greetings from my humble little kitchen at the top of the island -- a six by 10-foot flower-green space where I compose the world's next great novel (in my head), dance to the gorgeous jazz sounds of diana krall (or whatever trippy music happens to be on npr late at night) --managing not to trip over my two left feet, my relentlessly meowing feline, bonkers or happy-go-lucky lab, callie (chocolate, what else?) -- bake cake and manage not to eat ALL the batter, beg my husband nate to help me with dishes, read up on the latest wine trends -- how will i ever retain all that information? tannins, acidity, full-bodies, cherries, berries, vanilla, leather?? Might as well help myself to a little old vine zin.

outside, someone's blaring kenny rogers from a "boombox" sitting on their window sill. i am convinced that this particular fan of the gambler plays rogers' greatest hits as an indication that he is open for business. teenagers stop by for a moment to shake hands with the old country music-lovin' puerto rican and then keep right on walking. i bet it's drugs. or it could be my overactive imagination. i'm easily amused.

less than a week after inquiring about a neighbor's pets and admitting to having full-view of her cute furry creatures from my curious kitchen window frame, she and her boyfriend put up blinds -- the nerve! i've noticed lately that all of the windows facing my kitchen now have curtains. bummer.

my friend carol who lives two floors above has a name for just about everyone in my building. she probably calls me peeping paula. i'm rarely bored. at least that's something. she's recently started walking dogs, so now she is the crazy-dog-lady.

thanks for dropping by. more tales later, as soon as I finish dinner...