Tommy smiles down at me from the intimidating height of 6'-4" as I take his hand in the West Coast Swing class we have taken on and off at the same time. Usually we chat for a few moments before and after each little turn we take with the other dancers in class. I don't know him at all, but I've always thought he was nice, certainly attractive and probably 'with' someone. Heck, I had been most of the time we had shared a class.

We chat for a second about what we did on the weekend.

"Tab, can I have your phone number?" he asks me from behind a slightly jutted chin.

Shocked that he's asking, I choke out a "Sure, I'll give it to you after class."

Suddenly my palms are soaked and I can't believe I just heard what he said. Guys hardly ever ask me for my number...especially not guys in my age group. I tend to only get approached by older guys who either take the shotgun approach to dating or who are incredibly sure of themselves. Guys my age generally just don't ask me.

The end of class rushes towards me and I hustle off to go chat with Douz and Dan. Tommy chats with a couple of other people but hovers nearby. I try to walk off thinking to myself, "he's just being polite." He follows me and asks me again, "So, can I have your number?"

I manage to quietly give it to him.

Fast forward to a Thursday night before we 'officially' go out on a date...a group of us goes out dancing at a club around the corner from the dance school. Tommy dances really well... he's developing his own style and always looks confident on the dance floor. He sits next to me at a table; right next to me, the pressure of his thigh fully against mine. The scent of him drives me up the wall, not that I told him that, but I have complimented him on his cologne several times over the time I've been around him. My heart is beating loudly in my chest, I'm incredibly nervous and for the life of me I can't remember the last time I had such a visceral reacton to a guy.

I dance terribly when he asks me to dance. Embarassingly bad. I'm nervous dancing anyway because I feel as though I don't know the dance very well...and because...well...its him.

"This guy is not going to want to date a klutz," my mind speaks.

Friday he texts me and asks what I'm doing. We had a date planned for the next day...our first date...and it was supposed to be hiking in Clark Creek, but he had a funeral to go to during the day so we made plans to meet up Saturday evening. I text him back..."nothing...want to practice dance?" - next thing you know, he's at my house and we are dancing and chatting it up in my living room. The more we talk the more I can't believe how much in common I have with him. At four in the morning I finally convinced him that he should leave. Standing there next to my kitchen counter he leans down, kisses me and tells me that he "was wanting to do that all night." Like a moron, I stare at him and smile, not believing my luck at all and fully thinking, "Well just go ahead and fuck me running, this one is going to break my heart too. Another one. What the hell. Here I go again."

Press the fast forward button again. He's still here. He introduced me to his parents and sisters. I'm taking him to meet my mother. He's met Amber and Unc...and don't fall off your chair...my Dad. He's still around after all of that. I am blissfully happy. No broken heart yet.

9/18/08 burnside's deathbell blues

No one walks among the graves in the tiny town in which I exist. They are flat and the only character in them are little crosses made of small bits of cold stone...nothing to draw you in...no mazes of crypts, last grand memorials to the deceased residing within. Little ways to remind me that even though I'm only one hour from home I am a world and a full mindset away.

I used to drink at a bar in New Orleans...the same one I met and became friends with LJ in...parked about 30' away from where my grandparents bones mingle with other relatives on my mother's side in the bottom of a crypt near Canal Street. Didn't think much of it at the time...it left me only with a slight sense of irony thinking that probably my own grandfather had partaken in whiskey in the same building I was about to step into...and a bit of longing for the man himself. He is an easy person to miss. I remember when I was a small girl catching the scent of whiskey on his breath occasionally on a summer evening after he had a neat glass on the swing behind our house with our neighbor, a Japanese Italian American who raised bonsai trees in his yard. I remember thinking it smelled like medicine on him...and I liked how much he lauged when he was hanging out with with Mr. Cuccia. (To keep me from asking a ton of questions while they enjoyed the afternoon he would give me a big magnifying glass and yesterday's paper and let me try to light it with the glass...with the warning to not tell my mother. It was quiet and busy work being his shadow. He didn't mind when I tried to burn the ants either.)

I've liked whiskey ever since...a treat rarely indulged in...but it always reminds me of Home.

At home you never felt like you were intruding when you went to a cemetary to just hear the quiet, read the dates and names, contemplate life and think. Here I would feel odd walking through one. It just wouldn't seem right being so exposed. Maybe that is why you don't see people in the cemetaries here. I never felt morbid in cemetaries at home. They seemed an oddly natural place. Here it feels like a park abruptly punctuated with stone and places you shouldn't walk.

So again I speed past another graveyard and contemplate it from my car...hoping I am not rushing through my own life.

8/31/08 more rain-this time with wind!

I am sheltering in place for Gustav. I have more than enough food, water, camping gear, a small generator, gasoline and a cannon of a gun for protection. I know that I am in an area surrounded by water (you don't have to tell me), but my unit's lower floor is 14' above sea level and the swamps surrounding us should absorb most of the water. The area did not flood for Katrina and most of my neighbors are staying. I anticipate loosing electricty, but thats no big deal.

I will have my cell phone with me but will probably only use it for emergencies since most of the cell towers are swamped with calls right now. No one seems to be able to get through on the first try to a 225, 985 or 504 area code. If someone needs to reach me (and my computer will be turned off when the weather starts), you can call me at 225-892-8815. Text messages will be best because those seem to go through ok.

Any of my friends out there who are staying and reading this...or who are evacuating...please stay safe.

8/5/08 a little rain

Please put up with my scatterbrained writing here-its sort of from the heart for once rather than the front of my skull.

So here it is. The reason for the last post...the fountain head from which spews forth a breakup. No need to go into a lot of detail. I think you can deduce what happened here in a nutshell. Chalk up another hollow victory for me.

hoo-freakin-ray

This totally Sucks. I think it was, up until that little control thing reared its ugly head, the healthiest relationship I'd been in. Or so I thought. I guess I thought because we were friends first that he knew and loved me for who I am...and was willing to give me the space and time I needed to BE who I am. He said so when we first started dating. He knew I liked to go off camping and kayaking and hiking. He knew I had someone I did this with on a fairly regular basis.

So much for that. I guess our biggest difference-he is so conventional in his belief of how a woman should be...and I'm pretty determined to be me, which is not terribly UN-conventional, but just unconventional enough to not be able to work with a guy who thinks like Coon.

I'm not saying his line of reasoning is wrong...but its wrong for me. I'm not the right person for him. Truth is he's looking for a gal more like his mom...and he more or less says so. I respect that. Its just not me.

I hope, but I somehow doubt, that we'll be able to really go back to being good friends. I think what hurts the most is loosing the sense of family I had around his sister and his dad and him. Even with that, I'm not willing to compromise fully to be the woman that he wants me to be...give up my hiking and camping and kayaking with my friend (s)...and one close friend in particular. (and don't jump to any weird conclusions-the friend is platonic and its obvious who it is...its important to me to be able to go off in the woods with this particular person because I trust him, literally, with my life. He's an experienced woodsman and kayaker. I know he's got my back and I'm loath now to go into a situation that may be to my limits without his knowledge. Yes, this is that important to me. One more self defensive thing about him. He's my closest guy friend...and every bit as dear to me as LJ is as far as people I trust with my truths. Before any of you suggest I hook up with my bud...1-ain't going to ruin another perfectly good friendship; 2-he's good looking but we've already decided we'd kill each other if we had to live together because we both have sandpaper type personalities; 3-too far away even if the above two reasons weren't true.) Ok-got that part off my chest.

