Running with the Bulls, New Orleans style

In the summer, Unitarian Universalist churches do not hold formal services, if any, because - as the joke goes - God goes to Cape Cod (or the beach, or the lake, just insert your vacation spot of choice). My congregation has lay led services throughout the summer and I volunteered to give my own reflections on New Orleans. Here is what I said this morning:

There is a song, Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans, famously sung by New Orleans native Louis Armstrong that includes the lines:

Miss them moss covered vines… the tall sugar pines
Where mockin’ birds used to sing
And I’d like to see that lazy Mississippi…. Hurryin’ into spring
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?

My family has many layered connections to New Orleans, Louisiana and the deep south. My mother spent her first ten years of life in Baton Rouge, LA as her father worked for the Army Corps of Engineers. My maternal grandmother’s family was for many generations from Natchez, MS - in fact the first Allison in the family was a 6 foot, 3 inch red headed man named Allison Foster from New Hampshire who moved to Natchez following the Civil War. There are family tales of those Natchez ancestors going to the “big city” - New Orleans - for shopping, theater and general merriment.

One such story comes from this century and involves people still alive. My 96-year-old grandfather still tells of going to Mardi Gras in New Orleans in 1949, the year Louis Armstrong rode as the King of Zulu. Mardi Gras is actually only one day in, what the locals call, the Carnival Season. My grandfather, grandmother and aunt (my mother was too young to attend and stayed behind in Baton Rouge) went to the office of a family friend’s who was a dentist. His office was on the second floor of a building which was along the parade route. My grandfather recalls watching Satchmo Armstrong riding down the wide street, waving and, in his words “having a grand time”.

After graduating from college, I ended up living in New Orleans when I was placed by Teach for America in a 1st through 3rd grade emotionally disturbed/behavior disorder class. I lived in a neighborhood called Uptown in a grand if slightly decaying old home with three other teachers. During the time I lived in New Orleans I was introduced to a young man in his early 20’s. He was half Cajun, half Italian and cooked food I never experienced. He managed to find on-street parking next to the French Quarter during my first Mardi Gras, taught me how to properly eat crawfish and had a deep love of his home city. I married him three years later and we are celebrating our 15th wedding anniversary in September.

My husband moved to Boston when he finished his MSW and this is where we’ve lived for our 15 years together. Of course, you can take a New Orleanian out of New Orleans but you really can’t take the city out of the person so we would return to the city once a year if not more often - for weddings, baby christenings, holidays, family vacations and the never ending festivals. One vacation with his family involved flying into New Orleans, renting a red convertible and driving to Pensacola, Florida to spend the week at the beach. There are photos of me, 6 months pregnant with twins, floating in the Gulf Coast waters that are affectionately called by locals as the “Redneck Rivera”.

Perhaps the best known of the festivals are Mardi Gras and the wonderful food, music, and art celebration known simply as Jazz Festival. When our twin sons were born we would make an effort to go to one or the other of these big events each year. There is a photo of my husband and I at a Jazz Fest in which we each have a big baby carrier on our backs and little 8-month-old heads stick out from the tops.

There is another photo of our boys as two year olds at Mardi Gras sitting atop step ladders in little boxes that resemble old fashioned tool carriers. These are the best places to sit in order to be seen by the riders of Mardi Gras floats.

A moment to try and explain Mardi Gras. Mark Twain wrote in a letter in 1859 “I think that I may say that an American has not seen the United States until he has seen Mardi-Gras in New Orleans.” The season begins on January 6th, all Kings’ Day. This is the time that teen-age girls are presented to society and that tradition continues as the local newspaper publishes photos of girls in white beaded gowns and tiaras prior to the large balls. Small parades are held on the weekends through January and February. The season culminates the day before Ash Wednesday. Fat Tuesday, just happens to be biggest day of the season which makes it the best known. There are more parades that day. Large floats wind their way down the grand boulevards of the city and surrounding suburbs with riders throwing plastic beads, large coins called doubloons, plastic cups, plush animals and trinkets.

