Not Just Any Will Do

"Maybe you could call him Dithers," I suggested to my sister about the new 10-week-old kitten they had adopted, who was nameless after several days in the house. The family has a bit of a history of taking their time when it comes to naming their pets.

"I would want it to be Mr. Dithers," she laughed. “Plus, we’re the ditherers, not him.”

This fortunate little guy came with the name of Lucky Charms, (all of his litter was named after cereal by the rescue organization), but despite its accuracy, we all agreed that Lucky was not his *real* name. Over the week that he's been here, he has shown himself to be compliant, never missing the litter box once, brave, exploring the house fearlessly on his own, smart and resourceful, avoiding the three dogs that just want to put his head in their mouths, and agile, leaping straight up toward the ceiling to catch the flashing stars. 

It is also clear that he is curious, calm, and affectionate-- practically a perfect kitten. No wonder it's so hard to find the name that matches!

Vacation Alliteration

On our first day in Atlanta, my sister took a break from work and she, Heidi, and I headed over to Ponce City Market for lunch. Since many of the restaurants have pretty, little shaded outdoor dining areas, we loaded Lucy into the car, too. There we enjoyed some yummy seafood sammies from Fishcamp. 

How lovely being ladies of leisure who lunch on Lobster with Lucy!

Detour

Midway through South Carolina, and about two-thirds of the way to Atlanta, the traffic slowed to stop-and-go. A sign flashed informing us that all lanes were closed about 10 miles ahead, so we bailed. Using our phones and car GPS, we navigated west through Greenville, into the picturesque little town of Easley, and on to Liberty. Then it was south on SC 178, a two-lane road shimmering with the last heat of the day. We rolled past the Slabtown Masonic Lodge, some pretty horse farms, and a sundry other rural sights, including signs for moonshine and goat milk.

It was a pretty drive, sullied only by the several stars and bars archaically waving along the way. "Who even thinks that's a good idea?" asked Heidi, shaking her head. "And why?"

Skills!

"Is that Grant?" I asked as the five of us walked around the reflecting pool at the Capitol. I was talking about the huge statue of a man on his horse. A moment later I laughed and pointed at the inscription etched in the marble base: GRANT. "So it says."

"I'm really more interested in the horse," I explained. "Grant's favorite horse, Cincinnati, was a son of Lexington, the fastest racehorse in the 1800s and then the best stud for 16 years in a row, a record that still stands today." 

From there I told the group, consisting of Heidi and our teacher-buddies, Matt and Mary, about the novel Horse, by Geraldine Brooks, a book my brother recommended to me and with which I was nearly finished. 

"The skeleton of Lexington was on display right there," I pointed to the Natural History Museum, "until he was forgotten, and it was literally moved to the attic." We regarded the domed building, and I examined the roofline with renewed interest wondering exactly where the attic might be.

"Don't worry," I reassured them, "it's on permanent loan now to the International Museum of the Horse in, wait for it... Lexington!" I finished with a flourish.

"Look at you making connections," Mary said. "What a good reader!"

Why Not?

"What's this, Babe?" Heidi asked as she gestured to 64 the torn pages scattered over the dining room table.

Surely I have one of the world's most indulgent spouses! Just the other day, I whirled my swivel chair around and noticed one of the REALLY hard puzzle books my older nephews gave me for my birthday a few years ago, and 

it.
was.
on!

This particular book has you tearing out pages, forming 4-foot by 6-foot paper grids on your table or floor in an attempt to decipher the nearly 100 rebus puzzle only to then stand on a step ladder (my strategy) and look down on your work to decipher one 6-8 letter word.

Oh, it is a wicked (and fun) pursuit that leaves your workspace (in this case our dining room and living room) trashed, as you use your wits, pencils, highlighters, and tape to solve the 10 puzzles that make up The Librarian's Almanaq. 

"It's one of the puzzle books the boys gave me," I said, studying the four images on the page in my hand.

She nodded. "Let me know if you need any help."

An Unexpected Reunion

When the doorbell rang around noon today, Heidi and I looked at each other. "Who could that be?" she said.

"You answer it!" I replied over Lucy's barking.

Heidi put Lucy in her place and headed to the door. I listened intently from my chair as she opened it, invisible to whoever might be out there. "Is it Heidi?" a woman's voice asked. "You might not remember us, but we used to live right over there. We're Jennie and Matt and Kelsey."

I jumped up and joined Heidi at the door. The people standing there had been our across-the-way neighbors when we first moved in here back in 1999. They had put their place on the market and moved down to southwestern Virginia shortly after the attacks on September 11, 2001, and we hadn't seen them for over 20 years.

I can't explain the elation I felt, but the hugs we gave each other were heartfelt and lingering. We had never been particularly close, but they were kind and friendly neighbors. Jennie and Matt used to hang out on their patio, which faced our front door, and we would chat often as we came and went. Once when Heidi's parents came for Thanksgiving, they stayed over there because Jennie and Matt were out of town for the holiday. "I still have that star-shaped basket your mom left with all the thank-you goodies in it," Jennie told us.

"That's where that came from?" asked Matt.

Back then Kelsey had been a toddler, and we watched her a couple of times. Now the 26-year-old woman standing in our hallway asked if we still had the magnetic marble run on our fridge. "It's at school!" I laughed as her mom explained that she had looked all over for one because Kelsey had liked ours so much. 

For some reason, I am often reminded of the image of their cute little calico kitten sitting in the front window meowing at me. I'm usually pretty good with names, but for the life of me, I have not been able to remember that cat's. It is exceedingly vexatious whenever I think about it, like an itch I can't scratch.

When Kelsey stooped down to pet Tibby, I took my opportunity. "Her name was Briar," Jennie told me.

Their place has turned over at least six times since they left, and is worth more than double what they sold it for. "They were worried we wouldn't be able to sell it at all after 9-11," Kelsey told me as we stood outside waiting for the others to join us for a group photo. She looked around and sighed. "I do remember it here a little bit," she said. "It's so peaceful and pretty." She smiled. "I'm so glad y'all are still here."

"Me, too," I said. "Me, too."

Summer Camp

There was a bit of frustration on the pickleball court with our friends this afternoon as Heidi, AJ, and I hit several winners. "You guys didn't get to do Pickleball Camp," I laughed, referencing the week the three of us spent our mornings on the court.

Later, as little Olivia's eyelids drooped and she staggered to her stroller after spending an hour with Heidi in the pool for the third consecutive day, her parents shook their heads. "Girl!" her daddy said, "You have to toughen up if you want to stay in Camp Heidi!"