All that to say, no one is going to dictate to me who my friends will be, who I love or who I spend time with. You either accept it as part of who I am or please, don't get involved.

Why is this one so hard...

Some interesting and much needed encouragement from friends:

My sister Amber adores Coon and his family...she didn't have much to tell me...but she did think I was doing the right thing...and gave me the sage advice to go speak to someone who was in a successful marriage....which I did....

Critterdoc-mid 60's, great marriage, very much still in love and it shows:

"Listen loudly to your own heart, and not to blathering tongues who don't know a jewel when they see her.... Maybe the act of looking is part of the enigma. Why look in the first place? And what do you look for? Why not sign off on the dedicated "mating game" and simply be yourself doing the things that are dearest to you without any other expectation? I cannot imagine who you have ever hurt doing just that, unless they were uncaring fools who treated you like owned property. On that case, toss them out on their mangy asses and don't bother to take names....Protect the simple pleasures that you have come to love, and the people you love doing them with. Guard that with all of your energy. Anyone who appreciates you for what you are, and who has truly come to romantically love you should be secure enough to trust you or should be shown the door and told to take a hike. Remember that we all have a banana peel out there awaiting us and we know not when it will beckon us to the final passage. It'll get better. Just look behind you and see the Suncat tracks which follow you wherever you may go.""

From an incredibly wise woman I work with-under 30, married:

"...Most people spend most of their lives compromising themselves and never really know who they are or who they could have been. Regardless what anyone else might say, I admire your ability to do for you, not in a selfish sort of way, but in a self regarding sort of way…not opposed to compromise, but not willing to forfeit who you are to appease others…to that I say Kudos."

LJ - If you know her, you know she is surpremely happy and married to an incredible man who supports and loves her very much (never once have I heard LJ complain about Robert-that says an incredible amount): she had a good bit of advice, and put it quite simply..."If he loved you for who you are, he would accept youas you are, and understand that your friends are an important part of that."

I know that it is going to take a strong man to accept and love me as I am. Definitely one with a great deal of confidence and an ego fully in check. One who sees me as an equal partner, not as a possession to be controled. I do a fine job taking care of myself...I don't need a leash.

Somehow it doesn't make anything feel much better right now. I hurt. I feel more than a little bit insulted about how quickly he was able to just walk away. I thought he would try a little harder. I tried to compromise. I can't give myself away in the process though if he won't accept even half of what I was willing to let go of now compared to what he agreed to accept back in February.

O h w e l l.

Time for more kayaking and perhaps the planning of another trip...the reason all the crud hit the fan in the first place.

7/29/08 meet me in the bottom

Is it human nature to feel like we need to have control over other people? Or just some human's nature? Specifically control over the people we care about? I've struggled with this in the past...much as I hate to admit it here or even to myself....but it is something I've overcome (or like to think I have). Now I'm dealing with it again...but from the other side... its pretty constricting and scary. Scary to not be the one holding the cards. Its hard to watch someone make the mistakes I made...and make them with me. More to unfold on it later I'm sure. One thing I've come to understand-I can't control the ones Ilove...and if I feel I need to, then somethings not right, either with me or with the relationship.

I have enough rules...enough people controling me on a daily basis...what I do at work...condo assocation regulations...government laws......taxes....speed limits...I sure don't need my friends or family or lovers trying to control me too.

Yeah. I'm feeling rebellious at the moment. Starting to feel like I need to escape. Where to, don't know. Doesn't matter. Can't. Obligations. Family, Job, Cats, Car, Home, STUFF. (heaven help me-the stuff I've acquired holds me back now. That should be a sin.)

Then I think about a conversation I had with a friend who was complaining about his girlfriend's lack of commitment. While I agree...I also see her side...his desire for control makes her want to run. Oh I understand. It was as though his words were thrown at me. But then, she and I literally, cut from the same cloth.

I want to go willingly. I want to bend over backwards for you because I want to. Not because you want to make me bend.

Make me break.

I can't willingly do that. I'd hate myself for letting it happen. I would hate myself for the rest of my life...I may look like a plow horse...I may function as one for you...but dammit I'm not. One thing I've faced about myself...my nature is more wolf-like than it should be. I like to be alone...I can function just fine taking care of myself...and I'd rather do that and seek occasional companionship than be saddled with a situation in which I don't feel loved and accepted as I am and for who I am or a home in which I feel caged.

Take it for what it is, whoever you are. Take me for who I am.

I am a hell of a lot less than perfect.

I am a gypsy and a wolf at heart. It doesn't show often but when it does...accept it.

I'm settled, mostly. I'm quiet most of the time.

Occasionally my teeth show.

Usually I'm domestic. Will I turn around and bite you if you rub my fur the wrong way? Damn right I will.

Mess with whom and what I love, sure to see my teeth.

Otherwise, quiet, sometimes pretty and elegant.

Rarely extravagant.

Excellent Lover and a Fighter. Yes.

Crappy writer. Yup.

Camper, Kayaker, Hiker, loves being outside. Check.

Fierce defender of the people I love.

Fierce. Sometimes Feral.

Don't mess with this aspect of who I am...and I'm happy.

7/01/08 enjoy

a gratuitous lava lamp while I think of something decent to write about.

6/23/08 cold roses

Well? What the heck can I say?

Epic freaking failure on my end...thats about it.

Seatec has a bud that describes every trip as being 'epic' - seems appropriate to try his word on here for size but not quite in the same sense that his bud uses it.

California is vast. Wait...let me rephrase that. Its FULL. Full of land, ugly and pretty people, styles, money, things to do, adventure, lust, dirt and brownies with dubious ingredients. (I didn't partake in any brownies...more on this later.)

First off...don't believe a thing Hollywood would have you believe about Cali being the land of the beautiful. It ain't. Seatec and I checked out Venice Beach on our last full day there and let me tell you, I've seen a similar s p r e a d of h u m a n i t y in Biloxi, Mississippi. (There were one or two drool-worthy hot bods out there but definitely not a whole damn movie's worth, thats for friggin sure. Seatec did remind me for about 2 seconds that I've got a wonderful man at home who wants to purchase chickens for me when I started mechanically following an incredibly hot young lifeguard type in short wetsuit tights and top who was headed to an equally hot kayak. This quick Seatecreminder of 'home' was followed with another quick reminder that the whole 'cougar-and-long distance-thing' didn't work out so well for me in the past. It brought the desired reaction. I turned around and walked the other way and boxed him soundly in his meaty shoulder for the unwanted reality check.)

Here is what brought this trip on. Seatec's best friend, Gillian, whom he's known since grade school, was married on the 14th. It was probably the most beautiful and unique wedding I've ever attended. Gillian, the bride, is Jewish and from Miami. (picture her-beautiful, thin, tall, olive complected, incredible curly black hair, an air of elegance with an undertone of something that could have the potential for violence to anyone who hurts her friends. She and Seatec haven't seen each other in person for 10 years yet there was a familarity there that was unmistakable.)

