10/10/05

This letter was sent to me by my ex, Edwin. I really could not have said it all better myself so I am going to print it here. It describes my grief over New Orleans perfectly. After this...from here on out I'll start writing again. I think I'm ready to start talking about life and moving forward now, but bare with me through this letter. Also, I am not editing it for content-there is cursing in it, so if you don't want to read that, please skip over this post.

How do you say goodbye to a beloved friend or memory?

I went to New Orleans Friday, after visiting Old Mandeville. The devastation on the Northshore could in no way prepare me for the scene in New Orleans. As I came across the Causeway and looked towards West End, a sight soooooo familiar to me over the last ten years of commuting, I felt something terribly awry. I noticed this large dark spot where shiny roofs once stood. As I peered into the strange haze that hung over New Orleans Friday, I began to realize that what I must be seeing were the trees in West End Park! ....When I hit Bucktown I was speechless! I had not seen so much sky in Bucktown since I was six years old, before the trees had matured enough to cut into the sky line, the piles of debris stacked as high as houses along Poplar street. I missed my turn on Chickasaw, somewhat unsure of what street was which.

After spending several hours at Lisa's I ventured up to Hammond highway, down to Orpheum Ave. I parked and began walking towards West End Park. As I walked past the mound of rubble 50ft high, my vision cleared to the view up Orpheum Ave starting at where Sid Mars had been! Gazing northward I saw nothing but lake Ponchartrain. In shock I continued north to where the old Captain Brunnings house had stood so majestically for nearly a century.

As I walked onto the bridge that crosses over into West End Park. I stopped mid-bridge and stood in the spot that I have enjoyed for over thirty years to see nothing, absolutely nothing in West End park, nothing in "bucktown". It was then I began my repeating my mantra every few yards as I walked towards the New Orleans Yacht club..."It's fucking gone. it's all fucking gone"

I could hardly hold back the tears as I saw my favorite spot in New Orleans, the hill in West End park, trees uprooted, sailboats strewn about like the clutter of a messy childs toy room. As I walked over to the Yacht club, I could not believe how the harbor looked, the orderliness I so enjoyed of perfectly moored boots, their ropes coiled ever just so...heaped into a undecernable pile. The irony of the name of the boat that was thrown into the yacht club windows overlooking the harbor did not escape me..."BUSHWHACKED." I climbed up it's sheared mast to the second floor balcony, to see that the liquor bottles on the bar were still perfectly untouched, undisturbed. Only one was out of place: a bottle of Grand Mariner. I took the bottle, and sat on the balcony of the yacht club and had a final toast to the place most dear to my heart.

The place where I spent my childhood, my 20's parting the nights away, the place where I enjoyed po-boys with Lisa, Maggie and Schmidty's, thankfull that I had stolen the sign and the picnic table I so often had dined at.

Looking at the hill, with it's uprooted trees, the romance of the place where I first told you that I loved you...Fucking gone! West End...fucking gone! fucking gone! My New Orleans, fucking gone. I wanted to see more, but knew I had seen enough. I went to Folsom that evening, got drunk and cried.

Today as I left Louisiana, I took a picture at 11:07 a.m. I snapped a shot of Louisiana as seen looking into my rear view mirror as I crossed into Mississippi....It's the only looking back of Louisiana I wish to see; my Louisiana is fucking gone! Only now can I begin to imagine your pain of the last month. I'm sorry for not having understood what you must be going through.

Edwin

9/19/05

I'm in Baton Rouge in the new place, living with some folks I work with. All is as well as it can be for me. Got a few things out of the house with the help of Joanie and then some folks from work, Jason and Charlie. They are officially my heros.

Thanks to all of you who have sent clothing and supplies. I've been asked by a few to not name names, so I'm not going to any more. However...expect letters soon. (as soon as I find the time...its been crazy trying to straighten out my life.)

Thank you all for your letters of support, and most of all your prayers. I need them. Trying to keep my chin up here, but its damned hard. We are all leaning on each other for support right now....but we all need it.

I can honestly say that this is going to be a defining time in my life...I think about the things I was bitching about just a few weeks ago...and suddenly they seem so trivial. Incredible how it can all change so quickly. I'm mourning the life I really enjoyed now. But I'll be pulling it all together soon and trying to make this into a positive thing.

So excuse me if I'm a bit melancholy for awhile. I promise to be better later.

9/11/05

Today is the last day I will have internet access for probably some time. I will have Robbie check my email periodically to let me know what is going on. I will update as soon as I can.

9/09/05 6:30pm

As more women (and now men) find out that I am getting clothing...they are coming to me asking for any extras. I now have 5 women and their families who were completely devistated by the storm with whom to share things with. These are women that I work with and friends of mine.

So-if anyone out there has things to share, clothing, towels, hair driers, curling irons, anything you think could be used by families...please contact me and I will send you an address to ship them to.

You have my personal promise that I will give everything I get to people that I know who genuinely need it. I now have men and women of almost every size, from toddler on up, looking for clothing. My Unc has offered his house as a staging area for the items, so I am going to sort things there by size and gender and distribute them from the place where I will be staying in Baton Rouge.

There is a genuine need. The women I have promised clothes to are incredibly greatful. I am happy that I will have something to keep me busy when I am not at work.

Thank you, everyone who has sent things.....know that your kindness will go a long way.

9/09/05 6:30pm

kindness of strangers

The first boxes of clothes have gotten here today. 3 big boxes full of beautiful clothes....suits, pants, casual items, sweaters, all things that will be immediately useable. Folks have also sent candy, hats, magazines, stickers, money and gift cards.

You can not imagine how much this all means to me. I am now currently in contact with two women in Lakeview (the area that has been on the news right next to the 17th Street Canal who lost their entire homes); I plan on sharing what I get with them and their families along with my sister Amber.

Got word from friends yesterday who passed by my place that it is a total loss. The tar paper came off the roof with the wind and there is extensive rain damage to the stuff in all of the apartments. My neighbor got in yesterday-he says that the building will be unable to be salvaged...and to bring a respirator when I come to try to get what I can...the mold and sewerage stench is unbearable. I am heartbroken....but hopefully I will be able to get my kayaks and other items that aren't going to be damaged by water out. Just hope that they let the general public back in soon before the ceiling caves in.

I want to personally thank Brian, Mario and George and their wives and Marlene (and the folks from your office) from Ft. Lauderdale for the incredible packages they sent me. Also thanks to the folks on paddling.net who have been so kind.

Thanks also to Bonnie of Charlotte, N.C. for the wonderful box of clothes she sent.

Please be assured that everything will go to good homes and is MUCH NEEDED. Your kindness left me with happy tears today.

9/05/05 6:30pm

moonshadow

Well, what can I say? Its been an incredible week full of ups and downs. I have been trying to keep busy; along that line I took a job waitressing at a local "Southern Louisiana" themed restaurant, and the night before I was supposed to start, pulled my back so badly that I had to go to the emergency room and get a morphine shot. That was last Wednesday. I was just slightly better than bedridden for 2 days and was able to get around with great pain up until yesterday. Today I still hurt, but can walk without cursing too much. So, needless to say, I didn't start the temporary job.

Some good news: my office is going to relocate me, at least temporarily, to the Baton Rouge office, and I may be able to start as soon as next week. They are working on finding housing for the Orleans and Biloxi office folks who have been displaced by the storm. As of now I have no place to stay in that area. (I hope they find something...I'm anxious to get back to work. Need something to do right now to keep my mind off of the bad news.)

Still no word on how my apartment fared and I have no idea when I will find out. My drivers license is still in New Orleans, so I have no ID that places me as a Jefferson Parish resident, which means that they won't let me in to check on things. Of course, they are warning women to not come into the parish by themselves...so I wouldn't be able to go back right now anyway just from a personal safety standpoint.

Which brings me to my next problem. I have little in the way of clothes, and I don't really want to spend money on them right now because I need money for food and gasoline and possibly a place to live in Baton Rouge when the time comes. I can't get in touch with my financial guru to free up some of my savings....so I'm living on credit cards and the charity of others as of now.

So-prepare yourselves for the begging, because here it comes. Anyone out there who has old clothes that they are not using in sizes 6-8, please send them my way. I brought 2 pairs of jeans and 3 shirts with me when I left, one pair of tennis shoes and a pair of slides. Thats it. I would also take any men's jeans in the size of 31 or 32 waist, inseam 32 or longer. If you have any old shoes in a size 9, I would also greatfully accept them. You can not imagine how hard it is for me to even write this out...I can't believe I've been reduced to asking folks for help, but money is suddenly very tight for me, and I am really concerned about going into debt over this storm. (and yes I know I am in so much better of a situation than others....but it still devistating to me.) Of course, if any lent clothes need to be returned, I will do so. It would mean a great deal to me to get any donations of used clothes that I can. My sister Amber, who also recently returned to the area is about my size-maybe a size smaller. She could probably us some things too.

