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I WENT TO THE PARK AGAIN today, just to check on Tiny. (No kidding, he's the one who got me out the door). What happened was, I was vaguely aware that the afternoon was fast waning, and I suddenly realized that in spite of getting that whole long terrific, delightful extra hour in the middle of the night last night, this evening's puny gift would only be a stretched-out time of darkness. So I jumped up, put on my sneakers and was out the door in four-fifteenths of the time I usually spend fighting the gravity of inertia.

This is what I have to report: The scene-of-the-crime tape still mars the landscape around Tiny's old hopping grounds, and all was quiet. I don't wish to be irreverent, but I sadly fear that Tiny has croaked.

In his memory I gathered a last dandelion of autumn and scattered it over his final resting place. After which I made a four-loop salute to the dying sun.
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I KNOW FOR YOU AND ME, DEAR READER, birthdays seem to roll around like pumpkins at Halloween; but for the Little Actor, it was pretty much a lifetime ago since he had had a birth day (what I mean to say is, that little gap in the middle of the word disappeared for the very first time today!)

And, oh, the privileges one is afforded on the very first anniversary of one's birth!







Think of it, Dear Reader,
when was the last time you happened to have an adoring audience who oohed and aahed as you unabashedly buried your face in the birthday cake and let yourself go hog wild, consuming the better part of the entire confection, afterward going so far as to crawl around on the floor and eat up the crumbs?! (And still those lovable fans were cheering you on!)




And then! Not only a little mound of new presents to open up, but friends (older and wiser) able to open up entertaining possibilities for your old stuff! (Nose rings? Earrings? Far out! And I thought those things were only for chewing on!)




Yes, Dear Reader, there's a lot to be said for birthdays that have never made their appearance before!



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HAPPY BIRTHDAY #1, Lewis Jerome,
my dear Little Actor!
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THE LITTLE ACTOR WAS HERE FOR A few hours today while one of his caretakers was off being cared for by a doctor (or at least, the good doc was telling her she could go on caring for herself, as her very bad sore throat was due only to a very bad cold). The Little Actor seemed to be feeling okay, however, so I put him right to work.

"Here," I said, "I've got just the role for you! It calls for a one-year-old." When he looked at me a little questioningly, I added, "You're not quite that old, I know, but you'll do just fine. After all," I told him, "you've got a birthday party just days away!"

Then I looked toward my bag of paper that was waiting to go for recycling and I started to explain, "The script says..." But he seemed to know just what was called for and jumped into action without further ado.

Scene One.
Take one--



Scene One.
Take two--



Scene Two.
Take one--




Scene three.
Take one--




And it's a wrap!


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OKAY, I'LL ADD SOMETHING. But it won't be much.
(You can't see it, Dear Reader, but my lower lip is slightly protruding.)

Really, with today's insight it's not difficult to know why so many of my fine neighbors tried to ignore me yesterday as they crunched across the gravel of the parking lot, following the sign with the arrow saying "VOTE HERE."

I didn't know many of them, but I did know the man who came and joined me around noon at the other party's table (okay, okay, the grand old victorious party, as it now happens to be!) Don and I didn't recognize each other immediately, but when I told him where I live, he said, "Oh, your daughter used to come and swim in my pool!" Then we had plenty to converse about, and only a very little bit pertained to...you know...what was on everyone's mind yesterday. Don and I talked about the good old days when my daughter swam in his pool.

But to everyone else--as they came from the parking area and headed for the door of the polling station--he and I would say a "hello!" As they were leaving, I would tell them, "Thank you for voting!" and then Don would say, "Have a good day!"

Every once in a while, if a female voter would glance my way, I couldn't resist sharing: "Today is the ninetieth anniversary of women getting the right to vote!" Ah, wonderful! All of these women seemed pleased to hear it. I couldn't help but notice, however, the subtle shift that often occurred when I gaily added, "Thanks to a Democratic congress!"

Well, tsk, tsk, too many marched in and gave their vote to the party who would have refused them the right to do so! Alas. How ironic. And I came home after nearly nine hours of watching gorgeous leaves float down from the giant sycamore tree towering overhead--nearly nine hours of sitting in the bright sunshine and the cold. The cold!

I walked into the house and put an apron on over my cotton sweater, my insulated vest, my wool sweater and my quilted jacket (I told you I would add something more, didn't I?!) Then I made myself a plate of spaghetti with cilantro, which reminded me of the national colors of Italy. Which made me wonder if people are prone to sit for hours at Italian elections and shout, "Thanks for voting!" until they are chilled to the bone.


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THE ALARM SQUAWKED AT 7:00 this morning and I groaned. I knew at that very moment--that very cold and barely daylight moment--there were already people walking into polling places and dutifully casting ballets; and yet I, with the responsibilities of my political office calling, wished to do nothing more than shirk my duty, bury my head under the pillow and go back to slumbering.




I re-set the alarm for another ten minutes and spent the time contemplating an announcement to my constituents: "To leave office before my term is completed is what every instinct in my body wishes to do at this moment. Therefore, I shall resign the office of committee-person, effective at 7:15 a.m. today." It seemed just a bit dramatic, however. And, honestly, the logistics of making this announcement in some official way and in a timely manner seemed daunting. Besides, I had already loaded the trunk of the car with a folding table and a chair the night before. And my yard man, before leaving on his five-day trek, had hoisted into the car the beach-umbrella-holding contraption he'd contrived for my use at the flea market a while back. (Of course, I had stashed the beach umbrella, too, pleased that it was so suitably blue.)


Furthermore, I'd made arrangements with the committee chairperson to pick up signs and watch her in action for a while, to get a feel for the job I was expected to do.

So I got myself up and I got myself dressed. The plan was for me to sit outside amid a cluster of political signs and answer any questions that voters might have pertaining to voting or pertaining to the candidates running for office on my party's ticket. Naturally, a critical aspect of the plan was the "sitting outside" part--and I knew it was cold. So I donned a pair of corduroy pants; a heavy cotton sweater; an insulated vest; a wool sweater. Then I looked at the thermometer and it read 37degrees. I added a quilted jacket.




I'll add something more tomorrow.


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