I have indeed changed the title and description of my blog, and if I do buy a domain name, it will be some iteration of the new title. A lot of people are carrying the banner of Coney Island and of Brooklyn a whole lot better than I am. That's not being hard on myself; it's just a fact. I'm writing about other things. And lately, it seems to be more opinion than memoir. If you read way back, it's very memoir-y, but these days, not so much.
Yet again, I can't seem to use or see my Amazon widgets from my home computer. Am I starting to hate Blogger again? Perhaps. I did figure out, though, how to change my job from book publishing to whatever it is I do now. Actually, I love my job. I kind of bustle around all day long, although it's mostly sitting at my computer, updating lists and documents, and especially reading and sending e-mail. My phone rings maybe twice a day, but the e-mail just pours in. Obviously, I adore e-mail as a form of communication. All of that letter-writing I did from around 1971 right up to around 1998 or 1999 has done me some good. (And the only reason I wrote letters that long was that I was very close to someone in Chicago who didn't have e-mail and was also a great letter-writer.)
My mind is wandering a little. I've had a cold all week, and yesterday it was so severe that I stayed home, coughing and sneezing and nose-blowing all day. Read a lot of the latest book on my Kindle, The Strain by Guillermo del Toro and someone whose name I could tell you if my Amazon Associates widget was working. (Seriously, Blogger, whassup?)
A kitten is under consideration. There is a cat rescue woman named Patricia, who sets up right across from Union Square, in front of Whole Foods, weather permitting. She and I have become very friendly, since I show up practically every day she's out, and we are both great cat lovers. She is a wonderful woman. Anyway, I've been resisting, resisting, and resisting...really not easy, because she always has so many lovely and adorable kittens and cats. But somehow, one of the kittens got to me. She's six weeks old, a long-haired calico, and Barry and I are in love with her. We had thought about the name Martha if we ever got another cat; Barry's mother's name in Poland was Marta (which was changed to Myrna when she came over here at age 8), but I thought Marta was a little harsh-sounding and suggested Martha. And when I first saw the long-haired calico, I thought Coco would be an excellent name. But of course, she has her rescue-cat name, the name Patricia's been calling her, which is Delilah. So of course, we've been referring to her as Delilah, and I think if she comes to live with us, Delilah it is. (That's how our middle cat, Lolly, got her name -- is was her rescue-cat name. Xena and Maya both came to us without names, and I named them both. I'm a pretty good cat-namer.)
Anyway, someone has already adopted one of Delilah's sibs, and may or may not want Delilah as well. If not, Delilah is ours. I've held her a couple of times, and she cuddles right up and purrs. She's a beauty, and I've never had a long-haired cat. Of course, we would then have four cats. Barry didn't bat an eye -- I'm afraid I've made him into an even crazier cat person than I was or am. He fell for her right away; he has a particular soft spot for calicos, ever since we got Lolly -- although I'm the one who spotted and chose her. I'm a good cat-picker too. I was the first one to spot Lolly, Xena and Maya, and brought Maya home without Barry ever seeing her first. (This was after Tiggy died, and she and I were so crazy about each other it was pretty much a given that I'd be coming home with a new kitten at some point.)
I know four cats is crazy. Tell me something I don't know. That's what we get for not having children.