The sounds of fall

The summer into fall transition is always bitter sweet. Summer is my time in the sun, to rejuvinate and dance, eat strawberry shortcake for the rest of my life, bake on the beach, and cruise through a pile of trashy books. These days in my windowless office, disconnected from the elements and changes in season, I brace myself every day when I step outside my office building at the end of the day, forgetting what time of year it is. The only thing that has remained constant for me through the years is music. My head just seems to wrap around certain sounds more readily at different times of the year. I know it's the end of summer because of the bittersweet sounds coming out of my stereo. David Grey is mixed with Powderfinger, and on especially gray days, Beck's breakup album. I don't know what possessed me this morning, but I found myself singing words to a song I haven't heard in a million years. "It's a bitter pill, we swallow here, to be rent from one so dear, we fight for justice and not for gain . . . . oh hold me now . . ." I'm not depressed, I swear on every George Carlin album ever made. But the colder weather and the rain always seem to make these sounds comforting to me. The birthday season is over, the last crumbs of cake are like the last leaves clinging to windswept branches. Okay winter, do your worst. I've got my music, a fire on the hearth, and all the patience in the world. Just like the heat of summer, you too will eventually fade.

Season of Renewal

It is with utmost pleasure that I watch two of my closest confidents renew their beliefs in love and romance. After years of dissappointment and dashed hopes, they had accepted that happiness was strictly forbidden or merely made-up crap. So, I sit here and raise a toast to two people who have never met, yet share the same story, and in some wonderous alignment of planets, found their soulmates. I would also like to make a toast to the men who have found them. A tremendous gift has been granted to each. I couldn't be happier. Live long and prosper---and all that crap.

Meet the staff of Jack's Diner

It's been a few days since I posted anything---this time of year is very transitional in its energies, it's hard to focus. In any event, we at Jack's Diner have been trying to get things sorted out and put away. Trying to decide on a winter menu, per se. Our dear Jack moves at one speed, slow, and he insists on leading, so we don't often get things done as quickly as we like. Me, I don't mind slow, I like to putter around, as long as the pantry is stocked and the freezer is full, I'm happy. Billy loves this time of year, the transition, the crisp mornings, waking up to the smell of coffee . . . we haven't closed any of the windows yet, so the warm smell of coffee is a delicious contrast to the cool morning temps.

The farmer's market is burgeoning with all my favorite foods right now. I have a new respect and love for organic food. Everyone should support their local farmers. I had spaghetti squash the other night like none I've ever tasted. It was like ambrosia, baby! That's right, food of the gods! We are thinking about taking in the Hudson Valley Garlic Festival on Sunday. It is the Northeast equivalent to the big Garlic fest in California from what I understand. I love garlic!! Well, I'm going to sign off for now. I'll let you all know how the festival turns out..

Oven mitts

My last cat would calmly sit next to me and allow me to pick up each paw, gently squeezing her toes apart to clip her nails when she began sticking to things. Not so with Jack. There is nothing worse than a huge clawing and biting thing stuck to your sock, pant leg, or shirt sleeve. Especially when it vehemently refuses any attempt on your part to unstick them from you. So it's important that we don't let Jack stick. Easier said than done. You must wait until he is completely asleep, then quietly sneak up and clip a nail, praying he doesn't take a swipe at you while you are within range. Billy can get up to three nails before Jack wakes up. When all attempts of trimming him in his sleep fail, we double up on him. This involves enticing him with little cooing noises and petting motions. When he is withing reach I am in charge of lifting him by his front legs and positioning him for clipping. Billy then grabs a paw and clips quickly while Jack is winding up to grab whatever flesh he can from mine or Billy's hands with his teeth. Big cat, big teeth. Next time I'm using oven mitts.

Alarm Clocks

Amazingly enough, my boyfriend and I have synchronized internal clocks. We get up at the same time every morning sans an alarm. Our back-up system is, of course, Jack. Here in lies the fault in this wake-up procedure---Bill (not a cat) has a new work schedule which "does" require a happy little alarm set on his cell phone, that I do not hear. So, instead of rowsing at 6 AM every morning, a couple of days a week Bill gets up at 3 AM. Jack, never missing a chance to eat, joins him in these wee hours. Jack seems to be confused by this new schedule --- as I said before, he always acts as our back-up alarm, so on the mornings that Bill does not get up at 3, our backup will proceed to sit at either of our shoulders and make this loud "WAH" noise until we get up. Whether or not he is concerned about Bill getting off to work on time or just wants another opportunity to eat is still up for debate. This morning at 3 AM, I'm thinking the little bastard just wanted to eat.

Autumn's last kiss to summer

I always have mixed feelings about this time of year. On the one hand the weather is cooler and dryer so you can sleep at night. The sunsets are uncomparable . . . but for those of us in the North East, it's just a reminder to get your oil changed, find the jumper cables, and doublecheck the snow emergency parking locations. On a lighter note, those plastic saucers ain't just for kids ya know. Call in sick to work, pick a killer hill, grab your saucer and join all the little kids who have a bonafied snow day from school for a couple hours of rejuvination. If you time it right, all the kids will have packed down the trails with those old pizza boxes and stolen lunch trays, so you can literally just hit the ground running, no trailblazing necessary.

Never missed a meal

Let me explain something about Jack. He will follow you around the house trying to entice you into putting more food into his already full bowl. I think it's partly out of boredom and partly to get attention . . . Jack weighs 25 pounds---trust me, he has never missed a meal.

Jack's Menu

Jack's catch of the day, when he's lucky enough--- those multi-legged-centipede things, he looooves them. They seem to be regulars on the menu as the dry basement beams holding up our 1845 Brownstone is a particularly favorite haunt of theirs. He loves to crunch them. He's a real coward when it comes to ants though, he spins in circles and does this funny little side-step number. He won't touch them. I just don't get it.

He use to eat mice and birds, but those days are gone, unless one happens to stumble inside . . . .

When he exhausts the bug population he grudgingly eats his expensive, special order, doctor prescribed kibble. The little bastard.