An Embarrassment of Bunnies

So Chicago Animal Care and Control (aka the city's pound) has had some budget cuts and, as a result, has stopped doing rabbit adoptions. This leaves Red Door pretty much the only shelter that does this now (many other places will take surrendered rabbits, but they do not house or put them up for adoption, instead turning to places like the House Rabbit Society or Red Door to take what they can, and euthanizing the rest.)

Red Door put out a call for foster homes to expand its capacity, and I decided to help. I don't have tons of room, but I've been wanting to do more for this excellent shelter. Plus, Easter is coming, which means things will only get worse.

At Red Door I asked who needed a break the most.

"Angelica needs a vacation," the shelter president told me.

Thus it is that Miss Angelica now calls my small dining-room home. (I call her Angelica Divine, because I believe every rabbit should have a tranny/stripper name.) Initially shy and skittish, Angelica D. is settling in and becoming quite the sweet girl. Like many rabbits, she's a bit territorial, and grunts if I mess with her litter box or "stuff," but she loves head rubs and has let me pick her up with no fuss, so we're on our way.

I have to keep her separated from the other two bonded rabbits, because rabbits don't take to each other all the way at first, and Leroy's exploration of her pen has led to some face-biting attempts. Amie hasn't bothered, but sits in her hutch calling, "I DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU COME FROM SISTER, BUT THERE IS NO 'BIG LOVE' IN THIS HOUSE!!!"

So I step over a large cardboard barricade that keeps the peace, and I hope for the call that says Miss Angelica has a home of her very own.

The Show is ON!

Mid-Life Maniacs opened last Friday. Now, because we are not a theater troupe with an established following, and because we are performing sketch and not a play that people recognize and are drawn to, we are relying heavily on word of mouth.

I knew a lot of my friends were coming on Saturday, but not many on Friday (opening night), and I was curious. I asked the director how many tickets had sold for Friday.

"Four," he said.

So last Friday, as the cast stood backstage, we tallied the people we knew would be there. It soon became clear that it would be a small house. Our goal became to have more people in the audience than on stage.

We got our wish: seven on stage, nine in the audience. Yowza! The audience, for its small size, was appreciative and engaged, and we had a great time.

Saturday saw us go from famine to feast, with an almost full house. The audience roared, clapped, and had a great time, and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. After the show, as I collected my things backstage, I heard a former coworker yell out, "JC, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!?!" and then she appeared backstage. She had had a great time, as had my friends and former co-workers, all of whom were effusive in their praise for the show and my performance. It was a good night.

Now to get us an audience for this, our final, weekend!

Heading to the West and Beyond

Yesterday I suggested to my friend Jen H. that we check out the Garfield Park Conservatory. She's relatively new to Chicago, and hadn't been, Sine she lives in the West Loop, we met at the Clinton Green Line El stop.

The conservatory, like most, is a wonderland of beautiful plants and wonderful smells. And it's WARM. Perfect for a winter day. Looking at all the plants, I felt so looked after, so fortunate, that the world makes things like this. For free.

We hit the gift shop, where Jen got some air oil, and then we headed to Oak Park in search of a cafe (The Conservatory is beautiful, but it's not in a great neighborhood, and the gift-shop lady told us there were no local cafes.)

Oak Park is very beautiful, home to Hemingway and Frank Lloyd Wright and lots of lovely shops. Massachusetts people: think Newton, in Prairie style. Yuppie Town.

We went to Red Hen bakery, and I ordered my decaf and a spinach/cheese croissant. They were out of that, so I told the young guy I'd take a pan au chocolat. He apologized profusely for being out of my original choice.

"It's not the end of the world," I assured him.

He brought my decaf over, and there was about an inch of room from the top.

"I can make more for you; I'm so sorry this is all that's in the pot," he said. I assured him that was perfect, as it left room for milk. He continued to apologize.

"Hold on," I said. "I really don't mind. You see, I'm not from Oak Park. I'm from the other park -- Rogers Park. The Peoples' Park. This stuff doesn't undo me."

He informed me that I was fabulous, and Jen and I sat down by the window to "Yuppie watch," as Jen said. Oak Park is really very nice, but if you depend on public transportation (which I'm certain very few in Oak Park do), you'd have to travel through some pretty rough areas to get there from he city. Areas which at night are not a good idea.

We checked out various shops; one specialized in olive oils and balsamic vinegars. (Who knew there were such options?!?) We sampled oils and vinegars that were heavenly. The woman had us try a meyer-lemon oil mixed with a currant balsamic. To die for.

"I think I actually have a buzz from this vinegar," I said, after tasting an 18-year-old brew.

