The Dooryard

The birds have come

In August, on one of our two trips to the Catskills, I bought a bird feeder to hang outside our apartment in Manhattan. When I was a kid, I loved birds. I got it from my grandmother, who had probably a half dozen bird feeders around her house when I was growing up. We both had Roger Tory Peterson bird books, and we'd compare the birds we saw. I distinctly remember the day I saw my first scarlet tanager, a thrill for me as a kid.

Dan made fun of me when I bought the bird feeder, and he continued to make fun of me for three months as day in and day out the level of seed in the feeder never went down. Until two weeks ago; he awoke one morning to find two birds perched on the feeder eating. It felt like magic when I later woke up and saw them: A pair of house finches sitting on the railing, fluttering up to the feeder (right), and eating the basil seeds in the basil plants that had long-since passed in my herb garden. They've been coming just about every day since they first found the feeder, and I must say I love having the little visitors. It's like having a bit of nature on our sixth-floor patio in the middle of Manhattan.

The one who loves the birds most: Toby. When he sees them, he freaks out, crouches down and stalks them as though there isn't a glass window stopping him from ever getting them. He's become so obsessed that throughout the day he stops what he's doing (napping, playing) to look up at the bird feeder to see if his new friends have returned.

Playing with the cat

We are crazy, crazy in love with our little kitty cat Toby. He turned one year old sometime this month, and we've only had him for five months. But this little cat has totally stolen our hearts.

We have found ourselves wanting nothing more at night than to lie on the bed and toss his favorite purple-and-brown ribbon around, throwing up a mouseful toy from time to time to change the pace. He'll run around, hide under the pillows we stack up like a little kitty fort, jump out at us, swat at our feet, grab the ribbon, race out to the kitchen, race back in, then start all over again. And after about 15 minutes of that he'll follow us back into the living room where he'll curl up on our chest and take a nap.

The resemblence between Toby and my childhood cat Sissy is remarkable. They look alike, act similarly, are both incredibly friendly; In fact, they're so similar that my parents call him Sissy and refer to him as "her."

I have actually started regretting leaving town because we have to leave him behind. He's just too much.

Mr. Lincoln Blooms

Years ago, when I worked at Disney Channel, one of the VPs introduced me to the Mr. Lincoln Rose. It was then, and still is now, the most fragrant flower I've ever smelled (lilacs being a close second). While most rose varieties have had the smell bred out of them for shape and color, the Mr. Lincoln Rose can fill a room with its fragrance. It's called "America's favorite rose."

This past spring I bought my first Mr. Lincoln Rose, and it has been growing on our patio since. It has battle aphids, bees that cut holes in its leaves, blackspot and dehydration. A month ago, I figured it wasn't going to bloom at all this summer. But just a couple weeks ago, it bloomed for the first time. Yesterday, the second flower opened (pics above are every two hours yesterday, and what I awoke to today). There's a third flower on the way, too, which makes me very excited.