As for some of the other things that have been going on-folks have been incredibly generous to me. I have had complete strangers offer me cash. A company called Eyes, Lips, Face sent me an incredible care package of makeup and nail care items (more than I will probably ever use in years) for free, and my contact lens company 1800Contacts.com sent me a box of replacement contacts free. I have been totally overwhelmed by the support of these companies...doing what they can to help me and so many others who have been displaced by this hurricane. They have made a lifelong customer in me.

Robbie has been a Godsend to me this past week also-letting me live at his house, taking care of me when I couldn't walk or even get up to go use the bathroom. He will also keep Ms. Pickles here until I have a permanant place to live.

So my friends-that is my latest update. If any of you can help me with donations of clothes, I will try to repay you or return them to you eventually. I am hoping that my place was not looted or totally destroyed by the storm and that in a month I will be able to return there to see what I can salvage. Please continue to pray for everyone affected by this hurricane. My heart hurts for New Orleans. It was my city and I love it still. This may be my last post for quite some time; when I leave Robbie's place to go to Baton Rouge, I may not have a computer available to me where I am living. If you would like, e-mail me and I will try to let everyone know how I am doing and where I am in the world in a "mass e-mail" when I can. -tabby

8/30/05 6:30pm

I am desperate for information from friends and from folks I work with or anyone with real first hand knowedge of whats going on in Jefferson Parish. I do not know how to contact most of you all, so if by ANY chance any of you come here and read this, please text me on my phone. 504-834-4694. All cell lines seem to be down, so I do not have any incomming calls, but I can apparently get text. If not, you can also email me at suncat26@hotmail.com. (If I don't know you, please don't abuse my phone number. I am in a crisis situation with this hurricane and am looking at a major life change because of it.)

Ed Kirkley-WHERE ARE YOU! Call me. I am so worried about you...I still can't believe you stayed through this thing.

8/29/05 4:30pm

Go to wwL TV or WDSU for live news feeds and forums with viewer information on New Orleans-these are the local feeds. According to what I am seeing, Jefferson Parish near the lake, the area in which I live, is under anywhere from 3 to 10 feet of water. The Bonnabel Pumping station is out. Jefferson Parish officials are telling people NOT to come back and that we may not be able to come back for up to a week. The news from New Orleans East is also quite bad-supposedly the Eastover area (which is very near where I work) is also under 10-17ft of water. The national media is concentrating on the downtown area, which is relatively ok compaired to the suburbs. There are many reports of some rotten fuckers looting places in the city proper. May they all be caught and hung by their toenails.

My chi is all screwed from this, but I am maintaining my sick sense of humor.

8/29/05

If there is anyone in New Orleans or Jefferson Parish who can read this, (I know this is one heck of a long shot...I doubt there is power) Kirkley and Charlie in particular, please get in touch with me. We are hearing reports that the levee has been overtopped in some areas and I want to know if there is any truth to it. Kirkley-I tried to call you-can't get through. I hope you are ok.

It looks like we may have gotten lucky and caught the weaker side of the storm. Hopefully the folks in Mississippi will make it through this mess.

Babbling now...going to go do the Southern Woman thing and cook something complicated to take some of my attention away from this awful mess.

8/28/05

outta here

To my out of town friends who are concerned about me: I am in Ft. Worth; evacuated with Ms. Pickles yesterday. My Unc, my sister, and most of the people I have called have left. Please keep New Orleans in your prayers. It isn't looking good.

I have full email access here-should you need me for something, drop me an email through the website. To my friends in the New Orleans area that I haven't been able to contact, please call me if you read this somehow and let me know you are safe. (Dutch? Tu-Bobbi? Kirkley?)

It looks like I may be here for awhile if the worst-case scenario comes true, so I should have time to post more frequently.

8/21/05

is it in my head

Friday night Joan and LJ hosted an Arbonne party at LJ's crib (I love using that term for LJ & Robert's fine home.....). It was a broads only party, being that it was a skin care thing and it ended fairly early. No one really wanted to go out afterwards and I really didn't feel like going home but I didn't necessairly want to go out to a bar by myself either. Some of you know that I turned in Gertrude over the summer and bought a Jeep Wrangler (who's name is Trixie Rodger-for reasons I'll explain at a later date). Well, getting into Trixie is like putting on another form of "attitude" for me and needless to say, I love it. Its a much slower moving sort of thing than driving a sports car has been. Much more me. More like the me that loved my old white Chevy 2500 pickup truck. When I'm behind the wheel of this vehicle I feel like I'm going to go have an adventure, even if its just driving to work...and that really does do it for me.

So, thats kind of how I felt on Friday night after leaving LJ's. Like I wanted to be instantly transported to a country road somewhere, driving alone, listening to the raw rock sound of The Black Keys and smelling everything green. But the problem is that there are no roads like that around here. So I decided to tool over to City Park via Rober E. Lee. As soon as I crossed the canal that separates Lakeview from the park, the temperature dropped about 5 degrees, from 89 down to about 84. What an incredible feeling....like you could just feel the green settle down around your skin, the coolness of all of the trees and grass and water breathing out its goodness into the air. I turned onto Marconi, there were no other cars around so I drove at about 25mph admiring the full moon reflecting in the hyacinth filled lagoons to my left. There are no clouds in the sky and the moon shines brightly through the tree branches. I wonder how it is that I haven't been camping yet this year. How it is that I have not seen much in the way of stars. I drive for almost 30 minutes through the park until deciding that I've wasted enough fossil fuel for the evening and went home to bed.

On Saturday there wasn't much on the agenda until the evening...so I did the girl thing and went shopping, which I've discovered is a one hit deal in Trixie, because there is no security for your stuff without a trunk or the ability to really lock it up. I made it home for noon and decided that since there was no one in the pool that I would take advantage of it and go read a book and float around for a little while. Not 10 minutes after I get in, 2 women pull up in an SUV with pool type stuff looking for one of the residents. He comes out, and they hop into the pool. One of the women makes small talk with me and I took a good look at her face and realized that I knew her. "What is your name? I think I know you," I tell her.

"Renee," she tells me.

"Holy crap. We went to grammar school together. I'm Tabitha."

"Oh thats great," she says. "Then you won't mind if I fix my top," she says as she proceeds to completely remove her bikini top and reassemble it next to me in the pool. The catty bitch in me notices that she has a really great set of surgically enhanced boobs. She looks pretty good, considering I haven't seen her in 20 years. I get the distinct impression after talking to her for a few minutes that she doesn't remember me at all...which isn't a surprise. I was a mouse as a kid. She was a very outgoing, somewhat overdeveloped.... the always had a boyfriend and a detention type.

Both she and her girlfriend have the tatoos that I like to think of as some of the scars of rough living....tatoo bands around the ankles.

"Gooaaaaad....I wish we could go topless out heah," she remarks to her friend with all of the super heavy weight of a New Orleans drawl on her tongue.

"Do you really want every horny dog and his brother out here? This complex is full of dirty old men," I laugh.

She looks at me and smiles, "Don't worry baby, I can handle them. My apartment complex is like a little Melrose Place. I'm used to it."

Jeez, I wonder if she goes topless at her place. I'd imagine she does juggle a lot of men if she does.

The conversation turns to what we do for a living. She tells me that she sells used cars. I uncharitably think that her boobs sell used cars, but hey, you use what you got. She's got a body that doesn't quit. I understand that, and I respect her for it. She must do ok. She asks me if I have a wine opener, so we get out of the pool to go into my apartment to get it. Renee is facinated by the kayaks on the wall and the weight bench in the living room.

"Well I could tell by looking at you that you worked out...but damn girl, kaaaayyyyyakin? Aren't you afraid to be out there by yourself?"

"I feel safer out there alone than I do on a city street. You ought to try it sometime." (I am silently kicking myself for even thinking that I would take this woman kayaking.)

"Good gaod, girl. No way. I haven't exercised in yeaaaahs. Why do you think I look like this?" she says as she pulls some of the skin of her miniscule belly.

"Honey, if I could get away with not exercising and have a body that looks as thin as yours, I would, but I like to eat too much."

"Girl, ya gotta give something up if you wanna stay skinny," she tells me.

