Evolution of a cat's name

Darwin
Darpin
The Darpinator
Darpony
Darpone
Darponis
Ponis
Ponis Onis
Dar Dar

If only...

One of the classiest women I know tells me she's from "hillbilly stock." She remarks that I'm "well bred." And she's right --to a point. I grew up in Shaker Heights when it still meant something. I went to prep school. My father was well conected in Cleveland politics during the 70s and early 80s. Had my family not been Jewish at a time when country clubs and dancing schools were still segregated, I coulda been a contender!

Runs in the family?

My father is a petty thief. He mainly steals towels and bathrobes from luxury hotels, and he nicks The Sunday New York Times off of people's driveways. I admit to benefiting from his vice. Several of our beach towels are from his stock.

Some of the aforementioned towels are beginning to fray. What luck when we discovered their origin while vacationing at a resort in Pennsylvania this past August. We accumulated a number of extra towels from the pool, thinking we might misappropriate them on the way out. But, in the end, we chickened out. Thought it was a bad example to set for the kids.

WTFWJD???

Our son returned from a birthday party wearing a red plastic crucifix. It was in the treat bag. (And no, I am not making this up.)

Normally we don't scrutinize the party favor, but my spouse and I both thought the choice of trinket inappropriate. First, not all party guests were Christian. Second, the party theme was not The Last Supper or Jesus saves. Third, the activity was the movie Alpha and Omega and not The Last Temptation of Christ. Finally (and all parents of party goers polled thus far agree), it's just f-ing wrong.

Um, well, gee, thanks

Perhaps because I did not receive frequent praise as a child, or maybe due to some generic character flaw attributed to being a woman, I do not take compliments well. So it was with some discomfort that I fielded a few on a much overdue upgrade in my hairdo. More accustomed to self-depricating humor than self-adulation, I responded with sarcasm and wisecracks. S'pose I should train myself to say a simple "thank you."

Thursday morning running club

I knew I was sunk when she eyed my standard issue Graco suspiciously.

"Where's your jogging stroller?" she asked cheerfully.
"Don't have one. I don't jog. I was planning to walk. I take this one on the Towpath all the time."
"I'm not sure it will go on the connector path," she said.

And she was right. We bushwacked through a grassy path to a dirt and rock trail. That's when my daughter and I bailed out. I figure I'd rather skip the walk and just meet for coffee. Cocktails would be even better.

Ode to T.K. Jr.

Sporting a school bag
befitting a second grader
Riding the bus
home
There's hope
yet
And I thought we'd
have to
take the mum
out back
and rough her
up

Don't forget to hit "delete"

A friend (other than Heidi), who occasionally reads this tome, suggested I put the blog address at the bottom of my email messages. I took her up on it, and have expanded my audience by at least one (welcome, Cynthia). She also warned me to remember to delete the signature from messages to people who might find the content questionable, offensive, etc. or who I might not want knowing the details of my life and thoughts. I remembered, once, then promptly forgot and fired off email messages to the Director of Parent Relations at our children's school, my mother and mother-in-law.

This begs the question: Is material about the school, or my mother and in-laws now off limits? And what happens if I cross the line? I'd hate to think a myriad of subject matter is taboo -- especially the family part, they're all nuts.

Taking the plunge

Karma made me jump in a frigid river.

I have a somewhat recurring dream that involves natural water slides. I can't recall the specifics, but I think it ends badly. So I found myself in Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania with my family at a river tributary with a natural water slide. The water was 64 degrees and the air wasn't much warmer. Just back from his first whitewater rafting stint, our son jumped right in. He claimed it was much warmer than the river. I was wearing some quick dry pants and a t-shirt, and didn't feel like hoofing it back to the car for my swimsuit. "C'mon in, Mommy."

It was eerie. I felt like I was supposed to do it, but I didn't really want to. I hesitated. Maybe it was a Deja vu experience I had earlier in the day. Maybe it was the memory of the dream goading me. I did it. I slid in my clothes. That water was f-ing freezing.