Raindance

I went for a walk in the rain today. My apartment was getting… just a little too small and civilized.

I put on old ragged tennis shoes and some grubby work clothes and took nothing but my keys. I walked out of my complex, across a bridge over the White Oak Bayou, and along T C Jester up to 11^th Street. I crossed that and stepped into T C Jester Park.

It took about 90 seconds for the rain to drench my hair and begin rolling down my forehead and dripping off my eyelashes and nose. I can’t really remember the last time I set out walking in the rain without minding if I got wet. I walked straight through ankle-deep puddles because I could. I blinked raindrops out of my eyes to watch the bayou waters flow by, grayish-brown and turbulent. I stretched my hand out to brush heavy crystal drops off of pine sprays and oak leaves.

In spite of the clouds and rain, the air was warm with the scent of uncut grass and wild flowers. I saw Indian blankets and winecups, horsemint and sunflowers, beebalm and evening primrose. I saw flowers I didn’t recognize, small with five petals, a delicate pinkish beige, growing on rose-brown stalks that looked almost like dead twigs. And all through the tall grasses there were deep brown stalks of bluebonnets, some with seedpods still furred and shut, many with them blown open, with tiny rowed cups catching the rain. There were even a few bluebonnets still in bloom, amazing for late May.

I walked under a bridge where West T C Jester crosses the bayou. The path dips down near the water, and the railings were swathed in grasses washed around them in some recent downpour. As the path rose again, there was a sound just ahead and to the right, a sound that has enchanted me in the woods at Glacier, the sound of a waterfall. Here, of course, it’s the sound of a storm drain, but it was magical still to me, to stand there and hear nothing but the sound of water all around, rushing down in the bayou, splashing on the grass and leaves, murmuring in the ditches.

I turned back just short of 18^th Street because my old sneakers were rubbing my feet raw in several places. (I find I have blisters on three toes and my right heel. I think I’ll just throw those shoes away.) As I walked back, I watched cliff swallows, small dark birds with creamy bellies and brown faces, flitting and skimming above the tumbling bayou water. I scanned the path and stooped to help unwary snails cross the concrete sidewalk so they would neither drown in the puddles nor be crushed by pedestrians like me. There were some earthworms too, unfortunately drowned already, so I couldn’t do much for them.

The rain quickened one last time as I passed under the West T C Jester bridge again. I lingered, looking up at the nests, and stared at four baby swallows staring back at me.

I went on, but I stopped just before 11^th Street, crossing halfway over the pedestrian bridge that spans the bayou just before the road crosses it. I stood watching the water come down from upstream, and lifting my eyes to see the banks and bridges above it. I allowed myself to remember. The last time I walked in the rain like this, I wasn’t alone. There was a hand to hold, a smile to catch, warm, rain drenched lips to kiss the drops off of my cheeks. Memories that still hurt, but didn’t draw tears. I turned to the other side of the path and watched the water flow away. I dreamed of things that were, and things that are, and things that will never be. An egret, gleaming white against the gray water, flew out from under the bridge and glided down stream, towards home. I put away my memories and took it for an omen. I walked off the bridge and crossed the street, back into the neighborhoods.

I passed under a magnolia tree, blossoms like cups heavy with rain and a scent like nectar and ambrosia. I stopped by a deep puddle at a street corner, looked around quickly, then jumped into it from the sidewalk, splashing myself up to the knees and feeling irrationally pleased with myself about it.

I was almost home, and on top of the world when I heard and felt a sickening little crunch beneath my right foot. I’d stopped paying attention to the sidewalk, and had stepped on one of the little snail people. This is why I keep an eye out and try to move them off the sidewalk. I always feel terrible seeing their beautiful fluted shells shattered, slicing into their vulnerable soft little bodies. I felt chastened, dampened, and continued home more slowly and carefully. I stood on the last bridge over the bayou and looked up into the clearing sky. The rain had stopped and there were liquid blue breaks between the clouds. The sunlight was starting to seep through, pearly gray and white.

Now I’m curled up on my couch under a soft blanket, hair still damp from a warm shower, and feet hurting a little with the blisters. Back to civilization.

Bobs are Doomed

Well, I have two Bobs left. They're healthy enough, don't get me wrong! The littler one is getting close to being an adult.

The problem is, now that the littler one is getting big enough to tell, well, he's definitely a he. My last two Bobs are both male. No baby Bobs.

