Recent moments

Today I got home from lunch and my kitten didn't greet me at the door like she normally does, rubbing against my legs and waiting to be petted. I called for her, and she didn't come running. I looked in her favorite spots: in front of the window, under the bed, in a box of socks in the closet, but she wasn't in any of them. My voice rose in panic, my mind racing to cover all possibilities. Could she have gotten out? Did she get closed into a cupboard? And then there she was, curled up in my desk chair, yawning and stretching. She got up and rubbed against my legs and waited to be petted. Now she's sitting on my wrists because she knows it helps me type.

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I was sitting in the viewing booth watching Act IV of Bohème. Three of the kids in the children's chorus were sitting in there with me because their parents were in the audience. When Rodolfo carried Mimì onstage, they all started whispering. Is she dead yet? No, I don't think so. Watch her, and see if she moves. A little while later, it started up again. Is she dead? I can't tell, is she? I told them she wasn't dead, that she still had quite a bit to sing, and that they would know when she died because there was a big death chord in the orchestra. From that point on, pretty much every time the orchestra played any chord on a downbeat, they all looked at me expectantly, and I had to shake my head. Finally, the unmistakable death chord sounded, and I confirmed that this was the moment they had been waiting for. Oh yeah, one said. I guess she looks pretty dead now.

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CameraMan and I were at a grown-up bar, drinking grown-up drinks and watching the sun set over downtown Houston from the 24th floor. There was a pianist playing cheesy arrangements of standards. He started playing "The Rose," and both CameraMan and I started singing along, almost under our breath but not, and we both knew all the words. Then we got into an argument about what Bette Midler album the song was on. He was right, I was wrong. Go figure.

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A few weeks ago I noticed that a sundress of mine had come back from the dry cleaner some time this winter without its ribbon sash. I was annoyed, but it seemed useless to try to get it back from the cleaners. Then this week another of my dresses came back, again sashless. I called them up, full of righteous indignation, to complain, but I didn't get the chance because they immediately said, No problem. You can come pick them up. When I got there, I told them I was missing two belts. Just a minute, the man behind the counter said. He walked into a different room and came back with an enormous basket filled to the brim with ribbons, belts, and sashes. I looked through, found a couple that looked right, and left the cleaners. So apparently their policy is to keep them until someone asks for them. Is this normal?