It is difficult to convey just how much the city and surrounding area literally shuts down and rules go out the window. Like Hemingway writes in The Sun Also Rises about the impact of another festival on Pamplona, Spain, “it seems as though nothing could have any consequences”. Grown women dress in pig costumes or as Maid Marion, men wear superhero costumes, people wear masks so they can hide. One man I know has a note from the actress Brook Shields thanking him for creating the mask she wore in the French Quarter during one Mardi Gras. She wrote that no one recognized her as she wandered the streets for hours surrounded by people and she loved the anonymity.

Before our daughter was born in 2004, we had taken our boys to one Jazz Festival, two Mardi Gras and several Thanksgivings in New Orleans. For one reason or another - for instance no one we know getting married, suddenly traveling with five seemed much more cost prohibitive - we didn’t get back to visit once she was in our family.

But in August of 2005, my family’s relationship with New Orleans changed. On Monday, August 29th, a hurricane named Katrina plowed into the city. It wasn’t until Tuesday morning the 30th was the gravity of the storm and its after effects were starting to be understood. While our immediate family had all evacuated and were accounted for, several close friends were determined to ride it out. The news we were hearing was frightening and fragmented. During breakfast my husband walked over to our then 16 month old daughter, rubbed her head and said sadly “I never got you to my hometown, Baby Girl”. He used a term of endearment with her that I had never heard him say and in a tone that mixed both his native accent with mourning. She kept happily eating her Cheerios in her high chair, clueless of what was said to her or what was happening to her daddy’s beloved city.

I think, in many ways that was the sadness and fear many who lived in New Orleans faced that August, 2005. That their hometown - either actual or adopted - was gone. That there was no way it could come back.

However, by February of this year - as a certain team was winning the National Football League’s championship game - New Orleans showed that if there is one thing it is, it is a town that survives. Through determination, grit, humor, food and music, New Orleans manages to rise again and again through storms, financial woes, and other awful events. I visited New Orleans for a conference in April 2007 and was struck by how some neighborhoods didn’t look like they had been underwater 18 months earlier.

However, the oil volcano - a rap video called Sorry Ain’t Enough No More by local New Orleans artists appropriately question the use of the term “leak” - in April of this year has done something that I have rarely heard or seen in the Crescent City, put a note of sad resignation in the voices of people I know down there.

Several weeks ago I posted on Facebook the New Yorker cover by Bob Staake. It was a near perfect replica of an Escher painting with lone turtle at the bottom of the diamond and two fish above it and different species above them. Then past the line where water meets the sky three birds fly below two other types of birds and a lone pelican flies at the top of the diamond. However, in this New Yorker cover entitled “After Escher: Gulf Sky and Water”, the water is actually an icky black and the birds fly with globs of oil dropping off of them.

A friend who lives in the French Quarter called me to express how grateful he was to see that cover art because it showed that people were still paying attention to the crisis in the Gulf. Earlier this month I asked the owner of a funky little t-shirt shop which also prints bags, bumper stickers and other items to showcase wry political sentiments why he hadn’t made any bumper stickers about the oil in the Gulf. “We all thought it would be plugged by now” he resignedly responded.

While our national addiction to the oil fouling our coastline continues to be talked about, what doesn’t get as much attention, at least in the northeast, is the economic boom the oil industry provides Louisiana. The Times-Picayune, New Orleans newspaper, published a lengthy article a week ago (July 18, 2010) about the region’s historic relationship with offshore oil industry. According to reporter David Hammer, the oil industry at one point paid taxes that once financed 40 percent of the state budget and now pays one out of every eight dollars it spends. For a state mired in poverty this is a difficult revenue source to lose.

For all the complexities that poverty brings, the city and region are equipped to deal with hurricanes. An inn manager from the Alabama coast told the New York Times last month “Hurricane, it comes, it does its thing, then it’s over with and we can fix the damage.” New Orleans has one of the most complex systems of canals and pumps that continuously keeps the city dry. The rain storms we are experiencing this year causing massive flooding in Somerville’s Union Square and elsewhere would merely cause puddles in New Orleans.

Yet that Alabama inn keeper captured the sentiment perfectly when he went on to tell the Times, “ain’t nothing I can do to get the oil off the ocean.” You can’t put plywood up on the marsh like house or store windows or move all the birds and fish to a safer place like we can our children and families.