The groom, a Scot. In a kilt, along with his groomsmen. (Picture a bookish blond with vogue, thick black rimmed glasses, tartan kilt, skerrin and a very Southwestern tie made by Gillian with horse heads and horse shoes rampant on a sea of navy blue...Seatec had one to match in his office of walking the moms down the aisle.)

The location-the Pacific Asia Museum courtyard in Pasadena. (Picture incredible. Just a gorgeous Oriental setting, pond with old Koi, drooping, well groomed trees and cool stone backdrops.)

And then...the reason they met, a Western Swing band. (A few guys in old style Cowboy garb playing western swing.)

They definitely had all the bases covered. Seatec and I danced most of the dances until we couldn't stand any more due to too much drinking and dancing. He's a good dancer...but I think my Coon is better...even if he wouldn't be caught dead in a lollipop wetsuit on Venice Beach.

Fast forward through a sound night sleep and an hour's drive to the OC beach to meet Tsunami Chuck, a paddling.net friend who is taking us kayaking in the Pacific with a few other kayakers, most of the expected demographic ?f sea kayakers (which is old white dudes...with the exception of one oriental woman-decidedly not part of the demographic). This is where the epic failure begins to haunt my sorry ass. We neglected to eat breakfast after drinking dubious quantities of alcohol for half the night. Tsunami Chuck has a skin on frame type boat for me, and he and Seatec are in more traditional sea kayaks. We set out with the group, chatting it up. Its a nice day, not too warm and a bit overcast. The water is that seafoam green you expect seawater to be when you are not from South Louisiana and used to that brown coffee looking stuff we see here. We are going out of a jetty that is absolutely, positively, whitely and nastily covered in pelican dung...the scent is overpowering in a way I never expected bird poo to be. I thought bird poo wasn't strong like cow poo, but pelicans eat fish...so their poo is really powerful. In other words it ain't nothing nice and that initial and then extended scent sends my stomach rocking.

About 2 miles out or so, on some small but very wide swells the group stops so that Chuck and Tec can switch kayaks mid-trip. Then, like a big vile wave, but way worse than pelican poo scent, nausea washes over me and my gut turns to liquid. I try to move again thinking that maybe stopping is what did it. I can feel the sweat beading up on my forehead and my skin turning white. Somewhere inside I'm pulling at a reserve of strength and telling myself that I can not pussy out here...draw on something and keep going...but I know that suddenly, I'm a serious liability and I make the embarassing announcement that I've got to turn back...that I've got the most horrid thing a kayaker can have...seasickness. Chuck announces, "If you need to puke, go ahead. I'm not worried about the boat."

Having only known this guy for about an hour now I don't want to tell him that I don't think its going to come out in that direction. Oh yeah...you guessed it...its not seasickness from just the motion in the ocean...I'm truly hungover and probably ate something that disagreed with me the day before to boot. I need a bathroom. Bad.

I quietly reply, head hung down, that I'll be fine and that I don't usually puke...but I need to get back to shore.

The woman with our group graciously comes with me and Seatec and Chuck follow us in to make sure we make it and head back out. I head for the bathrooms.

After that lovely event and a not so long wait, Chuck and Seatec make it back and it is with a bit of perverse pleasure that I notice that he looks no better than I did after his extended paddle with Chuck. He's in the same 'boat' I was, but has managed to tough it out. We help Chuck pack up the boats and take him to lunch for the incredibly cool favor of taking us out. He laughingly appologizes for getting us seasick. We make up excuses based on our imbibing the night before. Heads are dully nodded and tongues clucked all around. We are sufficiently chastised and sent on our way up to the Western Sierra Mountains.

Allow me to tell you, I fared about as well here. We never made it to the peak of Alta, which was our mountain climbing goal for the trip...because we actually lost the trail. There weren't a bunch of people in this park because its fairly remote. (folks, there was still snow on the ground where we were. This is an incredible site in June.) We parked at Wolverton Gap with the warning of the park ranger to keep our food in bear lockers and to not leave anything scented in the car because bears had been known to rip the doors off cars to get to something as innocuous as hand lotion because of its scent. After just 3 miles with about a 2000' elevation increase, I had hotspots on the backs of my heels. Moleskin didn't really stop them either...and by the time we stopped that night, one of them had opened up. We made it on the High Sierra Trail as far as Bearpaw Meadow, where there reportedly was a concession stand that was serviced by mulepack-there is one...and we saw the guys with the mules that serviced it. It was not a myth...and th?re are brownies there...big beautiful ones...but they are not for sale unless you are paying for a tent for 200 a night! Otherwise you can purchase blister kits, sunscreen and batteries, but no food or softdrinks :-o...I was seriously looking forward to some junk food after all that foot abuse. After all of that, we never made it to Hamilton Lake because I knew that if I had to take my boots off that night I'd never get them back on with the sores on my feet. Its my fault totally and I feel terrible about it. We did manage to do about 30 miles with over 3000' elevation change over 2 days (one 2 mile stretch was straight up with no flat spots...talk about misery to a flatlander from New Orleans). We earned ourselves some incredible and truly breathtaking views and hopefully some useful experience. I think my boots are fully broken in. (geez...I hope so after hauling a 30 plus pound pack around that long. At the end for us to make it back, Seatec had to take about 10 pounds or so from me because I was going so slow. He's a stud and has no problem dragging around that sort of weight...he was damn near jogging up the mountain as I was trudging behind him quietly asking Jesus why I was doing this sort of craziness.)

Seriously though. It was an incredible trip...and yup, I'd go back...but with some less lofty goals and a GPS unit and no alcohol the night before a paddle. I owe Seatec for letting me tag along in his wake on one of his outdoors adventures.

In an interesting sidebar...Coon, who never really seemed to be the type to do things like kayaking and hiking, but is warming up to it, wants to do the 'outdoor craziness trips' with me and is just about in the shape to do them now that he's almost 90 pounds lighter than he was in November. He's always been silly-strong and now he's light to boot so I think he's going to be ready for them. Now I just need to convince him that he can sleep in a tent on the ground without air conditioning and I think I'll have a full time adventure partner.

For some cruddy pictures from my aging digital click here.

Here is Seatec's album. (right here! check out how bad my hair looks in a cap...eww! oh and the uniboob in the hiking pics...double eww!)And here! Better pictures

After all of that, as hard and fun and rewarding and sometimes disappointing as it was (I wasn't disappointed with the trip or the views...just my poor performance)...I'm glad to be home. Coon put me to work when I got back helping him repair a waterline to the cow's troth in the back field...busting up concrete with a maul and digging a trench for the waterline. It feels good to do work like that. And now I've got blisters on my hands to match the ones on my heels and oddly I feel stronger and more balanced for it all...like I've accomplished something. Its a good feeling.

6/12/08

Nothing to say now...except I'm going on an epic camping/kayaking/dancing/wedding adventure to California with Seatec in the next week. And no, he and I are not getting married...his oldest and closest girlfriend is. He asked me to hit the wedding with him and we're going to make the most of it and get an adventure trip in with it.

