Speck On A Dot

  I often liken myself to a pack mule, a description my husband reluctantly agrees with… but before you start picturing a frail skinny creature, slave to a cruel overlord or the clichéd woman with a large handbag filled to bursting with a gazillion whatchamacallits and doodads let me clarify. That is how I look when I return from a list checking, efficient and comprehensive multi-store weekly grocery run. I hang my genetically broad shoulders (I kid myself by chalking it up to years of swimming) with 4, 5 and sometimes 6 reusable fabric bags, in a myriad of colors, filled to the brim with all the fuel needed to keep those shoulders and the body they're attached to, healthy for the next shopping trip. To maintain this self-perpetuating cycle, I keep reusable bags everywhere I might possibly need it - in the car, at home, in my handbag - so I never have to use one of the supermarket bags. Why do I put myself through that you ask? When I could just grab a bag at the store as I ne

I am one of those weird exceptions who usually enjoys riding the subways ... even in NY. Fascinated by the idiosyncrasies of other passengers, astounded by the talent of the subway performers, not even the pervasive smell of damp, urine and a frequent sardine-like sensation can get me down. But come the winter, the smile more frequently turns to a frown, there's a drumming in my ears and a cacophony of angry thoughts and pain. Its not the freezing cold, the wind, the damp tunnels or the icy stairs that does it, but something far more primal.... the re-emergence of fur - not on a cuddly dog in a sweater and rubber socks with its leash all tangled up with its owners feet, or a cat curled up in the corner of its carrier shooting warning glances at the big clumsy two legged beings around her - but fur ripped off the bodies of its owners to create coats, stoles, hats... whatever.  Those are the times I fervently wish that we didn't live in such a so-called "civilized&