I think to myself that I'm not giving anything up. I like being in ass busting shape and I like my cookies and my steak and my beer, dammit.

Some pictures of the summer:

Joanie

Joanie again

Lj

Wolfpack

Rhonda

Kate

The infamous Blinky Hooker Shoes

me with my horse's ass

another of the ass's ass

Unc and I on the 4th

Robbie, Unc and I

Unc and I again

My cousin Amber (not my sister Amber), Unc and I

Robbie

Robbie again

Robbie and Miss Pickles

My familiar and I ;-)

7/04/05-8/10/05

romeo's tune

........................and just like that...summer is damn near over. It went by fast. I have recent memories of a damned good girl's weekend in Biloxi with LJ, Kate, Joanie and a few others; a hot saturday evening baseball game in Houston with the Rugger (Astro's/Mets); lots of exercise; nights on the back porch enjoying the New Orleans humidity and good tunes from the box; the 4th at my cousin John & Unc's house, not nearly enough paddling; nights spent curled up next to Robbie.

Time not alone.

There was some joking by one of the older pipers in the cube farm today about what he'd do if he won the lottery. He proudly mentioned that he'd be the one to keep it for the rest of his life (presumably because he's more frugal than the rest of us mortals). I jokingly replied that I'd be the typical "blow it all in a year" broad.....the type who gets hot men to fan her as she lounges around the pool and as a reward for their 20 minutes of service buys them a new Ferrari. They laughed; I've cultivated my "single girl" status well in my environment.

Later on another co-worker remarked that he was turning another man over to my command for training on a particular program, to which I cynically replied, "Great, another man to command. How much do I love that?"

He looks at me, "Girl, if you only knew. You've got anyone you want."

I looked at him like he was nuts. The same man thinks I should be dating a lot more than just one guy.

That one guy went back to Ft. Worth on Monday. Quite literally, I feel as though the rug just got yanked out from under my feet. Monday I was sad...Tuesday indifferent...today completely and totally insecure. (You know...ugly...stupid....like no man will ever really keep me around forever.)

This morning I was so distracted by my thoughts that I poured a bowl of cat food for myself instead of cerial. Thankfully I had enough presence of mind to not eat it.

Joan hit the nail on the head for me....I feel abandoned. After the crap I've been through with men...its no wonder. From my father on down the line ... the men in my life .... they don't stick around. I've never truly trusted a man fully. It will take an exceptional, hard working man to help me overcome 31 years of wondering when the axe will fall again. (Of course, my Grandfather and Unc are excepted from this-they are the only two shining examples of truely trustworthy, lasting and loving male relationships I've had. And I feel really lucky to have that. )

So stupid these feelings. Robbie loves me. He tells me he does. He has to go finish school...and I'll be damned if I will ever get in the way of anyone's dreams and hard work.

So here I am tonight, in front of you, God and the cat, wearing a nightgown that I think looks beautiful on me, having my own little pitty party.

Sad-after all this time you thought you'd come here and get some really great update on all the cool shit I've been doing this summer....

Well, I promise that I'll get to it...I just wanted you all to see that pathetic vunerable side of me that really isn't all strong and tough and smart and sexy. I'll be in better form tomorrow.

7/03/05

summer break

I'm still here folks...just taking a summertime break (because I've been damned busy.) Had a lot to write about...but I can't seem to get it all together. Plus, well, Robbie's in town and I'm trying to thoroughly enjoy the moments I have with him. So there it is...there's my sorry excuse.

But I do have lots of news...and I will write it all out soon....er....or later.

5/30/05

i'm in the mood for a different melody

Its been so damned quiet here in my house since I've gotten back from Philadelphia. Just haven't really found my groove. The running has fallen by the wayside and has been replaced by long walks and intense mental fugues...little snippets of life over the past year...human contact...real physical contact....something that has been sorely missing from the majority of my days. Living alone...I've grown to miss something as simple a physical touch...a hand on the shoulder...a real hug from someone who is comfortable enough with your body to hug you like a bear. I go too long without contact and I feel as though I live solely from behind my forehead....the accidental brush of someone else's leg against mine or a fingertip against my hands shocks me. Shocks my mind into remembering what my body misses.

Joe was in town briefly over the weekend on his way to Vermont for school after spending the past 5 months in Bryce Canyon doing a stint as a park ranger. We paddled in our typical section of the lake, rain heavy storm clouds looming large over us, catching up on life. Half way through our paddle, fat rain drops fall on the flat silver lake. The rain looks like big drops of mercury, each drop making ripples in the water. We both realized that in all of the paddling we did we had never been caught together in the rain. It was somehow fitting, knowing how our futures are on rapidly diverging paths.

As we near the end of the jaunt we skull the boats together so I can take his hat and glasses; he wants to roll the boat. Without words, he reaches out his hand to me to pull my boat closer to his. I take it. After the cold rain the warmth of his strong hand hits me with an electric shock. Instantly I think of Robbie and how I can't wait to have him in back in New Orleans. To have touch with the conviction of love, lust and desire behind it....to know that he'll be here all summer long...to reach out and simply hold hands and watch the rain.

5/09/05

homeward bound

I am pressing my face up against the plane window wondering what it would be like to fly. We are above a sea of clouds...it looks like a never-ending sheet of paper, perfectly smooth with a blue ribbon of sky at the end. My mind registers that clouds and fog probably feel about the same on bare skin. Suddenly I'm anxious for a foggy morning where I have nothing more pressing to do but go for a walk and listen to water wash up against the shore.

I am going home. It won't be long.

Random shots from the past month:

giant spark plug

Gus, John & Rick

Jerry & John

me

me again

again

Philly Harbor

submarine

sub again

John

O'Neil's Pub

Shot of some building in Philly

Me waiting in line at Jazz Fest

John and I at O'Neil's

Jerry and John at a cemetary in Philly

cemetary

John and Jerry on the submarine

bird in the cemetary

Mardi Gras Indians (Black Feather, I think)

Robbie

more indians

Kate and Joanie of Wolfpack fame

me at the fest in my cowboy hat

Kate who rules!

oh yeah.....there's a shot!

Kate again

Kate some more

baybee

me

Black Feather indians

Robbie contemplating the Fest lines

5/08/05

manayunk and philly

Go to The Ugly Moose in Manayunk if you are up in Philly. Cool place, damn good food, beautiful town. Wish there was more time to explore the neighborhood.

We only have a half work day today and most of the crew has decided to do something cultural like go to a museum. John, Jerry and I have much less lofty ideals and do a pub crawl through Philly in the afternoon. We have cheesesteaks and beer at Campo's. We have beer at O'Neils (while listening to what sounds like Irish Rap) and another beer at yet another Irish Pub. We have a beer on a clipper ship, the Moshulu. Its packed with folks celebrating Mother's Day. I haven't even had the time to go find a card for my mom. On the phone in the morning I promise her that I'll get her a belated gift when I get back home....TOMORROW!!! The whole thing went by a whole lot faster than I thought it would and I'm so thankful I won't have to stay here a month.

5/1/05

seven twelves

Honestly, I did not think that a 12 hour day could go by so fast. We will be working these hours with no days off until further notice. There is too much to do and not enough time to get it all done. Will probably get out of here a lot earlier than originally though though due to much ass busting by all the guys here. I'm working with a great group of men, all characters and easy to get along with . Even my boss is cool. Go figure. ;-)

The Wolfpack sent me up with orange nailpolish in my care package; the guys got a kick out of my day-glo matching nails.

Had a few Philly cheesesteaks in the cafeteria; they are surprisingly good...need to find a recipe to make these at home. Currently averaging about 5 hours of sleep a night. Running on nervous energy and coffee now. Missing home but so far this experience has been like nothing else. I'm learning an incredible amount in a very short time and having really good time in the process. Usually I get together with some of the guys and go out for dinner and beer in the evening. The food can be hit or miss depending on the place. Yuengling beer is quite good though. Nice head and a fine colour. I will be looking it up when I get home.

4/27/05

crunch

Jerry has had me copying old drawings from the archives of this facility. Most of them are real honest to goodness "blueprints" (blue background with white lines). Some of the drawings are originals. The artistry of many of them, particularly the structural drawings, amazes me. All were done 50 years or more ago, and most with obvious care by talented, detail oriented men who are probably long since retired or passed on to the underground. John, a senior designer, affectionatly calls the old style, which also happens to be his style, "Cave CAD." Every line is perfect, every angle precise. Hatching done with thought to perception and depth of field. One particular drafter's initials keep sticking out at me...his work better than the others. I wonder who he is...if he's even still alive. No doubt his hands are either quite still or quite shakey.....no doubt in my mind that there is no in between for him 52 years after the creation of these fine drawings I see at this moment. I carefully make full size photocopies of his work and wonder what sort of life he had, if he was appreciated. If anyone would even recognize his work...or his three small initials at the bottom right hand corner of the dry, cracked parchment. I can't help but to admire him, looking back through imagined time at his dying craft in a computer saturated world.