I'll let you know all about it when I get back but does it ever feel good to know I'm off to go be outside again and preparing for more stories. I've bought more gear for this trip than I thought I would ever need in the South, so I'm feeling like I'm well provisioned...Osprey backpack, Big Agnes sleeping pad, Leki trekking poles, and lots of garden variety camera batteries.

Catch you all when I getssonback.

5/28/08 Memorial Day Weekend

Yup...It rocked. Went kayaking twice. Once with Art on Friday and believe it or not, Coon on Sunday early in the morning at LSU Lake. (He did pretty good too in that big barge-it was his first time in a boat...if?I'm not mistaken). Monday, Unc, Amber and Meatpie came over to the Diamond P for BBQ with Lisa, Junior, Coon, his Aunt Fay and I. It was excellent...could not have asked for a sweeter weekend.

Photographic Evidence

Coon after about 5 seconds in the SOT

another just a second later

He took a picture of my ass.Now there's a surprise-a man fascinated with behinds.

standing in the SOT

rigging the SOT for Coon

another of me standing in the SOT

Lisa's swing she worked so hard on staining-isn't it beautiful?

Us 5 with Meatpie making rabbitears on Unc (Unc loves his Meatpie)

another of we five

Amber, Unc and I

5/22/08 coon's surprise

Have any of you ever been to a bed and breakfast before? I can honestly say that I had not until last weekend when Coon surprised me and took me to Butler Greenwood for the night. I didn't really know what to expect...but it was wonderful. Maybe all of them aren't this neat...I don't know. BG has several different little theme cottages, each with stain glass windows and their own special view. Ours was a view of one of the ravines in the Tunica Hills. Pretty special stuff in good old mostly flat south Louisiana. I'm so proud of my guy...he's really into keeping me happy...a decidedly nice change from what I've experienced in most of my man trials. I just never felt very special to anyone like how he makes me feel special. Now don't get me wrong, I've had guys do really nice things...and a couple that had me fooled into thinking I was something truly special, and in the end turned into nothing more than than a stepping stone or a toy for them.

Not Warren. I can't begin to explain how good this guy is, period...let alone how good he is just to me. He doesn't leave me feeling insecure or like he's going to go away at any minute, he tells me as often as he can how much I mean to him. He does little things like bringing me flowers and drawing me little cartoons making light of the serious stuff that goes on around us (he draws a dead ringer caricature of himself) ... even his sister goes out of her way to do special little things for me. No way could I walk away from people with so much love, trust and openness about their lives.

In other news, did I tell you all yet that they did get a Charolais bull? He's cute. He has a tag number of 38 so his nickname has been '38 Special' but his official name is Floyd. He has a curly mop of hair on the top of his head, his skin is as pink as Porky Pig and he seems to always have cow slobber on his big white self. He's even trying to do his bull-job which is pretty funny to see considering he's not full grown yet and isn't as tall as most of the big red girls. I'll get Lisa or Coon to send some pictures and put them up for your moo-view pleasure.

Pictures from last weekend

Coon on the lower deck

me on the deck

me again in front of the main house (I actually like this picture of me)

Coon pointing at the place we stayed

Butler Greenwood

Coon on the deck again

front porch of the main ?ouse (there were purple martins nesting in each corner)

5/13/08 swamp fox time

Something told me that if I didn't go kayaking this afternoon I'd regret it. I finally listened to that voice...which I've been finding excuse after excuse to ignore lately. Today was my first day back in the Swamp Fox this year.

Pathetic.

I don't really have a lot to report about it other than that it was wonderful. I paddled up the Petite Amite to the cut in the swamp that I took John into a year ago...a moment that seemed to hook the goof on kayaking and me. I did go into the cut for about 100 feet until a baby alligator started barking...knowing momma wasn't far away I figured this was my signal to back. Not a second or two later, a very large garfish flipped out of the water just inches from where my hand was contacting the paddle in near the waterline. It made my knees shake...but I kept my cool and slowly backed out of the cut. The Fox is too large to turn around easily in the swamp and its more simple to just paddle backwards.

For those of you who go into a swampy area regularly, I assume you are like me...just naturally drawn to them. They smell different, green, with mossy decay and like rich dirt. The sounds of the bugs, birds, frogs and everything else you hear on a small river is intensely magnified as soon as you break the plane of the swamp. Its incredible, indescribeable and completely addictive.

I need to find a way to get a sound recording of the difference in sounds from the river (beautiful in the afternoon on days like today when there are no other boats or people around) to when you break into the swamp (intensely loud and hair raising...wonderful sounds.) You need to actually hear it if you have never heard it before.

Also, I saw a bird I've not seen very much of, a small yellow bird that would be hidden in the palms of the cupped hands of a man. The little bird is the color of a public school bus and has grey/brown wings. At first I thought I was being followed by a couple of them down the river, but I realized there were tons of them chasing each other for territory when I stopped and watched in the last golden light of the day. There was a small fledgling grey heron perched in a tree, several egrets and one big owl keeping an eye on me too. It would have been a good evening for a camera...but I never think to bring them when I'm running out the door with my pfd and paddle.

Sometimes I just can't believe that I don't go out there every afternoon when its like this outside. Sometimes I think I let my fear of going alone get the best of me. Its silly to worry like that...and then...its not. I know what people can be like...but I know those people aren't incredibly common. I just know I've encountered some knuckleheads before and it makes me think twice about going alone into swamps and on rivers. Worrying about crud like this makes being a girl a drag at times, in spite of all of the other fringe benefits of vaginal ownership.

In other Tab news...I've listed my house for sale, thinking its time to be closer to Baton Rouge since I hardly ever kayak out of here any more. For the amount I actually do, I could just drive when I want to go...and probably be more prone to do it if I load the boat up the night before. My life seems to be centered in Red Stick anyway, so what the hell.

Other than that what do I do from here? Write? Hang with the kitties? Drive a lot. Eat sarcastic dinners like sugar free banana pudding made by Lisa Mae and wash it down with red wine from a box? (excellent pudding I may add...but not the most inspired of items for dinner). Yeah. Its time to ramble on.

4/22/08 special opinionated commentary

Remember this? The cop who murdered the Vietnamese restaurant owners and their kids and her policeman partner in New Orleans East on Bullard Avenue? The cop who was trusted and well liked by the very people she killed?

Well, her death warrant was signed today. Hopefully it sticks and we ?ever have to hear about her again. What she did was one of the most cold blooded crimes imaginable and really scary considering she is someone that we as citizens are supposed to trust.

Good riddance. I’m offended that tax dollars have paid to keep this revolting, vile excuse of a human being alive for this long.

4/21/08 seeking handsome large white boy; must like plus sized redheads

" "Well dear, thing is, we stopped going to rodeos a long time ago, and even when we did go, we always rooted for the cows."

This statement from a man who's favorite food is "steak."

I look at him with questionmarks almost appearing above my head, "Why is that?"

"The last rodeo we went to, a calf in the calf-roping contest had its neck broken. They shut down the lights so you couldn't see and drug that poor little thing away. That was the last one for us."

"Oh!"

I've never really THOUGHT about the fact that rodeos are usually cruel.Much as I hate to admit it I've always gotten caught up in the excitement and sort of "Americana" feeling of a rodeo...without really knowing what that feeling truly is...it just always felt so homey and down to earth to me...a surface sort of thing that I didn't give a lot of thought to, but enjoyed.

