Big Bend ~ December 26 ~ Of Morning Frost and Drowsy Owls

Today’s odyssey began at roughly 6:30am just outside of La Grange, Texas. I packed up my belongings, grabbed the muffins and juice my hosts at the Big Tin Flag bed and breakfast had provided for my dine-while-dashing convenience, and stumbled out the door into the dim pre-dawn light to find my car sparkling with frost. I loaded my bags and breakfast, turned on the defroster, pulled out an old gift card, and scraped away as a dim avian shadow, high in a leafless tree, silhouetted against the brightening horizon, hooted at me sleepily.

With visibility adequately improved, I drove to my grandmother's to launch a brief hunt for my missing sunglasses. An abbreviated search in the dark front rooms revealed nothing, and I didn’t want to turn on lights or hunt in earnest, because two of my cousins were crashed on couches within my search perimeter. I also just didn’t have much time. I dug through the suitcase I stowed last night in my sister’s Tahoe, full of the gear I wouldn’t need for Big Bend, until I came up with my old French Market Jackie O shades. Non-optimal for rugged terrain, but better than nothing. Then I hit the road for real. (I later found the missing shades on the floorboards in front of my passenger seat. Mystery solved.)

I’d forgotten about that time of day, early early, before the sun is quite awake, where every passing instant brings a change to the light, and the world looks completely different after a blink. The dry tawny fields were silver with frost, and as I crossed the Colorado, I caught a glimpse of the pearly wreaths of mist rising from its still-seeming waters. I’ve got my favorite book of all time, Jane Eyre, on my iPod now, and the miles slid by as I listened, driving through fields, past farms, churches, agricultural equipment repair shops, in the strengthening day, racing the sun as it rose.

I made excellent time, in spite of stops in Austin for groceries, Fredericksburg for a snack, and a handful of other towns along Interstates and lesser highways for gas, breaks, and additional supplies, shifting from westward to southward to westward again across the biggest state in the lower forty-eight. (It helps that the speed limit on I-10 is 80 miles per hour out west.) The road seemed to jump over the rolling hills like a kitten running through tall grass, peak around the shoulders of more rugged heights, curve in a long stretch playing with the horizon like a narrow string, then finally sprawl tired and flat for long stretches.

Around 4:15pm, during the golden hour, when the sun droops gracefully toward setting, my heart jumped to my throat as I topped a rise and recognized the Chisos Mountains and Casa Grande Peak ahead. I have so many homes these days, but the few weeks I’ve spent in the park have been so unbelievably rich that this particular horizon has been etched into my heart like the profile of an old love.

I pulled up to my hotel, cut my engine, and opened my car door to absolute silence. No traffic on the nearby roads, no people walking the surrounding gravel paths, no birdsong and not a breath of air to rustle the dry grasses. Just utter stillness for several heartbeats, until I climbed out, swung my door shut, and headed for check in. I’d found my room and was starting to unload my bags when the soft call of an early owl drifted from a nearby grove of scrub, like an echo of the cold central Texas morning I left behind.

I went for a walk after sunset, and remembered how the deepening of twilight mirrors the early dawn in that every blink brings new stars to view. I sprawled out on a park bench on a putting green in the middle of the Chihuahuan desert with the blossoming night all to myself, ignoring the cold for as long as I could just for the joy of seeing six of the seven Pleiades. I’ve been told the seventh sister just cannot be seen by the naked eye these days, but I may try again tomorrow when I’m better prepared to outlast the chill of desert night.

Now I’ve unpacked and am enjoying one of my favorite indulgences: Summer sausage and cream cheese on sesame rice crackers and a glass of sweet red wine. I’m also enjoying the broken and sporadic free wi-fi here in the Badlands portion of the Lajitas Resort. On the agenda for tomorrow: Burro Spring, Ward Spring, and the Blue Creek trail to Cedar Spring. A few relatively short hikes (one to two miles one way) to get me warmed up and to figure out just what I’ll be capable of this year.

On the agenda for tonight, coming soon: sleep.

City of New Orleans

Do I give over heart and dreams?
Do I sink them in the river
Baptize them, watch them come up new.
Do I call this home
And wrap it around my soul?
A quick flip of fin or feather
A dark shape slides into the depths
Slipping into narrow streets
I offer heart and soul and dreams.
I lose myself.
I always do.

