Interlude

Happy Independence Day! But not so loud...

I took myself out to Oak Tree Road yesterday. Indian Independence Day is tomorrow, but the parade was supposed to be held today, on Sunday. Unfortunately, at the moment it's pouring rain. I noticed that a lot of shops were closed. Luckily, the ones I frequent were all open. And I figured out why. They are all Muslim owned. The Muslims are not particularly happy about Indian Independence Day because it also marks The Partition, when Indian Muslims were told to get packing and move north and their only choices were Pakistan or Bangladesh. Gee, now there's a poser...

In the shop where I buy kurti and shawls, I asked the lady there if she was looking forward to the holiday. She lowered her eyes and said, "Is not my holiday."

When I went into Shalimar (King of Sweets!), I noticed that the flat screen TV was tuned to Al Jazeera. And then I noticed the Arabic script I've seen on the front of the Qu'ran.

Indian flags were posted on every telephone pole. I was expecting some jubilation, but all I saw was an ominously dead street. I did what I had to do and then left. And by the way, I make a way better rose lassi than the shop on the corner made.

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Borish, Unplugged

Boris has been traveling back and forth to the vet. He is,after all, 14 years old. And although he's usually a little dehydrated, he has been more dehydrated than usual.

Dr. Knightly made a happy fuss over him. She laughed at the flat-footed walk he has, knowing that it wasn't really polite but it is irresistibly funny. Boris, walking on his ankles. instead of his tippy-toes. I think the main reason she took him into the back where the techs are was to show off his amazing feet.

Alas, Boris was plugged up yet again. I remarked that for a cat with such a voracious appetite and thirst (his thyroid is fine and so is his blood sugar), you would think he'd want to make room for more, but no, he wants to hold onto it.

He was admitted to the vet hospital overnight and his bowels yielded to prayer and mineral oil.

Now that he is home, he is busily filling the empty spaces.

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In Which I Try to Talk to Snerdley

The H4&McC company picnic was this week. It was probably the nicest company picnic I've ever been to and the weather was absolutely perfect.

I talked to various people at various tables and eventually settled down with my friend Dottie. I like Dottie. We have something in common although I'm not exactly sure what it is, other than age. She is a manager by day and a classical musician by night and on the weekends, when she and her hubby, also a musician, land gigs.

Snerdley is one of the attorneys at H4&McC. I have seen him around although I think he spends most of his time in court. Once upon a time, I had to rewrite his resume for some company literature. His old one was simply education and the two places where he had worked. I emailed him:

Me: Snerdley, do you belong to any organizations? Like the New Jersey Bar Association.
Snerdley: No.
Me: Snerdley, do you have any publications? (The Big McC had a list a page long. In nine point type.)
Snerdley: No.
Me: Snerdley, have you contributed to any publications? Previously belonged to any relevant outside organizations?
Snerdley: No.

I learned that Snerdley has MS. So I can understand that he would want to preserve his energy. Maybe he just didn't have the energy to write anything or belong to any organizations. God knows it's hard enough to drag myself out to a Speechifiers meeting sometimes. So okay, Snerdley gets a pass and I hope he never has to get another job because his resume sucks.

Snerdley showed up at the picnic in a stylin' blue vest to keep cool. (I cannot tell you how many times I have wanted such a vest. Like, anytime I think I want to try to work in the yard.) He came over to the table where Dottie and I were sitting. I was telling my one kayaking story. I've gotten so much mileage out of that story that I should probably try it again.

And lo! Snerdley spoke! "Yeah, when you do that maneuver, you have to be careful to blah blah blah."

I said, "Oh, you kayak?" The Man from the North Country was a t-3 paraplegic and you could not keep him off the water.

Snerdley looked down his long nose at me, with great scorn. "That's one of the things I can't do anymore."

Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (that would be me) said, "Swimming?"

Another scornful look from Snerdley. He began to walk away.

"Tandem skydiving?"

I already knew by this point that he loathed me so felt I had nothing to lose. He walked away without further comment. He made his way over to the food and was out of earshot.

I said, "Bitter, much?"

Dottie snorted Pepsi out of her nose.

We had bonded.