Cold Spaghetti

We heard that there might be snow, so while feeding the kids breakfast I turned on the TV.  Quickly, I rushed the kids to the set — LOOK, I said, it’s SNOWING not far from here!  Will was the most excited, “when will the snow be here?”

“Oh, Will, we live in New Orleans.  We don’t get snow here.”

I was wrong! Paul called home right between Will walking into his class and driving Kate to her building.  Heavy, heavy snow.  Kate asked for the phone and banged on her window, screaming “SNOW, MOMMY!  SNOW!”

And it stuck.  For a few hours, at least.  Paul took these pictures around 10am.

Here’s our little house.  Can you believe we still haven’t unstuck the shutter on the right?  I’m so embarrassed.

I’m also a little bummed we hadn’t put up any Christmas decorations yet.  Our house is ADORABLE dressed up for the holidays.  (The orange caution tape in front is to protect the hardie, which Paul is working to carry to the back — it is so heavy and unwieldy that he builds a special gig to hold the long boards for the trip to the backyard and can only bring 50 or so back per session.)

Here’s our street:

Holly in the snow…

Hmm, the azaleas were looking a little leggy anyway.

Poor pansies.  I have no idea if these are the winter variety.

Our little house.

Remember these?  It’s one of the three skylights Paul installed in the renovated area in the roof he built.  Check out that frozen snow on the glass — the sign of a darn good job insulating to keep the heat inside!

Around 11:30, we left to get our friend Carmen to take her to a nice lunch before she moves next week.  On the way, we stopped to get a quick picture of a little snowman on top of the streetcar sculpture at Audubon Park.  By the time we were done with lunch, everything had melted.

Here’s video of it coming down, taken by Paul this morning:

SNOW in New Orleans from Cold Spaghetti on Vimeo.

Now that the frozen variety are washed away, snow stories are flying around the city.  Is it true that a snow in New Orleans signals a bad hurricane to come the following spring?  Or is this just because the last snow, Christmas Day 2004, was the year before Katrina?   There are conflicting reports regarding the winter before Betsy.  Anyone have insight into this?

Kate, the 30-month old talking flow chart, on the topic of Santa Claus.

“Where’s Santa Claus?”

“He’s at the North Pole.”

“Why?”

“It’s where he lives.”

“He’s in his house.”

“Yes, he’s in his house.”

“He’s not in my house.”

“No, he’s not in our house.”

“He’s not in my bed.” *

“No, he’s not in your bed.”

“He’s not in my closet.” **

“No, he’s not in your closet.”

“He’s at his house.”

“Yes, at his house, at the North Pole.”

“At the North Pole.”

—

* I wonder if us singing “You Better Watch Out” and the whole thing about ‘he sees you when you’re sleeping’ helped develop this line of possibility?

** This also has been brought up in our household before.  When we first told Will about Santa, he used to cry out at night because Santa was in his closet.

—

Here is more from Kate on the subject of Santa, speaking during dinner (Shepherd’s Pie and Tomato & Edamame Salad*) last night.

Kate discusses Santa Claus from Cold Spaghetti on Vimeo.

* It feels important to say this only to explain the colorful mass of mush sitting on the plate in front of her.

On one of those fantastically delicious hot and sticky summer days, like last week*, we took the kids waaaay out to the Louisiana countryside to feed wild geese.

Oh, okay.  We went to City Park.  That’s the New Orleans Museum of Art in the background.  FUN FACT: NOMA does not allow strollers.  So we’ve not been, kind of as a point.  But Will went on a field trip earlier this year.

We had about 4 bags of bread — collected from frozen ends of loafs and other assorted stale varieties that I stock pile in the freezer for days like this.

And the kids went at it.

So did the birds.  Will, who had recently discovered the delicacies of duck, suggested we bring one home for dinner.

Just kidding, buddy.

This was only a few months ago, but I can’t believe how much smaller they look, especially Kate.

Then, we realized that a new group was interested in sampling our wares.  Momma and her 5 babies.

Don’t these two look like they are playing “Cee Cee My Playmate?”

Fast moving, with sharp little teeth.  And very bold.

But cute.

Sort of like Kate.  Fast moving, sharp little teeth, and bold.  We were a little afraid that she would try some of her favorite playtime activities with The Cat, Scout.  Things like sitting on his back, pulling his tail, and zerbering his tummy.  He’s a pretty chill cat.

Paul is ready to scoop her up if needed.  Will, on the other hand, wanted to stick to the ducks.

