Hima, from the ghost in the machine

I'm not sure how my iTunes Library suddenly configured itself to throw this song into view on Thursday. It's been stuck in my head ever since.



I figured out that years ago, I must have downloaded one of the CDs I used at work onto my old computer: Women of Africa from Putamayo. They make great compilation albums of World Music for the classroom. I found this song so compelling I looked up the lyrics, and the whole thing makes me want to sing and cry. I love the singing and crying feeling.

On Wednesday at a staff meeting, the administrators announced the classroom switch that puts me in a classroom on the 6th floor that faces the river.  I think there are three large, gothic windows looking out over the Hudson.  An Educator that I revere taught for a few years in the room next door before she died. She was a Muslin woman from Central Africa, but I can't remember her country.  I remember she taught me the look at the beauty of the moon at Ramadan.

So I'm thinking this song is a message from Mirama, one of the women who showed me how to be a teacher.  The ceilings in this classroom are a little too high for acoustic comfort, so I'm developing a concept that involves suspending bare tree branches, like from birches and something a little darker, and hanging strings of stuff like crystals and temple bells.  That way, when the wind blows in the windows, the bells will ring.  We'll need some fabric draping the branches too.

It's a blessing to be able to turn my attention to creating a classroom environment that incorporates aspects of the natural world.  The room is probably 1,000 square feet, so there's plenty of space for me to include a grown-up area with enough seating for six adults.  We can have parent education cocktail hours.

Hima
Hey you modern woman 
Be ready to leave the Zidaka* 
Hey you woman from the world
We don't have to live like the old generation 
Get up, Get up Don't be afraid 
Free yourself from the shadow And fight for your right 
 Hey you modern woman 
Artificial color in your face it's not enough 
Hey you woman from the world 
We have so much to do 
 Get up, Get up 
Don't be afraid Free yourself from the shadow 
And fight for your right 
Hey you educated woman 
Go on, for sure you will have results 
If you study, you will know how to save yourself 
You will have the key for positive change
Get up, Get up Don't be afraid 
Free yourself from the shadow And fight for your right 
Get up! Because no one is going fight in your place 
Get up! You are going to find people to help you 
Some are going hate you, but you'll be the one we need 
You'll be the one we love 
Get Up, you know it 
Get Up, you are the one we love 


 "Hima" - Get Up
© 1999 NAWAL

* Zidaka is similar to a closet. In the past history of the Comoros, the high-class families honored their oldest daughter by keeping her in a Zidaka, so that others outside the family could not see her until she is married. These girls could not go outside even to see the sun, but could only slip out in the darkness of the night to see the stars and the moon.

Upon the Anniversary of Velvet's Arrest

*NOTE*  This post originally appeared in May 2010.  Even after two years, it remains a highlight of Velvet's college career, such as it is.  At the moment, we're waiting to hear if Velvet has been accepted to one of the CUNY schools.  He's applied to three of them, and even though he was on academic probation the whole time he was at Tree Hugger, his grades from his Semester in the Rockies, and his high school grades and scores, indicate that Tree Hugger was not even remotely close to the appropriate academic setting for Velvet.  Hookah House was probably not the right living environment, either . . . 


Velvet got arrested, hopefully for the first and last time.
The good news is that this episode did not involve weed in any way shape or form.  He hasn't bought any weed ever since he spent all his ready money replacing a bong he accidentally busted over at Hookah House.  I don't know when kids started using $150 bongs, but apparently it's de rigueur in some circles.  Velvet himself has a fancy, hand blown glass bong with an ice chamber which was given to him by Dolphin, the little fellow who followed him home from fair week end at Hippie Dippie Quaker Camp last summer and spent an excessive number of days hanging around on my sofa in his boxer shorts.   I can't say that I approve, but at the moment expensive paraphernalia is the least of my worries.

It all started last week over at Hookah House, the fraternity where Velvet was king of the Halloween party.  Before dawn last Tuesday, Velvet and FP, a freshman pledge at Hookah House, got a wild hair up their butts and decided to steal the letters off Doucher House.  According to Velvet, The Douchers are a bunch of cocaine snorting, steroid taking loudmouths who like to lord it over everyone.  FP and Velvet were inspired to this action after a night of drinking Budweiser.  I don't know where the more mature brothers were.  Sleeping soundly, I suppose.  They certainly were not around to discourage the concept, so Velvet and FP found a screwdriver and proceeded down the street to Doucher House.