Bobs are doomed.

Introducing Mr. and Mrs. My Second Cousin

My second cousin Heather got married today. In every aspect I can think of, this wedding was different from any other wedding I've ever been to.

First of all, it was an Orthodox Christian service. It was beautiful. The bride and groom state their intentions and exchange rings right away, near the entry. The priest chants most of the service and the responses are sung. The acoustics of the chapel carried the sound so that there was a nearly continuous hum of sound floating in the air with the incense.

The bride and groom are lead further into the church, are crowned to represent the glory of their new marriage state, but also the martyrdom that marriage is, in that each partner dies to themselves and begins a new life in the other. They drink wine from one cup in remembrance of Christ's first miracle at the wedding at Cana. Then they're lead around the altar three times, the beginning of their walk through life as a married couple, lead by Christ symbolized by the Word. They are blessed and process out of the church. The ceremony is musical, mystical, symbolic, and moving.

The bridesmaids wore red and gold satin mandarin dresses. The reception in the church hall was decorated with lanterns and fans and banners and dragons. We got fans and fortune cookies as favors. (Every one's fortune was the same: "Thank you for being with us on our wedding day.")

The bride and groom's first dance was to a nice song, nothing too sappy. Then the father of the bride danced to a song chosen by the bride. Basically the words were, "I'll be there for you the next time someone breaks your heart." Why was our table the only one laughing? It was hilarious! The groom and his mother danced to Merle Haggard's "Mama Tried." It's good to know they have a sense of humor!

Speaking of humor, it seems like every time my family all gets together, some new childhood memory of my uncles' comes back, some new story is shared. They talked about how they and my father had been so terrible as boys as to pretend to be mentally retarded once when my grandmother took them to a store. Uncle John talked about a vivid dream he used to have that Grandma was out in the yard during a storm hanging up laundry, and when she jerked her hair out of her eyes in the wind, her head fell off, and she put it back on and had to go to Weingarten's for aspirin. Uncle Tom then said he must have dreamed about a hundred times about that he was being chased down the street by zombie toothpicks.

o_O

The food was, of course, Chinese food. There was a keg of Harp and a keg of Guinness. The best man gave hands down the best wedding toast I've ever heard. It was heart felt, funny without being embarrassing, and he admitted to not knowing my cousin well, but called her the the port her groom could come home to, and the star to guide him. And he read a poem by Thomas More that the groom had once shared with him.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets
The same look which she turned when he rose!

All I Want

All I want out of this life is for the world to be better in some way because I lived. I'm not Ghandi. I'm not Einstein I don't know how to change the world except in very little ways. Some people show me that I do make a difference to them. To some people, no matter how much I've given, I seem to mean nothing at all. No matter how many people I touch, I always want to touch more. To touch everyone I can. To mean something. To be something. To do something.

All I want is for the world to be better because I'm in it. Sometimes that seems like a lot to ask of myself. Sometimes that seems like a lot to ask of the world.

I might have just walked into a Dali painting.

This trip has been interesting.

I forgot to find a Bobsitter, so I did my best this morning. Hopefully it won't be like my last time out of town

overnight on business. There's more water in the tank and fewer Bobs, so maybe the air will last longer.

A Pepsi truck was broken down on I-45 in downtown Houston, so I was afraid I wouldn't get to the airport in time.

But I did.

Then I realized I left my cell phone at home.

It's a good thing the rental car agency doesn't ask for proof of insurance. I have an insurance card in my wallet. I have a current auto insurance policy. I do *not* have a current auto insurance card anywhere about my person. I'd better not get pulled over.

If you want to get stared at, be young, female, and professionally dressed.

Then go spend all day at a training facility for oil men.

And eat dinner in a restaurant mostly patronized by truckers.

Oh. And the meeting that I was helping the Shell guy present for was in a different building than the one they have me set up in. As we walked over to the meeting, it started raining.

Hard.

I got soaked. Then cold.

I had an odd moment of disorientation at dinner as I sat at the counter faced by ham and eggs and cheese and grits and biscuits, pulled out my book, flipped to my bookmark (the first flat paper thing i'd grabbed from my desk last night) and realized it was the glossy business card for the Apple Store in Memorial City. This town is definitely not a Mac sort of world. :-P

By the way, I ate all of my three eggs, ham, cheese, and biscuits. I couldn't manage the grits after I put the butter in them. The butter tasted funny.