When they had their fill, they climbed up on branches right over our heads…

… and went to sleep.

*Actually, it was in early August.

There is a very distinct chance we will not have a Christmas tree this year.  And I am blaming it all on this:

The Man Palace that demanded attention and took away from the progress in the part of the house we actually live in.  (No, no, no bitterness here.  Just don’t get me talking about having to blow the rest of our savings on COBRA, then you’ll hear some bitterness.)

But it sure is pretty.  Paul finished installing the windows this weekend and built the headers in the front of the roof.  It’s ready for hardie.  The sides have corrugated metal sheets along the fence(s) and then will have hardie in the areas that are open to the elements.  The center section will remain open — storage will be on either side.  We’ll get walls up in the center with big doors leading into each side.  The center will be a patio-like space for grilling, etc.  Paul really wants to put in a built-in grill here, and I admit, it would be pretty cool.

See the windows in the back?  Those are to let in more natural light into the open space.  Neat, huh?

Meanwhile, Will’s bed sits in the front room where our tree should go.  His bed cannot be moved until the study is moved.  The study cannot be moved until the floor is installed in the back.  The floor can’t be installed in the back until the painting is done.  The painting can’t be done until the floor is cleaned and tools put away.  The tools can’t be put away until they can be locked in the outbuilding… and so, here we are.

We talked about putting up a leg lamp and decorating it, instead.  Maybe the titillating joy of electric sex in our window would make us feel better?  But, no, I think it would just remind me of the beautiful tree sitting safely (?) contained outside.  Next to Paul’s fermenting hockey gear.

The picture above is the backroom that needs paint and flooring.  I wasn’t kidding about the massive amount that needs to happen back here.  All that wood?  That’s SOME of the trim that still needs to be installed in the bathroom (most of the places where we could see the dirt below the house are covered, now, though.)  Paul doesn’t want to put down the floor until all the trim is done.  I’m pretty sure I threatened bodily harm with one of those trim pieces when he suggested this.  Not that I’m feeling impatient; I maintain that I am the epitome of patience!

Here is proof.

This is some of Will’s homework from last week.  Patience and great sense of humor are imperative when doing three pages of this in one evening.  (Will doesn’t usually have that much homework, it’s just that Daddy missed it on the night he was suppose to do it with Will because Mommy was in a meeting.  And I wonder why the kids love Daddy more?)

My favorite part of the homework is Will’s cake.  I also like how Will is writing his lower case “a,” with the little curly puppy tail.

In the car Saturday morning, en route to the first Holiday Season parade in New Orleans in 15 years, seemed a good enough reason to start the discussion.

“Will, do you know why we celebrate Christmas?”

(not totally ready to be engaged in conversation) “No.”

“Well, there area lot of different reasons people celebrate this time of year.  Christmas is around the time as the Winter Solstice, which is the shortest day of the year and right before winter.  People used to share food and clothes and other important things to help each other survive the winter.  That is one of the reasons we still give each other presents this time of year.”

(processing)

“Some people believe that a man named Jesus Christ was born on Christmas and they celebrate the day in church.  We don’t do this, but we have respect for others who feel this way.”

(engines starting to fire)

(Paul chimes in) “We believe that the holidays are a celebration of the everything we do through the year.  For us, it’s about being with family and remembering each other.”

(said to no one in particular) “Didja know some people go to movies and sing longsongs calledNargalitciesthatlast forhourswhileotherpeopleeatcandyandchocolatethattheir mommiesmakeandthenthey…….”

(To Paul): “Well, I guess that went well, then?”

—

Waiting for the parade:

One of the fantastic school bands.  This one was playing “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” — which we felt, based on our conversation in the car that morning, to be perfectly suited for the season.

Here’s a little primer in how to handle a throw.  All that stuff you see on Cops about flashing for beads?  Let me set the record straight: THAT IS DONE BY TOURISTS FOR TOURISTS.  Further, it only happens in one place (Bourbon Street) which locals will tell you was built by the city to keep annoying frat boys (past and present) and their hanger-ons away from the rest of the city.  (I say that with fondness, as I think it’s fine that it’s there if you want it.  But know that it does not define the city, nor does it describe our celebrations.)

What happens is that a rider singles you out, gesturing that YOU are chosen for a certain item.  Below, this special chosen one was WILL, standing right beside me.  See the guy in the middle, pointing to Will holding at bag of fancy holiday beads?

