Mother’s Day, 2008 (I know, it’s a bit past that, I’ve been a bit preoccupied). Léa and my mother at the brunch table upstairs at the Greenwich Ginger Man.
Walking down Greenwich Avenue toward the park:
Can you pick out the little dimples on the back of her hand and elbow? Too delicious!
I got to work today, and before I could clock in, I was told to call the regional manager. Before I clocked in. With trepidation, I called her. This is what she said.
“Pending an investigation, you are to leave work immediately. Do not speak to anyone at work, do not come into the store, do not call the store. You will be contacted by Human Resources Tuesday or Wednesday.”
She refused to go into it any more than that. No one would meet my eyes. I handed over the card I’d bought for A expressing my condolences on the loss of her dog into which I’d stuck a copy of The Rainbow Bridge poem. She looked at me like, “What’s this for?” I went into the back room, got the soda and half-eaten sandwich I’d saved for today’s lunch, and left.
I called G, horrified. I searched my (admittedly bad) memory for any incident that could have sparked “an investigation.” I came up empty. Everything was fine when I left yesterday, and I’ve been keeping my mouth shut. G said, come home, enjoy the weekend, you know that you did nothing. I’ve got a kick-ass litigator who specializes in employment law on my side should I need it. I’m totally clueless.
ETA 2008.6.16: I have been transferred to another store. I’m very happy. 
My niece, Léa Madeline (it’s pronounced LAY-ah, just like the Princess), who will be three this September, has finally started to really talk, in both French and English. My sister-in-law, Priscille, speaks to her almost exclusively in French, while my brother, Sam, uses only English (well, very little French, and with a really horrendous accent). You can ask her, “Quest-ce va tu desire pour dessert?” and she will answer unabashedly, “Glace!” “Vanille ou chocolat?” “Chocolat!” Right answer, every time (that’s chocolate ice cream to those who don’t parlez). She can count, “One, two, threefourfive!” and then, “Un, deux, troisquatrecinq!” She is simply enchanting, I cannot stop drinking her in. My mother says that this is what it was like when I was her age. I positively fawn over her. I ask her, “Bisou?” and she plants one right on my lips. I cannot believe how amazing she is, and I’m not even her mother. She does high-fives, and says “Ta-da!” when she’s done something particularly cool, and throws her hands up over her head and exclaims, “Cowboys!” (my brother is a HUGE fan, don’t even start with me.) So here are two pictures of her, and her mother and father (you can totally see from where she gets her looks), and the two birthday cards she drew for me. Can you see the face on each? Priscille helped with the letters, but otherwise, it was all Léa.
We went for dinner at Hanada Hibachi in Mohegan Lake to celebrate my birthday. It was Léa’s first hibachi dinner, and she was appropriately impressed with the chef’s antics. He completely played to her.
Today is Elisa’s (twelfth? thirteenth? I don’t remember which, I’m a bad aunt) birthday. We got her a nice pair of 5mm pearl earrings from Whitehall. She loved them.
I am having a hard time reconciling the fact that Friday, May 2d, I turned 40. Where has the time gone? I’m not where I thought I’d be.
To that end, I signed up for a jewelry design class at the Westchester Arts Workshop, which is affiliated with Westchester Community College. It is a for-credit class, so it will add to my paltry and widespread transcript. Jewelry design is something I’ve always been interested in, more consistently that any other field in my life. I began at age eight in summer camp, making crude (at first) copper jewelry with Red, the scary (to everyone but me) and ancient Silver Shop teacher. She resembled quite closely the shrunken apple head dolls she made with other kids. With her permission (and that of my parents), I quickly progressed on to working in sterling silver, setting stones (in particular a large picture jasper for Nanny, my father’s jewelry-loving mother), forging a linked bracelet (which I summarily lost playing soccer), each link by hand, never fusing two links together but soldering each one individually. I was Red’s pet, and I worked in the shop a huge lot of the time I was there. Each summer I returned, for six years, to work under the wing of the ever-more wizened, sharp-minded old woman. I continued on in high school, taking Advanced Jewelry Design with Diana, the eccentric art teacher. It escapes me what I produced in high school. Damned Wellbutrin.
To celebrate my fortieth, my father and stepmother provided G and I with a weekend of decadence. A weekend at the Waldorf=Astoria (don’t ask me why they put in an equals sign instead of a hyphen), including the horrifically expensive room service (see photo to see what a $100 breakfast looks like. There are four tea bags there). An amazing dinner with them Friday night at Daniel. “Passing Strange” at the Belasco Theater Saturday night. “Walking-around money” to do with what I would. I had some plans for us in the in-between time; Bodies…The Exhibition down at the South Street Seaport with maybe an excursion to Seaport Yarn, more yarn shopping, perhaps at Purl (we didn’t get there, only Stitches East). My allergies were totally kicking my ass and G’s were as well, so we moseyed down to Battery Park after the Seaport to relax on the green. I conked out for an hour and a half while G read. An exhausting, but fun weekend.
Edited to add: This is what G gave me for my fortieth; the most amazing stop sign ever. 5/8 carat total weight in brilliant, baguette, and radiant-cut diamonds in 14k white gold. No one else is wearing one of these!
