There was a street fair on Water Street from Broad Street (where we live, -ish) to the South Street Seaport.  It had more of a Latin flavor (and not the ille, illa, illud kind) than most NYC street fairs, presumably because the guys who are usually hawking funnel-cake and giant mounds of curly fries were home celebrating the Fourth.  Still, lack of giant mounds notwithstanding, we had a fairly good time.  We shared a pretty tasty tamale and an “authentic” Venezuelan arepa (we passed on the “authentic” Columbian arepa, which is out of whack with our geopolitical views but was in keeping with the order in which we passed by the stands).

Of course, we also sampled delicious treats from the more northerly reaches of the former empire of Phillip II (unless you credit silly rumors that they were invented at the Minnesota State Fair):

That last one’s a fried oreo – probably also introduced at the Texas State Fair.  (Phillip II for President!)

Last but not least, July 4 is the day on which we observe the birthday of our most dear friend, Calvin Coolidge, the Cat.  His being a former stray, we don’t know his actual diem natalem, but since Independence Day was the real Calvin Coolidge’s birthday (happy 136th, big guy!) it seemed like the right day to go with.  So yesterday we got him as a treat, some good tasting wet food (Fancy Feast) which he tore through in about a minute:

R

Pictures to follow.   

We picked up our tickets to the Papal Mass in Yankee Stadium and have been busy trying to discourage Pru from putting them in her mouth. 

We made a very tasty classic Texan dinner:  chicken fried steak and Dr Pepper.

We did the laundry (and temporarily lost Cal in the process).

We cleaned the oven; it passed Cal’s inspection.

We saw the kneelerthat will be used when the Holy Father (Be-ne-dict X-V-I/Be-ne-dict, he’s our guy!) visits our neighborhood.

It’s remarkable (to me at least) how suddenly Pru went from being someone for whom just sitting around being held was plenty of entertainment and for whom the entire world was a giant, undifferentiated source of stimulus to someone who enjoys specific activities and who understands, on a rudimentary level, that some things (the cat, toys) are fun whereas others aren’t.

For a long time, the only thing she liked to “do” was stand up (from about 2 months, she could mostly support her own weight for a few minutes so long as Mom or Dad balanced her).  By mid-February, she started trying (not very successfully, but she’s just a baby) to wave back when Mommy waved “hello” at her.  She also started being very social with her friend Ecnedurp, the mysterious reverse baby in the bathroom mirror.  Now she’s trying to roll over (she’s got the leg motion down, but still hasn’t figured out that she needs to thrust her shoulder, too) and scootching (though only on her back).  She actually managed to scootch all the way to the top of her crib a few nights ago.

She also figured out, at some point, that the cat is soft, and that if you open your hand and run it up and down the side of the cat, it feels nice.  In a nice intuitive leap, she then figured out that it also feels nice to pet Petey the Penguin, who has the advantage of letting you cuddle with him.

Cal tries his hand at petting Petey.

Anyway, now that she’s all interactive and playful, we guess she needs toys.  Since she’s so vertically oriented, we’re getting her a jumperoo, and to help with he arm strength and coordination, one of those baby arch dangly things (it’ll be clear what I mean once we have one and post pictures).

Anyway, li’l miss playful is stirring, so … away!

Not another was stirring, not even the vermin;

Cal’s stocking was hung by the window with care
In the hopes that Saint Gertrude soon would be there;

And Prudence was nestled all snug in her bed,
While visions of Silly Songs danced in her head;

And Sarah with Buckley and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
When out in the hall there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
In Sponge Bob pajamas I flew towards the door,
With nary a hint as to what was in store.
The view through the peephole provided no inkling,
Just our neighbor’s front door, with hallway lights twinkling.
Then I, having carefully undone the locks,

Saw nine tiny penguins, pulling a box
A driver, his clothes remarkably funky –

I knew he must be the Christmastide Monkey.

Slow as a turtle, down the carpet they came,
And he hooted, and grunted, and called them by name;
“Now, Red-One! Now, Scarfy! Now Mother-and-Child!
“On, Gentoo! On, Cutie! On Rockhopper wild!
“Push on Mini-King, for we’ve work yet to do!
“Keep to it, The-One-From-The-Central-Park-Zoo!”

As slow as molasses drips out of a jar,
They drew ever closer, though yet were quite far,
So out of my doorway I went up to meet them,
Without any clue as to how I should greet them.
And I heard, as I stood in the hall in my slippers,
The wet “slap-slap-slap” of all of their flippers.

As I was distracted by all of this racket,
The Christmastide Monkey leapt into my jacket!

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his paws,
And a small Calvin Coolidge was clenched in his claws.

And from this wee monkey there came such a noise,
That scarce did I notice his sack full of toys.
His eyes how like marbles! His muzzle so downy!
And a smiling expression a little bit clowny.
His eyebrows were arched with a spirit of fun;
His left ear was curled like a cinnamon bun.
On his brow were a pair of 3-D glasses,
Which doubtless he thought were a charm to the lasses;
He had a round head, and a plush little body,
That was warm in my arms, like a cup of hot toddy.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old ape,
Who was quick with a laugh, and quick with a jape.
With a wink of his eye and a quick “Ooo-ooo-ooo,”
I knew right away what he’d come here to do.
He spoke not a word, but unfolded his tail,

And happily showed that he’d brought up my mail.
And what else was hid in that prehensile curl?

A Trogdor onesie – a gift for my girl!
Then he leapt to his box, with his team moving quick,
Like the carpet was icy, Antarctic and slick.

As he called for the elevator to go down,
I noticed my face started cracking a frown,
But I heard him exclaim, from the down elevator,
“Merry Christmas, my friend, and perhaps, see you later!”

Cal was also a pretty big fan:

And what’s in the box, you wonder? What do you get for the girl who has everything?

A penguin! Thanks, Great-Uncle Bill and Great-Aunt Liz!

Thank you to the medical staff of New York Downtown Hospital, everyone who included us in their prayers and all those members of the CT who stopped by and lent a hand (you know who you are).

Rest assured, there will be many, many photos, but not right now.  I’m only one (very, very tired) man!