Now seeing it through the eyes of someone who truly is compassionate to all animals he comes across, including the cows he raises for beef, (the irony is not lost on me here), it somehow seems very awkward to go to a rodeo.

I had bought tickets for the Angola Prison Rodeo, one of my favorite Spring/Fall events. Searching my concience suddenly and sort of wishing I could go inspect my bellybutton for lint or something equally exciting to escape and think seems like the order of the moment. Coon has explained to me countless times how important it is to them to give their cattle the best possible treatment and life they can before they send them off to be what they were bred to be; beef.

They are probably unusual in this, and that mostly has to do with the fact that they keep a very small herd in the Baton Rouge city limits on their land. Almost every cow they keep as a breeder is hand tame; the babies are curious and friendly. Most all enjoy some sort of attention. Every last one born at the Diamond P has a name and Lisa keeps a book on the bloodlines of every baby born there.

We go to Angola anyway, no protest from Coon, who seems happy to just be with me and out and about on a gorgeous day. I go under the guise of going to the prisoner craft fair, knowing full well there is no way I'm going to drag him through sitting through a rodeo watching something he sees as torture for these animals. After we wander around for a bit and view most of whats for sale, I ask him, "do you want to go see the cows?"

"Of course, dear."

There are 4 big pretty bulls in one pen. He tells me what he thinks their bloodlines may be...he has bull fever. They sold their bull over the winter and its getting to be time to get another one.

My only way to describe the color is "the one that looks like an oreo cookie, baby...THAT one..." (can you tell I'm sort of stuck on oreos the past few weeks? Anyway, we also got to see some buffalo and having never really seen any that close up before, Coon was amazed at the size of them.

After all of this effort of going up to Angola, all I wound up with was a plain white homespun book of poetry bought from a very young looking, soft spoken guy and 2 wooden jars from a 50 something year old man with no upper teeth. The older guy describes in great detail the turning of the jars and the types of wood. He was very pleased with the box elder jar he sold me. It is beautiful and I'll post pictures of it later. He sees the beauty in imperfection...and was almost gushing over the bug holes and orange coloration threaded through the whole piece. Coon seemed sort of surprised that I'd want a piece that looked less than perfect and I had trouble explaining to him why I liked it better than the perfectly turned catalba and cherry and pecan pieces the old guy had also turned. Its hard to find words for why less than perfect is sometimes quite perfect.

Junior is the one thats responsible for spreading the Bull Fever. He's been talking about getting a Charolais bull for months and Coon and Lisa have totally bought into it. Charolais are big, white colored animals. Their herd, mostly Beefmasters, are big red girls, full and tall, with the exception of the few white face cows they have back there. (Old Cow Queen Mother Suzy, her daughter Skeeter and her granddaughter Oprah...can you believe I remember their names now too?) Lisa is charged with calling about a bull this week. They were joking back and forth last night about the kind of questions she'll ask the bull's owner. "Is he handsome? Is he a sweet boy? If you pat him on his head, does dust puff off or is he a clean boy? Does he like big red plus sized girls?" Her men have a lot of fun with her and her bull picking criteria. She's big into sweet bulls and likes them best when they melt under her touch. Understandable coming from a woman who's nickname is Ellie Mae and has a 'few' pets who's combined weight is several tons.

Some pictures from the weekend.

Warren and I on the tractor

New American Gothic? Coon/Me/Suzy and Jimbo

another of us on the tractor

see? cows as more than steak....

Warren's dad, Junior

4/02/08 louisiana swamp pop

Did I tell you all I've been taking dancing classes since early January? Some of you know I love to dance yet I suck at it. I suck slightly less at it these days.

Seatec, on our last trip, informed me that I was going to be accompanying him on a trip to California to attend the wedding of his best girlfriend and while we are at it we'd be doing some kayaking and hiking in the area (anyone in Cali reading this? We need to borrow a couple of kayaks...our kayaking plans seem to be falling through...and I don't know about a full week of hiking....it may be the death of my big size 9's.)

Anyway...there was a catch to this trip. I had to learn to swing dance. Apparently this is a dancing group of people and he wants to have fun while we are at the wedding and not be wall flowers or look like two VERY white people with no groove out on the dance floor. So we made pacts back in November to both take East Coast Swing lessons.

Seatec reports back that he's still not very good at dancing but he's getting better. His class apparently focuses more on the Lindy rhythm stuff...we've been focusing on the six count step, but I've picked up some Lindy in the intermediate class I just finished. Truth be told, I wasn't a big fan of EC Swing until after I actually WENT to a dance and danced with some guys I didn't know who took the time (and were mighty kind about my lack of skills)...and somehow...somehow it caused me to have some sort of epiphany about EC Swing. It started to all fall into place after dancing outside of the classroom. I'm also taking West Coast Swing lessons - which I think its rather ironic that this wedding in Cali is with a bunch of EAST COAST folks...in the WEST COAST state. Whatever.

I'm having a great time and spending a whole lot of time in dance classes...and in the process have managed to recruit a few guys from work to join me in the various classes.

Even Warren, who is a self professed perennial wallflower. Oddly enough, his own sister, Lisa, is truly a dancing queen. "Dear, Lisa got all the groove in our family. I have left feet."

"No, baby, you'll be fine, you just have BIG feet, not 2 left ones." He does have big feet. The man wears a 14 EEEE. His rubber fireman farm boots are so heavy I almost tip over picking them up. But I guess big guys deserve big feetz. Here I go talking about Warren again. Poor thing. I have no game and can't help myself. But t?ats ok-he ain't got no game either-he's bragging to everyone about the tractor and how sexy I am in my farm boots. (trust me-I am NOT sexy in farm boots except to farm boys.)

So here we are, its Warren's first day at dance class. He's nervous. I can tell because he's SILENT. Believe it or not, he's usually very chatty, so its easy to tell when he's off his game because he gets as silent as a graveyard at midnight. (Yes, thats spooky, I know! I want him happy at all times.) I made sure I walked behind him in the door of the studio and got between him and the door in case he decided to bolt. He himself taught me this tactic in keeping the cattle from following us through the gates. I learned from the best. As it turns out, he did really well in spite of being jittery. He even danced with the teacher, who is a cute little thing about half as tall as he is. Don't know if he'll ever really be 'into' dancing, but if he gets enough out of it to humor me, I'll be thrilled. Lisa will be too because he'll be offically outnumbered on what to do on Friday nights. Go dancing...Cajun or Swing or whatever!

If you don't know what the two dances look like, google or youtube "East Coast Swing" or "West Coast Swing" and check them out. Both are fun. I think I'm still sort of partial to West Coast because its slower and slightly 'cooler' but when you see people throwing those Lindy Hop moves in there, sort of makes you wonder which really is the most fun.

3/24/08 the southern thing

Lisa Jo (or LJ to a bunch of you) and I went to a craft fair in Fairhope, Alabama last week. Stayed at her husband Robert's cousins incredible estate on Mobile Bay (kayaking heaven for a few of you), spent lots of money and sampled what was quite possible the most incredible food thing I've ever placed in my mouth.