I landed in New Orleans after dark, cabbed to the hotel and settled in. The Quarter called to me, but I shied at first. I got as far as the Walgreen's on Canal Street and Baronne, and chatted and laughed with the cashier over my purchases (cookies, pencils, chips, and a map).

I'd planned at first to scout apartments, but I didn't do enough research to be ready for that. Ditto on my second plan, to ride all of the streetcar routes. I finally decided to do the things I'd always wanted to do, but hadn't done.

I'd never visited the Riverwalk Mall. I went there and found the most amazing food court, with pizzas and calzones and a tray of enormous turkey legs. I walked down the river longer than ever before, from the mall to Governor Nicholls wharf. The sky was as gray as the river below and I watched the waves as the Natchez steam calliope began to warm up. I leaned on the railing and watched a snail, a strange little jewel against the steel, as it pushed out into a rain drop, then pulled back into its home. I turned my back on the water and looked down into the streets. Could this be home for me?

Up and down the streets in a fairly aimless wander, I found myself beneath the convent walls. It had just run through my mind how I'd always wanted to go on the tour, and they'd never been running them, when I passed an open doorway and a sign announcing tours from 10am to 4pm. I nearly fell sideways into the archway out of surprise. Two ladies were standing in a little giftshop. I took the tour and asked the poor docent all sorts of questions she didn't know answers to. Then I chatted for several minutes with the lady in the gift shop. When I told her I'd be moving there, she was so excited for me, and made me promise to stop by and see her sometime. I made a friend. :-)

Fried chicken at Fiorella's, then I took a bus tour, something else I've never done. I saw some of Frenchman's Street, St. Louis Cemetery number 3, the spot where the 17th Street Canal failed, the Garden District, and the house Payton and Eli Manning grew up in.

Later that night I decided that while it wasn't something new, I'd like to take the Haunted History vampire tour again. The tour guide last December, Jonathan, had been a great story teller, and had been quite nice to look at, too. I walked to the cathedral where the tour gathered, and saw none other than Jonathan himself. I paid for my tour, and after glancing at me a few times as I milled around, he turned to me and said, "You've been on my tour before." I agreed that I had! "Towards the end of last year?" Yes!

Now, I know exactly why I remember him, and at any rate, I'd only had one vampire tour guide. But he gives these tours all the time, and I have to say I'm pretty flattered that ten months after giving me that one tour, he recognized me. I might have to look him up when I move. It's nice to think a good-looking guy finds me, if nothing else, memorable. :-)

Oh. The next day there was a football game. Rice won. Yay!

I took the ghost tour after dinner on Saturday. My tour guide had a black German Shepherd named Sarah, and I made friends with her. Then I did something else I'd never done. I had my palm read in Jackson Square. I watched Jerik read four other people while I was waiting. They were all so similar that I wondered if he just always said the same things. But he seemed to be indicating the right parts of their hands as he spoke, from what I know about palmistry.

Then he got to my hand, and I was pretty different from all of them. Let's see. I have an earth hand, meaning I am a practical and down to earth person. (That I'm not so sure of.) My intellect line is a full six out of six. "My dear, you are *very* bright, with incredibly good reasoning skills." I have artistic fingers, tapered from base to tip, with a managerial spread to my four fingers, "and about as independent a thumb as you can have and still function when working with others." Some part of my hand indicates that I'm as stubborn as "two Missouri mules, a wooly mammoth, and a house cat, for good measure." Unlike all of the indented mounds of Saturn before me, indicating people who never want to grow up, my mound of Saturn is flat. "You, my dear, really are an adult, though indicates that you will age only slowly, and will probably always look ten years younger than you really are." I have an extensive heart line, and will maintain friendships for a lifetime. I have good triangulation of Neptune, indicating strong people skills. My fertility line is pretty productive, "My dear, you could people a small village if you wanted to. You have the potential for seven children if you care to have that many." And as for my life line, I had the longest one he'd seen all evening, and could easily live into my nineties with none of the serious ailments attending age, like Alzheimers. Of course, I don't believe any of it, but it's kinda fun!

After that, I met up with Chuck and we walked up and down Bourbon Street a bit. A woman with a cooler actually offered to sell Chuck a Miller Lite. One can't really expect her to understand why I doubled over laughing. Chuck got himself a real beer and we wound our way through the crowd. At the Halloween party inside and outside of a GLBT bar, we saw a six-foot Dorothy in ruby combat boots. AWESOME.