I might go back later for ice cream. After all, it's only 5:30.

It's only 5:30, but I'm pretty tired.

I miss my regularly scheduled Wednesday.

I'm worried about Bob.

Bad day for Bob

Bob and I didn't have a good night last night. I aerated the tanks, and everyone was just fine. Then a few hours later, when I got up to put Bob back in the kitchen and go to bed, I noticed that I couldn't see anyone swimming in my new tank. No one. There were four growing Bobs in there and a squizzlet the last time I had checked. Now nothing.

I looked very close at the bottom of the tank. There was a layer of fluffy greenish stuff that I thought was algae. But everything I've read says algae in the tank is a good thing, and this was no good thing. The fluffy greenish stuff was twitching in a few places. It had grabbed onto my four baby Bobs and now covered their little gills and it wouldn't let go.

I used the aqualeash to pull them up off the bottom and move the water around them. Some of the green stuff came off, but not enough.

I moved them into little dish and tried to clean them off more. I aerated the water in the dish and put some of the sea-medic stuff, and it was all I could do. I went to bed.

When I got up this morning, one of them had shaken it all off. I pulled him out and put him in the old tank. The other three were still very bad. When I got home from work, the one I'd put in the old tank was still all right. I was relieved to find the little tiny Bob still in the new tank and still alive, so I moved it to the old tank. I hope it does okay.

But one of the three Bobs in the dish was dead. The other two don't look good at all. I don't think there's any hope for it. I put in just a little more medicine. And now I can only wait.

I love my little Bobs. I'm glad I saved one. But I'm sad.

Wanderlust

So, I've agreed with myself to do a little traveling. I've always enjoyed it. It's more than experiencing new places, new cultures, being a part of another world, another life (though it is so much all of these things). It's the absolute freedom I feel in an airport or a train station. I feel like I'm at the center of the universe, and could just walk in any direction and find an adventure. I'm a nexus where the very next moment could change my life. Change how I see everything.

It's like here, where I stand, is a place marked in a book, and standing in the middle of an airport terminal is like removing the book mark throwing the book into the air, just to see where it will open to when it lands. Or like stepping lightly away from the earth like Icarus, and becoming intoxicated with the magical feel of thing wings growing from your shoulders. The fetters are loosed. You step off the globe, and it spins beneath you, and when land, everything has changed. Washington Irving said it amazingly well. I quoted him a while back.

Anyhow. I've had a list for a long time of places I want to visit. Parts of America that I've never seen, and want to see. It's linked to the fact that I don't see myself staying in Houston long term. I want to hold a job for at least two years, because I've never done that. So I won't be walking away from the great job I have. But in a little over a year, if all goes well, I'll have met that goal. And then we'll see what we can see. And I've always wanted to go home to the Hill Country. But what else is out there? I've seen a good bit of New Orleans, and some more of Memphis now. I'm in love with that big river. I loved the mountains in Montana. LA is nice, but not really for me. So I think I need to see more of the country.

Right, the list. That's where the list comes in. Here are the places I plan to explore in the next year or so. If anyone can give me info on what I absolutely must see in these places, do let me know!

• San Francisco (hopefully crashing on Dave's couch)
• Seattle (so, Summer, besides *you* what should I see? :-P)
• St. Louis (another big river destination)
• Chicago (I've never been anywhere in the heartland, ya know, and they're going to have this exhibit on maps in November)
• New York (I don't think living here would be for me, but I've got to see it)
• Phoenix (It's a dry heat!)
• Alaska (I plan to take a cruise. And one of my life goals is to see the northern lights)
  

So, those are all my domestic destinations. But I'm kinda starting off with a bang. See, today I bought plane tickets to...

Italy!

ITALY!!!

I'm flying British Airways to Rome. I'll have about 4 hour layovers either way in London. I'll be meeting my friend Summer, who is studying abroad, there in Rome, then we go up to Siena in Tuscany. I'll be spending just over a week.

I am *beyond* excited! I booked the tickets, and the confirmation e-mail hit my inbox, and I started *crying*! I am sooooo thrilled, I can't even begin to tell it all, and I just want to twirl around the room and jump up and down and laugh and clap and shout and dance!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Happy!

