15 hours of sleep

That's what I got from the end of Saturday night to yesterday evening. I woke up at 6 pm. These allergy pills knock me out. So did my dream.

I was handed an award from some animal activist group (similar to PETA, but not that name) for saving a greyhound dog off a highway. What the hell I, the catwoman, was doing dreaming of saving a dog is beyond me. I got choked up onstage from looking at the little pup, and woke up in tears. Not that I wouldn't save a dog, but why was I crying at a podium? This weather must be making me more miserable than I can handle since my emotions have been very close to the surface lately.

In continuation of my dream, yesterday was Doggie Sunday. Everyone was out with pugs, daschunds, dalmations, shepherds, terriers, westies, and retrievers. The last time I saw this many pooches in one place was the Westminster dog show on TV! Of course, I stopped to pet all of them.

One particular dog, who is walked by a neighbor from 2 blocks away, is a samoyed and shepherd mix--all white, fluffy and gorgeous. Like a giant snowball with brown eyes and feet. The man is Muslim, and the dog answers to Arabic commands! Gotta love it. This guy should be a cat person, too, since most of the Egyptian store owners have cats, but he's a dog lover. He can't bring the dog into their stores for obvious reasons, so the other men and women go outside to talk to him. I was sure Mr. Doggie would bark and growl given the heat yesterday, but he was nice to all the children and nuzzled them with his wet nose.

I have to honestly say I love my neighborhood much better than my previous residence. All the food is fresh, the pastry and nut imports are all new (Halal law), they have cats, and the women are eager to practice their English with me, which reminds me of all the Russians I taught ten years ago. Inna and Roman are now 17. They were the first children I babysat from Moscow. They had never seen Sesame Street or Bugs Bunny. They also told their parents and friends about Wheel of Fortune after finding the english letters I taught them. In about one month's time, every Russian on my floor was watching it!

"Go to Annye [that's how they spelled my name], she will teach you words," they said.

My pockets were soon stuffed with dollar bills and my fridge was packed with fresh Russian meats and food. If they couldn't pay me in cash, I got a cream-filled spice cake or a bottle of cherry wine. Not a bad exchange! They bode their time until space in Sheepshead Bay or Coney Island opened up to join their relatives. Inna is now near Knapp Street, and Roman is on the cusp of Gravesend, near Ocean Parkway. He is quite a hockey player, I hear. I have very few memories like these, however, from that place.

Interestingly, many of my neighbors resented the Russians for their lack of warmth and their fur coats. Um, allow me to teach you some culture: Russians are not known for their warmth for two reasons--1)their language lacks articles, which makes it sound brunt and staccato; and 2) If you had lived through Stalin, Gorbachev, the KGB, and the evil politics of public housing during Communism you'd be neither very nice nor very trusting. As for their fur coats, many of my friends came from the outer regions which are an expanse of ice and snow from the end of October straight through mid-April, sometimes May. These coats are usually passed from one generation to another. Wool is actually harder to find than mink, muskrat or beaver since sheep aren't exactly hearty animals in -22 Farenheit degree weather. Mink is not a luxury, but a necessity to ward off the cold. That explains the clash between American "spoiled" thinking and the actuality of a harsh land, weatherwise and politically. Since I actually took geography in grammar school, they were very impressed that I could point out their homes on a world map. I also remember them laughing at me in January as I shivered in my synthetic wool while they had floor-length furs and t-shirts on underneath. "Americans don't have everything, you know," they'd say. I'd roll my eyes and agree. I miss them and their cream cakes, really.

And now I live in a sea of jahibs, the head scarves and robes covering the women. One, in my favorite 99 cent store, confessed a love for the 'small, white animals with the ears'.

"Rabbits?" I asked.

"Yes! That is the word. With the eggs, too [meaning chocolate, I imagine]," she said, smiling. I wonder if there is an Easter bunny for Islam? Maybe.

The immigrant culture continues in New York City.

(and I am still teaching words.)