flower district tabby

When I first came across him on 28th St. he was sniffing a box of flowers.

Comes in Like a Lion

A gallery of feline marzipan courtesy of the first week in March. Sophie's is the cute one. Mine is the one at the bottom with cataracts. Not the waterfall kind.

Got the marzipan at Keyfood for $6.99, I'm not sure how that price compares to elsewhere. Anyhow, it tasted a lot better than playdough. Thanks to Nancy Minty and her crafty cake making for the inspiration.

Happy Yule

Lafayette, who lives on St. James in Fort Greene at Le Maison Chandeysson, has a taste for olives, so maybe he'll be my feline companion sometime when I go to Fairway. He did a really good job of decorating for this Holiday Party, didn't he?

My calender tells me today is Yule. Happy Yule, everyone, especially you Pagans and Wiccans! I hope the Yuletide is full tilt with Yule, whatever that is. I consulted Wikipedia:

The modern English word Yule likely derives from the word yoole, from 1450, which developed from the Old English term geōl and geōla before 899. The term has been linked to and may originate from the Old Norse Jōl.[1] The etymology of the name of the feast of Yule (Old Norse jól, Anglo-Saxon geohol and gehol) and the winter month (Anglo-Saxon giuli, geóla, Gothic fruma jiuleis, Old Norse ýlir) has not yet been completely explained, but the term may have originally meant something similar to "magic" or "feast of entreaty".[2] This word is also the root of the English word "jolly."[3]

Jól has alternately been theorized as deriving from Old Norse hjól, wheel, referring to the moment when the wheel of the year is at its low point, ready to rise again (compare to the Slavic karachun). This theory may be more based on similarities between the words jul and hjul (with a mute h) in modern Scandinavian languages, than on older cognates or historical sources. The Old English form Geohhol may connect to the word to Latin jocus.[4]

Leonora the Dealer

According to Leonora Stein, many who frequent her shop, Babbo's Books, which opened a little over a year ago on PPW, are self described book junkies. Well, they go to the right place, 'cause she can hook you up. As the bookseller who currently holds the monopoly on used and new books in a large chunk of South Brooklyn, she brings something crucial to Windsor Terrace and South Slope in the form of her well selected and affordable literary offerings. True to her slogan, "used and new books for everyone" she strives to reflect the desires of the neighborhood and wants to hear what you want. She'll work with you.

Just as she's been working to bring the community together in her way, in the various activities offered at Babbo's, which is named after her father, a book binder who died in a car accident 4 years ago. On Thursday night a writing group meets on the premises, on Sunday Matthew Reichers teaches about Buddhism and every Saturday at 11:00 she offers the Ezra Jack Keats story hour at no charge. A book club meets the first Friday of every month, and a plan is in the works to host a reading of The 30 Day Diabetes Miracle, a method of curing Diabetes through diet and exercise which was written by her cousin, a diabetic whose survival formerly depended on three doses of insulin per day.

She says she sold out when she opened Babbo's. What, what did you say? Well, she originally dreamed of opening a book store geared to the cause of social justice over in the Flatbush/Prospect Heights part of Brooklyn where she hoped to host lectures and discussion groups with the potential to unite diverse communities. Then one day when walking down Prospect Park West on the way to her home in Windsor Terrace she noticed the retail space available, felt a tug, and before long Babbo's came together. She expanded her target niche from the socially disenfranchised to everyone. I for one can forgive her. Perhaps she can franchise later if she's not satisfied with her choice. Perhaps I'm selfish, but I'm very satisfied with it.

She must be at least a little content, considering that her dream of owning a bookstore goes back to the age of 9 or 10, when she was a student at PS 321 in Park Slope. During middle school at Poly Prep, where her mother teaches history (ka ching, thanks mom!) she briefly entertained a career in law after winning a mock trial in which she played prosecutor. But by the end of her years at Midwood High School she felt more inclined to become a writer, and at 17, the dream of the store reemerged. After graduating from Bard she spent a year in the Citiyear program helping out in a 4th grade classroom at PS 137 in the lower east side, which led to the opportunity to participate in business training courtesy of NFTE. In particular, she credits her teacher Katarina Zacharia, who mentored her through the process of creating a business plan, with teaching her the lesson she values most: be flexible.

Other businesses on the strip have been very supportive, especially Diane from the Hallmark as well the folks at Krupa. Local book seekers tell her they always try to buy from her before buying online or heading to B&N, which I was very happy to hear considering it's not exactly easy to stay in business with rents as high as they are. She's says business isn't bad, she happily reports that people have been very generous in turning in their cast offs, and I can tell you that I've been bewitched by several finds I've come across at Babbo's. She sold 80 copies of the latest Harry Potter book, whatever that was, and impressively, 16 copies of Siddhartha, which she finds she can recommend to just about anyone. Someone says, "I just read something really long and involved and I'm looking for something short and beautiful." Leonora says "Siddhartha." Or someone says "Can you recommend something for my teenage daughter?" "How about Siddhartha?" Soon WT is going to be one of the most Buddhist by way of Germany communities in existence. Can Keanu move in soon?