Non-Events

Funny, I couldn't watch this X-Files episode when it aired originally, either. :-P Sanguinarium starts out with a woman waiting for lyposuction and a doctor with bloody hands. Oh, and a machine that makes the most *repulsive* noises. Eeeew.

So I'll listen and write a blog, and my imagination will probably fill in worse images than are actually on the screen. My calves hurt because I actually went to the exercise room and biked and jogged and walked. This is a good sign.

I made shortbread cookies last night. Actually, I made shortbread hockey pucks. I don't think I'll use that recipe again. I followed it to the letter and got hockey pucks. Ah well.

Bobs are over there. They say hi. Not sure what I'm going to do with the two tanks. New Bobs need to get bigger before I feel like transplanting in the two older Bobs. Hopefully they last that long. And hopefully transplanting them doesn't also transplant the bacteria.

There was a storm the other night. I posted a video so Amy could see the lightening. But I wanted to show you something freakin' cool!

Here's a picture of what the bayou normally looks like.
Here's what it looked like that night.

Uh-mazing. Anyhow. Nothing's really happening. But sometimes that's a relief. :-)

New Orleans: Le Vieux Carré

The entire trip to New Orleans was a rousing success, I think. Jazz Fest was really cool, but I think the part I needed most was just some time away from everything.

Everyone made it into town all right. Kyle, Patrick, and I made good time driving from Houston, and the weather was great. There were storms ahead of us. They passed through Houston the night before, and sprinkled on us a bit on the road, but they poured on the Friday Jazz Fest visitors, apparently.

We got to New Orleans around 5pm, after the rains had all moved through. I remembered the right exits for Downtown and got off of I-10 onto Poydras Street. Then tried to find a way up to Canal and Royal, for our hotel.

Well, apparently you can’t take any left turns on Canal. So we went across to find a way through the one-way streets of the French Quarter. That actually took a while. We got onto Royal all right, and then found it blocked off at the block right behind the cathedral. So we wandered down a few more streets, following a line of cars that all seemed to be trying to get to Canal up Royal like us. That worked.

We ate dinner at Fiorella’s (BEST fried chicken) and got Erik at the airport, which was an adventure in itself with the no left turn thing, but now at least I know my way off of and onto I-10.

After breakfast the next day Patrick and Kyle headed to Jazz Fest, and I split off from everyone. I spent most of that day wandering around the French Quarter by myself. I wandered through the French Market and was drawn into some candy shops by the delicious smells. I bought a maple praline and a white chocolate and pecan cluster at the first one.

At the second one, the smells were even sweeter. I went in and a guy behind the counter was speaking what sounded to me to be excellent and fluent Spanish to a customer. He asked the man as he was leaving where he was from, and the man said Honduras. The man asked him where he was from, and he replied, “Dallas, Texas.” I was impressed.

I came up to the counter and looked at all the candies to decide what to try. I’d say I was like a kid in a candy store, but, well, you know. :-P

So I got a free sample of praline from the guy. It was very good. But I ended up buying a dark chocolate tortue (turtle). Dark chocolate, caramel, and pecans. Mmmmm.

“Only one?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” I smiled.
“Well, for you, okay.”

I paid him and he said, “Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle.”
“De rien!”
“Ahhh, Mademoiselle, vouz parlez francais!”
“Je parle un peu de francais.”
“What part of Texas are you from?”
“Born in Bryan, lived near San Antonio, currently Houston.”
“Bryan, that’s by College Station.”
“Yup, my father was an Aggie.”
“Ah, I have a brother at A&M.”
“My little sister goes there. I went to Rice.”

He was very impressed. I thanked him again and headed back out of the shop. It wasn’t for a few minutes that I realized I’d never mentioned being from Texas before he asked what part I was from. Do I look and sound that Texan?!

You know, thinking back, he was actually pretty good looking. I should go back there next time I’m in town. :-P

I went into a voodoo shop. I expected it to be touristy and kitschy, but it wasn’t. There were icons (I don’t know the right word; I don’t want to call them dolls) representing different spirits, there was incense, there was music and a man doing readings. I can’t begin to describe the sounds and smells and colors. I had thought of buying something, if it was kitschy, but this was too real, to meaningful, and the meaning wasn’t for me. I don’t know enough to find it. I am a Christian, and a Catholic, but I don’t believe that these are the only truths. It was interesting, and someday I’ll go back and read all the cards and learn more.

