I found a small white box on my doorstep when I got home from work (or more properly from picking up Dixie at the vets after yet another series of tests). I ripped it open and there were my plants wrapped in wet paper towels, plastic bags secured with rubber bands, and newspaper to keep the lot from dripping. Everything looks fine, although the mouse-tail plant is dormant now, and the blue hosta lost most of its outer leaves. They'll grow back quickly, it's the end of their growing season anyway, and hostas are sturdy things. The ruffly purple heuchera is just a little dry on the edges and will also spring back in no time. I popped them all into the ground, gave them a big drink, and danced through the house with joy.

Look, these are the collectibles of the plant kingdom. I won't get nearly as dippy about the 200 bulbs when they arrive. Stand stunned with horror, more like, as I contemplate actually planting them.

Keiko has been reveling in the remnants. She knocked over the box and spilled ghost poop all over the floor. This provided instant fun as she chased the lightweight styrofoam around the living room, scattering it far and wide. Natasha looked on with disdain, but reached out one furry paw to bat an errant piece as it skittered by. Dixie retired to the kitchen in disgust where I periodically hear her heavy sigh as she endures the cat romping. It's a tough business napping in this household. No one is safe for long.

John put in an offer for us on a very nice house, the one with seven offers already. We didn't get it, but we feel good about trying. We talked about taking a break from house hunting if we don't find something in the next six weeks. The number of places on the market drops off over the holidays and just afterwards, and we might as well use that time to get our second wind by raising a bit more money. Pay off more bills. Read a book or two on being home owners. Stop feeling this lousy about the process of finding our own place. Meanwhile, we'll keep looking just in case we get a lucky break.

I am off to New York tomorrow. We were supposed to get going in the morning but I suddenly realized how rushed and panicky I felt about the 8:30 a.m. flight. So I changed it to 1:00 p.m., and I'll actually get to sleep in, not to mention pack leisurely. I've got several social dates lined up, but I've been resolute in keeping two days free so I can shop by myself. I test drove my new, extremely fashionable shoes today at work. They passed the comfort test, and will be my main shoes on the trip. The new fashion, for those who still wear tennis shoes 24/7, features an oblique toe shape, a flat wide back on the heel, and microfiber uppers with rubber soles. The shape is unmistakeably reminiscent of the shoes peasants wear in medieval paintings. Now, if only they'd bring back those cool, super long, pointy toed shoes the nobles wore...

So I can't decide if I should go to the Brooklyn Museum of Art (since I'm staying practically around the corner) and see the controversial "sensational" artwork, or just admit I can't understand the artistic merit of elephant dung, thus making it utterly pointless to go. However, although I don't approve of government money paying for this sort of thing I certainly think it shouldn't be banned from being exhibited. Maybe I'll go to spite Mayor Giuliani.

Stay tuned for digital photos of fellow diarists (undoubtedly of the same stellar quality as the last set) when I update next Monday night. Ciao!

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