They had to climb up onto the first floor roof at the Doucher House in order to get the letters, which were attached to the second story.  Velvet and FP easily removed the first two letters, but they couldn’t reach the third.  The job could not be considered a success until they removed the final letter, so the boys went back to Hookah House and got a stepladder.  It was about 5:00 in the morning when they hauled that ladder up onto the roof of Doucher House.

Velvet was on the ladder unscrewing the third letter while FP supervised. The pair apparently made such a clatter that the Doucher president looked out his window to see what was the matter.  Seeing vandals on the roof, he raised a hue and cry.  The Doucher Chief charged out the door in his underwear followed by four brothers and a chase ensued.  FP got away and felt very bad for abandoning Velvet who ran as fast as he could toward Hookah House, but carrying the ladder slowed him down.  He only thought to drop it when the Douchers caught up to him.  After the Douchers tackled Velvet and commenced pounding, one of them picked the dang ladder up and proceeded to beat Velvet’s ass with it.

 Velvet kicked and hollered in self-defense.  The Doucher Chief finally pinned Velvet pinned to the ground, started choking him and demanded to know his name.  Velvet told him that he couldn't breathe and couldn't talk which convinced the Doucher Chief to stop choking him.  With windpipes properly cleared, Velvet hollered with sufficient vigor to rouse the cops.  In their wisdom, Big Beautiful Private University built the campus police station across the street from Hookah House.  The University DPS responded so rapidly that they may have already been en route.

In what can only be described as a grotesque miscarriage of justice, the police drove the Douchers home in comfort and arrested Velvet.   He was handcuffed and everything.   If the story I got is accurate, Velvet was charged with Petty Larceny, but the real reason he got arrested is that when the University DPS asked Velvet to give them the name of his friend, he refused.  He said, “I don’t have to tell you because you’re not real police.”

They said, “That’s right.  We’re not real police, but we can put you in handcuffs until they get here.”   While they were all waiting for the Real Cops, one of the arresting DPS officers arranged for Velvet to get medical attention since one of the Douchers had smacked him with the step ladder, and she wanted to make sure Velvet didn’t have a concussion.  Thanks to her, there is medical documentation to corroborate Velvet’s version of events on the morning in question.

I heard this whole tale from Velvet his own self last night.   As it happened, last Sunday afternoon I decided that Velvet's freshman experience was such that we needed to seriously discuss the concept of college.  I can't remember why I came to this conclusion last Sunday, but I called Velvet to say that I didn't want to talk about it on the phone and asked him is he preferred for me to come up to Tree Hugger or if he wanted to come home.  He wanted to come home.  He and I were in the process of arranging for his train tickets when he told me about shattering the $150 bong.  I have to say that between the Bong Busting and the Gas Mask Episode, I was seriously considering changing his name to Bong Boy.

With luck, Velvet will finally get the idea that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.  He freely admits that he deserved a beating at the hands of the Douchers - which I personally dispute since he was not on their property at the time of the assault.  Anyone from Texas knows that you are only allowed to shoot people who are fully on your property.  Five guys don't chase one skinny dumb ass a few blocks.

Clearly the Douchers should also have been arrested, but it's important that Velvet witnessed first hand that cops show favoritism to The Establishment.  Hookah House is the black sheep of Fraternity Row.  They were fined and put on social probation last semester because their own president passed out on their front yard after homecoming.  When the cops rousted the young man, he asked them if he was sleeping in a pot plant.  Apparently the campus cops at Big Beautiful Private University, to which Tree Hugger is attached, are willing to overlook drinking from future Wall Street executives but get all punitive when scruffy stoners are involved.  This sad fact of life is something Velvet needed to experience for himself.

Buzz Kill's anxiety over this situation has reached elevated levels.  He is convinced that Velvet will be expelled and sent to jail for thirty days, managing to accumulate several thousand dollars of legal bills along the way.   I told him to stop pissing on himself and start working on getting a copy of that medical report.  It seems to me that the campus police and/or The Douchers might see their way clear to drop the charges of Petty Larceny against Velvet given the campus police clearly showed favoritism to a pack of marauding douchebags who beat my child with a step ladder.  Furthermore, the letters have been returned unharmed.  In fact, the only harm done during the whole scenario was to Velvet.