Back out in the sun and the heat, I walked slowly down Royal Street, loitering at the shop windows looking at the paintings and photographs in the galleries, lingering past doorways with the cool air rushing out. Reading signs, peering into dark passages behind wrought-iron scrollwork to see green courtyards behind the buildings.

People must have flowed around me on the sidewalks, laughing, talking, but I don’t remember them. I just remember the sunlight, the heat, the flower-trimmed balconies and colorful facades.

Back at the hotel, I caught up with Erik, and after I made a call to book a spot on a ghosts and spirits tour, and we went to the aquarium down by the river. There was a tank with a glass tunnel through it, and the fish swam around and over us. There was an otter. There were jellyfish that glowed pink and orange and rainbow along the edges. There were sea horses and leafy sea dragons. In the Amazon atrium there was a green anaconda and piranhas and round black rays over a foot across with white spots the size of quarters, bright birds with flashes of yellow on their wings, or heads shining blue like turquoises. In the Mississippi river room there were spoonbill catfish that swam with gaping mouths and the light shining through their gills into their throats, there were alligator gars and a huge white alligator. There was a Gulf of Mexico tank with huge nurse sharks, massive rays, and a magnificent sea turtle. It was so cool!

I grabbed dinner and headed out for my tour. The guide walked us around the French Quarter, and told us stories from the mid-1700s to 2006, with generals, pirates, vampires, bankrupt gamblers, and storm-torn lovers, as the sun dropped and the light faded from the sky, leaving the Vieux Carré lamp-lit and heavy with the humid dusk.

When the tour ended by the cathedral, I called the guys to find out where they were. I met up with them at the far end of the French Market at the Louisiana Pizza Kitchen. Bread pudding was on the menu, without raisins, even! One of my goals for the trip was to have bread pudding in New Orleans, since they’re known for their bread pudding. It was really yummy, though it had some sort of apple cinnamon syrup over it which I could have done without. Still, the texture was perfect, and I think they used sourdough. Mmmm. :-)

We walked down Bourbon Street on our way back. Pretty much not my scene, even when it isn’t Mardi Gras! Back at the hotel we watched Pixar’s Cars on cable TV and called it a night.

Jazz Fest!

So! Jazz Fest was a blast. Pictures here!

The Jazz Fest website has links to a list of live Jazz Fest recordings you can buy. I'm not sure I'll be buying any of the live recordings, but I'll definitely be buying Maurice Brown's debut album, as well as the Alvin Baptiste one. This was my favorite music of the day.

Maurice Brown was the first act we saw. He's kind of a funk jazz bebop trumpet player who has drums, bass, piano, and a tenor sax in his combo. "Hip to Bob" was an incredibly fun song, and he played a lovely ballad of his new album called, I believe, "Love You." Both of these were composed by Mr. Brown himself, and I'm really looking forward to hearing what else he has.

We took the chance between sets to go check things out a bit. I found the ice cream booth and snagged some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in a waffle cone while the boys were in the Borders tent. They were selling quite a bit of music right there, but I decided I would wait until later, just so I'd know that I really liked what I wanted to buy. Because basically everything sounded fabulous to me, and if I'd impulse bought, I'd have bought it all!

Patrick and Kyle and I went over to watch the University of New Orleans Louis Armstrong Quintet. I don't remember a whole lot of their set, but they were really good, and very fun to listen to. They were playing on a stage tucked away in a little courtyard behind the race track grandstand. There were some restaurants back there, too, and a fountain with flowers around it. It was pretty, fairly empty, and much more intimate than the big stages.

Patrick and I were going to split the pork chop, rice, and cornbread plate for lunch, but they'd run out of cornbread. We ended up with just the porkchop, and then I bought a big fat piece of butter pecan cake to split amongst us all back in the Jazz Tent. The pork chop had a good flavor, but was pretty dry. The cake was delicious!

Back in the Jazz Tent we caught Jeremy Davenport, who was a more classical jazz trumpet player and vocalist. I was interested in seeing his show, and we needed to start camping out in the Jazz Tent at that point anyway, to make sure we had seats to the Branford Marsalis performance. He had an amazingly dark tone. I kept looking to make sure he was really playing a trumpet and not a flugelhorn, it was that dark. But that was the only thing interesting about his performance. Every time he started singing, he sounded kinda just like a lounge act. In fact, I ended up taking a bit of a nap. He wasn't bad. Just not... interesting to me.

