Things are going to be quiet around here for the next few days, as Rudi and I have friends in town and I suspect time to write will be lacking.

Karen and Michael drive down from CT this afternoon. Erik took the train from NYC last night. Mercifully, no one wants to stay with us in the burrow (cat hair central during shedding season), so our cleaning plan is cursory and slapdash. They are old friends and will just have to understand that two adults and three cats cannot coexist in comfort without a certain amount of STUFF and that we have more stuff squeezed into our apartment than really it should hold — particularly during the in-between clothing season (that’s between winter and summer, not between wearing clothes, of course ;)).

So our weekend is going to be full of cherry blossom viewing, museum scouring, and eating. And visiting, which is the best part.

And on Monday I will be sad that I didn’t get to spend enough time with any of them.

I love the fact that the weather has been so warm as to allow summer shoes, but I could definitely live without the war wounds associated with them. My right foot is killing me and the only shoes that I can wear comfortably today are the flip-flop style. Owww!

My grandfather would have been 87 today if he were alive. His essence is still a part of all of us and he still finds his way into topics of conversation, even though he’s been gone several years now. In fact, Rudi was just mentioning Lake Louise the other day and we laughed thinking about how Grampa visited there once. He was impressed by the size of the mosquitos and the stupidity of the man who tried to go swimming despite the signs saying the lake was too cold for that.

Memories that stand out:

• Sitting in his lap with my brother when we were little. He would draw us pictures — cars for Josh, and Indians (Native Americans) for me.
• The smell of wood shavings in his basement workshop.
• Keeping my eyes glued to the spedometer (and my foot off the gas) the one time I drove him anywhere.
• The dollhouse he made me — complete with electricity — and its accompanying furniture (wood block furniture when I was small and delicate pieces — tiny dressers with tiny brass drawer pulls or a four poster-bed).
• His sparkling blue eyes.
• How proud he looked whenever he talked about his family.

It’s not many kids who get the benefit of grandfathers after they’re grown, so I know how lucky I was — and am.

Happy Birthday, Grampa. We miss you.

I met Erik when we were both college — he as a freshman, me as a sophomore. We quickly became friends, united through procrastination, late night bedtimes, a cynical wit, and a love of music and politics and remain friends 11+ years later for many of those same reasons. We don’t see each other much any more, but he is one of the best people I know about sending cards for the important dates and for clipping newspaper articles that he thinks I’ll like. I forget to tell him as often as I should how much I smile whenever his name turns up in my email.

Erik turns 30 today. If I knew how to concoct a vegan birthday cake, I’d send you one, sweetie. But since I don’t, my best wishes may have to suffice.

Happy Birthday.

Grammar usage problems: In the book I’m editing, I had originally okayed, “In this way [protozoa] are more like animals or people than bacteria.” My proofreader rejected it and suggested either “…[protozoa] are more like animals or people than bacteria are” OR “…[protozoa] are more like animals or people than they are like bacteria.”

Researching protozoa on the internet just made my head hurt. (Why do they think science is hard to understand? Jeez…)

So I rephrased the simile thus: “Rice is more like oats than pasta is like oats” vs “Rice is more like oats than rice is like pasta.”

Ultimately, I believe the latter choice is correct because we care more about the difference between rice and pasta (protozoa and bacteria) than we do about oats (animals or people).

It may have cleared up the grammar question, but now all I can think about is the old children’s song “Mairzy Doats,” which led me to discover this unbelievable piece of musical trivia. Who would have thought it could be an intercontinental hit? I suspect it’s because the soldiers couldn’t get it out of their heads…

My best friend once had me in a fit of hysterical laughter as she went on a late-night search for something with which to kill a centipede she’d discovered in her bedroom.

Apparently, she had more cause for concern than I realized, as this AFP wire story suggests.

Ultimately, after she cut it in half with scissors, she discovered it was already dead. But now, frankly, I’m glad she took the precaution.