This heaviness is in my heart and head. These things (past, present, future?) and more…are things I just can’t shake. Really, they are the kinds of things one shouldn’t shake away: we should put our faces right up to them, shine that mirror onto our natures, and teach each other better ways. Which is why I am embarrassed that at times like these, my instinct is to grab my family and run. My worst weaknesses, fear and sorrow. Sometimes I just can’t find a silver lining. Sometimes I can’t help but see the worst.
Jaded, cynical, and rational, I cannot believe in a benevolent creator that loves the people of earth, so I need to believe in a world of people who love each other. It’s all I’ve got. It’s all I am.
Which is maybe why, tonight, when Will picked this book to read at bedtime, I finished it with great difficulty. Not the hormonal sensitivities of a younger woman feeling nostalgic over a cheesy movie’s surprise patriotism — but the hitching breath and breaking voice of an adult who doesn’t know how to explain how ugly things happen in a world her children are being taught to love.
Sunday morning stroll through City Park’s NOMA Sculpture Garden.
Or, not so much stroll as children running madly through the Spanish moss and spider legs.
And trying, in vain of course, to catch the ultimate of all throws…
Kate stood here for 3 Solid Minutes. Remarkable, because she has never stood in one place for even a quarter of that time frame, anywhere. We had to actually wave our hands in front of her face to bring her back.
Dad! I can’t reach!
Crossing the great divide.
Or jumping. I tried to tell Will to jump high (so as to see air in the reflection under his feet) but he wasn’t in the mood to play my photography games. Paul tolerated it, Kate ignored it.
He did, however, not “AWWWW MOMMMMMY!” when I took these, which is a marked improvement over the usual reaction.
He even hammed it up a little. Boy that kid needs a haircut. From someone other than me.
She needs one, too. No ham here, just cheese.
Mother and child piece that the kids freak out over because she’s standing on another smaller figure, which Paul delights in telling the kids “it’s Daddy, Mommies stand on Daddies.”
2008, the bloggy recap, as described by the first sentences from first posts from each month.
January: I was too chicken to climb on the roof, wondering why they weren’t using the extension ladder and feeling incredibly impressed that Paul and David were climbing to the top of the A-frame and hoisting themselves up on this end of the roof.
February: It’ll take hours for my 7-year old computer to eat up all the pictures from the first 2GB card I filled this morning, so here’s a preview from the second set already loaded.
March: I am surprised and impressed that now, in my moment of weakness, neither of you seem willing to make the final blow and do me in.
— Finish the writing and posting from the three weeks in Peru (I found the missing notebook!) and post pictures now that the article is up. (Once I get a good copy of it, I’ll post it, too.)
— Finish adding tags/categories to the posts dating back to 2004.
— Clean the blog up. Make a design that works. Add the pages about the tuk-tuk and the hopes and dreams about driving one across the country.
— Write down what I eat. Use the blog as a motivation for being a healthier person: more exercise, less binging. I hesitate to make something like ‘weight loss’ a goal, because without a partner in the grind of it, I know it won’t work for me.
— Write snappier openers. Some of the sentences above are painful.
—-
** I first saw this style post over at Mad’s. Then there were similar posts at the ‘Tars and by Magpie.
It was in the mid 60s last night and very humid, chilly and a bit damp, but otherwise a perfect night for a walk in City Park. I’m embarrassed to admit that this was our first ever visit to Celebration in the Oaks.
Paul was a good sport pushing the kids in the Beamer stroller, while I wandered around with my tripod. Yup, bad-ass me, with my camera and tripod… with the camera set to a high ISO the whole damn time. So much for bad-ass.
My old 10D rocks, but at 800 ISO, can get a little grainy. Oh, well, at least I had the tripod.
There was a laser light show (a little lame, but the kids loved the Rudolph song), dancing lights through the landscaped botanical gardens, a lighted telling of A Cajun Twas the Night Before Christmas, live dancers and singers, hot chocolate and hot dogs, and kiddie rides all decked out for the holidays.
Our favorite area was the Train Garden. Miniature homes and historic buildings of New Orleans, laid out among streetcar and train tracks. WAY COOL.
Here’s the Vieux Carre, below:
Here’s the train, comin’ by…
Isn’t it cool? It was WAY cooler in person, too. Each building was fascinating in detail and expression and the accompanying literature was interesting and insightful. Little tidbits of local history.
