14 August, 2006

back together for Avery and Cici




























The reunion was everything they dreamed it would be, I think, or at least from what I can gather judging from extreme screams, much jumping up and down (even without the aid of the trampoline) and mostly, obsessive hair-doing. I did not realize the extent to which life as a (nearly) ten-year-old involves hair-doing. Perhaps my friends and I were not so assiduous in our grooming. But anyway, Cici came immediately to us on our arrival, thanks to her generous mom Kathleen who bravely drove all the way from Mystic, Connecticut, and thence back to the city to work on her upcoming Chelsea painting show in the fall at Brenda Taylor's. Poor girl: she got caught in the now legendary "Tarrytown Tornado," on the Saw Mill River parkway on the way back into Manhattan. Literally a rare event: I think there has not been a tornado in New York State for 50 years. Thankfully she was not injured.

Cici and Avery spent their visit shopping at the Gap, where frighteningly it turns out they can wear extra-small women's sizes. Of course since current trends (I hesitate to call such hideousness "fashion") precludes covering most of the torso, it's easier for women's sizes to fit small girls. They looked, as you can see, adorable. Then there was catching up on their phantom riding techniques. It turns out it's possible to have a phantom horse show ON a trampoline. We ended up for dinner at Maggie McFly's, the "Unique Eatery" (this moniker always troubles me, listed as it is on their business card showing TWO locations). The chief attraction of Maggie McFly's is the light-up ice cube, included in some of the more noxious cocktails on offer. Since I was taught from a tiny girlfriend by John that a true cocktail includes only two ingredients, and one of them is ice, the thought of drinking something with several different kinds of alcohol PLUS fruit was pretty nauseating, so I opted to buy the ice cubes outright, in glasses of Sprite. Much easier on the drive home, not to get arrested.

Oh, and the POOL. It's only a little bitty municipal pool; I don't know why I love it so much! It must remind me of something in a former Eastern life. We've spent many happy hours there, doing laps, watching Mr Adonis the local heartthrob work on his tan and his pecs, hearing the inevitable American screams of "Marco... Polo," listening to children whine at their mothers (mine at me), "You should come in! It's so warm! Come on in, please?!" to mothers who are happily stretched out on towels reading People, or in my case catching up on Soap Opera Digest. Did Dinah cause the fire that almost killed Cassie, and will Sami admit she switched Lexi's test results before the Gloved Hand switches Belle's in vitro embryo? I'm so glad to be in a position to find out, without transatlantic postal charges.

We've been hanging out at the library, too, but more on that in my post to cover Taking Care of Jane. That could be a blog all its own!

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