I went back to New Orleans earlier this month to visit that friend who appreciated the New Yorker cover. Originally from upstate New York, he has lived in and around the French Quarter for nearly all of his 20 years in New Orleans. He has fully embraced living in New Orleans - the humor, the food, the bugs. When I walked into his beautiful condo which he shares with his partner there was one of those huge Creole butterflies - commonly known as a cockroach - as big as my thumb crossing his kitchen floor. “Oh” he barely uttered, as if seeing a dust bunny.

[I want to stress that every home, business, church, office, and hospital has cockroaches in them. It is in no way a sign of cleaniless, or lack thereof.]

This just shows how much of a New Orleanian my friend has become. A roach the size of a human appendage doesn’t faze him.

While visiting with my friend was the main purpose of my trip I also had a personal goal - to run with the bulls. July 11th this year was the 4th annual San Fermin in Nueva Orleans, which is modeled on the famous running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain. Early that Saturday morning I wore my all white outfit, a red handkerchief and red sash (made by my French Quarter friend) and a red straw cowboy hat. There was a man in a large pontif style hat announcing run information from a bar balcony and a group of men carried in a large paper mache saint, or saint-like being since it was wearing a propeller beanie on its head. The 2000 plus runner were told to kneel before this golden being and then they started yelling at us to run through the streets of the French Quarter.

After several blocks of running folks started to slow down to a trot, walk, or stroll, which seemed more appropriate for those carrying a beer in a plastic cup at 8 o’clock in the morning. Then as we turned onto Bienville Street someone started yelling “the BULLS!!” and suddenly members of various all-female roller derby clubs started streaking through the crowd. Dressed red and black they had bull horns attached to their helmets. They wielded plastic bats of various sizes and went after the delicate backsides of the runners. Some runners had attached appropriately named bull’s eyes to the back of their shirts. The roller skating bulls did not disappoint them.

The run ends at, where else for New Orleans, a bar and runners mingle with bulls. One bull caught my eye. She had the BP’s now infamous green sunflower looking logo on a cloth skewered on one of her horns. Folks cheered as they walked by her and many, including myself, asked to take a picture of her.

And so I have a photo of a young woman with a black helmet sporting huge horns and fake roses surrounding them. BP’s logo is dangling from one of the horns and she has a look that defies you to think she is crazy.

Because, for all of the talk that New Orleans is built is a “bad location”, that it is mismanaged, that it is too poor, it is America’s city. Twain recognized its importance before the United States was even 100 years old.

New Orleans is the crazy aunt of America. The crazy aunt that always says those things you don’t say in polite company, comes a bit tipsy to the family gathering and keeps on drinking (and we’re jealous because that is how we would like to deal with the family gathering) and has a garish way of dressing. But we would be such a boring American family if New Orleans wasn’t our aunt.

As Hemingway wrote in The Sun Also Rises during another bull run, "Oh, darling, please stay by me. Please stay by me and see me through this." New Orleans, I will stay by you. I hope you all will too.

May it be so.

Just like Madeline

I would not say that the little girls at Miss Clavel's school, the smallest one being Madeline, were a big part of my childhood. I knew of them but don't recall reading the books as a child. We have a few of the books in the house but they aren't ones we read repeatedly - over and over again - like others.

That will change because I now share a special bond with Madeline.

It all started last Monday, December 7th, the day before my birthday. I started to feel a bit blah during a meeting (but then who doesn't feel blah during meetings) and noticed I wasn't hungry (an odd state for me). I made myself eat some soup with a friend and blessedly she was interesting and engaging so I could focus on the topics and not how I felt.

I had to leave the big city early to see the boys in a Musical Theatre review. They and 40+ other kids spent the last six weeks learning Singing in the Rain, We Go Together and other songs and this was the big performance. I got to the school auditorium and immediately started feeling chilled and then really hot. My gut started to hurt and all I wanted to do was curl up under the medal chairs.

I watched the performance, clapped and cheered. I thought I had done a good job covering up my discomfort. As the boys bounced off the stage one of them came up to me and asked "why are you so mad? You looked mad during the show."