If you've had them then you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, well...get off your behinds and RUN (you'll need to burn some calories before you get there) to your nearest county or parish fair and sample this most hedonistic redneck delicacy. Folks, I'm not kidding when I tell you that had those damned fried Oreos had a little ice cream on top, it would be the best desert I've ever eaten.

LJ and I were dead silent when we were eating them. Had we not been polite, we would have fought over the last of them. How we didn't go back to the booth and order 4 more I do not know.

Now don't ask my why out of all the fantastic things I experienced that weekend including incredible hospitality from Robert's family and really beautifully done crafts and one gorgeous town, I choose to write about a freaking fried cookie.....well...heck...let me tell you it was that good.

But let me shut up about the cookie. I'm hungry now. I made the mistake of describing the cookie as being "orgasmic" to a co-worker...who went off and found the recipe and emailed it off to several other co-workers and people we have in common with MY name attached to the same sentence as the painfully dangling-out-there term "orgasmic."

Seriously though, I owe LJ for taking me with her to this fair. It was a great girly getaway weekend and if you have never visited Fairhope, you should go. Quickly. Wal-mart-ization is swallowing up places like this at an alarming rate. If you'd been there you'd think that all towns should be this cute and clean. They have flower pots on top of the city garbage cans for goodness sakes.

In other Tab-centric news, things with Warren are going swimmingly. He took his sister and I to a dance this weekend (I danced rather stiltedly with 4 different guys, all great dancers and had a good time...his sister Lisa dances GREAT....Warren says she got all the 'groove' in the family....I don't agree, but I'm not one to argue with a guy as nice as Warren).

Their dad is a bit laid up with some surgery he had to have on his hands and can't pull himself up on the great big blue and white diesel New Holland tractor, so Warren and his sister have had?to do all the farm chores. Warren offered to teach me how to drive the tractor. "Its easy, dear. You can already drive a standard. There's nothing to it. Its easier than your old Jeep was. I promise."

He's right. Its not bad at all, and actually a little fun. I think he's tickled that I enjoy being out there and actually like being around the animals (You all know me. This was not a stretch for Tab to take to a bunch of cows and the great outdoors through the eyes of a farm boy.) So, he's basically made the mistake of "promising me" that I can drive the tractor any time he and I go out to feed the cows or go to the back of the property for something and his dad can't drive.

Warren makes a lot of promises. ("I promise, babe, I swear I do!") Thankfully he's the type to keep them.

Now I've got to tell you, I enjoy driving the tractor as much as fried Oreos. Its neat. Almost in a motorcycle sort of way...a freedom feeling; Its slow...and it smells like diesel...and its really powerful. You sit high up and have a great view of everything around you, you feel the engine right under your ass and sort of between your feet. You do have to be careful with them, but not with the worry of car traffic...At Warren's house its COW traffic you have to get through. Believe it or not, their cows are like big beefy brown and white dogs and tend to crowd the tractor. One of them is downright needy. I'm going to have to post some pictures of Warren and Lisa and their animals. Its something to see how much those animals love and trust them.

I really want a picture of Warren up on that tractor. I smile when I see him up there and I think he looks pretty hot up there in his element with his big fireman boots and his NASCAR cap...especially now that he's growing a goattee.

Did I tell you all he bought me some nice farm boots? "Baby its a good thing I saw you in those first. There are a lot of guys who'd try to steal you away if you walked around them in those boots. You look really fine."

His sister tells me he's not kidding. Apparently he hung on to some picture of some movie star wearing a sun dress and farm boots for years.

:-) I think I'm being assimilated into the clan, odd farm boots fantasy and all.

older pic of Warren with his goattee.

Warren and his pretty eyes

3/03/08 city girl, country guy

Warren has told more people that he is dating me than I think I know the first and last names of. Never ever in my life have I ever dated a guy who has been this proud of me. Its nice...so nice....to be with a man who isn't the least ashamed of me or of dating me...who wants me to be around his beautiful family all the time...and who treats me like a queen. Every woman should have a relationship like this at least once in her life. You wouldn't accept anything less after having someone treat you like this. Its incredible. I'm serious. I didn't think I'd ever find a guy who was like this...and the funny thing is...he was under my nose the whole time. I can remember a few months ago contemplating the kind of guy Warren is and thinking that I'd be slightly jealous of whomever he wound up with because I just KNEW this is how he'd treat a woman. Never have I met a guy with this much love in him.

The pessimist in me is terrified that some horrid axe is going to fall and ruin this for me somehow...I'm half worried it will be my own foolish mouth that gets me in trouble here or some nasty tidbit about my past or something that I'll do to scare him away somehow.

The other day I was at his house hanging out with him, his dad and his sister Lisa thinking, "this can't be real-people like this don't exist." They have what amounts to a small ranch in the middle of the city. Cows, tractors, barns, dogs, turtles, birds, cats and all. Its like some little oasis of Americana in the middle of minor chaos. His dad and sister are just like him. Full of love for all things, creatures and wayward people. Their cows all have names.?One of them, a pet cow (imagine that!) is 22 years old and has her own special field. His dad likes old trucks and old tractors and his sister is basically a brunette Ellie May. (Did you all know that "Ellie Mae" from The Beverly Hillbillies actually lives not far from Baton Rouge? Warren has BAILED HAY with her. How cool is that?

Ok-I'm off topic and wandering again. Whats new.

At about 4pm or so Warren and his dad go out on the tractor to feed the cows. "Do you want to ride on the tractor?" he asks.

"You are kidding me, right? Of course!"

Off we go. His dad has an exact pattern he follows as he drives the old Ford diesel tractor around the ancient barn for Warren to get hay, then they go around to the other side to get the feed. While they scoop feed I scratch Old Pet Cow on her strawberry blond back. She lowers her head and sticks her tongue out. "She likes that, baby" Warren smiles at me. He has a soft, super sweet country accent. "Thats her 'Happy' face."

The rickety Old Pet Cow gets fed first. (Age has its benefits.)

We get back up on the cart on the back of the blue and white tractor...even the wood on the cart is worn smooth from use. Warren's dad doesn't cue on a thing...he and his dad work in concert-they've done this for years and its relaxing to watch their routine as his dad stops the tractor, Warren, in his big fireman boots, standing on the back of the cart jumps off and throws open gates or gets hay or pours feed into the troths or flakes off hay into the field for the cows. He comments on his dad's tractor driving, "I hope he doesn't switch gears in that mud!" His dad has ears like a hawk and makes some comment back that I don't catch. Warren shakes his head and laughs. Apparently this is all part of their picking at each other in a loving way. W and Lisa both say their dad (also Warren...Warren Jr...actually) is happiest when he's on his tractor. I can understand this, as 'Junior' is a retired mechanic and grew up...spent his whole life...on this pretty little piece of land. It was Warren 'the first's' land...now its Junior's...who married his wife and built his own home there and raised Warren and Lisa on the same property. They have known no other home. Junior's old house is still there...but old and in need of work...but its like their whole history is sitting out there in the old wood barns and houses and trees and fences. Its something to see.