The Man from San Antone, a lawyer from a family of lawyers, says Velvet does not need an attorney at this time.  He has confidence in my ability to manage admirably given that the whole thing is absolutely asinine.  I'm just thankful that Velvet's hair had started to grow back at the time of his arrest. He had been sporting a Friar Tuck for some days after loosing a bet on the basketball games. He bet that Butler would go all the way. It would have been entirely too much if he'd been arrested with a Friar Tuck.  As it was, he was simply rocking an exceedingly close cropped crew.

Commander Data with a Friar Tuck hair cut

The next task is preparing Velvet for his Judicial Review.  Given that the manchild was already on academic probation, there is undoubtedly cause for concern over his study habits.   Although I'm sure everything will turn out fine, we'll all be nervous until we see for sure that Velvet will be allowed to return to school in the fall.   We’ll be nervous until he presents himself before the Judge, too.

Now that he's been arrested for Douchebag harassment, I'm stumped as to the boy's new handle - but there is no denying that he is outgrowing the name of Velvet. He's been Velvet since about 10th grade as a result of statements he made to Rhet that sounded remarkably like Velvet thought pimping out his mother (that would be me) was a good way to make a few bucks. He wasn't suggesting sending me out on the streets. He thought that The Man from San Antone would slip him $100 any time The Man visited HQ. Notably, that has never occurred in Real Life. While listening to the child's fantasy, it occurred to Rhet that he sounded a lot like Velvet Jones, an Eddy Murphy character from Saturday Night Live. The man child has been Velvet ever since, but I'm thinking those innocent days are gone.

Meanwhile, that boy needs to find a summer job.


UPDATE:  Velvet is on Disciplinary Probation as long as he remains at Tree Hugger.  That means he will be totally suspended if he ever gets in trouble with the City Cops again.  He also had to perform 50 hours of community service.  When he went before the Judge later in the summer, she ruled that all charges will be dismissed in six months as long as keeps his nose clean.  She required 35 hours of community service, and she was happy to accept the 50 he had already completed for the school. 

Cakewalk

I had to pay more attention to politics this week than I wanted to because Obama was in my work neighborhood to deliver the commencement address at Barnard College.  According to the article I read on the topic, the president's office called Barnard about the time Rush Limbaugh was calling Sanda Fluke a slut.  Coming so rapidly on the heels of his statements about Marriage Equality, I was struck by the way Obama threw gasoline on the flames of the culture wars so that people who believe what they hear and see in the Mainstream Media will once again overlook the fact that Obama holds his peace prize in one hand and a drone trigger in the other.

I don't blame Obama, necessarily.  Politicians have always pulled that kind of bullshit.  In some ways, I'm more stunned by the way Romney stands before us all like the Proud Asshole he is.  Nevertheless, I continue to hope that a combination of all the candidates from alternative parties - like Stewart Alexander, Buddy Roemer,  Rocky Anderson and my personal favorite, Rosanne Barr - are able to get over 12% of the total votes in the presidential elections.  That way, we will have a tiny illustration that a third party could actually exist in this country.

When I hear people saying that a third party is totally impossible, it reminds me of those parties in high school where there's a keg of beer and tasty snacks inside a house with no guests while everyone is driving around the block refusing to park the car and go to the party until there are lots of cars outside the house.  So at 8:00 there are five really happy people at a great party inside a house while 200 people circle the block, wasting time and gas, wishing they were at the party.  Little by little, people get tired of going around the block and go inside, so that by midnight, there are 400 people rocking the house.

If alternative candidates could just get enough of a statistical vote to rock the boat, maybe in 100 years, we'll finally have a great country.  It will still be a polluted wasteland because of Fracking and other stupid shit we're allowing at the moment, but at least we could see an evolution of thought and values instead of a vast sea of Idiocracy.

Meanwhile, I've been swimming in papers getting the board package together so that I may finally have a home again.  The coop board requires more financial information than the banks.  I'm not sure exactly what that says about the lending practices of the banks, but I can understand why the coop board would want to make sure a person meets certain financial requirements so that the whole building isn't pulled down by one person's financial crisis.  I was prepared to provide this information on myself, but I was surprised to find that I needed to provide all Velvet's financial information as well.  It makes sense, though, because HDFC coops are income restricted, and it would be pretty easy for somebody like me - who makes very little money per year - to be living with a person who has a shit ton of money.  We had to prove that Velvet is not a secret millionaire because that would be unfair to everyone.  Although the whole thing made perfect sense, getting the packet together was still stressful.  I even had to write a short essay as if we were applying to an exclusive private school - and in point of fact, the process is similar.  I even get to fret for a undetermined time, waiting to hear if we've been accepted.