The next morning I had the pleasure of introducing Chuck to my favorite bakery, the Croissant D'Or. He quite approved. When he headed back to the hotel to load the buses, I took myself back to Jackson Square. Something else I've always wanted to do but hadn't was go through the history museum in the Cabildo, next to the cathedral, so I did that, wandering through the exhibits and reading the placards while a solo trumpet played full and rich out in the sunlit square.

On the way back to the hotel to pick up my bags and catch a cab to the airport, I stepped into the Jesuit church on Baronne. It was dim and cool inside, adorned with a heavier intricacy than St. Louis Cathedral in the square. It was still and empty and lovely, with the hum from the traffic outside like the sound of whispered prayers, like the hum of an ocean shell. In that church I prayed that I'd find a home here, and also find a great adventure. I had some hours in the airport ahead of me, but here I said good bye to New Orleans, for now.

And that night, landing in Houston, somehow it didn't feel like the homecoming it's always been before.

My Christmas Vacation 2007

Was just drifting awake on the morning of Thursday, December 20 when my cell phone rang. It was Kid wishing me happy birthday.

"Are you at work?"

"No, I took the day off."

"Oh no! I woke you up, didn't I?"

She hadn't, really, and it was time to get going. Two hours of tossing stuff into bags and checking stuff off of impromptu packing lists, and I was on the road. Was eating lunch at Frank's in Schulenburg when Uncle John called to wish me happy birthday.

Got to Biscuit Hill Bed and Breakfast a little after 3pm. Was greeted by Deana, who runs the place. She showed me around, we settled my bill in advance, and she said I'd have the house to myself until the other couple got in the next day, and breakfast would be at 9:30. Seemed silly for her to expect me for breakfast, since I'd much rather sleep in at least the first day, and when I said this she said that was fine! And she sent me up to my room with these amazing cinnamon crumb muffins and apple juice. I ran out that night for crackers, cream cheese, salami, and wine for my dinner. I took a walk down the creek bed under the wary gaze of the four whitetail does had come up for the corn that I'd tossed out for them. The rest of the evening I spent curled up in my room or soaking in the huge jacuzzi tub, eating my crackers and cheese and such and reading. And reading. And reading.

The next day I went driving around the hills. I drove by my old home, but everything was changed. The trees had grown up and blocked the views I remember, and it didn't feel like home any more. But I saw Mrs. Schultze in her driveway as I drove by, so I pulled in and talked with her for a while, and it was great to see her.

Drove back up by the lake and stopped to take some pictures, then came back to the B&B. Was once again a lazy bum with a stack of good books. The next day I did go down for breakfast, chatted with Josh and Marlena from Katy, checked with Deana that I was good to leave when I was packed, then headed out just before 11am.

Got to Mom's and we finished cleaning and setting up the Christmas decor. That night we had Kid's boyfriend and his parents and younger sister over to join Mom and Kid and Grandma and me for dinner in honor of my birthday. It was fun. The next day Kid's boyfriend installed a new back door with a little doggie door for Abby, and I wrapped presents. Yes it took me most of the day to do that. We had the food network on, too, and then after dinner we opened Christmas presents by the tree. I don't know what's going to run out first... red kitchen gadgetry for Mom to buy me, or kitchen for me to put red gadgetry in. :-P

Christmas Eve Grandma headed on to Kerrville and we headed to La Grange. I left first, but I took my time, and I stopped to visit Dad's grave. A lot has been going on, and I miss him, but crying with my cheek against his headstone for a while felt as close as I'm ever going to come again to crying in his arms. I got tears all over the stone, and felt the way I would if it had been his shirt I'd soaked. I wish I could tell him everything, just to hear him say how proud he still was of me, and that of course I've never disappointed him. It's what I know he'd say, deep down, but never hearing it leaves me still doubting sometimes.