Kate and Paul check out one of the lighted toys. I can neither confirm nor deny Kate’s attempt to ride the horse while my eye was lost behind the camera. We went through Storyland… quickly… as things got busy fast. We came in at opening, but made the mistake of not running a line straight to the train ride and carousel. We’ll get those later? Maybe next year?
Cajun Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas an’ all t’ru de house,
Dey don’t a ting pass Not even a mouse.
De chirren been nezzle good snug on de flo’,
An’ Mama pass de pepper t’ru de crack on de do’.
De Mama in de fireplace done roas’ up de ham,
Sit up de gumbo an’ make de bake yam.
Den out on de by-you dey got such a clatter,
Make soun’ like old Boudreau done fall off his ladder.
I run like a rabbit to got to de do’,
Trip over de dorg an’ fall on de flo’.
As I look out de do’in de light o’ de moon,
I t’ink, “Mahn, you crazy or got ol’ too soon.”
Cux dere on de by-you w’en I stretch ma’neck stiff,
Dere’s eight alligator a pullin’ de skiff.
An’ a little fat drover wit’ a long pole-ing stick,
I know r’at away got to be ole St.Nick.
Mo’ fas’er an’ fas’er de’ gator dey came
He whistle an’ holler an’ call dem by name:
“Ha, Gaston! Ha, Tiboy! Ha, Pierre an’ Alcee’!
Gee, Ninette! Gee, Suzette! Celeste an’Renee’!
To de top o’ de porch to de top o’ de wall,
Make crawl, alligator, an’ be sho’ you don’ fall.”
Like Tante Flo’s cat t’ru de treetop he fly,
W’en de big ole houn’ dorg come a run hisse’s by.
Like dat up de porch dem ole ‘gator clim!
Wit’ de skiff full o’ toy an’ St. Nicklus behin’.
Den on top de porch roof it soun’ like de hail,
W’en all dem big gator, done sot down dey tail.
Den down de chimney I yell wit’ a bam,
An’ St.Nicklus fall an’ sit on de yam.
“Sacre!” he axclaim, “Ma pant got a hole
I done sot ma’se’f on dem red hot coal.”
He got on his foots an’ jump like de cat
Out to de flo’ where he lan’ wit’ a SPLAT!
He was dress in musk-rat from his head to his foot,
An’ his clothes is all dirty wit’ ashes an’ soot.
A sack full o’ playt’ing he t’row on his back,
He look like a burglar an’ dass fo’ a fack.
His eyes how dey shine his dimple, how merry!
Maybe he been drink de wine from de blackberry.
His cheek was like a rose his nose a cherry,
On secon’ t’ought maybe he lap up de sherry.
Wit’ snow-white chin whisker an’ quiverin’ belly,
He shook w’en he laugh like de stromberry jelly!
But a wink in his eye an’ a shook o’ his head,
Make my confi-dence dat I don’t got to be scared.
He don’ do no talkin’ gone strit to hi work,
Put a playt’ing in sock an’ den turn wit’ a jerk.
He put bot’ his han’ dere on top o’ his head,
Cas’ an eye on de chimney an’ den he done said:
“Wit’ all o’ dat fire an’ dem burnin’ hot flame,
Me I ain’ goin’ back by de way dat I came.”
So he run out de do’ an, he clim’ to de roof,
He ain’ no fool, him for to make one more goof.
He jump in his skiff an’ crack his big whip,
De’ gator move down, An don’ make one slip.
An’ I hear him shout loud as a splashin’ he go,
“Merry Christmas to all ’til I saw you some mo’!”
And just in case you need some more Cajun inspiration this holiday:
Aretha Franklin, Wynton Marsalis, Dave Matthews Band, James Taylor, Joe Cocker, Bonnie Raitt, Sugarland, Tony Bennett, Earth Wind & Fire, Erykah Badu, Irma Thomas, Etta James, Emmylou Harris, Pete Seeger, Better Than Ezra, Roy Rogers, Neville Brothers, Dr. John, Tab Benoit, Los Lobos, Cowboy Mouth, and a few hundred others….??
Holly and Paul’s Hacienda “where we really do treat you like family” is officially taking reservations! Early reservations get priority bed bookings; others should bring provisions for the floor. 6am wake-up calls are part of our friendly service. Whine is always free, but bring your own cheese.
** Mention this add and get one morning of Paul’s legendary fried egg-in-toast breakfast — without being asked to do the dishes afterward! **
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:
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?
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…
(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…….”
