I hope that sounds really lewd.
Unfortunately, I don’t think it does. And in fact, it really isn’t.
Today, after my annual peek under the hood (okay, now THAT is some serious lewdness, and I didn’t even intend it to be), I sped off to meet Mrs. Laksmi and the Mrs. Laksmi Family at one of my favorite East Village haunts, Veselka. Veselka is like a Greek diner, except it’s not Greek. So, instead of a menu that boasts souvlaki and gyros along with its eggs and pancakes and uniquitous sandwiches, the menu offers varieties of borscht, stroganoff and mmmmm, my favorite: kasha.
I wore a pink eyelet strapless shift with a little rhinestone bow at the top edge. Turns out that Laksmi had had a dream that I would be wearing a pink dress and a tiara. Weird, no?
I got to meet Mr. Laksmi, jazz saxophonist whom I shall refer to hereinafter as Sanborn (my second and third choices were Bird and Coltrane, but for a variety of reasons ruled them out) because he just doesn’t seem like a HaySeuss to me (although he does kind of sort of resemble Jesus), and Little Crow, who has been called Hockey Boy and Half HaySeuss at times, but I shall call him Little Crow, because he’s a little boy who can do a mean Bakasana. I also got to dine with a former shala mate, who, it turns out is a college friend of Laksmi. How is it that everyone is so connected in this world? Seriously. And there was another very nice woman there, whose name I am spacing on, and who probably has friends in common with me and you and everyone we know, but we just don’t know it yet.
Great fun! Great conversation! Great scrambled eggs with kasha and apricot jam. Great photo ops. Nevertheless, Laksmi’s identity remains firmly under seal to the general public. It is not that she is camera shy. It’s just that she works for the CIA. But don’t tell anyone. Shhhh.
Then I drove home and put on Mah Chores Clothes and went outside to roll my Compost Bin around a few times and to stomp on my gigantic pile of dead branches and grass and garden clippings to help it along its journey toward compost. The difference between the Bin and the Pile is that the Bin also includes kitchen scraps, whereas the Pile does not. The Bin is closed, protecting it against hungry scavengers. The Pile is open, although at the moment, covered with a tarp in order to increase its internal heat (also helpful for stimulating decomposition). I never thought I would be so turned on by decomposing matter. But it turns out, it’s really cool, in a science-experiment kind of way. You throw in a bunch of ingredients, you let it get hot, you stir it occasionally, and then you get a great batch of…well, not cookies. But the garden and the grass will think it is. And here’s the coolest part: it does NOT smell like garbage. It smells like the forest.
Next, I did a little clearing out of the garage to make room for the pitter patter of gigantic boy feet which shall be making their way to their new home in a mere three days. I felt like it was really important for the boys to be able to have their bikes, scootes and balls within easy reach. And so I made it so.
Now, I am just ‘roided up (from the anti-inflammatories I’m taking for my nose) and wired and wondering when I might feel like getting into bed and willing my eyes to close. It’s not like I’m not tired. It’s just that sleep has been very remote since I’ve been taking this Medrol stuff (some kind of prednisone). One more day, and then I’m off the sauce. Yay.