Author: Stacy Horn

Please say no, please say no. Finney is at the vet now. I’m waiting to learn if he has diabetes or not. I’ve had diabetic cats before (two at once!) so I know a diagnosis of diabetes is not good but it’s not the end of the world. It’s expensive though. And a pain in the ass. And I gave away that handy little blood test taker thingy, thinking what are the odds, after having TWO diabetic cats, that I’d ever have one again??

Miles Swum So Far in City Lap Swim Contest: 14 + 35 laps. (I’m currently in 2nd place!)

Dogs and humans visiting on Hudson Street, in front of the White Horse Tavern. I love that look, the short shorts and the clunky boots. And look at the Great Dane eyeing the little Yorkie, who has more important things to look at.

I love when people have fun with these outdoor chalkboards. Ha. I just noticed that both of these are wine-related.

I really do wonder about people. A lot. The downed Malaysian jet. Who could do such a thing? But the news footage of protestors screaming at the unaccompanied migrant children, who must be so scared. What is wrong with people?

I don’t have an extra cent to my name, I have zero experience with children and I only speak one language, but I do have a spare bedroom. I’ve been thinking if someone like me is considering fostering, there must be others. Then I read this piece in the Times about how NYC is reaching out to the children and I was so so proud.

Maybe I’m not the best foster parent for these children, but perhaps there’s another way I can help.

Bleeck. He looks like such an angel when he sleeps.

The day started out well. I’d met a couple of detectives for lunch. We hadn’t seen each other in a while and it was great to catch up. But I get home and Finney is in distress, going in and out of the litter box every 15 seconds or so.

I call the vet, rush him over, and they find something (too gross to explain). They address it and he is a lot better by the time I get him home. So, YAY. Except, it’s possible that he might have diabetes. I can’t even think about that now. (Note to universe: please spare us.)

BUT, I get home and there are a bunch of messages from the vet asking me, “Where are you? Are you still bringing Finnegan??” In my panic I’d called the vet I used to take my cats too, years and years ago. They were waiting for me to show up. That also means I had shown up at my current vet without letting them know I was coming!

Thankfully, both vets were very gracious about my mistake. I am never leaving the house again.

Current Miles Swum Tally: 9 + 109 laps.

They’re asking volunteers and recovery workers to register at the 9/11 Memorial Museum and to upload pictures if you have them. I scanned a few. If it looks like we’re partying instead of working, we are. I think most of these came from a barbecue we had.

This is me and Elizabeth Garnsey, who I believe is now an Episcopal priest. We’re inside St. Paul’s Chapel where we (and many others) volunteered. Rescue workers could have a meal there, or just a cup of coffee (or tea or hot chocolate) and sleep. The walls and the pews were covered with the cards and letters we received from around the world.

This next one is me, Jean Pascuiti, Elizabeth (I don’t remember her last name!) and Dottie Connelly. It bugs me that I don’t remember Elizabeth’s last name. As far as I know, four people were mostly responsible for initiating and coordinating the volunteer effort at St. Paul’s and I only remember one of their last names! I hope someone will let me know the last names of the ones I’ve forgotten.

But those four people are Diane Reiners (also now an Episcopal priest!) Carter, Dennis, and Elizabeth.

That’s Dennis, me, Alicia Babbit Hoffman, and Carter. I should say, there were also a lot of other supplies for the workers at the Chapel. Things like basic first aid, boots, gloves, and so on. And besides volunteers like myself there were podiatrists, other healthcare workers, massage therapists, priests of all kinds, nuns, grief counselors and therapists.

That’s me coming down from the galleys, a favorite spot of mine. It was one of the places where the workers slept, so it was peaceful. It felt the most like a sanctuary up there.

That’s Rose Harrington-Coulter, (who has sadly passed on) Jean, Tim Ranney, me, and Dayle Patrick. I don’t know why Diane wasn’t in any of these pictures! But I filmed her ordination.