It would be nice if the housing issues were settled before the moving van comes on May 30 to put all our things in storage.  I'm grateful that Gigi's apartment is available to me for as long as I need it since she's in love and essentially living with a man who is apparently going to be the father of her children.  Living there will be a big lifestyle change for me, though, and not only because I'm going to have to get on the subway to go to work for the first time in over twenty years.  It's the first time in over twenty years that I won't have a space in my home for Velvet.

Actually, it will be the first time in forever that I don't have a home.  Even though this rental has felt kind of like a long-term residence hotel, Velvet and I have settled in and been comfortable here.  Velvet will be living with Buzz Kill until he goes up to work at the Hippy Dippy Quaker Camp in early June.  It will do both of them good to live together for a couple of weeks.  That's all it will take to convince them both that the living arrangements are best for everyone when Velvet's home is with me.

Velvet will surely spend more time at Buzz Kill's this fall - and that's all good.  For the first time since the divorce six years ago, Buzz Kill will have a real space for Velvet since, as it happens, May 30 is also the day the movers are coming to install Vagina Dentata into The Home.  Vagina Dentata has been in that Central Park West apartment since the mid-1960's, so she's bound to be traumatized by the move.  Buzz Kill is doing a Happy Dance.  He's been dreaming of the day Vagina Dentata moves into The Home for nearly twenty years.  As a result, Velvet will probably be going back and forth between his divorced parents like other kids typically do right after their parents divorce.  Velvet never really did that because there was no space at Vagina Dentata's dedicated to Velvet.  She had turned the small bedroom by the kitchen - the Maids Room - into a giant closet for herself.  She still thinks some of those raggedy old outfits should go to The Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but then, she's a delusional alcoholic.  Charming in her way, but fully delusional.  All these years, when Velvet slept over there, he was like Harry Potter sleeping in a closet under the stairs unless Buzz Kill spent the night at his girl friend's place and Velvet slept in Buzz Kill's room.

It's great that Velvet will finally have a real space of his own at Buzz Kill's place, but it's not so great that I'll be sleeping on a fold out sofa and living out of a suitcase indefinitely.  Velvet reports for duty in Vermont around June 7th, so he'd be gone for the summer no matter where I lived - but if we had a real home his stuff would be collecting dust just down the hall.   Velvet's been away lots of times, and frankly, I rarely miss him for the first several weeks.  Even still, I rely on the concrete connection that his stuff provides.  

As I get teary thinking about this prospect, I am compelled to remember that there are homeless and displaced people all over this country.  Their circumstances aren't going to change as soon as they are blessed by a coop board, either.  Plenty of kids are over in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Uganda, Syria, Turkey, Tunisia and other places where the US has boots on the ground.  Wikipedia says we have troops deployed in about 150 countries - and that's the ones we know about.

When I was younger and lamented my personal circumstances, my mother never failed to say, "Well, it's not like you're in BOSNIA, Patricia," which is true.  My life is a cakewalk - with or without racial overtones, depending on your point of view.

Soon, Velvet and I will be standing on the space that wins the cake, and we'll have a home again. A cute little one with lots of frosting, I hope, and fruit filling in the center.

Rose Trees in New York City

The lovely and talented Jamie H, off-broadway actress by night and real estate agent by day, received an email yesterday from the real estate broker for the folks who own my future home.  It's that delightful little blue one with almost all the original, prewar details intact down to great-grandma's giant porcelain double sink in the kitchen.  When I made my offer, there was already an accepted offer on the apartment.  The original bidders matched my price and began the process of Board Approval.  It's an HDFC Co-Op with very tight criteria for board approval - and nobody gets to move to contract on an apartment in the building until he, she or they have been approved by the Co-Op Board.  Here's the living room:

Outside the window is a ledge bordered with wrought iron railing, just waiting for a flower box.