He gets ready for the throw…

And Mommy has no more pictures because she dropped her camera around her neck to help The Little Man complete the deal.   Which goes like this: you indicate readiness, keep eye contact with the item, catch it, and then give the rider a “THANK YOU” or a thumbs up, or both.  It’s a polite, friendly interaction.  And it’s fun!

Paul helps Will put on an extra long set of beads.  (I think he’s teasing him here with ‘what’s that on your jacket?’)

So I’m still obsessed with paning and creative use of the shutter.  This got the effect I was looking for… blurry background paned on the moving object.  That’s the New Orleans Hornet, coming in for a high-five!

Here’s another… hey Mr. Hornet!

McD 35 puts on a show!!  EVERYONE dances through the whole parade.  I was trying to capture how they ALL are moving, without it looking like a bunch of blurry bodies.  The two carrying the sign — even they are dancing back and forth, bouncing the sign around to a choreographed routine.  No ordinary marching by a NOLA group!  Heaven help you if you can’t find the beat to one of these bands!

Kate, however, was very serious about the whole thing.  Although she did keep in time to the music by bouncing her hand on Paul’s head.

Cool winter sky.

My favorite, penguins.  Kate was into the action from a top my shoulders for this part of the parade.  I can hardly believe I’m in a picture…

Will took the high seat.

Will, post-parade, with his favorite throw: a paddle and ball set.

Happy Holidays from New Orleans!

Full grown female Looziana Alligator comin’ out to chop on a marshmallow breakfast.  A few hours past dawn, Bayou Segnette, Louisiana.

Edison said “Invention is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration,” which has been one of my favorite quotations for years because it absolutely puts those talkers into their place.  Yeah yeah, I’ve heard the talk, but honestly, what have you done lately?

You could say much the same about me and my writing, both the blog and otherwise, where I have all of these great ideas of things I want to say but just can’t get around to getting it down.  Writing about Love Your Body Day (on November 1st) was one of them.  My mind was full with thoughts of the cathartic spilling of the ridiculous things I allow myself to think about my body and ultimately myself.  I daydreamed about the post, what I’d say, fretting about how personal to make it, wondering how honest I could be.  I spent so much time mulling it about it in my head that I never did it.  The whole idea was to strike while the iron was hot and I let it freeze over.  So I moved on.

And then, via Kate Harding, I read this post about a recent interview with Ani DiFranco.  Ani, of course, being The Voice of My Feminist Generation — 30-something women who, 15 years ago, were listening to Not a Pretty Girl while reading deBeauvoir and making signs for the next demonstration.

Okay, I have to be honest here.  While that may have been going on in some circles, my mainstream appearance was a little much for that crowd and after attending a meeting and being insulted for shaving my legs I didn’t return.  Incidentally, though, in terms of my feminist studies and activism — I was the one selected to co-teach in women’s studies while still an undergrad; I was the one the Department approached about tutoring members of the football team in women’s studies in the aftermath of Bronzkala and VAWA; and I was also the one photographed going head-to-head with the Dean of Student Affairs over the issue of how the school handles sexual assault charges among students.  So ‘feminist’ appearances don’t mean much.  Ugh.  Did I really just write all that?  My glory days are more like gory days.

Enough.

The point here is that although I look all peaches and cream and home baked pie with my blonde hair and occasionally shaved legs, for years I’ve harbored the secret desire to be Ani DiFranco.  To Just Be That Cool.  To have it all out there so plainly.  I hadn’t thought much about Ani’s music lately, being subjected as I am to constant requests for “Elmo” and “Imagination Movers” (occasionally veering into Young MC, as my kids are HipHop fiends).  Then I read about her new album and this song.

Everything I wanted to say about Love Your Body day?  All that stuff I was thinking about?  It’s right here.

lately i’ve been glaring into mirrors
picking myself apart
you’d think at my age i’d have thought
of something better to do
than making insecurity into a full-time job
making insecurity into art
and i fear my life will be over
and i will have never lived unfettered
always glaring into mirrors
mad i don’t look better

but now here is this tiny baby
and they say she looks just like me
and she is smiling at me
with that present infant glee
and yes i will defend
to the ends of the earth
her perfect right to be

so i’m beginning to see some problems
with the ongoing work of my mind
and i’ve got myself a new mantra
it says: “don’t forget to have a good time”
don’t let the sellers of stuff power enough
to rob you of your grace
love is all over the place

there’s nothing wrong with your face
love is all over the place
there’s nothing wrong with your face

lately i’ve been glaring into mirrors
picking myself apart

… okay, I know.  I KNOW.  But it’s only 6 days more.  And it starts with “Holly” and ends on my birthday.  How could I not?

