cynthia

There's one kitten nibbling my calf as I write this--apparently Savannahs are into lovebites, tiny, soft nibbles that aren't all THAT soft and certainly get your attention--and the other is threatening the bluejays at the back door. Savannah cats are supposed to be as trainable as dogs, i.e., you can persuade them to obey YOUR taboos, such staying out of the glass display cases. Or refraining from climbing into a 4-foot urn to eat the pussywillows. I've accordingly invested in a small bag of the smelliest dried shrimp in the world, and a book, "Train Your Cat in 10 Minutes." It's day 3 of our training regimen. The 10-minute bit is a lie. Trust me on this.

Did the Ikea thing this weekend. Translation: I trudged through an endless, footsore maze of primary colors, particle board and bewildering, actually serious names. I bought weird but uselessly nifty stuff that will be worn out by 2013, and ate Swedish meatballs. Swedish meatballs are the reason you go to Ikea, right? (Besides the fact that you can buy a cheap-but-nifty desk to completely re-engineer into a glass sculpture) Ikea meatballs aren't as good as the ones I used to make when I was a kid, but at some point in an Ikea shopping marathon I will gratefully GRATEFULLY trudge into the Ikea cafeteria and plop a few on my plate. Then I'll sit in the window, munching meatballs and trying to figure out which incomprehensible Ikea components will form the piece of furniture I need.

There's a game I play on summery Saturdays, called "breakfast." It's where I race early to the farmer's markets, pick up the ingredients for the morning meal, then cook, consume and clean everything up by 10. It's a challenge because most of the markets don't open until 8:30, so the only way it really works is if I forsake my beloved BIG farmers' markets for the little neighborhood enclave, closer to home.

"It's like my body tells the history of me," she explained, "Of me and my family, who we are and what we do. My whole life is on my skin." I took in the tattoos cascading across her arms, thinking that if it took this much of her to chronicle her first 30 years or so, she didn't plan to live very long. But those tattoos were beautiful, and intriguing.