So much for hiding it from them.

I managed to get us in the van and then realized I was really hurting. It was so bad I taught one of my sons how to make an emergency call on my phone. "Does this mean you are going to crash?" he asked warily. Fortunately we were able to retrieve their younger sister from her after care program and arrive home safely without crashing.

I told the kids to fend for themselves for dinner and not torture the dog. I curled up in bed, read on-line the symptoms for appendicitis, and laid there convinced it wasn't my appendix. It didn't feel like the flu - no achy joints or headaches - and it wasn't a stomach bug. The pain was all in my gut. And while it was painful, and I had heard all these stories of people suffering blinding, rolling-on-the-floor pain, it in no way compared to giving birth without an epidural.

So I laid there trying to convince myself that it wasn't my appendix.

And then I smartened up, called the after-hours staff at my doctor's office and called a friend to drive me to the hospital. By 9:00 pm I was drinking barium for a CT scan and by 2:30 am, my birthday, I was going under general anesthesia for an appendectomy.

And, just like Madeline, I now have a scar to the right of my belly button. And she is now one of my favorite characters from children's literature.

Now I just need a yellow hat with a black bow.

Johnny Clegg and Juluka

When I was in Paris in spring of 1990, one of the few bright spots - aside from being with my dear friend Mimi - was the crazy hostel I stayed in. The women's "dorm" was a large room with four or five bunk beds. The advertised "hot showers" were not quite that. You stood in the shower and pushed one of those nobs like in the sink of public bathrooms. For 30 seconds you were blasted with the most frigid, cold water to ever leave a shower head. But by then you were covered in soap or shampoo which you had to get off so then you screemed through two or three more stinging pelts of the "shower".

Add to that someone laughing - hysterically - in the room. I came out, blue and a bit bruised, and she kept smirking.

And so began a friendship.

TM was from South Africa. The only other woman in the dorm was a petite Japanese who spoke no English. We figured out (through hand gestures, maps and some amazing shoes she bought) that she had been to Morocco, alone. TM and I felt pretty wimpy just being in Paris by ourselves.

I didn't run around Paris with TM but we exchanged addresses (this was, after all, pre-email). Once I got home we started to write (paper) letters to each other 3-4 times per year.

A few years after meeting in Paris, she wrote that she had a new job working for a South African musician. She didn't write his name out. I wrote back that I was (note: still am) a huge fan of Johnny Clegg. A white South African who formed a racially mixed band in the early 1980's during the apartheid government, he also published several academic papers before his music career took off.

A few months later I received a package with various signed items. It seems my friend was working for Johnny Clegg.

Johnny Clegg and Savuka - I Call Your Name (1988)

TM has moved on from music but whenever I hear Johnny Clegg I think of how she gave me a connection to one of my favorite musicians.

Who is playing this week?

Fourier Analyst (you gotta read her "coming clean" about her wild music performing days!)

In Suburbia

We got back from vacation late last Sunday and have been gearing up for the fall to begin. Today I could see my breath while walking this morning. Hard to believe that just 8 days ago I was sweating in thick humidity south of the Mason-Dixon line.

But what got me through the past week of non-stop school forms, new schedules, missing soccer gear, and work re-entry was knowing that I was going to see the Pet Shop Boys in concert for the first time with my dear friend who didn't make last year's Yaz show. They were suppose to open for Depeche Mode in the mid-1980's but canceled right before the tour began because they couldn't get the sound right (or how I remember it).

PSB came onstage and I did not stop dancing (and hurt all day Sunday for that). They sang the oldies "West End Girls", "Always on my Mind" and "It's a Sin". They sang from the new album (which I LOVE if you are looking for new music) as well as a hysterical cover of Coldplay's "Viva La Vida".

The song that resonated with me the most though was "Surburbia".

Because that is where I - now the soccer mom - reside in denial.

