Snapshot: movie night!

Well, we haven't even finished the school year around here, and the cul-de-sac capers are starting up again, as the warm weather has beckoned us all to come outside.  Last weekend we all gathered in the middle of the court to watch the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie.  Families brought blankets and softball/soccer chairs, and sodas and a few margaritas, and the girl in charge made a big old batch of popcorn, and we all settled in.  How cool is our pal Tom -- who set up this swanky inflatable movie screen -- with speakers and everything?!

We're going to have a great summer!

A suburban walk on the wild side. Even though this is a contradiction in terms.

So the sunny girl and I went to the zoo today with our street sisters, and realized again why we love living near Washington, D.C. We have a great zoo!

We hit the petting farm first. We were told the alpacas were named already -- names like Lulu and Iris. The sunny girl hated these names, and re-named every alpaca; since she tends toward names like "Percival von Fluffington," I suspect the National Zoo will reject her suggestions.

And while we're talking about the petting zoo, here's what I want to know:

How come the goats at the National Zoo have nicer playground equipment than the kids at my neighborhood school?

The Amazonia exhibit space took us through a rain forest habitat.

After walking though the aquatic space, we entered an area where the animals are free to roam the entire habitat room -- including the paths. It was cool!

Although I suspect the urchins were hoping to be accosted by a monkey or dive- bombed by a toucan, the closest animal we were able to approach was this sexy bird. No one bothered to find out what it was -- we were all just so excited to happen upon it.

The Amazonia exhibit space also includes a research room; it's filled with books and maps and tanks filled with teeny tiny poisonous frogs, and microscopes and globes and lab space where you can interact with scientists (or at least scientist re-enactors).

The great cats were asleep in the heat of the August sun, and roused themselves only to seek more shade. Smart.

By contrast the Think Tank, where researchers study the language, communication, and reasoning abilities of orangutans, was hoppin'! We watched as this researcher played a game that was clearly based on three-card monte with the orang, and the orang won every time. I'd like to take her (the orangutan, not the researcher) to Manhattan with me next time I go.

The urchins played every game in the exhibit; they were almost as good at all the tasks as the orangutans were!

At this point the torrential rain started, so the rest of our zoo adventure was basically a sprint from indoor exhibit to tent to kiosk with an over-hang.

Before we sprinted to the car we did squeeze in a visit to the Panda House. The pandas busily turned their backs to us as each proceeded to stuff a room full of bamboo inside his or her cute little panda mouth. I feel like a loser as I report that this panda picture ( of our sweet little Tai Shan who went back to China) is a screen capture from one of the zoo's video exhibits.

Then we headed back toward our happy little cul-de-sac in the suburbs -- a trip that should take thirty minutes, and during rush hour can take as long as an hour. So you can see from the above self-portrait how thrilled I was that because of the storm it took us three hours to get home.

We should have camped at the zoo.

Mazel Tov!

So the sunny girl and I went to a Bat Mitzvah this past weekend -- which was just about the coolest thing I've done this year. And I've done some pretty cool stuff!

There were just so many wonderful things about this day: I mean, really -- this collection of 13-year-old girls is so fabulous that I know you wish they were your god-daughters, babysitters, Girl Scouts, nieces . . . . There is not a dud in the bunch! This particular gaggle of girls are Girl Scout sisters, but there were also street sisters and B'nai Mitzvah sisters -- which I found out are girls who share the journey toward becoming a Bat Mitzvah -- a daughter of the commandments.

Basically there were just sisters everywhere -- which is weird because the Bat Mitzvah Girl is an only child. Just goes to show you . . . .

I have to tell you I almost passed out with joy when the rabbi asked anyone present at the Bat Mitzvah who had not encountered a Torah up close to come up onto the bima. People! Their gorgeous Torah was a work of art -- and the rabbi was so wonderful as she educated all the non-Jews about how a Torah is written (by hand; it takes a year); how it is constructed (sheaves of Kosher vellum are sewn together); and most moving of all -- the special significance of the Holocaust Torah that the Bat Mitzvah Girl would read her Torah Portion from. [This image is courtesy of SoundSource.com, and is not a Holocaust Torah.]

I beg you -- please read here about Holocaust Torahs.

