I did manage to have some fun in February … to wit:

I spent one afternoon at my Mom’s house — clearing an area of weeds and vines, laying down a supposedly-weed/grass-stopping fabric, and then topping it with pretty stones (gravel) I’d bought for her as one of her Christmas presents. It wasn’t really hard work, and it was actually fun. I find it really gratifying to work on a project and complete it and I especially enjoy improving home and yard … even though in this case, it was my Mum’s. Wish I’d taken a picture of the before … but at least here’s one of the after.
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Sheesh. Last night after I posted my “woe is me, I don’t got no fun” blog, I realized what a whiner I’ve turned into about this whole “365 days of fun” thing I got myself into for my New Year’s Resolution.

So, I’m going to quit whining about how I’ve frickin’ lost my mojo, or juju, or ya-ya, or whatever the hell it is and JUST DO IT. Read more »

A few weeks back, I stopped by Skippers Smokehouse up in Tampa to check out Rosie Ledet and the Zydeco Playboys. It was on the way back from my best friend’s wedding celebration. My fun factor was zapped and I was such a weanie I didn’t even dance.

Didn’t. Even. Dance.

WTF?

I’m wondering how, if Rosie Ledet’s good-ole girl groove couldn’t get me on the dance floor … what precisely is it going to take to jump start my juju? Read more »

I’m a sucker for the handwritten letter. For me, there’s nearly nothing better than walking to the mailbox in front of my house, pulling open the little metal door, and finding an envelope with my name scrawled across it. Read more »

Okay, so the moment when Porter intercepted that ball — that was sheer gorgeousness. I got confused thinking that the person throwing the ball was on the Saints team (I always get confused. I’ve had many conversations with sports fans saying that I think pitchers should throw to their own batters; it’s hard to keep track). Okay, maybe harder with three drinks under my belt (and no, I’m NOT apologizing for the two sheets to the wind post).

Anyway, Porter’s run was so UNbelievably sexy when, right after he intercepted — he’s running down the field, and so subtly you could have almost missed it, he signals a teammate, I think, with just a pointed finger. Like he was telling him where he was going — but it was so fluid, so lovely, so sure and confident.

I just thought it was beauty in motion.

And the touchdown wasn’t half bad either.

The pass. the interception. the touchdown. holy cow. i think i’m in love.

So, I’m here at home … making some flatbread pizza with shitake ’shrooms and goat cheese. For the cats — Einstein, Boomer, and Coco — some chicken I bought at Morton’s.

Just watched NY-born Queen Latifa belt it out. Followed by some white chick from somewhere out west. What? They couldn’t get some N’Awlins singer?

And … YES! The Saints have snagged the coin toss.

I think this qualifies as fun!

Remember awhile back I mentioned that I’d been given a gift certificate to a local spa for Christmas? Well, I used part of it to have a foot massage, but then recently went back to use the rest of the certificate and have a reflexology treatment. This experience took fun to a whole new — and different — level.

I was a bit skeptical — reflexology? But my feet have been bothering me so much lately that I figured I’d try anything. Read more »

Two weeks ago, my best friend married his best girl. Married in Boston, but they came down to Florida for a post-wedding reception dinner. That was last weekend. I went up to Tampa.

And … contrary to everything I’ve ever known or thought I knew about myself … I cried like a frickin’ baby when he and his erstwhile girlfriend, now wife, re-enacted their wedding vows for the Florida contingent. Like a baby. And, believe me — and those of you who know me well know this is true — I NEVER cry. Not any more, at least. Not very often, at least. But for Brian … I cried.

Cried out of happiness. Out of something. I can’t lie and say that Oscar Wilde’s words weren’t ringing through my head — “A second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience.” Maybe it was that idea — of optimism — that was making me cry. Maybe it’s because the cynic in me was thinking for a moment … maybe I’ve got it all wrong — maybe love does exist. Maybe you can take a flier on somebody. Maybe you can fall in love and maybe it will stick. Maybe Wilde wasn’t being cynical when he wrote those words (though I rather think he was) — isn’t it possible he was applauding the nerve it takes to walk that aisle a second time? I can’t imagine doing that myself. Believing in someone that much again.

So, maybe. Maybe that’s why I was crying.

But I know one thing: I was also crying because I love him. He’s the best person I’ve known over the last 17 years. We met at Bucknell.

He taught me about philosophy, in fact, he’s taught me more things than I can remember … and I’d like to think I’ve taught him something as well. We’ve been friends ever since the first night we met at a poetry reading. Friends. The kind that people don’t believe can exist between a man and a woman … but which, most emphatically does exist. At least for us. We’ve lasted. (That’s Bri and me in the photo … a couple of years back at a New Year’s Eve party I threw.) Through my marriage and subsequent divorce. Through his first marriage, and now this beginning his second.

And I imagine we’ll continue to last until my dotage, at which point I fully expect him to support me and my book, cat, and martini habit for the rest of my years. Um, that might test our friendship … at long last. But only because he’s allergic. Not to cats, but to my relentless indulgence of their whims. (He’s already got a word for what he thinks ails me — anthropomorphimania.)

Maybe I cried because Brian has more faith in humans — more faith in love — than I do. (Yes, I admit, I reserve my faith for felines and birds, for the most part.) Maybe I cried because, underneath it all, I’m a big softie (though I doubt it) and I want to believe in people too. In love.

Maybe I just cried because wedding vows make people cry.

I don’t know. But I cried. And weirdly. Very weirdly … I was having fun at the same time.

So, last week, I went to see the Moscow State Radio Symphony Orchestra at the Van Wezel in Sarasota.

The tickets were fabulous — Row Six — so kind of front and center and the crowd was overflowing with lots of Russian conversation. Oh, and the symphony wasn’t half bad either. Read more »