Its raining right now. I'm listening to Saint Cloud by Six Organs. I'm thinking of how blessed I am to keep having these wonderful experiences that I've had...all of the people that have come into my life and touched it in some way...some in big fancy ways...some in sweet loving ways...some with unforgettable experiences that I'm lucky to have been a part of. All of it-every experience we have-somehow shapes us and allows us to come to a place like this where we just sit back and appreciate it all...and appreciate the beauty of things and a life that is simple. Not necessiarily easy, but simple. Seems to me like its easier to have more love when you have a simple life...like there is more time for real love and the things that really matter when your life isn't crowded full of stuff or worrying about more money or status. I get around people like Warren and his family and I realize, they've got it right...somehow these people have figured out what so many of us are struggling to understand or achieve. They support each other and care for each other and their friends and extended family. They have this simple life and all of this beauty surrounding them...not just on this land but in their hearts and I'm overwhelmed every time I'm around them with how wonderful they are. Its so nice to just be in the presence of and now, to know I've got someone I can share that with on a deep level...its almost too good to be true. Loving acceptance and totally overlooking of my faults is not something I think I've ever experienced from a guy before. I've only gotten it from my girlfriends like LJ and Burke or platonic friends like Seatec or from my ?om, sisters and grandfather. Never from a guy...not like this.

Why am I so worried now that its going to go away? How stupid am I for even thinking it. I guess its just that I've been through so much crap with men...to think of loosing this now is painful.

I hate that the pain messes up my head.

Warren and I in their kitchen

Us behind the barn

2/11/08 on resolutions, birthdays, love

Well THAT should be profound with a title like that, right? Nope. Probably not from these lips. I'll start with Birthdays, namely mine, since I operate in that Tab-Centric universe you all come here to read about.

LJ and I made soap Friday afternoon and it was damned good to spend time with a friend and talk about mundane things and things that had nothing to do with anything really pressing. Thats what I love about us women. We can talk about nothing incredibly important for hours but it feels like we are solving the worlds problems when we are talking about it.

For anyone who is interested, LJ is selling incredible homemade soy candles (and soon, cold process homemade soap) through her website.My favorites are the bamboo teak, coconut lime verbena, and witches brew. Gardenia is also nice if you like a one-note floral scent...I'm very partial to the scent of gardenias...Burke's mom used to wear that scent and I liked it when I was a kid...and yes, I do buy her candles...they are high quality, beautiful and make wonderful gifts...and smell great besides.

Afterwards, I went to see Amber, who had official COOLEST SISTER status for my birthday evening, took me to see Van Halen with David Lee Roth on the 8th at the New Orleans Arena. Let me tell you-if you haven't seen DLR or EVH lately, go look. These guys are in their mid 50's and look illegally, juicily hot. They do. Whenever anyone from here on out tells me that you can't look hot at 50 something, I'm pointing to those two. They prove you can.

Amber had nosebleed seats, but that didn't matter to me. She LOVES DLR fiercely, and all throughout the evening was talking about his spandex pants and what lies inside of afforementioned spandex.

Which brings me to resolutions. You all know I'm in about week 6 of my No Men resolution. This is almost going swimmingly. I'm enjoying not worrying about men (Even though I can't help but to think about them. You all are rather aggrivating at times, and distracting at others. DLR in his stretchy man hotpants with no shirt on, and sweat falling off of his full muttonchop sideburns was distracting. Not that there was anything I could do about it. I just like the smell of man-sweat when its fresh. Weird. Yes. I know. Its just sexy. Men exerting themselves are sexy. Damn. Now I can't concentrate.)

What was I talking about? Oh. Resolutions. I don't know if I'm going to manage to keep my resolution.

Warren is my mental problem with the resolution. If some broad came in tomorrow and swept my friend Warren off his big country boy feet I'd kick myself in my a$s for years, probably.

So here it is. The day after my birthday. Warren and I have been spending a lot of time together at dinner and lunch and every chance we can get...but the most physical contact we've had in the past 9 months since we became reasonably decent friends has been the occasional hug or reaching over to tap him when I'm making a point. He took me to dinner for my birthday on Saturday night. Not a touch other than a hug when I saw him. Made it through a long dinner where we closed the restaurant down talking, then went across the street and closed the coffee shop down...(the barista at the coffee shop admitted to eavesdropping on our quasi-philosophical conversation about love.) When we were finished having the barista force us out the door I looked at him and told him that I wasn't ready for the night to end...so we did the natural thing and went driving. He drove. And at some point in our conversation ?eached out his hand to me and I held it...for about 2 hours while he drove all over Baton Rouge and Pride and Denham Springs and a few other country places. I swear I can't remember what we talked about really.....but I can remember falling asleep on his shoulder at about 1am as he was headed back down to his house. I remember distinctly him picking me up. (This man PICKED ME UP and carried me like a baby in his driveway. I weigh 130 pounds without a big meal and a starbucks coffee with whipped cream in me)....kissed my neck and watched me drive off down his long driveway. I've been telling Warren that I love him for a long damned time, but when I told him on Saturday I think I meant it in a way that I've not meant it to him before. And that sort of scares me. I didn't expect to feel that way about anyone for a long time. I thought I was jaded about men and love again....guess I'm not. This shocks me in a way I didn't expect to be shocked.

I'm not sure what to do about all of this except let everything take its course again. I'm so tired of disappointment...so tired of being hurt...really damned tired of hurting other people....just tired. I almost don't WANT to try....but maybe trying with a friend may be different. I don't know. I don't want to give another man the power to hurt me...and in a bit of self searching here...I don't want another man to give me the power to hurt him right now. Truth be told...If I were to hurt Warren, about 10 people that I can think of right now would hang me by my labia from a tree to make sure I suffered completely. He's about the nicest person you could meet. And thats no lie. Ask Amber. Its the truth. You hear a bad word come from his mouth about anyone, and you can rest assured that its Satan's mother he's talking about. Otherwise, he ain't talking about them.

Damn. Whats up with all of this.

Well there. I think I covered Resolutions and Love in that one. Profound? Probably not. Painful? Yes.

2/05/08 carnival time

Its Sunday afternoon and the perpetually late Mike is late again. I'm wandering around the house, having already cleaned it top to bottom out of nervousness and am down to trying to trap the remainder of the ladybugs that invaded my house for winter shelter. Being a perpetual early bird makes having Mike as a bud trying at times. At 3:20 he pulls up, we dump my backpack in his car and head to New Orleans. With the good weather bringing out huge crowds, we don't arrive to the hotel at the end of Poydras at the river until after 5pm.

Mike generously got us tickets to the Orpheus Captians Ball at the Astor Hotel on Canal Street. I phone Lisa Jo to see if she, Robert and Charlie will be there.

"Sweetheart I don't think so. We are going back to the room to watch the Superbowl. We've been drinking since 11am and I'm wiped out."

Mike and I set out on foot for the 4 block walk to the Astor. The Orpheus party has a 2nd floor balcony overlooking the Bacchus parade, live music, food and drinks inside. We eat, eyeball the giant ice sculpture that doubles as a martini serving device and muscle our way between some people for a view of the street. (this is a PRIME spot. When you get a spot like this you DO NOT MOVE FROM IT. As an experienced parade goer, I know this. Others aren't that experienced. Being an old hand at parades I know how to weasel my way to the front and elbow enough room to be reasonably comfortable. At some point the suited man and I were just leaning on each other back to back rather companionably for two people who had never spoken or seen each other in our lives. At some point he does turn around and introduces himself. He's a rather handsome 40 something who has some stiff executive job with the hotel chain that Astor is involved with. Mike works his way into the conversation (being a politician) and I am able to bow out and watch the street show. There are more people than you could count on Canal...and naturally every type of person you can imagine...from the expected militant Christians holding signs saying that everyone?but them are going to hell to women holding babies, young couples, college guys with their dates on their sholders, thug types and familes. Everyone is elbow to elbow...with a decent amount of space around the militant Christians for some reason. (seems to be the one abuse no one wants during Mardi Gras...party poopers.)