Carefully I copy each old, yellowing sheet.....they feel powdery to the skin but have lost any chemical scent. The nose tells me they are old and that is all.

Its the weekend so no one is working in the basement copy room but me. The roll runs out on the copier, so I pull out a very heavy new "E" size roll from a box a few feet away and load it up onto the spool. I get the roll started and fed in, thinking its not too complicated for such an old machine. As it feeds through I hear it crunch up in the back of the big grey copier.

"CRAP!" I say needlessly to the empty room and immediatly try to start fixing the problem I've created. The orange nomex is hot now and I'm covered in sweat as I realize that I can't figure out how to open up the back of it and pull through the paper. I try to pull the paper forward but it tears and is hopelessly stuck.

As I'm silently cursing my luck a young buck wanders through the room and sees me strugling with the machine and heroically comes over to save the resident damsel in orange from her most current source of distress.

"Do you know how to operate this beast?" I ask him in my best flirty voice....which seems unconvincing to me given my sweaty state and the orange nomex jumpsuit I'm doning.

"Of course I do," he responds in a commandingly manish way.

"Great," I tell him. "I've got the paper jammed in the back."

My would be hero looks in the back of the machine, tuggs on the paper shreads coming out of both sides, presses a few buttons on the front, turns an unbecoming shade of red and mumbles something about how he's never actually fixed one of these "things" before and high tails it out of the room without so much as a goodbye.

I wander back to our company trailer and announce that I've screwed up the copier. They tease me about it but tell me to go see about NOT screwing up the one in the front building because they need these copies. I make a mental note to ask for help with loading paper should the other copier run out.

Having not made a big enough ass of myself with the copier, that night when we go out to dinner, I do a song for the crew at a karayoke bar...thus sealing my fate as office gossip fodder for the next month at the very least. I'm learning to not take myself too seriously. Life is to fun when I don't.

4/27/05

philadelphia freedom?

"Look at that," Carrie laughs. "Nonstop to Philadelphia!"

"Ugh. I know," I reply looking at the billboard on the side of the highway across from Louis Armstrong International Airport.

"You should be glad - nonstop is the way to go," she chastises me.

Thank God for all my surrogate New Orleans Mommas and Poppas. They keep me in line. Carrie is dropping me off at the airport for what will probably be a month long business trip to Philadelphia with the new job. I'm not exactly thrilled about going at the moment. May is the best paddling month of the year and I've been told I could be there till the very bitter end of May depending on how quickly the project moved along. I'm trying to look at this whole thing as another big "adventure" and a damned good way to pad my walet with some extra cash for the summer and my mind with some fresh knowledge for this new job.

Not too many folks are flying today so I breeze through the checkin and wait to board. Don't know about you all but I really do enjoy flying even though every time I fly I think that the plane is going to blow up. Usually I make my peace with God when I find my seat and await my destiny, whatever it may be. Must be something about giving up control that makes me feel like this. Of course...I feel out of control completely. Work has dictated this next chapter of my life, this flight and what looks to be a complete lack of kayaking this month.

Southwest has nice comfy seats. I grab one by the window and put on Beck "Pay no Mind."

"Well, if the plane blows up I'll finally feel what death is," I think morbidly to myself, but I smile as the 737 thrusts its big brown plane self up into the ether carrying me and a bunch of old tourists away from my beloved home.

Once airborne, I see Veterans Hwy then Williams Blvd; we pass over West Esplanade. How many times have I driven on these roads? Then we hit Lake Ponchartrain and bank to the right. I can see my apartment. I can see where I usually launch the kayaks. I think about my wolfpack paddling without me....and I hope they do. I imagine Miss Pickles sitting on the back porch on Anole Patrol, lazily flicking her tail back and forth, eyes half closed in the warm late April sunlight. In my cluttered mind I can smell incense and fresh cut bermuda grass.

"I just found me a bottle of blues...." Beck sings into my ears. I press my forehead against the taupe plastic surrounding the window. The little notebook Kate and Joanie gave me in a wolfpack care package is poking out of my beat up old blue sackadu. The plane hasn't blown up, so I write.

4/24/05

da fest

Robbie came to town for his first Jazz Fest on Friday. That evening Joanie, Kate, Bob, Mister Hot Gorilla Stuff and I enjoyed Popeye's, red wine, cheese and a beautiful evening on the levee behind my apartment. Bob entertained us with some guitar playing and we all made fools of ourselves singing and trying to get Percy the Cat to eat fried chicken. Joanie and Kate gave me pointers on things to see in Philly. Some of my neighbors joined us on the levee and together we polished off 5 bottles of red and a few beers. One of the highlights of the evening was Bob and Robbie making gorilla and horse noises at each other across the parking lot at midnight as Joanie and Bob were departing.

The fest was an incredible, beautiful, colorful blur. Robbie let me drag him around to all the acts I wanted to see; his only request was one gospel group and James Taylor. My favorite acts this year were the Head Hunters Mardi Gras Indians, Kermit Ruffins and the BBQ Swingers, The Campbell Brothers, and John Cleary with his Absolute Monster Gentlemen. Thank you again, Jimmy Bone Jakon for the tickets. They were well used and much appreciated.

4/18/05

dirty life and times

First day jitters....operating on very little sleep, I get up at 6 am to apply makeup and do my hair, anxious to make at least a good physical impression on my first day. I've worked myself into blotchy skin and exhaustion worrying about everything. I look in the mirror at zits on my chin. Out loud I tell my reflection that at 31 I shouldn't be getting zits any more. Pickles thinks I'm talking to her. She bats her eyes at me and "brrooow's," waiting not so patiently for the diet cat food to magically appear in her bowl. I make a vain attempt to cover the angry red blotches on my face, and just give up when I realize I'm starting to look like a Geisha. Think about eating, but I'm worried I won't keep it down, so I just head out the door early, forcing my car in the other direction...away from Kenner, across town to my new job.

Quite frankly I'm terrified, and I can't figure out why. Changing jobs used to be something of an adventure for me-the chance to meet new people, learn something new. It occurs to me that I'd gotten QUITE comfortable at Rahman's and really, I had ceased to grow. And it was surprising how easy it was to do.

Fast forward to the drive over. Venus Hum blasting at top volume, I'm singing at the top of my lungs to keep from being any more nervous than I already am. Be very greatful you weren't in the car with me. It didn't sound good, I can assure you. I park in the front of the building and walk in, feeling like everyone for miles is watching for my appearance on the new stage. Of course, no one is. Its just my paranoia at work. Whenever I feel most insecure, I find I walk with my head up and my shoulders back. People always tell me I have "such good posture" when I know its just because I want to force myself to not feel so little.

My palms are sweating as I pull open the front door. This place is so big it actually has a real receptionist, who's job is to just direct people and answer general calls. She's a young woman, very pregnant, wearing a yellow tee shirt that says "Baby" with an arrow pointing to her baby filled stomach. She looks down her nose at me, sniffs loudly and asks how can she help me. I tell her its my first day and I need to see my recruiter. She tells me to take a seat "over there" and she'll call the recruiter at 8am. Its 7:45. My stomach decides that its hungry and proceeds to give me an audible wakeup call. I roll my eyes at myself. Couldn't you have told me earlier, I think at my uncooperative gut. I eat a peppermint. The grumbling shuts up for a few minutes and I have time to look around at what will soon be my new surroundings. Everything is painted in varying shades of light grey and blue. There are stained glass plaques with the company logo hanging around the reception area. Pretty fancy for an engineering office I think. My old office was nothing fancy; when you walked in you saw lots of stacked papers on the front desk, and if you went around the Cube Farm wall you saw the absolute crapper that was my desk, perpetually covered in papers, toy motorcycles and cars, a man doll with big feet, and a few kayaking pictures. It wasn't fancy but it felt like home.

A few minutes after 8 a woman calls me to the back to meet with my recruiter, sign my life away and begin my big day at the new place. I literally have to sign something like 30 or so pages. Never have I signed so much before beginning a job. Guess thats what they do in big firms though-so many folks, lots more law. No engineering anarchy, no liberal atmosphere. Missing my old job already. Something in the back of my head is telling me to get up, and run for the nearest door as quickly as my black high heels will take me. A little bit of dignity tells me to keep my ass in the chair. My stomach growls wolfishly at my girly dignity. I roll my eyes. What a project I am. My recruiter tells me I'll fit right in.