I only wanted something else to do but
Hang around
Hang around
Hang around

The Depeche Mode Concert - I conjured up the rain

Long ago I wrote about how I went to the "new" outdoor venue (back in 1986) for a concert that was rained out. The venue had to cancel and reschedule the show when the first 26 rows flooded because the pumping system didn't work. I was thinking about that show a fair amount on Friday, hours before attending the Depeche Mode Sounds of the Universe concert.

Little did I know the power of my thoughts.

A bit after 5:00 pm the sky turned pitch black and the rain just poured down. It was so bad I scrapped wearing cool cowboy boots for wellies. Because it was that wet outside.

I met a high school friend and two of his friends and we drove down to the venue. We ate our "dinner" in the drizzle and during several other breaks dealt with significant rain drops.

But fortunately the rain didn't cause another flood or stop Depeche Mode. It was a terrific show.

Stripped from Depeche Mode's 1986 album (because that is how I first listened to it) Black Celebration. And kudos to the fan who recorded this. It is a fan video but a pretty good one in my opinion. And skip to after the second minute. This was one of the encores so there is lots of screaming at the beginning.

I'm on a roll with concerts. Seen any good ones lately?

Sorry for the lack of Linky Love options. Just put a link to your post in the comments and I'll make a nice little list.

Started and ended with a funeral

This past Saturday started and ended with a funeral.

The first one was in a huge Catholic church in a city neighborhood for a colleague of mine. A woman I knew of for over 10 years before I had the pleasure of working with her for the last two. She died suddenly in her home.

Judy was a lobbyist. While we didn't work for the same organization, we spent time in the State House, in meetings, via email and phone calls trying to figure out how to pass legislation and budget items that would ensure the residents of our Commonwealth have safe and affordable housing.

As my boss wrote in an email "Judy was a special person and the type of lobbyist that you don't read about in the papers". He went on to write

"She had the knowledge, networks and skills to represent any client and to make lots of money. But Judy chose to represent non profits who worked for those with fewer advantages. She not only provided a voice for those who are too often not heard in the State House, but she also provided them with an ear- and that is just as important. Judy was a tremendously valuable source of information, intelligence, and yes gossip, from the State House that enabled us to be more effective. And despite endless hours in the 'the building', she always lived her values, maintained her integrity, and never forgot why she was there."

She made a difference for thousands of people. People who will never know the role she played in their lives.

Her death cut short a vibrant and purposeful life. She missed a key vote for a bill she had been working on for over 10 years. That was how we knew something was wrong. Because Judy never missed a vote.

The day ended in a grand theater downtown. One of those guilded tributes to the stage. A dear dear friend came to the big city to see a touring production of Rent with two of the original cast members.

Judy would never think of a Broadway show tune recalling her. But what struck me while hearing the song was how it was about shelter.

And that is what Judy gave by being a lobbyist. Shelter.

Any song gives you comfort?

Sorry for the lack of Linky Love options. Just put a link to your post in the comments and I'll make a nice little list.

King Street - Charleston, SC

During our visit to Charleston, South Carolina, Ambassador and I stayed at the King's Courtyard Inn on King Street.



Quite simply, Ambassador could not have found a more charming and wonderfully located place to lay our heads at night. The staff were helpful, the room spacious and the wine and cheese at the end of the afternoon the perfect way to recharge after a hot day of photography and shopping.



And was there shopping. Window shopping in antique store windows.



The little boutique, Jayne, one of many along King Street, caught our attention because the sign in the window said "Yes, You CAN AFFORD to shop here!" And guess what? I could. I found the cutest summer jacket with ribbon and zipper detailing for a price that was insanely affordable.


I fell in love with this pharmacy sign. When we went in for various sundries, it became apparent we were in a Republican Party haven, complete with personal photos of various 2008 presidential candidates and the Republican Party chairman. The little old lady at the cash register even regaled us with anti-Clinton and Obama slogans. I still love the sign.

But the shop I loved was Lily. Not only for the wonderful items they sold (I literally shopped there three times while in Charleston) or the fact the shop was located in the first floor of our Inn. Or that it can be described as "swanky". I loved it for Kevin who co-owned the shop with his wife, Lin. He gave us tips including where to get drinks, suggested sites for photography and made us feel very special.



Because Charleston is a special place to be.