Kid and her boyfriend beat me to Momo's, and Mom got there a little afterwards. That evening, like always, we went to the Christmas pageant mass. Don't get me wrong, I think it's great for the kids to be the ones to celebrate the Word, but I think I need to find a new way to worship Christmas. It's too much spectacle. And choir is just horrible. No, really. And the congregation doesn't join in very loudly, even though everyone knows the words. So it just kind of hurts. I guess I shouldn't be such a snob; it's about worship, not performance. But kids reading through the scripture as fast as they can and a choir that never starts at the right time and parents snapping pictures... I needed something more this year. Something deeper. Oh well. I'm also going to start booking a hotel room. With all the kids and grandkids and spouses and great grandkids and significant owners, the house is getting kind of crowded. And kind of noisy.

We had Chinese Christmas that night like always. The Crown Royal was a popular item, and my cousin Shane and another cousin's boyfriend worked out a strategy where they both managed to get and freeze the two bottles up for grabs. It was highly amusing. And fairly brilliant. I'm ashamed to say the only miffed feelings this time were mine when Brooke stole the neat faux leather storage footstool I'd got, but most of that was for show. Still, Greg stole a tool set from Mom to freeze it for her, and then Mom stole the footstool back for me, and Brooke ended up with colored cordial glasses that she really likes, so it all turned out okay.

Anyway, today we had a big dinner, and I drove home, and so now I'm watching my new CSI Las Vegas videos. No more red wine in the apartment, though. I spilled my glass, which wouldn't be so bad, only then I mopped it up with a green wash cloth that bleeds. Red and green. Merry Christmas!

Interview with the Hair Stylist OR My Date with the Big Easy

This weekend’s theme is vampires. My whole reason for staying in New Orleans is to read Interview with the Vampire in its setting. That and I’m in love the French Quarter.

Got my hair dyed on the first floor of One Shell Square by a stylist who was once personal assistant to Anne Rice. He had several of her books at his station, and when he offered me a magazine while I waited for my hair to finish turning Warm Celtic Copper, I explained my weekend project and asked if instead I could... He took his copy from the shelf and said, “Do you know where you left off?” <3

I was the first patron for dinner at Petunia’s. I don’t recommend. The food, for the price, not so much. My waiter… Okay, a very few men may call me “Babe” and not raise my hackles. ONLY my father could ever call me “Baby” without incurring the icy glare of doom. A waiter who calls me “Baby” on multiple occasions, and continuously bugs me about what I’m reading while I’m very obviously… busy reading… does not win points. The finishing touch was when he brought the check and said, “I’d love to talk with you more, but that book must be really good.” Grrr.

Next, the Haunted History vampire tour of the French Quarter. VERY fun. Lots of spine tingles, and not just because of the cute tour guide. :-) I love a creepy story, even if it does make me walk really fast back to my hotel. And I love the history of this city, the lore and the legend. I love to lose myself in it. To stare, eyes wide, ears focused on the tales the guide is spinning, breathing in deeply and soaking up everything I can as it swirls around me. I’ve been happy with both my Haunted History tours through the French Quarter, and I highly recommend that company.

I’m more than halfway done with the book, so I expect I’ll finish tomorrow. I intend to buy the book of New Orleans ghost and vampire stories that Jonathan (the guide) recommended.

The witching hour has come. Back to my dreams.

Welcome back, Laura!

Welcome back, Laura! I got back from Italy about, ohhh, an hour ago. I haven't slept since 9pm last night, local time. (Got up at 4am this morning, Roman time, and been chasing the sun all day. I think it's finally about to set.)

I had a fabulous trip, and none of my five jars of pesto, two jars of salsa di rucola, one jar of olive pesto, or bottle of olive oil were broken! (I pretty much expected to open my suit case and be regaled by a tantalizing/demoralizing aroma of basil.)

Tim carried my suitcase up, such a nice boy. I unlock my door, and it smells kinda funny, but then I've been away a week with the A/C set higher than normal, so maybe just stuffy?

Hmmm. My kitchen light is off, but maybe when Tim checked on the place Tuesday...

Wait... why the HELL is every book I own piled in front of or on top of my couch?

Wait... where the hell's my coffee table? Why...

Okay, good, laptop, television, all in their normal places, but why... did someone steal my BOOKCASES???

No.... They're still ther-- HOLY CRAP! NEW FLOOR! WTF???

Tim indicates the folded note, marked with my complex number, that I barely noticed stepping over as I came in. "Maybe it says something in there?"

It does. Okay, well, new floor. Tim opines that I shouldn't worry about it until after I've had plenty of rest. Smart guy, that Tim. I peek into my bedroom.

And wail.