So far so good.

Gotta tell ya'll thank God for kayaking though. Damn has it been good to get out on the water lately.

I'm getting my own little pack of women here to kayak with. Joan has recruited Kate to kayak with us and we are having a blast terrorizing the "high seas," hollering at people (read cute guys) on the shore with their dogs (Robbie, don't read into that part baby-I'm only kidding.... and that thing with the hot coast guard guys....it was a joke too....;-) - my girl wolf pack will back me up on this.

I'm feeling strong in so many ways right now....its damned good. I didn't think I was capable of working this hard or working out this hard. Odd how that IS its own reward.

Confidential to my many paddling buddies out there who read this.....isn't it just friggin great to be back out on the water?

4/02/05

moonlight mile

Its like everything has been rushing by me and I can see it all with a perfect nervous clarity....and now that I've made some big decisions: I start a new job on the 11th, I know I have given my heart away to Robbie, I am so constantly busy.....suddenly its felt like I've stepped off the edge of a cliff and what was rushing by is flying now. And I can't seem to slow it down. I'm scared. I'm excited. I'm terrified of the future. I keep wanting to put everything on hold...to hit some imaginary pause button that isn't there. I just want to sleep or walk alone in the woods or be in the middle of a great body of water where I can't see the land...just long enough to really stop and think for a good long while....to wrap my head around it all.

But I can't. None of us can stop it all and totally regroup. We have to keep going. Everything keeps going on without us anyway. No one stops and waits.

My biggest problem lately is trust, I realize, as I reread what I just wrote. I don't trust myself to handle a new job (even though I'm confident to know that I can handle anything anyone throws at me); I don't trust giving my heart away again (do I really want to get hurt again? Are the wonderful feelings of being in love worth the seemingly inevitable pain that comes with it for me? I know that I want "forever" but is that a fairy tale? Am I too simple minded to have that elusive lifelong love? Is he ready for me? I'm a finely wired handful. Just ask my previous loves.)

I know why people want to know the future. Funny thing...its the same for all of us. We all die. So in the meantime...we live. And life goes by fast.

Some images from the past few weeks.

white tiger

more tiger

tigers

Robbie at the zoo

sleepy tiger

Robbie with a "fake snake"

yaks

me with yaks

sleepy bear

3/25/05

gasp

Have you all seen "Dog the Bounty Hunter" on A&E? I have not been able to look away since I stumbled across it this evening. This dude physically reminds me so much of my old man its scary. (A much nicer version of my old man....but he looks like him.) Even the way he speaks and interacts with people reminds me of my old man. Weird.

3/12/05

68

Happy Birthday Unc! (Uncle Puddin! hehehheh!) Thanks for showing me up in UNO today too. Your luck with rooftops may not be worth a darn, but your game luck is a heck of alot better'n mine.

I love you. Know that my view of life has been greatly shaped by you and the positive way that you view things. Thank you again for showing me how to see the beauty in simple things; even though you never set out to actually teach, your example was all I needed.

3/09/05

saturday kayaking on the lake

Happy Birtday Joanie! Pictures from Saturday's short paddle:

Joanie at Bonnabel Boat Launch

Marvin checking his boat at before we launch

Marvin in his new Kayak Sport (that is one massive boat)

Joanie on the lake

me and my big cheeto colored Richard (don't slap me for that-it really is the same color as a cheeto-I'm beginning to think of the boat more as the Cheeto and less as Richard. Maybe it should just be Richard the Cheeto.)

Marvin with the boat on his caw after the paddle

Me again

How much do I love warm weather? I swear if I was a duck I'd migrate. Yet another reason to come back in another life as a duck. Plus I could probably get a paying gig with Aflac.

3/08/05

feline butterology theory

stolen without permission from the Veter-nary BrainTrust at Driftwood Animal Hospital aka Dr. Mike (Miss Pickles doctor)...my regards Docta Dawg, this brilliant bit of thought was just too damn funny to not preserve in print.

If toast always lands butter-side down, and cats always land on their feet, what happens if you strap toast on the back of a cat and drop it?

Even if you are too lazy to do the experiment yourself, you should be able to deduce the obvious result. The laws of butterology demand that the butter must hit the ground, and the equally strict laws of feline aerodynamics demand that the cat cannot smash its furry back. If the combined construct were to land, nature would have no way to resolve this paradox. Therefore it simply does not fall.

That's right, you have discovered the secret of antigravity! A buttered cat will, when released, quickly move to a height where the forces of cat-twisting and butter repulsion are in equilibrium. This equilibrium point can be modified by scraping off some of the butter, providing lift, or removing some of the cat's limbs, allowing descent.

Most of the civilized species of the Universe already use this principle to drive their ships while within a planetary system. The loud humming heard by most sighters of UFOs is, in fact, the purring of several hundred tabbies.

The one obvious danger is, of course, that if the cats manage to eat the bread off their backs, they will instantly plummet. Of course the cats will land on their feet, but this usually doesn't do them much good, since right after they make their graceful landing several tons of red-hot starship and cheesed-off aliens crash on top of them.

3/07/05

always

Warm Sunday morning headed down Highway 61 looking at scenery from behind the wheel which gives birth to a thousand separate jumbled thoughts. Notice the sugar cane planted in a field to my right is about a foot high. I fly past it at sixty miles an hour on my way to Garyville to visit a man I know I'll always love. A character with one of the most colorful lives a man could live and the stories and eyes to back them up. A strong hard headed man I can count on for the truth, for wisdom based on experience and for love that has no conditions. I hope all of you have one person in your life like this man. Like my Unc.

A couple of Friday's ago my favorite coonass decided to patch his roof in the rain. As he was decending the roof, he slipped and as his not so great luck would have it, fell off the roof onto his wrist, cracking it neatly along with a couple of ribs. He can't fish one handed (well, he says he could fish, its taking the fish off the line that would be the problem) so he's pretty bored cooped up in the house. I went over there to visit, complete with Scrabble, beer, cokes, garlicy soft cheese and crackers. We cooked a deer backstrap, stuffed with garlic, some pasta with alot of garlic, and green peas (and no...the peas just had butter.)

Cooking is a bonding experience. Sharing the way you cook, your secrets, how you season things. Its an important part of sharing yourself. Its also cultural. By helping Unc cook, I learn things he's known since he was a kid. Things he picked up from his mother, from his aunts and uncles. These things, they learned from their families. Cooking is important. Unc makes his roux differently than I've seen. It makes for a really wonderful gravy base. He uses thyme, a spice I rarely use. As he shakes the thyme into the pot, he jokes about how good food takes thyme.

Out of the corner of my eye I watch him walk slowly around his little, but open and light kitchen as I stir the roux to keep the onions and celery from sticking to the bottom of the pot. He grunts and breathes heavily with the effort of moving his still sore body, broken wing wrapped in a white cast signed by his grandchildren, years of cigarette smoking having taken their toll on his wind. I smile secretly and etch the sound of his voice in my brain. We drink Coors light. When the food is safe on the stove he pulls out the Scrabble board and soundly kicks my ass.

"I can't spell worth a shit, Toots. You should be ashamed to loose to me," he laughs in his gravelly too many cigarettes voice.

"Ahh, you're just lucky, thats all."

"Hmff," he smiles and looks levelly at me, breaking into a story.

After a couple of beers I excuse myself to tinkle. As I am washing my hands, looking around his little bathroom, I notice that he has small kitten pictures on the wall next to his medicine cabinet. He's probably the only man in Garyville with kitten pictures in his bachelor bathroom. Of course he also has a race car shower curtain, so I guess that balances things out.

Throughout the day I get stories of his childhood. Of the house he grew up in at 1132 Elysian Fields. He tells me the exact layout of the house; who's bedroom was who's. He tells me of the first car he bought. A 1937 Fiat Topolino. He was 13 years old. Didn't know how to stop a car or start it, but he knew how to steer. He and a friend of his pushed the car two or three blocks to his house. The car cost him 25 bucks, money earned from a paper route. It had a soft top. When he and his friend got it running they hit both the house and the fence several times backing it out of the driveway and rolled over the yard gate before making it out to the street.

He tells me stories of time spent at Madonna Manor and of his time in the Navy during the Korean War.

He tells me about the first time he looked in a bar when he was a little boy, a place called the Iron Cat around the corner from his house, about how it had wooden floors, small tables and chairs that were arranged around a potbelly coal burning stove that sat in the middle of the room. About how the barkeep scared the living hell out of his little 6 year old boy self and he never looked in the place again.

He tells me about the Canal-Villere food market and how its name came from the first store being situated at the corner of Canal Street and Villere Street. He tells me about his mother and how good she was.

He tells me about how life was so much more simple back then. About how people were poor but they were happy. About Christmas and how folks used to exchange bags of nuts and fruit for gifts. About how the Christmas tree had real candles on it. About parties where his job was to keep the Victrola cranked up. His memories are not dark and I get a rare, sweet look into his world. Seven hours fly by.

"Why do I always tell you all this crap? I tell you things I've never told anyone before."

"Because you know I'll remember, and I'll write it all down."

3/03/05

nother anadyr

Could not help myself. The Seal has a good home...missed the Anadyr....so I bought another one. (This is Cowtown's unofficial-official new Ride...the one he's going to brave sharks in with me to go to Horn Island)

She's been christened the Lady Chanel (thanks Mr. Bob at Splashdance for selling me another beautiful boat, and Marvin, I OWE YOU BIG TIME for bringing her to New Orleans. You saved me a long day's drive. Breakfast at Camelia Grill is in your future for that favor.)

nanner boat 1

nanner boat 2

nanner boat 3

nanner boat 4

nanner boat 5

nanner boat 6

nanner boat 7

Richard's hood ornament

2/22/05

doggone

Its staying daylight later...late enough to paddle after work. Today's high was around 70 degrees again. I was suposed to go help Lisa Jo work on the "Club H....." but she canceled out. I emailed Joanie to go kayaking. She came over right before 5:30 and we hauled the two kayaks out to the lake as fast as we could, intending to get about an hour on the water before the sun went down. Not a minute after we are in the boats, a woman comes running along the shore asking us to save her "little dog" who decided to go for a swim and apparently forgot which way solid ground was. She points in a general northwest direction and Joanie spots a head in the water she thinks is a dog. Its about a mile away from us. The water is pretty damned cold.

"Pull ahead if you can, see if you can catch him," Joanie says to me.

I start busting it in Richard the Q...wishing I had a wing paddle, but was pleasantly surprised to find that the Greenland blade is actually as fast as a wing. The Q is light and fast; I pull ahead and when I was about a hundred or so feet away from the dog, I called back to Joanie, "This isn't a 'little' dog, Joan-its a damned Lab!"

I hear the big "s" escape her lips as I move to cut off the lab who is dog-paddling due north....into the direction of 24 miles of open water. As I get up to the dog I calculate that there is pretty much no way we'll be able to get a fifty pound struggling dog into either of the boats so I managed to turn her around and point her to land. Joanie catches up, reaches over and holds the dog to give it a chance to rest. We take turns doing this while trying to figure a way to get her into one of the boats. For the record, I didn't particularly want my fairly new damned expensive gel coat to get gouged and I certainly didn't want to take a dip in the cold water either.

I cursed myself for not bringing a tow rope. With us paddling so close to the shore, I usually don't bring one, figuring that there isn't a reason to have one. Now I know better. I will never leave home without a rope again.

For about a half an hour, Joanie and I took turns supporting the weight of the dog, and encouraging her to swim. We had to keep the kayaks on either side of her to keep her from turning north. (still can't figure why she kept going in that direction.) It was quite a struggle and we were both plenty pissed by the time the dipwad owner waded out to retrieve his dog from us. The poor dog was exhausted, eyes bloodshot, body hot as can be, gulping in nasty lake water trying to stay afloat and paddle to land.

The moron who owned her wasn't exactly greatful, but then again he did have the good sense to look mildly embarassed and to quietly thank us. There was no mistaking the look on Joanie's face; he could tell we were both ready to lay into him for encouraging his dog to swim without a lead. Joanie told him as much. (Yeah Joanie, you rule! What a firecracker!)

As we were paddling off, another boater leisurely pulled up near us to see if the dog still needed help. I think its a damn good thing we got out there when we did...because that dog probably would have gone unseen and drowned in the darkening evening. About ten minutes later as we were paddling back, dusk rapidly settling into night, a big Coast Guard rescue boat full of young bucks pulls up wanting to know if we had called about the dog. When they found out we actually managed to rescue said pooch, they were pleased. We got back onto shore right as the last light was fading from the sky. Big full moon overhead.

"I think that there is a reason we paddled today...and that dog was it," Joanie tells me.

"Woman, I think you are right, but I'd still like to smack the hell out of that moron dog owner," I reply, swatting off the zillionth mosquito of the evening and shaking my head, "everything happens for a reason."

2/20/05

winter sunday in the south

My friend Joanie has been getting into kayaking when she has the time and we can mesh our schedules. She e-mailed me Thursday to goad me into taking the yaks out on Sunday afternoon, since the forecast said the temps would reach about 70. She knows my standard answer about kayaking, "Its on! When can you get here?"

When she got here at 1pm, I had already gotten Richard the Q up on the car and was waiting for her to help me with the Seal. She surprises me by arriving with a check to actually take the Seal off my hands. We'd been discussing her buying the boat, since its a bit too small for me, but is the perfect size for her. Great for me too, because now that I've got "space" for another boat I can get a bigger kayak to bring other (bigger) people in, and I won't have to squeeze into the Seal. (Yeah, I HATE giving up Richard-I feel like I've earned my place inside that fine orange and yaller kayak.)

So off we go to Bayou St. John. At the base of Robert E. Lee and Wisner we see a group of folks with a few canoes. An excellent place to launch in my estimation, so we stopped there and unloaded the boats. The kids come up to talk to us about the kayaks. They are from University of New Orleans Civil Engineering school and they are working on their Concrete Canoe project for the annual concrete canoe race in April. They were out paddling their fiberglass prototypes and working on their paddling strength. If you could have seen these fiberglass canoes, you'd have freaked; they were so fragile and flimsy you could literally deflect them with your hands. Not something I would have gotten in. Water was WAY too cold for a swim, even with the balmy overcast day.

Joanie tried my new Greenland style paddle - and she really enjoyed using it, so I'm assuming I'll have another "traditional" convert soon. Hopefully with her buying the boat, I'll get more water time in with a friend, since she'll be more motivated to kayak now that she owns one! Know what the best part of all this is? I get to go shopping for another kayak. Know what the weird thing is? I'm thinking about buying another Janautica Anadyr. Can't help it. I just think they are sexy boats, especially in red. (Speaking of traditional converts...JOE! Where are you?? I got your voicemail after you left. Tried to call-no answer, and no voicemail. Tried your emails, both got bounced back. I know you read my site-will you please email me and let me know how the heck you is, baby? Sorry we never hooked up before you left town.)

In other Non - Sunday news, spent most of my weekend cleaning up my bachelorette pad and exercising. Amazing how you can have a neat house and not have it be clean at the same time. I dusted, vacuumed, scrubbed and organized everything (except my overfull closet-I need an objective opinion and some help there. Its really hard to throw out shoes and clothes.) Rearranged some of the art, moved the big wooden screen, and bought a new, non granny-fied duvet cover. The flowers on my old bedspread were actually starting to agrivate me. Definitely not sexy bed attire for a young chicky-babe like me (cough...hack). Miss Pickles approves of the new red duvet. She keeps inviting her boyfriend Mister Percy the Orange over to take naps on my new bed spread. Damn cats.

Percy napped out

Pickles napped out (notice how smug she looks)

Percy and Pickles on the unmade bed

2/13/05

post birthday ramblins

I had the good fortune of being able to spend the long Mardi Gras weekend relaxing with Cowtown up in Fort Worth. We cooked a terriffic chicken and tasso gumbo for the Superbowl party at his friend's house. They poked good natured fun at my Nawlins accent, but enjoyed the king cake and the good Louisiana cooking. I don't mind people who think I sound funny. Hell, I think they sound pretty damn funny too with their nasal twang stiff cracker selves. I'm pretty damn comfortable with who I am. I am a Child of New Orleans and damn proud of it ;-)

Cowtown and I had breakfast at the Ihop on the 8th and we parted company. I jokingly told him I'd have the box of Godiva chocolates he gave me for lunch/dinner since the drive takes about 8 hours. Settled into a routine of eating one chocolate per hour. Finished the box by the time I got home. Listened to very loud music, sang along. Recieved birthday calls from friends. Talked to Unc...well....Unc and I gossiped. We're good at that. Made it home right around 5:30, just in time to see the parades in Metairie wind down. Its been a nice short week, with one minor hitch. I caught the flu. A-freaking-gain. Friday night I think I would have paid fifty bucks for a big bottle of orange juice to have magically appeared next to my bed. I think that is one of the things that really stinks about being single. No one to take care of you when you are sick. No one to listen to you bitch and bring you kleenex. No one to heat up chicken noodle soup. No one to pet your hair and tell you that you'll be fine soon. (Cowtown did a damn fine job of listening to me whine and tell me funny stories over the phone...but it just ain't quite the same as having someone there, ya know?)

I'm feeling much better today. First thing I did was go get a bunch of frozen orange juice and put it in the freezer. Bought some of those tall colorful religious candles with angels and saints and devils underfoot because they remind me of my grandparents. Sat out on the back porch and watched the wind blow the super green grass around. Eavesdropped on conversations of people walking by on the levee. The wind blew them right to me. One young couple walking an exuberant little dog was arguing about moving across the lake. He was telling her he didn't want to get up an hour and a half earlier every day to drive over here for work. She was loudly telling him in a very whiney voice that it wouldn't be THAT much of an inconvenience, because she hates it here and she'd be happier there. Somehow she struck me as the type that just won't be happy anywhere. Bet he was thinking the same thing. While I sat out there I drank hot tea and pondered the fates of each couple passing by. Watched Miss Pickles stalk bugs. Enjoyed the dark overcast day and the warm weirdness of Southern weather on the Gulf Coast. Took out my contact lenses so everything could be in that beautiful soft focus that comes with piss-poor eyesight.

One of the conversations Cowtown and I had this past week was about food that reminds us of our family. He was telling me that ribbon-candy reminds him of his grandparents...that they used to keep it year round in a pretty bowl. I had never even seen ribbon-candy before. He showed me what it looked like...its beautiful. Looks like glass. Too pretty to eat. I told him how red beans and rice remind me of my grandpa. Every time I make red beans, every time I eat red beans, I think about him. Sometimes I can still feel exactly what it felt like to sit at the table in the kitchen on those funky brown pleather padded chairs and watch him. (Those pleather chairs ruled, actually. They had wheels and they swiveled. Imagine the fun we had with those chairs on terrazo floors.) He only kept 2 types of bread around the house: French Bread and white Bunny Bread for beans - that perfectly soft stuff that just smells exactly like how store bought bread should smell. He would butter his bunny bread before he ate, and lay it on the side of the plate with his beans. I think I remember him putting vinegar and oil on the beans, like how some people do for a salad. Sometimes he'd tell us stories about growing up during the depression. The ritual of buttering bread would sometimes bring back one particular story about how there was no butter to be had when he was a kid. His family only got oleo when he was a kid because butter was too expensive. Apparently oleo was a pre-margerine type of spread, that came with some sort of bean or something that you mixed into the oleo to give it a yellow color. Even as an old man, grandpa and grandma refered to margerine as oleo. We did too, growing up. Funny how after they died...we called it butter. Hadn't even thought of the word oleo in years. I think I need to bring it back to my vocabulary.

Confidential to my Sister Shannon: Happy 24th Birthday Toots!

Confidential to Miss Cathy: Happy Birthday Brownie Woman!

Confidential to Paco (Francis):Happy Birthday to my Jazz CD makin friend!

2/01/05

edit

strikes again. Just whaaaat are you trying to say here Kirkus, my most favorite buddah impersonator?

1/29/05

shooda wooda

dragged out of bed around 10 this morning with all good thoughts of dipping a paddle. Misty late morning, a little on the cool side for me. Walked out to put the trash in the dumpster. Looked over at Gertrude as I walked past. Poor car is caked in grime. Immediately went back in and got my car wash stuff, walked back out and gave the car a bath. Wasn't too effective considering the mist, but most of the nastiness is gone at least. Came back in and chatted online with a friend. Made groceries at Robert's. Tweaked Ed's website. Took a nap in my clothes; Pickles slept next to my head. I could hear her purrs amplified through the pillow. When I woke up it was gorgeous outside. No excuses now to not go kayaking.

I am so winter weak. When the weather gets cold I tend to stay inside, and I don't get much exercise. I just read alot and drink warm drinks. Let myself get the blues. Avoid the world; ignore the phone for no good reason. A friend of mine who knows me way too well told me the other night that I'm showing signs of clinical depression. I laughed at him and told him I get like this every winter after I've been inside too much, listening to Buddy Guy, R.L. Burnside and Robert Pete Williams for hours on end. I just get Winter Blues. I'm moody. I Exist in the Winter. I Live for the warm months of the year.

Put on my neoprene boots and some warm clothes I that dry quickly when they get wet. Grabbed my new greenland paddle. Thought strong thoughts. Even though Richard the Q is a very light sea kayak, I struggled to get "him" out for my first paddle of '05. Managed to not bang anything too much, but I cursed all the way to the lake. Its a long walk carrying that skinny boat over the levee. Water is cold. No one is out, which is good. The rocks are slick with green slime and I carefully pad over them finding strength I didn't think I had to hold the boat up on my shoulder. At last I drop the kayak into the water. It makes a loud slapping noise as it hits the water and upsets a flock of gulls floating like ducks a few feet away. The Ponchartrain is like a sheet of dark glass and the off-white hull of the kayak is reflected perfectly against it. I slip into the boat. Cinderella slides into her enviable slipper. I fall into something that feels like euphoria after the paddle hits the water a few times. I think summertime thoughts, cutting and edging the orange and yellow kayak just for the sheer joy of it. It looks and feels so incredible in the water. Gulls call above me and the water smells a little salty. I feel like I'm dreaming, and its a damn good one. Lean into turns, listen to the water flow around the blade, around the front of the kayak. I am aware of everything around me but of nothing else. Nothing else matters in the water. Sometimes I think when I'm out there, but today wasn't one of those days. Today was just enjoy the water and leave the world behind. The smile does not leave my face until I have to get out to carry the boat back to my house.

You know, when its my time to Go, someone set me up with a big bottle of pain killers, a few bottles of Makers, a whole bunch of chocolate, some sushi and push my ass out in some large calm body of water in that boat. I want to feel the water before I join the underground. No sorry wake with donuts and coffee in the kitchen, no padded wooden box, no concrete grave, I don't want to come back from the water. I Live there. It all feels right and everything is ok with the world when I get in my kayak.

It was hard to get a 17' boat back in my apartment with my weak girly arms, but its hanging on the rack now. I didn't make it out to the parades and I don't mind a bit. I'm writing and I'm feeling like everything is all right with the world and I don't give a damn what anyone says, I'm happy right now.

1/28/05

i was i used to be i was going somewhere i think they thought i wasn't paying attention

"Have you been to Mango House?" Dr. Tony asks me.

"No, looks like a neat place though," I answer.

"Why don't we walk there?"

"Sounds good to me," I answer, and put on some shoes I can walk several uneven Uptown New Orleans blocks in.

Tony's got some height to him, he walks everywhere and he tends to walk fast. I have to put forth effort to keep up with him as he takes his long legged strides down the oak lined residential street. I have to put forth effort to keep up with him in alot of ways. He's wearing red low top Converse Chuck Taylor's. I think he has a pair in every color. Amusingly he probably owns as many pairs of shoes as I do.

"Will you go to some parades with me?"

"Tony, I really have an intense dislike for parades. If you want I'll go to one or two with you, but thats it."

"Why don't you like Mardi Gras?" he asks me as though I just said I hated ice cream or something.

"I guess I've just been there, done that. No good reason. I've lived here my whole life, baby. It doesn't mean anything to me but drunk people spilling trash on the street."

"Its one of the reasons I love New Orleans," he shoots back picking up his pace and putting his hands in the pockets of his Levi's.

"Its still so new to you-you've only been here a couple of years," I snap back, wondering why he's upset. Usually I'm the one defending this town to "outsiders" ... but Tony, an Eye-talian from a little town in New York, loves New Orleans as much as I do and has embraced it with an incredible fierceness. He makes it a point to stare at the ground as he walks his distance eating stride. I fold my arms and hug them to my chest and look up at him, "Why are you upset?"

"I just don't like it when people dis Mardi Gras," he answers, glancing through his spectacles at me and then back down at the ground.

I shrug my shoulders, frown and scan the street for trouble as we walk. And he changes the subject to something less complicated.

We make it to the Mango House and snap up the last available table, sitting down to a great meal and two bottles of red. Somewhere in the back of my head I'm running over my mental history of Mardi Gras since I was a kid. My very first concious memory of Mardi Gras.......

.....standing on the neutral ground watching a a parade pass. Maybe 5 years old. Mom and dad talking to their friends, holding Amber who is maybe 2 or 3. The St. Augustine Purple Nights school band is passing. I worm my way up to the curb, the bands are my favorite. I love the big pompoms on the shoes of the marching girls...the band falls into a tune...trombones are walking by and suddenly they do a fancy back step and start swinging hard left and right. A trombone clocks me in the head. Hard. I'm down. Oddly enough, no one seems to notice. After a few seconds, I get up, seeing stars....put my hand to my (extra large) forehead and feel a huge hickey (you Northerners might call that a goose egg-we New Orleanians call 'em a hickey.).....

flash forward a couple of years.....

Mardi Gras at my old man's parent's house. They live in a typical Metairie brick ranch a couple of blocks from the Metairie parade Route, near Veterans Highway. I used to be facinated with the peep hole in the front door.... Big fat grandpa Meriwether would lift me up to look through it when I'd come over. He always smelled like bourbon.... We go there every year for Mardi Gras Day after we hit Rex on Napoleon first thing in the morning (mom's boss rides in Rex so we get lots of throws there; mom loves the Rex parade). Every year there is a very scary looking man who dresses in a muumuu with a big wig and catches the parades there on Metairie Court. He has an ice chest full of beer in red and white cans. My old man knows him-apparently he is a neighbor of my grandparents. The scarey man in drag has stubble on his cheeks. He scowls at us and leers at my mother. Mom ignores him. I stare at him openly, facinated by a man in a house dress. Occasionally he sticks his tongue out at me and wiggles it. Took me many years to realize what the old pig was insinuating. Well. Maybe he was a Gene Simmons fan.

Fast forward to teenage years, watching Endymion from a balcony with a certain priviledged New Orleans police chief's son, his girlfriend who is a very close friend of mine, his best friend (my boyfriend Clay), and a few other guys and girls. My first real experience with how name dropping can literally move any barrier and cut ways through lines of cops....

Several years later...Randy telling me how he feels its his civic duty to witness Mardi Gras Parades because of all of the expense they go through to put the free show on for anyone who chooses to watch. Later I hear Dutch's mom echo the same thought. Bruce telling me about how fun it was to ride in Endymion. He and I watching Easy Rider....going over how the whole trip was so that they could go to Mardi Gras. Me scratching my head wondering why?

Images from my past:

Me at 7 dressed for Mardi Gras Day at my Grandparents house in Metaire. Yes that is an Authentic Chicken Mart shirt, and I'd probably give an imaginary ...ahem...left nut for it.Thats my old man behind me, mom holding a few week old Shannon to the side and Amber in the blue shirt next to me.

My mom in 1979.She would have been 20 I guess. (I would have been about 5 for some perspective there) I so can not even imagine having had two kids at that point in my life. She still looks like a baby herself. So beautiful.

Amber and I in 1980 at my old man's parents house. Guess I had a thing for alligators back then too.

This is beautiful. I cut my own bangs. Tried to hide the hair under the rug. Didn't think my mother would notice. I mean, how the hell could she have? This was also at my grandparents house in Metry-I remember those brown bowls...Grandma always had chocolate ice cream in the freezer...K&B brand icecream. Beautiful stuff. Came in a purple wax box. She always scooped it with an ice cream scoop so it was "balled up." And gawd...did I have a forehead or what?

Me, Amber and baby Shannon (well, thats her eyeball and little hand anyways) Notice how beautiful, sad and angelic Amber looks with her liquid blue eyes. She still looks like that. An odd contrast to me, so earthy, a true imp.

Aunt Violet. Had to put this in there. The only pic I have of Violet of the Flaming Coconut Birthday cake and long cigarette ash. She was so vamp. I loved her. In the background are are both of my grandfathers. The picture was taken in my Mom's dad's garage...which was convered into an apartment...which I lived in for a couple of years....too much information....someone tell me to stop.

1/04/05

reflecting

Had a few nice invites for New Years Eve, but I elected to stay home on what is probably the biggest amature drunk driving night of the year. Really was not much in the mood to go out anyways, as I've been doing alot of thinking about the 30 years this little speck named Tab has been on the earth. Guess New Years is as good a time as any to do silly worthless crap like that. Living in the Past as Jethro Tull so poetically put it. Oddly enough, it was also the very first time I've been alone for New Years. Must have listened to the soulful sweet voice of Ann Peebles sing "I Can't Stand the Rain" about 20 times. In my next life I'm gonna have lungs like that. Hearty Ann Peebles lungs and a voice to do 'em justice. I think I'm gonna put in an order for big boobs and some big hair while I'm at it.

Next day, New Years Day, as is my custom, I wandered down to Robert's for the sole purpose of purchasing some black eye peas and cabbage. Never saw the point of cooking it when Robert's does such a good job of making 'em. Plus who wants to actually eat a whole damn cabbage. My momma gave up the peas and cabbage last year. Said that particular food and day combination ain't brought her nothing but bad luck. I can't blame luck for my life. My adult life has been dictated by my choices, and really, it hasn't been bad at all. Ultimately I can't complain, but I am waiting for the karma train to come back around for a trek uphill. Its nice to just lift an eyebrow at the weirdness of the world and let the bad parts slide. I'm mellowing as I age, but I do fall off that wagon occasionally.

That afternoon I dialed up Dutch to see what was on his agenda for the evening. He was just taking off for one of his crazyman bike rides through the city. I invited him over for dinner (grilled tuna on lettuce-we're healthy these days). Split a bottle of red and then wandered off to see if any coffee shops were open. No luck on Harrison Avenue so we decided to go get a beer instead. We wound up at Cooter Browns...odd how I've been going in that bar since I was a little kid. Literally. My old man's shop was next door and he used to date a barmaid there when I was about 11. He used to drag me in there with him, set me up on a tall stool and tell me to order a Shirley Temple. That particular act always made me feel Very Grown Up.

Cooter Brown's hasn't changed much with the exception of more tv sets than you'd see in your average Best-Big-Box store. It still smells like stale beer and smoke and greasy burgers and Polo on the skin of drunk young men. As we go in, the bouncer who couldn't be over 24, cards me. In my most serious voice I immediately ask him to marry me. He just laughs, hands me my ID back and gives me a grandiose wave in. Cooter's has about half a zillion beers in their immense coolers. Last time I was there Doctor Tony convinced me to have a Delirium Nocturne from Belgium. Haven't quite made up my mind about a 6 dollar beer with a pink elephant on the label so I ordered a round for Dutch and me to reevaluate that situation. We sat there talking about biking and relationships and oysters and surveyed the mostly college age male croud. Dutch pronounced the Nocturne "not bad" and I pronounced it "perfumy" (whatever the hell that means) and we had a water each and headed for the door. Baby bouncer boy winked at me on the way out. He recieved my best "closed lip smile with sidways look" in return. At almost 31 I'm finally learning how to flirt.

Naturally our next stop was the Bacchus, which is really starting to grow on me, sort of like a spore on swamp log, but grow none the less. I dig neighborhood dives. Once again it was karaoke night. The bar was full of 40-50 somethings with the exception of Dutch, two other young women and me. Dutch introduces me to everyone and everyone is quite friendly in a happy drunk lounge singer sort of way. We order two waters, light weights that we are. The bar is decked out in enough Christmas tinsel and garland and bulbs and lights and Santa pictures to decorate the Queen Mary. The giant tit on the back wall has a yellow leigh hanging from the fist sized nipple. Dutch relates the Janet Jackson paper mache tit decoration story to me. I guess that was a natural conclusion to come to with a huge breast eyeing us in all of its peach flesh glory from the back wall.

"You do realize that NONE of the Monday through Friday locals come here on Saturday," he tells me.

"Why?" I ask.

"They refer to it as Scaryoke night," he says through the smoke from his cigarette.

"This is beautiful entertainment though-all these people are having a great time, each thinking none of the others can sing except for themselves," I reply. "Heck, on THAT note, maybe I should sing a tune."

He rolls his eyes and smiles as I peruse the karaoke menu. I find nothing that suits my voice, naturally. (there's no Tom Waits on their list...heheh.)

On the way home Dutch relates to me his theory on why a guy he knows can't seem to get "lucky."

"Its because he sets the bar too high on the first date. You never buy 'em steak on the first date. They'll expect it all the time. See me? I just buy some hippy chick a gyro on the first date and see where it goes from there."

Good thing we were at a red light when he said that, because I would have driven off the road laughing had the car been in motion at the time.

Dutch is a smart dude, and quite a philosopher. I think he's right.

1/01/05

another new year

another clean slate. For last year see: heah, dawlin.