Carousel, Bryant Park, NYC. A stand-in for memory.
I hear the carousel melody and the crunchy gravel noise made by a hundred little feet waiting in line. He loved the Drive-In while I disliked everything about it but the carousel, the carousel noises and the light around that magnificent ride.
The house is growing quiet, the murmuring kitchen radio and the uneven noise of the TV say "night." My husband laughs. Midnight in Paris, I think, a Woody Allen movie. My daughter is spread out under a comforter on the sofa, annoyed that she missed the closing ceremonies of the Olympics. Pippi is tightly curled by my left hip--my left elbow gently nudges his neck ruff and I can hear and feel his breathing. Pippi is the smallest of my cats, and I'm hopelessly fond of him.