The original bidders have been rejected by the board because they already own another HDFC coop which they won't be able to sell in a timely manner which is too bad for them, but now, I have been given the opportunity to apply.   I have a feeling I'll make it through the process because the whole idea behind HDFC coops in the first place was to provide affordable housing to families like Me and Velvet, and because nearly everybody feels good when they can use their power to make it possible for a preschool teacher to keep walking Martin Luther King, Jr's talk at the church where I work - which I have said repeatedly is the church where Martin delivered the "Time to Break the Silence" sermon about the Immorality of War - but Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela also had a few things to say from our pulpit.  I've got the impression that a number of the HDFC coop boards resent goofy white people gentrifying the neighborhood, which I can fully understand and support since God knows there are a ton of Stupid White People buying up real estate and ruining perfectly good neighborhoods.  It's just that because of the church where I work - and Martin Luther King, Jr himself by extension - I may be white, but I'm not entirely stupid as a result of all that tireless work to raise awareness about Peace, Social Justice and more recently, Sustainability.
Although it is unlikely that the process will be complete before the movers arrive here at Menopausal Stoners Temporary HQ because there will be lawyers involved once I get approved by the board and can proceed to Contract, Velvet and I will be able to fill in the blank regarding our future address with a real home.

Blessed Be.  

Meanwhile, I've had the privilege of attending the world premier performance of a dear friend's play which was produced as part of the MFA program at Hunter College, and last night another friend had a little gallery showing of her artwork in another friend's music studio.  One of the things I love best about living in New York is seeing my friends' creativity on display - whether they are playwrights or poets or painters, dancers, actors, singers, performance artists or writers of creative non-fiction just like me.  The art show was pleasant, and Velvet met me there so we could go out to dinner together afterwards.  It was all very lovely - but the play was an experience that deserves an entire post of its own.  Hopefully, I'll get to that this weekend.

For now, I've got another song stuck in my head.  A friend posted it the other day on Facebook when his  dog crossed over to the other side, saying he felt nostalgic and mortal which led to songs from his youth like this one:

It resonates for me right now because I'm especially thankful for the people I have found and who have found me both in Texas and in New York - and out there in the ether of the internet too. More to the point, though, the lyrics revolve around New York City; however,  I am compelled to contradict Sir Elton (and Bernie Taupin) to say rose trees, and all the beautiful things that metaphor stands for, grow all over New York City - and when you've sewn your seeds among your friends, you never, ever go your way alone.  That would be Thing of Beauty #51-101, unless I've lost count again.

Now I know, "Spanish harlem" are not just pretty words
to say.
I thought I knew, but now I know that rose trees never grow,
in New York city.

Until you've seen this trash can dream come true,
You stand at the edge, while people run you through.
And I thank the Lord, there's people out there like you,
I thank the Lord there's people out there like you.

While Mona Lisas and mad hatters,
sons of bankers, sons of lawyers,
turn around and say, "good morning" to the night.
For unless they see the sky, but they can't and that is why,
they know not if it's dark out side or light.

This Broadway's got, its got a lot of songs to sing,
if I knew the tunes I might join in.
I go my way alone, grow my own,
my own seeds shall be sown, in New York city.
Subways no way , for a good man to go down,
Rich man can ride, and the hobo he can drown.

And I thank the Lord for the people I have found,
I thank the Lord for the people I have found.

While Mona Lisas and mad hatters,
sons of bankers, sons of lawyers,
turn around and say, "good morning" to the night.
For unless they see the sky, but they can't and that is why,
they know not if it's dark out side or light.

And now I know, "Spanish harlem" are not just pretty words
to say.
I thought I knew, but now I know that rose trees never grow,
in New York city.
Subways no way, for a good man to go down,
Rich man can ride, and the hobo he can drown.

And I thank the Lord for the people I have found,
I thank the Lord for the people I have found.

While Mona Lisas and mad hatters,
sons of bankers, sons of lawyers,
turn around and say, "good morning" to the night.
For unless they see the sky, but they can't and that is why,
they know not if it's dark outside or light,
they know not if it's dark outside or light. 

TBD

About a year ago, I was packing to move out of the marital residence, which had been home to Velvet and me since 1993.  Buzz Kill lived there until he stomped home to his mother, Vagina Dentata, down Central Park West some years earlier - like in 2006.  But even though Buzz Kill hadn't lived there in five years or so, a bunch of his stuff was still in the closets, and the apartment was legally known as The Marital Residence.  I had forgotten until this very moment that a year ago when I was packing, I didn't know where we were moving either.  Last year, storage was a back up plan.  This year storage is Plan A, even though it didn't start out that way - but I maintain that when you're aligned with current of life, things work out for the best even though you have no idea what's going on.

