As we were driving home last night from my nine year old’s birthday dinner in a bar…

(And to be perfectly clear, my son hadn’t actually set foot in a bar until Saturday night, when we gave our 20 year old nephew $100 as we ran out the door saying “Thanksforsittingtaketheboystoamovieanddinnerkthxbai!” All we heard about the next day was why Bobby V’s was the best restaurant my boys had ever been to, and asking have you ever been there Mom? Really? When? Do you know where to park?)

…my father and I were discussing music. He asked me if I could find a Paul Simon CD for him.

Sure, Dad, no problem.

“OK, and I think I have some stuff you’d like. I’ve got the new Andrea Bocelli, and I have all that Bon Jovi I bought for your mother.”
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OK maybe not big pimpin’. But certainly guest bloggin’. My Facebook brag about going to the dump elicited an invitation from Stamford Talk to write about it in more detail.

I brought my youngest there yesterday for the first time. And that’s a story for another day.

Talk is a great blogging friend. In fact I think she was my first commenter.  I hope you’ll stop by her place and say hello.

Full disclosure: my heritage is mostly Irish. I was raised Catholic, and no longer participate in the Catholic religion. I went to high school with State Senator McDonald, I consider him a civil rights hero for his work to make gay marriage legal in my state, and when a friend of mine from New York wanted to legally marry his partner of many years I contacted Andrew to ask if he’d perform the ceremony (and he did so, gladly). Senator McDonald is not a close friend of mine; we mostly lost touch after high school. But I respect his work, and I’d vote for him in a minute if I lived in his district. Click to continue »

The tetras died last week. Cleaning up in the wake of rotavirus at 2 am, I saw Mike (or was it Ike?) floating upside down in the bowl. The other followed about 12 hours later. Having survived the bigger, dumber cat breaking their bowl and the subsequent (yet momentary) flailing about on the kitchen floor, I thought they were hardy suckers. Not like that showy little golden tetra who mysteriously disappeared when I left all the fish in a mixing bow overnight. No, these were tough guys, capable of dodging the sharpest and fastest cat claws.

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I’m trying awfully hard not to take the turkey vultures wintering in my yard as portents of doom. I suppose it’s not as bad as having the four horsemen show up in my driveway, but still. Vultures? Circling my house? It could be a little unnerving. Except, well, they’re turkey vultures.

It’s not the first time we’ve had unusual feathered critters nearby. A few years back, a pair of guinea hens broke out of the nearby nature center and lived in our neighbor’s yard, much to the complete annoyance of our dearly departed dalmatian. Oh how he yelled at those birds. And yes, they yelled back. Good times.

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I’m back, still shocked by sunset coming so early since I missed the clock change last week. The light was delicious this evening, reminding me that autumn is coming to an end all too soon.

You can kinda sorta see the reflection of some of my office detritus (lamp, picture, mess) if you squint hard enough.

It’s odd to vote and not get the sticker.

(And that guy? Who sued because the sticker ruined his suede jacket? Not only is he a local – the drama unfolded at my very own polling place. And with that, you’ve fulfilled your quota of Patty trivia for the day).

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Hands down, these bushes are my favorite part of our yard in the fall.

Nearly at their peak of color, the leaves will be almost gone when I return next week.

More after the jump. But first, take a moment to commend me. It took chutzpah to name a blog post firebush.

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What a day. Soccer, pumpkins and costume shopping… Later.