My bed is covered with various contents of closet and washer dryer alcove, not to mention a pile of clean underwear I'd left on my couch. Great. The flooring crew was kind enough to move my pile of underwear... That's... disconcerting.

Then another wail, "I can't even get to my bathroom!"

Tim is much better mentally equipped to deal with this than I am at this point. He clears off my bed, forges a path to my bathroom, then leaves to fulfill some prior engagements, but not before giving me a hug and telling me again not to mess with it tonight.

Like I said. Smart guy, that Tim.

So, I'm home, I'm safe, I'm exhausted, I had a blast, I'm now highly amused at the state of my apartment, and I'm going to bed.

I'll post links to travelblogs and photo albums when I get them up and running.

There's no place like home!

P.S. (Added Sunday, September 9) -- I'll say this for the flooring people. Upon closer inspection, they've added a quarter-round wooden molding around the baseboards, BUT... they were incredibly nice and cut it away where they put my bookshelves back in, so the shelves all still fit. That's quality work.

Last Blog Stateside for a Bit

I may write briefly once I get to Italy, just to say I got there, but I'm going to try to avoid computers and give my wrists a break. Know that I will miss all of you at least a little, and I hope everyone has a great week!

To those who have demanded I take lots of pictures... Well, I intend to take a few, it's true, but don't be surprised if my photographic record is sparse. I'm not a fan of seeing life through a camera lens, so I may opt to simply gaze and bask and absorb and not record the unprocessed visual data. I can almost guarantee, though, that there will be a series of journal entries to blog when I get back. That will be my way of taking you there, not just letting you see through my eyes, but think with my thoughts, feel with my heart.

I'm still not quite packed. That spell Hermione does on her little beaded bag would be *so* useful. Even being minimal it looks like a lot of stuff. I think I will eat lunch, and get back to it.

I love you all! I'm so excited! If I could pack you in my luggage, I would!

Arrivederci!

My Day in the Sun: Thought without Analysis

Clear the wide belt of stop-and-stop traffic surrounding Houston. Wind through small town coastal flat Texas as the sun sets. Is the Navidad River is supposed to be that wide. Fields of cotton and sorghum, green and scarlet under a blue sky as far as eye can see.

Sleep and then sand and sun. Watching the waves skim around my ankles, mesmerized by the glimmering ripples and the small fish darting in and out. Digging my toes into the sand to unearth the clams under their little sand-blowing stacks. Sinking to my ankles as I gaze over the blue waves to the horizon. Wading into green swells half-hiding golden sands and fish and rich brown seaweed. Catching my breath as an incoming wave splashes to my waist. Large pipers and small pipers huddle apart from each other on a stretch of empty sand.

Rinsing off and floating in the pool surrounded by the voices of people I love. Drip drying on the edge, then curling under a towel on a chaise-lounge to read a book under palm shade. Wandering souvenir shop shelves that hold the same shells and plastic animals and cheap picture frames they’ve held every year I come. Carrying corn on the cob and potatoes and fajita steaks up from the barbecue pits to the suite. Eating and laughing and eating and laughing.

Sleep and sun and the smell of bacon. Breakfast and packing and waiting for the ferry. A long drive home through bright skies into a storm and back out again. Drop the bags on the apartment floor, call Mom to say I got home safe, and back to laundry, housework, and life as usual.

Nawlin's, Sugah :-)

I'm in New Orleans, in the W again. I like this place!

It's been an interesting trip, starting with Hobby security. I wore my green Nerds shirt today, and a TSA agent asked me, "So, are you a nerd?" She seemed quite taken aback when I said, "Yup!"

"Oh, well, that's okay. Nerds are great people." Um, all right.

I've never seen security held up by so many people in a row. First there was the guy in the wheel chair, but that's not at all outlandish, so we'll pass over him. But, then there was the guy who kept setting off the metal detector. He finally figured out it was his "back brace." At least, that's what he called it. Only, well, it looked for all the world like the unfanciest whale-bone corset on earth. Then the girl in front of me had to get wanded. Turns out she had metal in her weave.

o_O

Apparently I'm getting good at this carry-on only travel. The TSA guy at the end of the metal detector was explaining to Miss Metal-Weave that her toiletries were not up to regulations. He was explaining that she couldn't take what she had and could get more at the shops in the terminal, and just as she asked how they needed to be, my bin came sliding out with my neatly packed quart bag of 3 oz bottles lying on top.