As I said before, I thoroughly enjoyed the Marsalis Music performances with Mr. Baptiste's family, Harry Connick, Jr., etc. They all had stories to tell, and while it felt like a bit of an imposition to be there, not knowing the man at all, it was still amazing to have that opportunity to get to know him, albeit posthumously. They told the story of how he dismissed Branford from his group. They talked of how at 70 years old he agreed to teach young musicians in New Orleans. They sang his songs. It was wonderful.

There were other stories to be told as well. At one point, Bob French was introducing a song, and said, "Let's go out to the ghettos! We all been out to the ghettos before!" And Harry Connick, Jr. leaned around the piano and shook his head emphatically. He said something to Mr. French, and Mr. French replied, "What, you ain't been out to the ghettos? You was there every Saturday! What? You weren't? What, is your father in the audience? Oh. He is! " :-P Harry Connick, Jr. nodded and hung his head, and turned to the folks seated off to the left of the stage and shrugged penitentially. Oops!

After a while I left that tent just to wander around some on my own. I'm pretty sure the tall older gentleman in the orange striped suit who was walking with some security folks was Allen Toussaint. Then a security guard stopped us pedestrians to let a limo pull onto the vehicle path from behind the Acura Stage. Yup, that was Steely Dan.

I rambled through the craft booths and looked at all the stages, listened to whatever acts were performing, and wandered on. I stopped by a stall selling all sorts of baked goods. I asked the man and woman behind the counter, "What's the best thing you have?" "Are you a chocolate person?" the man responded. Heh, oooooh yeah. So he and the woman recommended the chocolate eclairs as being just wonderful. They also had the benefit of being stored back in the cooler, so they were cold. I bought one of those. It was a divine mess of chocolate on top of puff pastry wrapped around more richer sweeter chocolate. I got chocolate on my nose. I got chocolate on my chin. I got chocolate all over my hands.

Now THAT'S a dessert!

I poked my head into the Economy Tent to listen to some dixieland jazz, but the only standing room I could find was really muddy. It sounded like a lot of fun, though, and people were packed into a pretty little space to enjoy it. I ran into Erik and Joe, who had decided to leave, so I walked around with them for a bit as they bought some ice cream, then headed out. Then I decided to head back to the Jazz Tent to catch the Branford Marsalis Quartet.

As I wandered that way, I got sucked into the gospel tent by a truly joyful noise. With so much to see and hear, I didn't get to experience everything, of course. But I'm glad I caught at least that bit of gospel music. People were dancing and clapping and raising their hands. The sound was like waves breaking on rocks. It was a roar and a splash and a bubble of music. The leader was all over the stage, and the choir would fall silent, then thunder out with a wave of his hand. It was better than James Brown in the Blues Brothers movies! :-P

I did finally break away from that to get back to the Jazz Tent. The Branford Marsalis Quartet was by far the most polished, put together, and inovative act I saw. It was a lot less structured and more free form than I tend to care for. At times it seemed like everyone was playing a improvisational lines, but somehow it all laid down together into one beat. It was pure quality. The bass player played an amazing solo all over that bass, making sounds I'd never heard before. Not for me the most enjoyable part, but definitely the most musically impressive and enriching. An experience I've never had before, seeing jazz of that quality performed live.

Everything I saw was new and wonderful and different. It was hot and crowded and blazingly bright and muddy and dusty by turns. But the food was delicious and the music swept me away. A day given over to art and passion and good downhome southern cooking is definitely a day well spent! I'll be going back next year, and for as many years to come as I can manage.

Jazz Fest!

So! Jazz Fest was a blast. Pictures here!

The Jazz Fest website has links to a list of live Jazz Fest recordings you can buy. I'm not sure I'll be buying any of the live recordings, but I'll definitely be buying Maurice Brown's debut album, as well as the Alvin Baptiste one. This was my favorite music of the day.

Maurice Brown was the first act we saw. He's kind of a funk jazz bebop trumpet player who has drums, bass, piano, and a tenor sax in his combo. "Hip to Bob" was an incredibly fun song, and he played a lovely ballad of his new album called, I believe, "Love You." Both of these were composed by Mr. Brown himself, and I'm really looking forward to hearing what else he has.