Well -- even though it would be too inappropriate to take pictures during the actual Shabbat services, please believe me when I report that the Bat Mitzvah Girl was brilliant, and that her parents are so proud of her, and her friends are so impressed with her . . . .

. . . and oh have mercy! but this family knows how to throw a party! Check it out!

As we arrived at the reception we didn't know that we had washed ashore on Candy Beach! I sat at the Starburst table -- which was fabulous because I have been known to make myself sick on orange Starbursts. [Each table started out with a bottle of red and a bottle of white wine, but ask me how fast I swiped an extra bottle of red wine from a boring soda-drinking table!]

The rabbi told us that the Bat Mitzvah Girl should receive "one hundred blessings" on her special day, and this huge eagle? falcon? hawk? blessed her with his presence for the duration of the reception.

The flustered feathers at the left of this photo belong to a very cranky bluejay, who kept dive-bombing the raptor -- who really could not have cared less about the jay.

The Bat Mitzvah Girl lit thirteen candles which represented thirteen blessings in her life; she honored family, friends, teachers, mentors -- her blessings -- by asking them to help her light each candle.

And then we danced . . .

. . . and danced . . .

. . . and danced. Here's the sunny girl and her street sister.

tangent: When you see this girl, just say, "Hey, munchkin! Pull my finger!"

And I am just so lucky, because I got to hang with one of my favorite families -- in from out of town for the Big Day . . .

. . . and I got to hang with these beauty queens. You have not had real fun until you have camped with these swingin' Girl Scout moms. Sometimes we even take our girls along.

It was just a wonderful day! And here's what I learned to say:

Ba-ruch a-tah A-do-nai E-lo-hei-nu Me-lech Ha-o-lam, she-cha-lak mei-chach-ma-to li-rei-av.

Blessed are You, HaShem, our G-d, King of the Universe, who has apportioned from His knowledge to those who revere Him.

-- a blessing to be said upon hearing an outstanding Torah scholar.

Cul-de-sac kickball

The urchins who live on our cul-de-sac range in age from seventeen to three; we have mostly girls with a few boys thrown in to spice things up -- and they are all up for a swell kickball game.

Home plate is the fabulous neighbors' driveway. This is the youngest fabulous neighbor -- rocking the cowboy boots, and ready to kick . . . some . . . kickball! First base is our mailbox, second is a manhole cover and third is usually the fabulous neighbors' pickup truck. The pickup often serves double duty as the bleachers.

Here's the fierce pitcher -- check out her scary, take-no-prisoners game face. Footwear for the serious kickball player is clearly based on individual preference. I think the pitcher likes the combination of support and height these flip-flops provide.

I have no action photos (the glamourous iPhone camera is not so much about the sports photography) but I do have a lovely collection of goofballs. Street sisters here.

The small boy is completely uninterested in having his picture taken, because dude! -- it's his turn to kick!

And while my youngest girl shows off her best Top Model moves, the commando behind her proceeds to steal third base. Hey, man -- it's kickball. A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do.

My oldest girl, making sure that all rules are strictly obeyed. The funny thing about the cul-de-sac kickball is that there really are very specific and well-understood rules that nobody fusses about -- and these rules are so obscure, esoteric and intricate that they make my head hurt.

But it seems pretty clear that for at least some players, it's more about the glamour than the kickball.

Here's what I love:

. . . Saturday evenings with the fabulous neighbors.

Sometimes we plan an actual block party and I say "we" in the sense that I show up with my assigned potluck supper dish, after the fabulous neighbors have done all the scut work.

But sometimes (like last Saturday) we throw together a more last-minute, spontaneous, "you bring the paper plates because I've only got napkins," pizza in the cul-de-sac night.

Funny -- I sense that some fabulous neighbors
hate to be photographed . . .

. . . while their husbands hog the camera.

I bonded with my tall boy, who loves to sit back and listen to the jibber-jabber.

As the night got cooler, we were happy to have the fire pit (courtesy of the fabulous neighbors, of course). The youngest urchin and her street sister pulled out the cozy blankets and kept on partying.

More fabulous neighbors -- parents of the street sister.

Blaze the wonder dog watches the . . . well, I guess he's watching the blaze, isn't he?