But not into the store! It's pretty small, Leonora perpetually shifts things around to fit new arrivals, never appearing daunted by the long row of boxes lined up for sorting on the left side of the store. I know I'm not supposed to go through those boxes, those books haven't been priced yet, so I have to restrain myself. Which is hard, because for some reason I find when I'm in that space, books seem to come alive, they seem to ooze their history, varied perspectives, mysterious origins and brilliance as if she sprinkled them with some fairy dust.

Where she hides that stuff, I haven't discovered, although I've snooped around a little. I have a feeling that cat of hers, Holly GoLightly, knows the secret. I'm keeping my eye on that cat.

But enough about that show stealing cat, I wanted to write this because I'm so proud of Leonora, who at the age of 25 has started to irrigate this neighborhood with a river of premium words and welcome kindness. Let's continue to look out for her and watch Babbo's thrive.

Babbo's Books
242 Prospect Park West
718.788.3475

Window Kitty

Another 8th Avenue house. But this one looks like it could be in France for some reason, maybe because that cat obviously has a very European schedule. Wish we could all slow down and watch like you, Kitty. It would save many lives.

A Purrfect Moment

Life would be so much easier if I could just stop looking for that perfect arrangement of things, that ideal which continually leads me to reject the messes that I'm usually surrounded with.

But I've gotten better. I remember the day it happened. I had a dream in which something I didn't like happened, and I reacted by gritting my teeth. Immediately all the teeth on the right side of my mouth fell out, plus one on my left, and I just spat them into my hand. They were broken, bloody, warm and heavy.

As horrible as that seems, that was actually a really good dream. It represented the death of an ideal, a fixation that was leading me towards a very small version of myself. I didn't need those teeth anymore because I was through with those ambitions. Up to that point I only saw myself in a few people and things in the world, and I could tell it was time for me to see myself in everything: the messes, the poor, the powerless, the awkward, the difficult. The troublesome.

Meditation with Matthew Reichers on a recent Sunday reminded me of this idea of letting go of hopes for perfection. It was held at Babbo's Books before it opened, the only store associate there was the shop cat, Holly. The previous week Holly had gotten a little frisky during the meditation and wound up knocking Matthew's water glass over and spilling water onto his books, so this week we tried putting her in the bathroom during the meditation. It didn't work out, by the time he was done explaining the mediation technique we could hear Holly yelping in the bathroom, and we all knew that the little fur ball would be rejoining the group. You don't have to be a Buddhist to know that a cat scratching at the door of her little prison would interfere with whatever peace you are trying to cultivate.

The meditation for that day involved hearing, or imagining that we heard, the syllables om, ah, and hung as we breathed in and out. I became aware a few minutes into the mediation that the cat had seated herself on the lap of the woman sitting on my right and was purring loudly. I was aware that one might see this as a diversion from the task at hand, but didn't really feel that way. She sounded like a warm little furnace burning away, and she gave off such cozy heat that I started to weep a little bit, having been hit full on by the beauty of this little animal. I'd been thinking about cats anyway that week, about how comfortable they are in their skin, how they take their time, about their confidence and friskiness, about the comfort they bring me when I think about being that comfortable and confident in my own skin. I always seem to forget that's a possibility.

I think I was weeping about cats for the last half of that meditation, how much they've given people throughout human history, and then I started weeping about dogs, and all that they give, those dog smiles, the compassion they have (have you ever wept around your dog? Those pansies can't take it). What special animals these friends of ours are. I never expected that I'd be doing guru yoga for dogs and cats that day, I don't think that's what Michael intended, I know it wasn't what I expected, but I felt very happy where I wound up, it was suitably ridiculous and harmless.

Now I'm waiting for the dream when the teeth on the left side of my mouth fall out. But I'm in no hurry. Deeply satisfying moments do happen, but it seems unexpectedly, and sadly, I know I can't hold on to them. Jung said something like "Yesterday's perception is tomorrow's deception," and just because a cat restores my pleasure in life on a certain day doesn't mean that the next day it won't be a dog that comes bounding to the rescue, barrell tied to his neck.

Cat pictured: Holly of Babbo's Books, as in Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Yes, she's a glamour girl. She seemed to get offended when I kept taking her picture, as if to say, wasn't the first shot good enough? My apologies to her, it's just a habit I have. Something I learned in school.

A Chia Pet Sprouts in Brooklyn

It's not as easy to create the appearance of a full, healthy coat as you'd think. Tips appreciated.