Jen bought some, and I'm determined to go back once I start my job, because this stuff was amazing.

One of those days...

Did you ever have a day where you just could NOT do anything right the first time? Where you consider taking a remedial class in just walking?

Today was the day for me to pick up the rabbit I was going to foster from Red Door animal shelter. Chicago's pound, Animal Care and Control, in response to budget cuts, has stopped rabbit adoptions, so the pressure on Red Door as increased. I don't have all kinds of room, but I've been wanting to do more for this shelter, so I got out the puppy pen, packed the pet carrier, and headed out. First stop was at the local grocery store, so that I could pick up some more litter. As I hit the car door, I felt my keys slip from my gloved hand. I stood there, outside my locked car, looking at my keys sitting on the driver's seat.

"NO." I said. Because studies have proven that a commanding voice gets the best results when addressing inanimate objects.

I began to walk the five blocks home. On the way, I called my neighbor, and asked whether she could give me a ride back one I picked up my extra key in the apartment. She was happy to help, and also needed to go to the grocery store, so it all worked well.

I got to the building, and stopped. I called my neighbor again.

"Yes, and of course I forgot that my house keys are also on the key chain, so if you could come down and let me into the building, that would be great. How I manage to breathe is beyond me."

Fortunately, she also has a key to my apartment, so I got in and got the key, and we drove back. I got my litter and headed to the shelter. The rabbit I took is called Anjelica, and she is adorable. A small, English spot/lionhead-y girl.

We packed up, and I headed back to my place. I got there and went to grab my bag.

Yep.

Back to the shelter, where I'd left it, got the bag, then back to my house. Got Anjelica settled; Leroy was very curious, and there was a lot of nose-touching, and then the pissiness began, so I had to hutch up Leroy while I got ready for the gym. Amie just stayed in the hutch, muttering something about "I'm not O-freaking-Lan."

I biked to the gym, then to the grocery store for food. Got all the way through checkout and realized as I was about to walk out that I'd not paid for the soy milk tucked into the bottom of the cart. Turned around, went back, paid, and really wished I could stop having this horrible sense of impending insanity.

Back home, arranged some cardboard to prevent Bunny War, then proceeded to make a dish from my new vegetarian Low-GI (low glycemic index) cookbook. the good thing about the recipes in this book is that they are simple, low-cost, and best of all, make enough to feed my entire building in the event of a national emergency.

Now to finish cleaning up the aftermath of Harry's urinary-tract infection. And look forward to a new week. My final week before work starts.

Rehearsal and rehearsal and rehearsal...

After two months of a ridiculously heavy rehearsal schedule, I am sick to death of the sound of my own voice. We had our first tech rehearsal tonight, and the other girl and I agreed that we just can't find anything funny about the show anymore because we've heard it every day for the past two weeks. It's become a form of mental torture.

Dear God, please let us not suck.

Countdown to J-Day

Our sketch show opens this Friday. I start my new job March 1. Am I having any anxiety dreams about the show? Nope. Instead, my subconscious is preoccupied with presenting me with various first-day job-disaster scenarios. My favorite so far is arriving to discover that Anna Wintour (Vogue editor who famously inspired The Devil Wears Prada) is my boss. I notice her horrified expression, look down, and discover that I've managed to wear a blue top with wide pinstripes, and a brown skirt with narrow pinstripes. Black tights and shoes.

"I'm trying something new," I said.

Kid Visit

I forgot to mention that I paid a visit to The Babies (TM) a couple of weeks ago. I was missing them, and arranged to stop by while their dad was caring for them.

As it had been a few months since I'd sat for them, I wondered what things would be like. Would they remember me? Would they care? They had just turned two, so who knew.

The father opened the door, with the kids right behind him. "HEY!" I called out. The grins I got in response were almost as wide as their heads. The boy used to like to have me chase him, so as I took off my coat, he stood ready, practically vibrating with anticipation.

"RAWR!" I called, my signal that the games had begun. He took off, laughing, and I followed, finally catching him and eating his face.

The next hour was spent catching up: toe-eating, nose-stealing, song-miming (they still remember all the moves to"Don't Cry For Me Argentina," "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Out Of My Hair" and "I Don't Know How to Love Him.") They also still pull their shirts up when I call out "Mardi Gras!" much to dad's chagrin.

They talk more now, and are much more deliberate with their actions, being careful with pretzels, picking things up, being more orderly. Feeding me. They are becoming less babies and more children. At one point I turned to the boy and suggested we read our favorite book, "Fish Kisses." He disappeared up the steps and came back with it. I was impressed. We had a good, good time. It's a lot more fun being the playmate than the babysitter. I hope to go back soon.