I am now the proud owner of an Empty Nest. Zina and Sofia are living in Boston with 17 of their closest friends. (OK, three, but it seems like much more.) The first time I pulled up in front of the new apartment, Sofia delightedly pointed out her small deck, where 83 empty beer bottles were prominently displayed. Nice. With three felines in residence, the apartment has been dubbed “The Cat House”. Just imagine: stale beer, multiple cats, dirty socks, and cigarette smoke. Utopia.
Zina remains at the salon on Newbury Street, and is now “on the floor” seeing actual clients. You know, the kind that pay money. She has been performing follicular exorcisms on my matted tresses this past year with wonderful results. Dainty but daunting, she drives a huge pickup and tows our horse trailer like an seasoned pro. Lots of foxhunting this year on Layla, with Curtis living the high life as a pleasure horse. He knew what he was doing when he ran off like a fool last year during his one and only hunt.
Sofia continues to muck and manage at the Hughes’ horse farm. For fun, she is constantly driving or flying off somewhere to hear her friends’ bands. And drink beer. Perhaps get a tattoo. (I told her that the horses inked on her chest would look like goats when she was my age, but she just lifted her bottle in a toast.) After an arduous, frustrating experience with a local auto dealer (which almost landed me in the hoosegow for the holidays) she is touring around in a newish compact car. Bella, her darling, demented steed, eats, drinks, and is merry, but rarely ridden. Anybody want a horse?
I expressed great relief when Zina’s two cats left the premises, vowing loudly and vociferously that I would NEVER get another feline EVER. Shortly afterward, I visited the local animal shelter and adopted a cunning creature, answering to the name of Mugwump. She rules over the four dogs (no, this is not a typo), and her favorite pastime is crouching on a kitchen stool lobbing right hooks at whichever hapless mutt meanders past.
Strawberry is going strong at 15, walking into walls and peeing whenever and wherever the mood strikes; her neurotic daughter Bigglesworth, now 10, still creeps around casting nervous, furtive glances in every direction; Stitch, the 3 year old Great Dane mutt, galumphs about knocking over furniture and resting his 40 pound head on any available lap; and Clementine, the 10 year old darling yellow mutt that had been in the custody of my ex-husband, came home to roost when Kostas flew the coop for Greece.
Things are going well at our little horse farm on the river, and Charlotte and I have gotten out foxhunting a few times. We’ve had to schedule our outings around old age related back problems (me, not the horse). The fish from last year was finally eaten by a cat, but the rabbit is still alive. Win some, lose some.
Both of my girls are dating really wonderful young men. I, on the other hand, am once again unencumbered after a stint with a musician. But, you know, there are plenty of guys out there to choose from. Why just the other night, this man struck up a conversation with me while Sofia and I were out for a quick bite and some music:
Him: “Hi. Do you date?”
Me: “Yes.”
Him: “Oh. Are you dating anyone?”
Me: “Yes.” (imagine nose growing in length)
Him: “Oh. My girlfriend just died.”
Me: “I’m sorry!” (imagine horrified expression on long-nosed face)
Him: “Yeah, so I was hoping we could date.”
Me:
So, in summary, here are the combined stats, by size: 4 horses, 2 boyfriends, 4 dogs, 4 cats, 1 rabbit, and a partridge in a pear tree! Ho-ho-hoping everyone has a wonderful holiday season, and a divine new year!! Peace, love and pass the ammunition :)
