three (3) bedtime thoughts

1.) realizing that i am technologically challenged, if you tilt your head to the left and say that is not the cutest dog you have ever seen, there is something seriously wrong with you. get over the fact that he is wearing a dress. really, it is precious.

2.) i always like to ask in conversation with others where they would be, if they could be anywhere in the world right now, in this moment, with no constraints. if i could be anywhere in the world right now, it would be back here. the carlyle in manhattan, with mallory and dad, wandering into museums and having doormen who wink at you and hearing eartha kitt and watching shakespeare in central park as the sun sets and the fireflies come out and drinking coffee on yellow velvet couches with sunflowers and lilies and reading the new york times.

3.) if you need proof that your family is far less weird than you ever thought, look no further. i offer a photograph of my mother forcibly dressing my sister's cat in a bumblebee outfit. was it halloween? it was not. it was, in fact, december. and this is not unusual. if i knew how to switch cell phone pictures onto the computer, i could show you sights that would have PETA swarming my parent's house faster than jack bauer could torture an answer out of a terrorist. when my mom calls, the picture that pops up shows her about five feet from our front door, dragging the cat behind her on a leash. she once let winston (yes, that adorable dog above) free in a goat pen in half moon bay. just because she thought it would be funny to see winston chase all the goats. needless to say, he did nothing of the sort. this from the same woman who now wants to have the dog sleep in a small doggy bed, instead of the kennel he's been sleeping in for nine years, just in case a burglar comes in the night. so that he can jump out, bite them to shreds, and save us all. the only problem lies in the fact that to keep winston in the laundry room, where he sleeps, we have to stack suitcases preventing him from getting out. my mom is sure that he'll somehow manage to leap over the luggage when he senses that we are in mortal danger; much as lassie would know to pull timmy out of the well. "he'll just know!" she says.

it must be nice to be normal.


mmmm . . . . good night moon.