The good news is that I left a lot of things packed when we moved into this place, and when I did unpack, I saved most of the boxes, so books, dishes and linens are going straight back into the boxes they came from last June.  Even better, I got rid of so much extraneous stuff when we left the marital residence that the work itself is not overwhelming.  Moving into storage, on the other hand, is overwhelming.

Last year, we were moving into a rental so it was possible to find something great at the last minute.  Buying needs more lead time because of paperwork for banks and coop boards.  Although I'm starting to get nervous about moving to nowhere - I'm not a bit sorry for walking away from the contract on that charming convertible two bedroom just north of the George Washington Bridge. The little blue apartment I loved so well is still technically on the market, but the first bidders are stuck in coop board hell.  They can't get a contract on the place until the board approves their application to live in that building.  Since roughly half the people who apply to live in that building never make it through the board, by June the sellers could be asking me to apply.  Or the contract could have fallen through on a much bigger apartment a few blocks away that I saw the other day.  Although the sellers are asking for a price that is a little out of my range, I'm can make it into the ballpark and have been fully pre-certified and pre-approved for financing, which certainly makes an impression on sellers when a contract has fallen apart after they've started counting their money.  

Or there could be another apartment entirely.  The lovely and talented Jamie H, off-broadway actress by night and real estate agent by day, is making arrangements so that we can see three or four apartments this week.  Three out of the four are HDFC cooperatives, which means that years ago the city sold the building to a developer for very little money on the condition that said developer renovate the building until it's "up to code" (since these buildings were typically extremely rundown and in need of major repair) and then sell the units to middle income New Yorkers.  In exchange for the low purchase price, the buyer has to kick back a percentage of the profits when s/he sells the apartment to the building, the city or both. This percentage is known as a "flip tax." The idea is to encourage long term homeownership and bring pride of ownership to marginal neighborhoods which are still primarily rentals in tenements.  The city started this program a long time ago, so most of the neighborhoods are fine, if a little shabby, now.  The buildings are fine, if a little shabby, too - although because they were required to meet certain codes, elevators, roofs, windows and boilers have been upgraded and maintained which is more than you can say for many "nicer" coops in fancy neighborhoods.  Shabby is cool with me as long as it is clean and shabby, because that's what I can afford.

Each HDFC coop has different rules, although the income restrictions are fairly similar.  Most of the older, established HDFC Coop Buildings are in good shape financially and have relaxed the rules about the flip tax.  One of the ones I'm looking at next week has only a 10% flip tax even if you wanted to re-sell the place in a couple of years.  Other coop boards want to keep control, however, so that with that cute little blue coop I loved so well a few weeks ago - the board only permits certain people to apply to live in the building (and the criteria remains unstated), and if you sell within 2 years, 100% of any profit goes straight back to the coop.  That amount is reduced on a sliding scale, so that in five years, for example, you'd only owe the coop 45%.  At ten years, 15% or whatever.   HDFCs can also be tricky because if a person meets the income restrictions so that s/he is qualified to purchase a place, it's hard to arrange financing.  Thankfully, I'm able to overcome that hurdle as a result of the proceeds from the old HQ on Central Park West - but even though I am a perfect candidate for most HDFC Coops, we still have to find one that works for me.

Meanwhile, Velvet, Cupcake and I have been sorting through all the photographs which are mostly of Velvet when he was a baby or a little kid.  Although it can be a cute and fun activity, there are enough pictures of me and Buzz Kill to remind us all of years of general misery.  I'm not sure that I was ever happy with Buzz Kill really.  There were some good days, but overall, that marriage was a strain on all concerned except, of course, Vagina Dentata.  She never seems to feel the strain of anything but that might have something to do with all the martinis.   As it happens, the movers are coming to her apartment on May 30th just like they are coming over here - except Vagina Dentata is finally being installed in the Old Folks Home.  It's only a few blocks from the apartment where she has been living since Buzz Kill was five.  Buzz Kill himself has that rent stabilized lease, and although I haven't seen him, I'm sure he can't wait to do a victory dance around that apartment.

Once the movers come here and there, Velvet will be living with Buzz Kill.  It will only be for a few days since he leaves the following week to go work at the Hippie Dippie Quaker Camp for the summer, but I'm rather distressed by that turn of events.   Ever since he was born, all his things have been with me.   Our things will be in storage together, but I'll be living in Gigi's fifth floor walk up near Ft. Tyrone Park at the northern most part of Manhattan.  I'm grateful the apartment is available for the summer, and hopefully, before the movers come in a few weeks, my address is be something besides TBD.