Travel to You - The South Carolina Mix

When I arrived, over an hour late, at the Charleston, South Carolina airport last weekend (a foreshadow of things to come) I found Ambassador waiting for me with open arms. We hugged, giggled and promptly walked the four steps to the car rental desk (the airport was this big - put your thumb 1/2 an inch from your first finger).





We found our car and, much to our glee, discovered it had a sun roof.

Which came in handy as we drove over the Cooper River bridge, taking photos of the span while blaring Ambassador's "Travel to You" mix of songs - one of my myriad of gifts from him from that weekend.

Chain Reaction - Steps

Don't Leave Me This Way - The Communards

Groove is in the Heart - Dee-lite

History Repeating - Shirley Bassey and Propellerhead

It's a Sin - Pet Shop Boys

Knock on Wood - Amii Stewart

A Little Respect - Erasure

Never Can Say Goodbye - The Communards

Pride (In the Name of Love) - The Groove Factory

Waterfalls (Workout Mix) - TLC

What's on Your Mind (Pure Energy) - Information Society

Allegra's Aria - Soprano Yanick Alexandre

It's Oh So Quiet - Bjork

Miss Chatelaine - k.d. lang

Everlasting Love - Gloria Estefan

Whispering Your Name - Alison Moyet

And the song I associate with these photos is this fabulous rendition of Don't Leave Me This Way by the Communards. You have not lived until you've sung this loudly in a car with Ambassador.

Any song that you have known forever and now have a fresh memory with it? Do share.

Sorry for the lack of Linky Love options. Just put a link to your post in the comments and I'll make a nice little list.

We could've staged a coup while visiting South Carolina

Unbeknown to Ambassador and me, and apparently the rest of South Carolina, this past weekend their governor - one of those Republicans who wouldn't take federal stimulus money "on principle" and was a rising star in the party - couldn't be found.

Governor Sanford literally walked off the job without telling people where he was going. At first his staff were saying that he was hiking the Appalachian Trail. Then on Monday it was disclosed that no one knew where he was.

Apparently he was in Argentina because he (I'm not making this up) "wanted to do something exotic". He admitted that he has been having an affair with a woman living in Buenos Aires.

Personally I don't care who people screw. I don't care if they are unfaithful. That is their business.

What I think is absolutely, completely appalling is that this man walked away from his job and was unreachable for several days. He was elected to take care of an entire state - a state I was visiting - and he couldn't bother to leave a number where he could be reached in case of an, oh, hurricane, explosion, flu outbreak.....

But good thing Ambassador and I didn't know. We would've staged a coup.

More photos tomorrow....

The bugs of Charleston

Ambassador and I were desperate to get together. It had been over a year since my visit to the Crescent City and we wanted to meet up somewhere "in between" for a long weekend. It was to be just the two of us and our cameras. We settled on Charleston, SC.



One subject I tried to capture, partly inspired by Ambassador's stunning images, were the various bug-like creatures we encountered in this southern coastal town.



I did alright but really they don't compare to the master's close-ups, depth of field and stunning lighting. I watched him get so close that any normal small creature would have flown away. But they stayed. I was also amazed at how dragonflies just found him. He has a smell they can't resist.



And while I captured a few good images, I am most proud of catching "on film" a bright red, skittering cockroach along a vine covered walk to a cemetery.



Radioactive Red there reminded me of his cousin who on our first night in Charleston jumped on my lap in a very swank hotel rooftop bar. They were both about the size of my thumb. And I have a big thumb.

Dear Mother Nature - late Music Monday edition

Dear Mother Nature,

I never did hear back from you after my letter last week. I took matters into my own hands. I went south - real south - to Charleston, South Carolina. The temperatures this weekend hovered in the high 90's. The heat index was in the mid 100's.

It was hot.

And I loved it.

I loved the smell of the humidity. I loved the sweat that instantly collected on the back of my neck. I love the respite found on the shady side of the street.

I also love who I met up there. We hadn't seen each other in over a year. This week I'll tell you all about it but, Mother Nature, you will have to wait to find out who it was.

Just like you are making me wait for summer here in my hometown.

Really, could we please have summer? Now?