We took the chance between sets to go check things out a bit. I found the ice cream booth and snagged some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in a waffle cone while the boys were in the Borders tent. They were selling quite a bit of music right there, but I decided I would wait until later, just so I'd know that I really liked what I wanted to buy. Because basically everything sounded fabulous to me, and if I'd impulse bought, I'd have bought it all!

Patrick and Kyle and I went over to watch the University of New Orleans Louis Armstrong Quintet. I don't remember a whole lot of their set, but they were really good, and very fun to listen to. They were playing on a stage tucked away in a little courtyard behind the race track grandstand. There were some restaurants back there, too, and a fountain with flowers around it. It was pretty, fairly empty, and much more intimate than the big stages.

Patrick and I were going to split the pork chop, rice, and cornbread plate for lunch, but they'd run out of cornbread. We ended up with just the porkchop, and then I bought a big fat piece of butter pecan cake to split amongst us all back in the Jazz Tent. The pork chop had a good flavor, but was pretty dry. The cake was delicious!

Back in the Jazz Tent we caught Jeremy Davenport, who was a more classical jazz trumpet player and vocalist. I was interested in seeing his show, and we needed to start camping out in the Jazz Tent at that point anyway, to make sure we had seats to the Branford Marsalis performance. He had an amazingly dark tone. I kept looking to make sure he was really playing a trumpet and not a flugelhorn, it was that dark. But that was the only thing interesting about his performance. Every time he started singing, he sounded kinda just like a lounge act. In fact, I ended up taking a bit of a nap. He wasn't bad. Just not... interesting to me.

As I said before, I thoroughly enjoyed the Marsalis Music performances with Mr. Baptiste's family, Harry Connick, Jr., etc. They all had stories to tell, and while it felt like a bit of an imposition to be there, not knowing the man at all, it was still amazing to have that opportunity to get to know him, albeit posthumously. They told the story of how he dismissed Branford from his group. They talked of how at 70 years old he agreed to teach young musicians in New Orleans. They sang his songs. It was wonderful.

There were other stories to be told as well. At one point, Bob French was introducing a song, and said, "Let's go out to the ghettos! We all been out to the ghettos before!" And Harry Connick, Jr. leaned around the piano and shook his head emphatically. He said something to Mr. French, and Mr. French replied, "What, you ain't been out to the ghettos? You was there every Saturday! What? You weren't? What, is your father in the audience? Oh. He is! " :-P Harry Connick, Jr. nodded and hung his head, and turned to the folks seated off to the left of the stage and shrugged penitentially. Oops!

After a while I left that tent just to wander around some on my own. I'm pretty sure the tall older gentleman in the orange striped suit who was walking with some security folks was Allen Toussaint. Then a security guard stopped us pedestrians to let a limo pull onto the vehicle path from behind the Acura Stage. Yup, that was Steely Dan.

I rambled through the craft booths and looked at all the stages, listened to whatever acts were performing, and wandered on. I stopped by a stall selling all sorts of baked goods. I asked the man and woman behind the counter, "What's the best thing you have?" "Are you a chocolate person?" the man responded. Heh, oooooh yeah. So he and the woman recommended the chocolate eclairs as being just wonderful. They also had the benefit of being stored back in the cooler, so they were cold. I bought one of those. It was a divine mess of chocolate on top of puff pastry wrapped around more richer sweeter chocolate. I got chocolate on my nose. I got chocolate on my chin. I got chocolate all over my hands.

Now THAT'S a dessert!

I poked my head into the Economy Tent to listen to some dixieland jazz, but the only standing room I could find was really muddy. It sounded like a lot of fun, though, and people were packed into a pretty little space to enjoy it. I ran into Erik and Joe, who had decided to leave, so I walked around with them for a bit as they bought some ice cream, then headed out. Then I decided to head back to the Jazz Tent to catch the Branford Marsalis Quartet.

As I wandered that way, I got sucked into the gospel tent by a truly joyful noise. With so much to see and hear, I didn't get to experience everything, of course. But I'm glad I caught at least that bit of gospel music. People were dancing and clapping and raising their hands. The sound was like waves breaking on rocks. It was a roar and a splash and a bubble of music. The leader was all over the stage, and the choir would fall silent, then thunder out with a wave of his hand. It was better than James Brown in the Blues Brothers movies! :-P

I did finally break away from that to get back to the Jazz Tent. The Branford Marsalis Quartet was by far the most polished, put together, and inovative act I saw. It was a lot less structured and more free form than I tend to care for. At times it seemed like everyone was playing a improvisational lines, but somehow it all laid down together into one beat. It was pure quality. The bass player played an amazing solo all over that bass, making sounds I'd never heard before. Not for me the most enjoyable part, but definitely the most musically impressive and enriching. An experience I've never had before, seeing jazz of that quality performed live.

