My name is Farleys D Destino Del Lago, but friends call me Charlie.
Being a puppy of a certain age has been challenging. There is this “potty outside” thing that is constantly being hammered into my being - not to mention sit, stay, off, no bark, and hearing my name, “Charlie” said as though I was in really deep trouble…(something about humping… ?) I guess you all know the drill.
But, tonight the education came to fruition; I went to my first restaurant where I finally got it. And, I had a date with a little cutie named Lucy, not to mention Comely Sonja - the hostess that greeted us. Wow. She made me feel most welcome among all the ‘beautiful’ people. Did I say we dined en plein air (Hey I am a poodle puppy… French Poodle puppy)
Apparently, this was no everyday kinda place - this was Daniel Boulud’s famous Café Boulud at the Brazilian Court in Palm Beach and they love, LOVE dogs! Chef Jim Leiken (who came down from New York’s Daniel) has created a dog friendly cuisine with such items as, for example, an 8oz prime beef patty (they hold the bun and onion) and little lemon Madeleine Cookies with just a hint of yummy powdered sugar).
I don't know if it’s the famous economy, or I'm just going through an I can't stand take-out anymore, but I've started to cook again. Not just grill a burger, which turns out pretty good when done on a stove top grill pan. I've actually been making vats of chile, or chicken and vegetables in marinara sauce, and freezing perfect portions in those great plastic containers everyone else in the world discovered before I did It's been a bone-chilling winter in New York this year, and coming home to something yummy that I can pop into the microwave, then actually eat straight from the container, has been life-changing. So that's what the room with all the white stuff that I used to go into all the time, is for.
I was ecstatic to be reminded of an old tradition by Martha Stewart in her magazine this month. 
Yesterday, my favorite author died. He was not exactly plucked in the flower of youth, being 91 and all. He also hadn’t published anything since shortly after my third birthday. Well, he didn’t ever publish a whole lot of anything, at least not anything I could easily get my hands on. He wrote three books, a collection of short stories, and a novella which appeared in “The New Yorker,” but which I have never found in buyable form. I have been trying really hard not to read anything being written about him right now, not blog posts, not opinion pieces, not even obituaries, because this is a private thing for me. I need a little time to think my own thoughts before I open myself up to a flood of writing about how Catcher in the Rye wasn’t really that great, how Salinger was not really very nice to his wives or his children, or how he was (pick one) overrated, underrated, wrong to become a recluse, right to become a recluse, etc. ad nauseum.