Julia

I dream of getting a little pig. Have done serious research on line about miniature pigs....at $1,000 a pop with a long waiting list that blows my bubble. But I can dream on...if I did get a pig her name would be Julia. That was my sister, Joanna's idea. The name is perfect. She would be able to swim in my bath tub. Have a sliver plated water dish. A pink leash with alot of bling. Her bed would be at the foot of mine so that just in case she wanted to sleep with me she could... oh forgot there would a small footstool at the base of my bed so she could gracefully climb into it without falling or looking awkward. I would take her every where.

All in all, she and I would be very happy together. Sitting in my garden, sipping iced coffees with lots of cream and sweet and low. Julia as I would love the fireflies the best along with the humming birds, sand pipers and sparrows. She would come with me on the Jitney to my friend Libby's house in South Hampton and would walk with us to town for the Sunday paper. Sit next to me as Libby and I would play our favorite word game. At four o'clock we'd all jump into Libby's car and drive to Flying Point Beach to stay until sunset. Julia as I would love the beach at sunset.

I dream of Julia and of the lovely times we would have together. If I could only really truly have her life would be wonderful, perfect, happy. I would love her very much as she would love me. For now, since I don't have her, I sit my garden watching the fireflies, the humming birds, the sparrows and the sand pipers on Flying Point Beach at sunset as I whisper softly under my breath...

Good Night sweet Julia wherever you are.

(c)2010

Study of a Left Leg and Drapery

ca. 1550
Agnolo Bronzino (Italian, 1503-1572)

Why did you call me on my cell phone, Mona? Mike asked me impatiently. I was waiting in the outside vestibule at the Met, wondering where they were. Since Kenny said I needed to be judicious about how much I called him on his American cell and I didn't know how many texts he was allowed I thought, let's call Mike. Wrong.

Turns out they were already in. I rushed madly to drop off my coat and catch up. And there we were. At the Bronzino exhibit. 60 drawings. Never before seen together, said. Kenny. 61, said Mike. 62, said the museum guard. Oh, said Kenny and promptly wheeled himself into the first room. Usually Mike was the designated driver.

Kenny read every chat piece. Stared carefully at each drawing. Meanwhile, per usual, I was already two thirds through the exhibit. He was still in the first room at the third drawing. Kenny remembers everything. How's work going? I asked Mike trying to make conversation to break the tension. We walked together. Kenny was still in the first room. Where's the closest bathroom? Mike asked.

I went back to be with Kenny. I don't get see him very often since he lives in Toronto. What time is it? Kenny asked Mike. 10:40 said Mike. A quick spin to see the Victorian cutouts. What time is it? said Kenny. 11:05, said Mike. They were supposed to meet Kenny's friend at noon at the Asia Society to see the exhibit on Vietnam. We decided to walk. If it starts to rain Kenny said we can always jump on a bus. And we were off. I mean really off. Mike was driving Kenny in the wheelchair. Man, they were going so fast. It was hard to keep up.

Taupe's really upset said Kenny. (Taupe was one of their numerous stuffed animals). The olympics are over. They have names for all their animals. Each one has a different relationship with the other. Some hang out. Others don't. I forget which one really hates their cleaning person. Apparently she keeps putting him back in the wrong place. It's very disorienting.

Now on Park Avenue, we were going 60 miles per hour. Oh hello dog, said Kenny. We really love you. Oh look said Mike pointing to a rather large, very long Basset Hound. We love you too, said Kenny. The poor dog was so fat he could hardly walk. We zoomed past him. Mind you we only stopped when there was a red light. Thank god for red lights. Did you see he was being taken out by 'the Asian' maid, asked Kenny. Was it a he was a he or a she? Kenny looked at Mike. He was so fat, I replied, you couldn't see anything down there.

Two seconds, 5 blocks later, we zoomed into the Asia Society. The cafe opens at noon, right? asked Kenny. He handed over his museum pass to the person at the front desk. We might as well put our coats away since we're early said Kenny. Do you want me to go with you, I asked. Mike's putting our stuff away said Kenny. We're going to the store. Kenny loves, LOVES the store at the Asia Society.

We wandered about looking at books, dishes. Oh look, said Kenny. He held up miniature reproductions of the Terracotta Army. You know about them right? he asked. Yes I replied promptly. More wandering. How much are those blankets? How big are they? they asked the woman in the shop. Mike had returned by now. The blankets were measured. $120, she replied. Not bad said Kenny.

It's noon he said. Double checked his phone to see if his friend might have sent another text. He pushed himself into the front entrance. Introductions were made. I guess it was time for me to go. Love you I said hugging Kenny. See you Sunday I said. I walked down Park Avenue. There weren't any dogs. I miss him already.

(c) 2010