Everything I saw was new and wonderful and different. It was hot and blazingly bright and muddy and dusty by turns. But the food was delicious and the music swept me away. A day given over to art and passion and good downhome southern cooking is definitely a day well spent! I'll be going back next year, and for as many years to come as I can manage.

Alvin Baptiste

Before I post my journal about my weekend in New Orleans, I want to tell a little about Alvin Baptiste.

I had heard of Mr. Baptiste before, but I'm pretty new to all this jazz. If I've heard of a person, it's probably about as much as I know. But if I've heard of them, they're probably someone. Someone other people know. And Mr. Baptiste was known and respected by many people. At Jazz Fest on Sunday he was to perform with Bob French and Branford Marsalis and Harry Connick, Jr. as part of a tribute to himself.

He died that morning of a heart attack.

I've linked here an article about Mr. Baptiste's death and life. Here is information on an album released by Marsalis Music recently. As part of the tribute to him on Sunday, they sang some of his songs and celebrated his memory.

I enjoyed his music very much. I want to learn more about him, and regret very much that I will never see him perform. As part of the tribute to him, Mr. Baptiste's neice sang a song in his memory, with her brother, his nephew, on trumpet with her. It was the most beautiful part of the performance, the part that has stayed with me most vividly, and the first memory I want to share with you.

When I think of my first Jazz Fest, I think what I will always remember a beautiful woman in a white dress with a beautiful voice that was rich with love and grief (and managed somehow not to break), singing these words.

No complaints and no regrets
I still believe in chasing dreams and placing bets
And I have learned that all you give is all you get
So give it all you've got

I had my share, I drank my fill
And even though I'm satisfied, I'm hungry still
To see what's down another road, beyond a hill
And do it all again

So here's to life
And every joy it brings
Here's to life
To dreamers and their dreams

Funny how the time just flies
How love can go from warm hellos to sad goodbyes
And leave you with the memories you've memorized
To keep your winters warm

But there's no yes in yesterday
And who knows what tomorrow brings, or takes away
As long as I'm still in the game, I want to play
For laughs, for life, for love

So here's to life
And every joy it brings
Here's to life
To dreamers and their dreams
May all your storms be weathered
And all that's good get better

Here's to life
Here's to love
And here's to you

Odds and Ends

I promise I'm preparing a nice journal about my adventures in New Orleans, including all my stories from Jazz Fest. But in the mean time, life has continued, as it is wont to do. So while you're all waiting, breathless with anticipation......

:-P

Earlier I posted photos of my lego OCD. Well, just the other day, I found...


Gasp! A STRAY!!! Don't worry. The situation has been rectified.

So, while I was in New Orleans, I had a friend looking after Bob. I saw him on line when I was on my computer in the hotel room (I love free wi-fi) so I went to ask him how my little ones were doing. He said he had just the hour before seen all three of my sea-monkeys swimming around.

All... three?

Um, there are supposed to be four.

But maybe one was hiding behind the pirate ship. Or inside the pirate ship.

Nope.

Got home, settled in, went to check on Bob, and only saw the three males. Turned the tank around, and there behind the pirate ship was my last momma Bob. Sigh.

On the up side, the one baby I knew was there when I left is still squirting around, and there are two new ones I hadn't seen before. So we're still net positive for sea-monkeys.

ALSO.

While I was gone, the new tank came in. With, of course, the new little packets of instant Bob.

Check out the new digs!


Check out Bob checking out the new digs!


And here's the new digs just now ready to become the new Bob!


After I give the new baby Bobs at least a week to get established, I'm going to take any surviving pirate ship baby Bobs and add them to the sparkly new tank. I'm really really hoping to keep the new tank cleaner than the old one. I've been developing some more hygenic sea-monkey habits. I wanted to cleans my little plastic pumps with boiling water, but the plastic is too soft, I find. :-P

I hope I have better luck with my new Bobs. I want them to enjoy their nice shiny new tank for a long time!