Pleading on bended knee,
SMID

"Too Darn Hot" - Erasure's tribute to Cole Porter from 1991's Red Hot and Blue. But trust me, Charleston was just right this weekend.

Happy Valentine's Day - Lots of....

Hearts.

For more Singular Saturdays go visit Jenn in Holland.

130 Songs

Over the holidays the kids and I were given not one, not two, not three but seven music mixes from four different folks.

One is from a mom whose son is a classmate of the boys. She often hands me a CD with nothing on it and tells me to listen. This particular CD was full of off-beat holiday tunes including The Waitresses' Merry Christmas. That was the favorite Christmas song of the under 9 set. And is still being played in February.

Another came as a surprise from a dear blogging buddy. I was feeling the spirit.

The kids each got their own CD from that friend who is just about as perfect as a friend can be. One guy got a set of songs based on a long-ago college radio show that this friend and I hosted. Another friend got a set of retro rock songs based on his love of all things Elvis. And little lady got one titled "Living Room Dance Party" which included New Edition's Candy Girl.

The remaining two CDs came as surprises from my beloved Ambassador. Entitled "Allison Darling" and "Allison Darling II" - their mere existence made me weepy.

The song selection made me teary.

Now that this is little lady's all time favorite, and she asks me to lift her up during the song so she can fly, I outright sob.

As Elphaba, the Green Witch, sings in Defying Gravity from Wicked:

As someone told me lately:
"Ev'ryone deserves the chance to fly!"
And if I'm flying solo
At least I'm flying free
To those who'd ground me
Take a message back from me
Tell them how I am
Defying gravity

Oh how I hope no one brings my daughter down. Ever. Thank you dear friend for giving my daughter and me this song to share. And that it comes from you makes it all the more special.

And thank you to everyone who ever shares a song with me or my family. Your gift of music makes us richer.

Were you given a song that made you cry? Please join in Music Monday. Just remember if you plan to use little Mr. Linky below, write a post about music and link back to me.



But if you plan on posting an advertisement, I will delete your link as well as your comment. Just don't bother.

Birthday Greetings

Thank you for such a warm welcome to my 40's. I am actually pretty psyched to be 40 years old. I get a bit of glee when I tell people my age and I usually get a "really? I didn't think you were, errr, that old."

I'm not saying I look 23. But I don't look 40. So it probably makes turning 40 a bit less painful.

I got many greetings, phone calls, even a dedicated blog post - complete with my favorite electronic card characters, Hoops and Yoyo - in honor of my birthday.

But my favorite of all arrived in an envelop from a dear friend. A friend who isn't married, doesn't have kids and lives a pure adult life in a cool apartment in the city (note a bit of envy in these typed words). A friend who would have every right to ignore me during the kid-crazed years but instead celebrates the nuttiness that is my life.

In the front the card says:

Look at you living the minivan dream

Inside it says:

Happy Birthday to a Suburban Goddess

And she wrote a kind, thoughtful note that made me weep in front of the kids. Because my friends do that to me.

Thank you to all of you who wrote kinds things on my birthday. Those I've known for decades and those I have never met in person. My life is richer for knowing all of you.

Did you play Bingo?

Thanks to Flower Child, I had all four Palin Bingo cards, plus a make-your-own-blank-card to entertain me keep track of the issues.

How did I fill my blank card? When the Vice Presidential Candidate said during the debate:

Soccer Game

Quasi-Caved In

Tolerant [she actually said a McCain/Palin administration would be tolerant]
Heck

Kitchen Table

Walk the Walk

Government is the Problem [really? Who is proposing $850 BILLION to bail out Wall Street]

Joe Six Pack

Castro Brothers [I have dibs on any hot sauce named "Castro Brothers"]

Darn Right

Bipartisan

Ramp it Up

Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac

Straight Up

Ahmadinejad [President of Iran]

Workforce

World View

Fear

Governor

Tax Increase

Drill Baby Drill

Pointing the Finger

Betcha

I even had a friend call me during the debate and yell "BINGO" after filling in "Special Education" from one of the pre-printed cards. My favorite line from the Governor of Alaska though?