"This, here! This is exactly, this is beautiful, perfect, this is exactly, who's is this?"

I think I made his day. :-P People must be getting this wrong. A lot.

Got to New Orleans without incident. We flew along the coast, so I amused myself by staring at the shoreline. The flight attendant taking drink orders had to tap me on the shoulder, and seemed pleasantly amused by my childish wonder with the view.

I decided to practice being friendly and outgoing to strangers. This is hard for me. But I asked the cabby if I could sit up front with him, and chatted about travel in general, foreign travel, the history in New Orleans, and all sorts of stuff. He asked me if I've ever eaten at Mother's, since it was right across the street from the W. He said it was pretty much the best hole in the wall in town.

So after I settled in, I headed over there. They serve breakfast all day. I like places that serve breakfast all day. Their sign says "World's best baked ham." So I got that with my scrambled eggs and grits. It was sooooo good. But I couldn't finish. So much grits. Best grits I'd ever had, but so many of them. I swear I ate half of them, and you couldn't tell I'd touched them. I highly recommend.

After dinner I walked into the French Quarter to catch my tour. I stopped by the Hardrock to see if they had the guitar pick charms. They don't. Again. I swear, I've been to that store so many times, and they only had it once, before I started collecting, when a friend got one. Maybe I'll just see if I can find one on eBay.

The other guy behind the counter said, "Hey, we have actual guitar picks!" I told him that I had guitar picks already, from the Gibson factory in Memphis.

"But these say Hardrock!"

"GIBSON FACTORY."

"Okay, yeah, that's pretty cool."

So, I caught my tour, it was fun, my feet are killing me. But the tour guide was great, and I really enjoy just wandering around the French Quarter.

My room has a DVD player, so I'm watching X-Files now. After this episode, I should get to bed, since I have that early meeting and all. Back in town and back to the usual tomorrow.

It's been a great afternoon.

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.

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!

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.

Cruise Journal: 12/14/2007

On Board Tourist

Today I explored the ship. Decks 4, 5, and 6 are really just corridors and cabins. Deck 6 has the Medical Center, which we checked out briefly back the other day to see if they could give us an Ace bandage. So the real exploring started on deck 7.

After breakfast, Mom, Bud, Pat, and the Coopers sat down to play cards, and I went to get my camera and notebook and pocket ship guide. I wandered through the reception area, then out onto the promenade deck (deck 7). I got up to the front, and headed up the stairs, took in a few decks, then my camera ran out of batteries. So I went into the ship to find the shops. Bought batteries and rum cake, stopped and said hi to Mom et al., then went back to my exploring. I completed my circuit around the promenade deck then began working my way up the fore decks. Deck 8 is just cabins again, so I explored the restaurants and everything on deck 9, the auditorium and casino and shops on deck 10, and the spa and observation lounge on deck 12. I couldn’t go any higher up in the fore, so I went back down, checked in on the card players again, and began on the aft decks.

After my travels, I went to a beginning Japanese lesson. Turns out my handwriting is abysmal in any language. If I ever find out I’m going to Japan, at least I’ll have a little guide to study for customary courtesy.

Now my head is hurting, so I might go lay down a bit before dinner. But I see others of my party now, so maybe I should go be social.

Cruise Journal: 12/13/2007

Things I Learned about Belize

Our guide for the bus ride and Mayan ruins was named Ken. He was amazing. He talked the whole time about history and culture and current events, Belizean government, celebrities, just about tons of stuff.

Belize’s major exports were indigo wood for dye and mahogany. There aren’t many mahogany trees left in Belize. Today their biggest exports are citrus concentrate and… rum or sugar cane. I can’t remember which, but the Traders rum apparently won in some major taste test recently.

There are several theories for the origin of the country name. A Scottish pirate named Wallace founded a settlement on the river, and Belize may be a bastardization of the name Wallace. The Mayan word belix (pronounced bellish) means land of murky or muddy water. The Mayan words bel itsa means land of enchanted water. Belize has also been known as British Honduras and the Mosquito Coast.

Belize has actually set up a trust fund for environmental preservation. It’s called PACT. It’s pretty cool, actually. I’ve linked it, so you should check it out.

