After Night No Questions Asked

Panky perks up after a foiled escape attempt, already planning to blast his way out next time or as soon as he can pronounce that.

Pete and I cleaned and scoured and vacuumed and mopped and laundered for a week before Miss Sasha, Mr. Sasha and Panky arrived for a sleep over. The cats made themselves scarce. Five people, one of whom has not developed an inside voice, put up a racket. Every so often Sweetpea would slink down the stairs, catch a glimpse of Panky, say, "What the hell is THAT?" and flee. Miss Sasha left in the morning with Dad's tiny baking forms, one of Dad's working notebooks and one of Pete's authoritative pastry books. Mr. Sasha left with ideas for container gardening in North Dakota. Panky left needing a nap and better alibis.

They were at our house for a total of 17 hours and three days later I'm still falling asleep in my V8 Juice.

Quiet Nights On the Back Porch

Panky visited my house, pushed over my washboard a couple of times and sat on the stairs in time out. At 27 months, he is already trying out impossible alibis. For instance, when we saw him knock down the baby gate, he blamed it on Sweetpea. Miss Sasha said, "I now understand why you could always tell when I was lying."

Too exhausted to declare myself crosseyed. I'll work up to it tomorrow.

And Ask Many Questions Like

Panky and his parents came to our house for dinner Sunday night. Panky laps around the dining room while his parents held still and ate london broil, grilled peppers, sweet potato puree, broccoli florets, corn on the cob, apple pie, frozen yogurt and strawberry compote, and groaned that they were too full to move.

As humans go, Panky is large enough to make a giant mess but small enough to swing around and burble, "Vrooom." It is a good size: almost big enough to be two, but still one. "But!" he says, "But!" I am still waiting for him to pick a name for me.

My Hands are Cold

Maybe I'm being a big silly but that little guy over there is an absolute mess - and I LOVE IT! He throws things everywhere. He's often covered with doggy snacks just when I want a treat. Oh, who am I kidding? I always want a treat! The cats and I were talking about him and we think he's just delicious, though they're holding out for herring. Anyway anyway anyway, we were all talking and we'd just like you to know that though right now he's eating a lot of macaroni we see progress. For instance, he's finally walking now. That took forever. I mean, I was born and started walking but with this guy it's different, but so he's walking now FINALLY. We think he might scoot a little faster if you feed him more Snausages. And rawhide treats. We all think so. Don't you agree?

I Don't Mean Maybe

Panky!

Miss Sasha sent me two gigantic virtual piles of bucolic winter scenes, if one allows that children slathered in blue frosting might be considered landscapes. In one series, the dog romps in crisp, frozen snowdrifts with what at first appears to be a doll and turns out later to be a wild turkey that of late joined the Choir Invisible. I liked those pictures. It's a stern reminder that your dog is always grocery shopping.

The Evidence Is Strong

Yesterday, Panky turned one.

This is the first time I see Miss Sasha's face in Panky's. I have a picture of her as a two-year-old modeling purple pajamas with a face covered in chocolate that looks a lot like this little guy. Maybe if he did a little more food-based comedy I'd have seen resemblance sooner.

He Knows When You're Awake

Merry Christmas, Panky!

Slide Down And Have An Escape

Happy Thanksgiving. People talk about their wacky family traditions, football, that time Cousin Elmer burnt down the garage deep frying a turkey - I don't know. About ten years ago, I decided Thanksgiving is much more betterer spent at home and quiet because drunk drivers, screaming children and What Am I Eating? do not make me thankful. So. Pete's gone out for bagels. Conscious of my inexplicable good fortune, I'm going to get up and pat down a big bird. Then I'm going to defend it with my life from three professionally curious cats. It's quirky but what's a little violence on a day based on it and food, eh? But there is one Thanksgiving ritual we can all, great or small, appreciate: a bath.



In the next picture, Panky is properly sauced.

That Delicate Satin-Draped Frame

At the family store, where my sisters Anya and Corinne and their mother Ellen show and sell the wares and works of artists and artisans, people ask very interesting questions. The first time I noticed this thinking at work, a woman browsed the little store for over an hour, then asked an exciting question: "Do you have any vases?" My heart skipped a beat. For a moment, I couldn't speak. Then I said, "Yes," because the store is a room - and I cannot overstate this - full of vases. Yesterday, a woman walked around in circles and finally asked, "Do you have anything with butterflies?" I gulped, then started at one end of the store and made a pile in a shopping basket for her that would have cost her hundreds if she hadn't exclaimed, "Stop! Stop! I don't like my friend that much." The other question that boggles my tiny mind is, "What would you do with these?" - meaning the pocket vases made by Daniel Latta of Latta's Fused Glass.

I make lists: love notes, pencil holder, bud vase, chopstick dispenser, spaghetti organizer, handy eyeliner file, recipe card stand, spare change jar, safe place for used razors, container for your shredded credit card bill (pay it first!), cat toy caddy, fresh herb frame, brilliant storage for your favorite stranded wire bundle, haystack for a beloved needle, rainy day cash safe, seed cup, display case for your tail comb collection. I could go on.

Pete and I were wandering through Acme, of all places, when I stumbled on a basket of oversized cinnamon stick bundles. I'd surmised I'd only be able to get them at an Indian grocery, but there they were. This hangs in our bedroom, a warm beige bearing little resemblance to this color, where lamplight appears to flicker and even with the camera's candlelight setting, the vase appears to move. Or we were having an earthquake no one else noticed. Either way, we couldn't take a picture of this vase that wasn't an action photo. Doesn't it look athletic?

In other news: Miss Sasha reports that Panky has begun to crawl: her life changed in a flash when he got up on all fours and made for the dog bowl.

Yes. I am still laughing.