"How long have I been at this for like 5 weeks?"

Two years of blogging

Tomorrow, August 9th is my 2nd anniversary of blogging. It started as a little experiment for myself, to see what this blogging stuff was all about and how I could explain it to low-income, primarily homeless, women. I ended up leaving that job but I'm still blogging.

And while my first year was of experimenting, learning and fumbling through the blog-o-sphere, this second year was marked with something pretty radical.

I met several of you in person. One of you even agreed to multiple get-togethers. I met one of you while you played tourist in the big city. Another two agreed (in separate cities) to meet up for drinks (now Ambassador and Flower Child were present for those but they don't count - they've been friends of mine before email or text messaging).

But the big journey was traveling over the ocean to be hosted by Jenn in Holland and her family, who didn't know me except through blogging. It was the biggest act of faith and generosity shown to me in a long time. She even rigged a surprise day of play with Fourier Analyst who spontaneously welcomed us into her family. I still think I was the luckiest person in the world that weekend.

Then Jenn in Holland came to visit me and my family. It was such fun to show her my actual world, not the virtual one.

I have been laying low with comments these few months due to work, new found commitment to exercise and spending time with the kids. I continue to write and post and am grateful for those of you who keep leaving comments even though I haven't been around to visit you.

And, to celebrate my 2nd year, here is a list of a few of my favorites posts from the past 12 months:

Love (the boys' birthday letters)

Hairspray

Inspiration by Brown

Farewell to a bee

Got a call from Newsweek Magazine

Day to Read

A boy in the hospital

Lorraine Hotel, 2008

Happy Birthday (little lady's birthday letter)

We're just beaming here

Show and tell

Pink Hearts and Bad Connections

Am I missing a post or two that you really like?

And what am I doing tomorrow to celebrate the 2nd anniversary of my blog? Spending the afternoon with over 20 second-graders on an elementary school baseball diamond for two boys' 8th birthday party. All my sons want to do is play a baseball game for their party.

I knew you would understand why I missed the blog party.

Going Singular for Thursday, Friday AND Saturday

YAZ

For more Singular Saturdays go [on Saturday] visit Jenn in Holland.

Happy Birthday Jami

To the original Haiku Buckaroo.

Jami is 60
Beautiful and talented
Proud of who she is

If I am half as smart, gorgeous and funny as Jami when I'm 60, I will consider myself lucky.

Happy Birthday, darling. But really I have the gift. I know you.

PS - this was my first haiku

Today is your day
Celebrate being alive
It's better than dead

The last karamelstroopwafel

Such restraint. Really.

Jenn in Holland has made an addict of me. Mind you she never offered me the source of my demise while I visited her in February. No. She gave me a package - a grocery store brand no less - as part of an overflowing hostess goodie box when she visited me last month.

I have made a small bag of caramel waffle cookies - called karamelstroopwafels - from The Netherlands last for over one month. I have never enjoyed caramel as much as I have in these thin, chewy cookies.

According to Holland's Best:

Stroopwafels, as the Dutch call them, are often referred to caramel cookie waffles by the American people. The Stroopwafel is a very popular Dutch cookie, loved by everyone. Basically it consists of two soft round Belgian waffle-like disks with caramel syrup in between them that creates a chewy center. Historical research indicates that Stroopwafels are one of the Netherlands' true specialties.

The origins of this [cookie] have been traced back to the 1800s, geographically situated in the Dutch province of North Holland, close to the city Gouda (think cheese).

These wonderful cookies can be eaten as a snack, with a cup of coffee or tea or for dessert... However, note that Stroopwafels have an extremely long shelf life and they freeze very well.

Good thing they have "an extremely long shelf life" since I've made mine last 36 days. Not that I was counting or anything....

Dam good ad

The boys and I saw this before the Red Sox game Wednesday night (oh, they won). It is a Dam good ad. Especially since the boys knew about the European Cup, that Orange is Queen Beatrix's color and there are canals in Amsterdam.

Recognize the tune? Madame Jenn introduced us to it last year. Still waiting though for the video of her doing the JumpStyle though.

Yeah. She's a big tease, that Jenn....