There’s been a lot of moaning over here lately regarding my first born.  It’s been well-deserved moaning.  Over more than excessive amounts of whining.  More than general not-listening.  More than forgetting to be nice.  More than things that make my head actually lift off of my shoulders.  The sort of stuff that makes me pause and look around for the hidden camera, because it’s way more than conniption causing… it makes me sound like my Mother.*

Then yesterday evening, the Universe smiled down upon me and granted me the greatest wish, one that every parent longs to receive.  The one where we learn that other children are possessed by the same demons as your own.

A saw a friend whose child also attends an immersion school and she lamented on how hard the first few months were… how tired and cranky and difficult and unpleasant her child was for those first few months… AND HOW THE SCHOOL TOLD THEM THAT WOULD HAPPEN.  Yes, I understand it must have been an unpleasant back-to-school note: “Dear Parents, be warned that your child’s behavior over the next few months will turn you into an alcoholic.  In November, we will start an evening AA group with free babysitting to help you get past this hurdle and safely into the rest of the school year.”  Still, it’s a note that would have helped us tremendously as I contemplated how old a kid has to be before Boarding School.  At least I know now and can relish in the relief that my kid is not in need of exorcism, he is simply adjusting to a big transition.  For the record: acting the angel all day long, collecting girlfriends left and right covering 3 grade levels, and excelling everywhere — while coming home to pick fights, whine, refuse food, throw tantrums, miss bedtime, and insult family… THIS is what ‘adjusting to a big transition’ looks like.

Now that Will has set the bar, I have a much clearer picture about what I am going to do when I hit menopause.

*Incidentally, when I share these episodes with my Mom, she finds them HILARIOUS.  As in, snorting milk through her nose, a total riot.  Which I will remember when I pick her nursing home.  (Hi Mom!  I love you!)

Youtube is eating my videos and randomly re-categorizing ones as private, so we’re moving on to try Vimeo.

Here is my brother, strummin’ away, while the kids try to destroy listen — compliments of Vimeo.

Uncle Skip Plays for the Kids from Cold Spaghetti on Vimeo.

We have lights in our bathroom!

Behold.  A chandelier.  In the bathroom.  On a dimmer switch that turns the lights low, WAAAAY LOW.  Honestly, it’s so romantic and beautiful that I’m afraid to share it.  Really, I am.  You walk in, the light goes dim, and you’re filled with the urge to strip down and dip sloooowly into that waaaarrrrrm waaaterrr…

It could make dinner parties a bit more intimate than we’d intended.

Luckily, we have kids.  They are REALLY GOOD at spoiling the mood.  It’s one of the things they do best.

Yes, yes, I know that there is nothing on the walls.  Good heavens, people.  We just got lights!  There are no doors!  There aren’t baseboards in half of the room and the shower is in pieces!  Stuff isn’t scheduled to go on the walls for at least 2 or 3 more years.

While I picked up the kids tonight, Paul took the progress one step further and installed the base boards around the vanity.  The pictures don’t do it justice.  It is starting to look like an actual bathroom.  (Please ignore the shower, the trauma of which we are still in the therapeutic stages of recovery and not yet ready to face with a solution.)

We knew we wanted a chandelier in the room from the beginning.  I searched some of the local salvage places a few times, but nothing particularly interesting turned up.  The idea was to find something unique, with classic details, New Orleans charm, and not at all what you’d find at Home Depot.  I found this particular model on Big Time Clearance online — with a coordinating vanity light.  It was some fancy-shmancy designer that makes no difference in quality and was about 80% percent off.  We agreed that the pictures were risky, but intriguing and we for it, picking up the set for a song.

Except for the mirror.  That’s just a place holder.  The actual mirror should arrive later this week — it’s a hugely discounted return on a slightly damaged product.  (We get our best stuff that way.)

Here’s the shocker: the accessorizing doesn’t stop there!  Today, we went to The Bank (local architectural salvage) and ordered DOORS.  Next week, we’ll be able to install doors on this bathroom!  It will put a real damper on the conversations we’re able to have with company — that’s quality bonding time, sharing those moments — but it will make it so much easier to keep the kids out of the bathroom when those lights take over and we just can’t help ourselves…

Here’s a few mood-spoiling pictures of the kids in the tub.  Just like a cold shower.

(Paul took this one, cute eh?)