The family standing on the other side of us is the guy responsible for Orpheus' calliope. He built it, rides in the parade every year and is obviously very much a midwestern Kansas man (unassuming, glasses wearing, thinning hair...you'd loose him in a crowd of white guys in a second), but one who loves the party as much as any New Orleanian. He tells us the story about how Orpheus found him. He had built the Calliope years ago and had left his name inside the instrument. Orpheus folks, after opening it up to fix it for some problem, contacted him and he comes down every year now to maintain it and ride.

At about midnight we've had enough of the festivities and figure on retiring early so that we aren't tired tomorrow.

...and then discover that hotels in New Orleans during Mardi Gras don't get quiet until about 4am. Being a light sleeper and excited about riding, I managed about 3 hours of sleep.

Fast forward to 9am on Monday at the Convention Center. We pick up our cast cards and go to the floats. LJ and Robert are there to meet us and bring us to the float. Being a total retard I'm hoping up and down with excitement at seeing everything and of course seeing how much throws we REALLY bought. (you'd be surprised at how easy it is to spend a grand on beads.) We make it through getting our costumes...the crew luncheon...seeing people I work with (odd, but not totally unexpected)....and finally loading the float and pulling out of the back of the Convention Center which is bustling with activity in the breaking down from Bacchus' ball the night before and the setting up for the Orpheuscapade on Monday night when the parade ends.

As each float leaves the loading area in the Convention Center people on the floats cheer. Everyone who is riding on the floats is loaded for the ride, in costume and usually drinking. Charlie, who is riding next to me (I was between Mike and Charlie on the bottom of the float on the neutral ground side), is explaining the process to me. "We should be there in time to walk down to Tipatinas and get a drink," and the other one "Don't throw until we turn the corner for the start!"

2 different floats got flat tires on the way to the starting line so we never had time to go to Tips.

But once the parade started it didn't matter. Let me try to explain this to you...how it feels to be on a float in incredible weather (it was about 70 degrees and no rain)...the crowds were HUGE and its about as close to what it must be like to be a rock star as you can imagine. For four hours people are screaming as you come by for throws. People hold their kids up next to floats for beads or toys, people try to make eye contact, when you see someone you know everyone on your side of the float goes nuts throwing things at that person and the excitement is non stop. Its pretty hard to imagine being unbelievably excited for damn near 4 hours...but this is it. Its non stop from the moment it starts. I wish I could put it into words but its really cool seeing the whole production from the other side...actually being part of the parade...and its an experience everyone should have if they want to. Its unreal. Click here for the pictures I have thusfar of the experience. Keep in mind that they are backwards so you may want to start at the end of the line for a decent timeline type documentary of what I caught on camera. Please pardon the point and shoot camera (damnit John you ruined me...everything I shoot looks cruddy to me now), and please pardon pics of me with no makeup!

With the way the 33rd year of my life is ending...I can't help but to think that the 34th may just be the best yet. Partly its this free?om of not dating...spending more time doing things I want to do but haven't gotten around to doing and spending more time with friends and family.

Usually I'm sort of reflective around my birthday but I've not had time to do that this past weekend, and its been wonderful. Saturday night my bud Warren, sister Amber and Unc came by for homemade pizza and board games. We played Cranium (for those of you that have never played Cranium before, run out RIGHT NOW and get this game. It takes at least 4 people to play but I can almost guarantee you will never play a board game that is more fun than this one.) Warren is the KING of Cranium. We've found out he's quite the sculptor, rather good at being a people manipulator and guesser of cruddy drawings.

Out of all of the pictures taken this weekend that I love, I think this one is my favorite.

(Charlie you are one of my most favorite people and my hero for saving me from an embarassing orange underwear situation.)

1/23/08 ....- ....

someone explain to me about the dash between the two dates again....

When I got back to my desk today after a mid-morning meeting the red light on my phone was blinking. I looked at the screen fully knowing what I was going to read...and dreading the message indicated by the light, as though it were some sort of warning beacon.

John Forker's wife, Lynne, passed away today after contracting bacterial meningitis. The irony of having just been up in Montgomery visiting them...and her coming down with that terrible, swift moving disease just three days after I was there is gut wrenching to ponder. This history here for those who don't know-John, Lynne, Richard and I all shared that house together for 6 months after Katrina...and we maintained a close friendship after he retired and moved away.

John called me about a week after I returned home with the news that Lynne was in a coma from the meningitis. She had complained of an earache on New Years Eve and by the evening she had gone to bed with a headache. The next morning when he woke up she was having seisures. They rushed her to the emergency room where she was put into ICU. An MRI a few days later showed that severe brain swelling which caused moderate brain damage. She was unable to breathe without a ventilator. Just 6 months ago John and Lynne had made living wills, with the clause that they not be kept on a respirator to support life for long term care. The doctor said Lynne would have had to have been on a respirator permanently.

This past Monday, in respect of Lynne's will, the doctor took her off the respirator and moved her out of ICU to the maternity ward where they had room for us. (John sort of chuckeled when he mentioned that. He said it was surreal visiting her in the Maternity Ward).

She passed this morning after struggling to breathe for 3 days on her own. I'm totally heartbroken for John. He just retired last year and they left New Orleans and moved up to Montgomery to be near her children. I just can't wrap my head around how quickly all of this happened. I had no idea that meningitis could do something like thisand how quickly it comes on.

Normally I wouldn't bother to talk about things like this but I'm rather struck by it...the symptoms of meningitis are commonly Earache, Headache and Neckache. Often times this is accompanied by fever. If any of you reading this experience these things or know someone who is, please, don't play around-go straight to the emergency room. This disease moves too fast to wait it out and it is deadly. I still can't believe that this vibrant, gentle, thoughtful, ecclectic and witty woman who was reasonably healthy and young passed so quickly from something that gives symptoms that seem so innocuous.

John and Lynne Forker

Take your rest, Lynne.

Gallery of photos-sorry about the long time past since these were taken- One gallery is of LJ's birthday back at the end of October and the other?is from a trip Mike and I took to De Soto State Park in Ft. Payne, Alabama and a side trip to visit my old group lead John Forker (the MFO).

click here for ofoto gallery

Be sure to scroll down to the bottom to get both galleries. And check out that incredible cake Amber made for LJ-its neat....(LJ's a Halloween baby, thus the Halloween theme.)

Listening to: Don Edwards - Coyotes
Don Edwards - The Old Cow Man
Jimmy Rogers - A Yodeling Hobo
Jimmy Rogers - In the Jailhouse Now
Jimmy Rogers - Kisses Sweeter Than Wine

1/4/08 - New Year, Clean Slate. For last years archives and beyond click: