to spend the day in Brooklyn, but it was a bit of a bust. For one thing, neither of us slept well. For another, it was school field trip day at the Botanical Gardens. And it was HOT. We did take in their bonsai collection, plus wandered the Japanese garden a bit.

Since the Green-Wood Cemetery (another planned destination in Brooklyn) was too far to walk to, we came back to Manhattan and went to the NY Public Library to see a photo exhibit. We got there in time for the lecture, which was useful. Then we pooped out and grabbed some sandwiches from Fresh & Co to take back to the room. Time for a nap.

Up and at 'em to return to the Highline. This time we worked our way from north to south, seeing all the neat sculptures. Then back toward the hotel. We were getting tired of restaurant food, but we ate at Scotty's where we could order pleasantly bland pot roast and chicken pot pie. It wasn't all that great, but at least it was quiet.

Day 3:

We decided we were trying to do too much, so we skipped the Frida exhibition in the Bronx (too difficult to get to and too expensive) and went to the Guggenheim (which was between shows, so not much to see there), then hung out in Central Park.

We even visited Strawberry Fields, which was more meaningful than we expected. Everyday there are flowers and music.

To get to the Upper East Side, we gave the bus a try, thinking we would see more besides subway tunnel walls. Big FAIL. It took a long time for the right bus to arrive at our stop, then we had to stand up in the back and couldn't see out the windows very well. We were traveling up Madison Ave, so I watched designer names roll by. To get back, we took the subway.

Home sweet home smells like dirty cat litter:

We really liked the hotel. We were able to print the boarding passes in their business center. We used their car service to get to the airport (nice but a bit pricey). I left a note for the maid requesting coffee sleeves, with a drawing of a coffee cup in case they couldn't read English. They left lots of coffee and extra cups, but no sleeves. Must be my lousy artwork.

The trip home was uneventful, just the way we like it. If I hadn't been so tired, I might have tried to negotiate an earlier flight, as we were at the airport in time to catch the Detroit bound flight before ours, but I just could not summon the strength.

Misc.

When in NYC, I carry what I call "bum money" (I know - not very PC). It's for when someone is sitting on the sidewalk with a cup or is playing music with an open instrument case or is explaining their plight to a captive audience in a subway car or is offering a mala in exchange for hopes for peace. The money is folded and stacked individually in my pocket so I can pull out a single bill without effort. I know some (all?) of those requesting funds are not homeless or even in need. I consider it performance art, for which I'm happy to drop a buck.

Never on any of our trips to NYC have we been mistreated by the so-called locals (there are so many languages and so many people speaking in accented English, the city feels almost exotic). Unlike here, where strangers make eye contact and smile and say hello on the street, NYers ignore each other with aplomb. Yet we saw random, anonymous, impersonal acts of kindness. NYC really is a wonderful city to visit.

A cat with no name

I don't miss having a dog, but I do miss Betsy. Finn is a wonderful cat, but he stays out all night and sleeps all day, so sometimes it is like not having a cat at all. Hence, I was weak when I met the cat formerly known as Mr. B.

They call me MISTER Banks

A friend of a friend of my daughter's found Finn. A friend of a friend of my son's found Mr. B. No sense in my looking for cats when they seem to find me through my children.

Getting to know you, getting to know all about you...

The name he came with is an issue. I don't quite understand the evolution to "Mr. B" but the B stands for "Banks". I have tried calling him that, but half the time it comes out "Bates" (from Downton Abby). A few other names have been sampled, and right now I am leaning toward Puff (short for Pufferbelly - he hisses a lot).

He's so cute when he's asleep

Puff is ostensibly neutered although he does not look it, nor does he act it; I may have that double checked by my vet. He appears to be about eight months old, so I thought Finn would be tolerant of a kitten. Turns out Finn is not the problem. Puff is the confrontational one, and when Finn tries to walk away, Puff chases him down. Finn is about twice Puff's size, but it doesn't seem to matter. (Finn's reluctance to fight may also explain why he is remarkably unscarred for an outdoor cat.)

I predict a cat spat will follow this meal

Puff is more of a companion, albeit not a cuddly one (yet), than Finn. He loves to follow me around while I do household chores. The vacuum cleaner barely fazes him. He is full of energy and always ready to play. He is also litter trained, but needs to learn to keep off the counters/tables/dresser/plant stand/etc.

Why it is better to adopt an ADULT cat

My hope is that, with time and maturity, not only will Puff settle down but will entertain Finn during the winter when he drives me nuts with his incessant requests to go out/come in/go out/come in. Puff will be an indoor cat, though.

Two cats playing (sort of)

A few days after Puff arrived, I found a cat crawling across a busy street, obvious the victim of a hit-and-run. I stopped the car and scooped him up and took him to Animal Control. Three legs were still functional, so they took him in and posted his picture on the lost and found page, but I doubt anyone will claim him.

Invitation to a belly rub

I wanted to adopt him too, but my daughter talked me down from that crazy cat lady ledge. I felt bad but later realized I have all the cat I can handle right now.