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.
Today was the second Schweitzer Retreat. We decided as a group to hold the retreat at the Louisiana Renaissance Festival, because why not do something fun?
I don’t have a lot of Renn Fest experience. There is a chance I may have attended the gigantic Maryland Renn Fest in high school… perhaps even on a day when said school was occurring… but well, bad memory runs in the family and my parents occasionally stumble on this website when scoring the internet looking for Roseville Pottery. So let’s just say this was my first Renn Fest.
Yes, they did knock each other off of horses. Which is mild compared to what their respective women did to each other after the guys were finished.
Renn Fest folks like putting ‘e’ or ‘th’ behind every word, sometimes using both at the same time. Like the sign so warmly posted at the exit: “Returneth Soon!” They also are strong believers in boob torture.
We had a wonderful time! The costumes worn by the players and visitors (you can rent yer own garb at the door) were always interesting, often stunning, and occassionally hilarious. Our group met in the morning, doing ‘business’ in a tent for a half our or so, and then had more discussion lakeside in the shade of a tree. And about when Erica noticed the foot-long daddy longlegs crawling across my torso? Yeah, I acted totally cool.
Paul and the kids joined up with us around lunch time. They spent a generous part of the morning with woodworkers, where Will asked a hundred questions about furniture making. Really. As it turns out, when Will wakes up at the crack of dawn and we shove him out of our room begging him to melt his brain with tv while we at least sleep until the sun has risen — well, he goes to the front room, turns on PBS, and watches The Woodsmith Shop.
It was news to me, too.
We spent the rest of the day at the village. The kids played some games and enjoyed some shows (Will loved the jousting, Paul loved the jugglers). The coolest thing, though, were these swings:
I was terrified of Kate going on them. But the Swing-guy assured me at a 15-month old was, “like, totally-th fine-th on the ride,” so I softened. Then noticed that Kate had already walked herself through the gate and was jumping up trying to get on to a swing. Let that nervous-ninny-Mommy get in the way of her doing something Will was doing? Ha!
And so I did my best to take pictures of her, sitting cool as a cucumber, floating and spinning around in the chair. Considering how fast they were whipping around with kids in chairs every few feet, I figured that this panning shot was purdy decent.
We also succumbed to stuff. Will was drooling over the swords even before we walked through the gates. So while I was returning from a solo port-a-potty mission, I visited a wood worker. He told me that his products have a 100-year guarantee “against any wooden weaponry.” I explained that his sister’s head was not wooden, so that the guarantee was not going to apply to us, but good to know. Will was our Knight for the rest of the day.
Here they go, off hunting dragons. Or monsters.
We all did our best to boost the economy. Paul fell for a juggling stick and I picked up a bottle of essence oil (gardenia, although the one marked ‘teen spirit’ was tough to pass up). Kate came away with cute butterfly wings and a matching skirt. The lady I bought it from was way cool and showed me a half-dozen ways to repair the wings in the case of a snag. Then she asked me if I was married.
“Yes.”
“Well, the skirt is made from memory elastic. That means your daughter can wear it during the day, and YOU can wear it at night. Men LOVE it.”
See why I thought this woman was cool?
With all the fun shows, jousting, falcons, and shops (er, shoppes?), we were surprised to find that we spent the whole darn day there. We have never spent the whole darn day anywhere with both kids (that I can think of) and that is just about the best compliment I can give any event.
When we got home weary and dusty from our long hour’s drive back, we found that there was a message on the home phone. From my cell phone. Which is at the office of the Louisiana Renaissance Festival, awaiting pick-up.
Damn. Well, at least someone found it and was nice enough to leave it somewhere safe. Looks like we may be headed back to the 16th century sometime this week.
Regular dishes on life in New Orleans, historic home renovation, raising kids, completing a PhD, travel near and far, global concerns, and health issues.
You know the story, right? International health... work all over the place... drag my kids around in sacks through villages in Central America... yadda yadda. I decided to go for another degree, so in 2004 we moved to New Orleans with no intention of staying.
Then Katrina.
And then *blink*blink* New Orleans is a completely different place and we just can't leave. Suddenly I'm on TV talking about immigrants and health and Paul is starting a company. Or two. His side is high-tech, mine is community health and our lives are yearly evacuation, regular celebrations, and nonstop work here, there, and everywhere. Our door is always open. I only ask that if you decide to go ahead and make yourself that mint julep, you make one for me, too.
