a rugs life

Seen on a wall in Providence, RI on the campus of Brown University.

Last week we went to buy turtles.

We’d seen some cute little green ones owned by our neighbors, and they seemed easy to care for. So after a long discussion on responsibility and ownership, we headed to the pet store. Rada had already picked out names for them and was very excited.

The clerk, however, was scandalized at our request, informing us that turtle ownership was illegal in Massachusetts. “You might buy them under the table in Chinatown,” he said, “but you won’t find them here.” Thinking back, I remembered that those turtles we saw did belong to a pleasant Asian family…

Anyway, there we were, stalled in the pet store. Rada looked crestfallen and ready to cry. But instead, like a “phoenix rising from the ashes” of her disappointment, I saw a stubborn determination emerge. And then it slowly dawned on me. I wasn’t going to get out of the place without bringing home some sort of living being in a cardboard box, bowl or plastic bag.

Rada started looking around purposefully for her Plan B pet. Hoping to sway her choice, I pointed out the colorful the betta fish ($1.99 each) but instead she looked admiringly at some bearded lizards ($39.99). Negotiations continued as I ooh-ed and aah-ed over the golden hamsters ($4.99). But she turned up her nose, promptly leading me to the ferrets ($55.99).

Worried that we were headed for a stand-off, I noticed a cage full of white mice. Scrawny little things with red eyes and pink tails, but at $2.29 a piece, I was game. Rada immediately took interest. We found a clerk to help us with our purchase. He was quite surprised and whispered to me that most white mice were purchased… um… for food (the store had a large reptile section).

I nodded pleasantly, assuring him that we definitely wanted them as pets. So he set us up with a cage, wheel, food, bedding, etc. And we took them home.

Cycling home from work, I noticed someone had spilled a box of crayons in the street:

The next day, they were still there, but more downtrodden:

And today there was still an echo of color in the street:

The challenge: pick the cherries.

The team:

The strategies:

Aikena climbs.

On Rebecca’s shoulders, Rada picks cherries that would otherwise be out of reach.

Here is the result:

My daughter is spending 2 weeks with her aunt in upstate new york. She attends the local day camp and plays with neighborhood kids in the afternoons.

Worried that she would not be able to spend such a long span ot time away from me, I brought Rada to my sister’s house with the tentative plan to leave her there, but only if she was doing OK. After 4 days, it looked like she was pretty comfortable. We had a slightly teary goodbye and then I went off to enjoy a few days of child-free time. 

I’ve been calling every day to check in and so far the reports are good. Rada loves camp and is comfortable with my sister. They went to the town festival and Rada played all the kid games: bean bag toss, relay races, and even entered in the pie eating contest (!?!) The last few times I’ve called, Rada has either been too busy to talk or has been off playing with the 4 year old next door.

I was worried she would miss me too much, but now I’m worried she won’t want to come home.

She keeps churning them out:

“It is a procession to see the Queen”

and…

“Friends come to visit the bird in its nest.”

Eric is a lucky boy. For his birthday today, he’s getting this card from Rada:

Its a Celtics player slam dunking the ball. Note the arrows pointing its trajectory. The player is #20, apparently of great meaning to a devotee such as Eric.

The inside of the card further celebrates Celtics pride:

with a trophy in the upper right corner.

My daughter’s and my entire life revolves almost exclusively around 20 square blocks of Cambridge, Somerville, and part of Boston. Our primary modes of transit are walking, biking, taking the bus or T, and occasionally driving when necessary.

This week has been different. My daughter is in special day camp in Winchester and my mom is taking the train to Philadelphia.

This is what I did on Monday:

Trip started in Somerville, proceeded to Winchester to drop off daughter, on to Concord via Rte 128 to pick up mother, from there to train station in Westwood to drop mother off, and then back into town via Rte 93 and 3. Traffic was sluggish on Rte 93 north and there were bad traffic jams on Rte 128 and Rte 3. Total trip time 3.25 hours.

On Tuesday the circle was in the other direction:

First was the warm-up trip to Winchester and then back to Cambridge; from there proceeded to Newton for afternoon conference at BC, after which I tackled the 128 ‘C’ up to Winchester to pick up daughter and then back to Somerville. Exacerbated by rain and hail, the traffic on 128 slowed to a crawl. Trying to skirt some of the horror, I cut off to Rte 3A south only to run into a bumper-to-bumper parking lot from Woburn to Winchester, and adding insult to injury: 93 South was jammed going in to town at 6:15 in the evening. Total trip time 2.45 hours.

Today is Wednesday and I am driving the streets with constant homicidal urges and barely constrained civility. Rte 93 at 8:45 am will do this to a person, as will Rte 128 at 5:15 pm and Rte 3A south at 5:45. I do not understand how people can drive these roads day after day and remain halfway sane.

All over the house I constantly discover animals and things arranged as if in a still life or tableau:

Unicorn with plastic bottle.

Polar bear with hair clip and elk.

Dance party.

T-rex giving two baby bears a ride.

She sets them up absentmindedly, and then forgets about them. Aren’t they cool?