Cashews have an interesting story. They are a seed that grows on the outside of a fruit. The fruit is edible and they make it into wine. The seed is, of course, edible. The pod that holds the seed, however, contains a powerful irritant. It will burn your skin if touched, and when they roast the fruits to harvest the cashews, they wrap wet towels around their mouths to avoid the smoke, which is as bad as tear gas. The oil they extract from the pod is used to make paint thinner. They have a legend that the devil made the cashew to prove he was as good at making things as God. And he meant to use it to poison God, but he was in such haste to finish that he forgot to put the seed in its poisoned pod in the fruit.

The Mayans painted their buildings red on the east side. The east is where the sun rises, and red symbolizes birth and rebirth. They painted the west sides, where the sun set each day, black, the color for death. Green was a color symbolizing life, and the center or heart of the buildings were painted in green.

Stingray barbs have were used for a specific sacrificial ritual. The priest performing the sacrifice used the barbs as anesthetic, then let blood from his foreskin. The giving of blood from the source of life had a strong spiritual significance. The blood would be burned, and as the smoke spiraled up, it was said to become the feathered serpent Quetzalcoatl.

The Mayans believed that the first race of people were made from clay. These people could not move, and could not speak, only jabber like animals. The second race was made from wood. They could move stiffly, like a robot, and speak. But they mistreated the animals and were destroyed by fire and flood. Now we’re in the third race. We’re made of corn.

The Kapok tree (I took a picture of one near the reservoir) connects the underworld, this world, and the heavens. The branches form a cross, called the foliated cross by Christian missionaries. Per an old custom, if the tree was covered in thorns, and you hung yourself from it, you’d go straight to heaven. I wonder if this made the crucifixion of Christ seem like a familiar tradition. Material from the trees is now used to make life jackets.

Children of the royal family underwent pretty serious cosmetic surgery throughout their lives. As babies boards were strapped to their heads in order to flatten the forehead. Red beads were fixed between their eyes so that their eyes would focus inward, weakening their muscles and making them cross-eyed. As adults, their teeth would be ground into fangs, and jade and hematite would be inlaid into the enamel. Porcupine quills would be inserted into the cheeks. Fangs and whiskers and flat forehead were all to make the royalty look like jaguars. Lucky folks.

The town names are fascinating. Here are a few with the stories behind them:

• More Tomorrow – if there wasn’t enough today, there will be more tomorrow
• Don’t Delay – if you do you’ll get caught in a flash flood
• Young Gel Run – harks back to the days when European men would kidnap the Mayan women to take as wives, and according to our guide, there are no more young people living in the town, and they joke about changing the name to Old Gel Can’t Run

The first American television channel available in Belize was channel 9, out of Chicago. Incidentally, all the Belizeans are Cub fans.

So anyway, that’s what I learned today. But I didn’t feel so good on the ride back. Go figure, days and days on the boat with only a little motion sickness, then 2 hours in a bus and I feel like crap. The rocking of the tender boat at the pier was actually a welcome feeling. Now I’ve had a cookie and some ginger ale, and I feel a bit better. All in all, today was incredibly fun and educational!

Cruise Journal: 12/12/2007

Ashore in Cozumel

It was raining as we docked. It rained off and on all day. The shopping center at the end of the pier was expensive, but clean. We found a shop where I could buy a diet coke, some batteries, and an elastic bandage (think Ace bandage, only white and not Ace). See, I’ve hurt my foot. Not in any dramatic accident that will at least provide me with an exciting story. Just the old complaint returning at an unexpected time. I tooled all over Glacier National Park without having any trouble, but one day walking around Progresso and Mérida, and my right foot is done in. I’ve never had this plantar fasciitis as bad as it is right now. Not only is my foot sore right in front of my heel, my arch is swollen a little, and all the inside of my foot is tender when I touch it. Advil makes it better, and slowly it seems to be mending. I really hope it doesn’t give me too much trouble on the ONE excursion I’m taking tomorrow to some Mayan ruins in Belize.

At any rate, I tried to minimize the walking in Cozumel today. In spite of the clouds and rain, Mom and I grabbed a cab down to one of the Paradise Beach Club. Here’s how the beaches work here. They’re all government owned, so they’re all free. It’s the chairs, umbrellas, restrooms, and showers that cost money. But what you do is you go to a beach club like the San Francisco or the Paradise, get a drink, and plop down in a chair. For the price of a fairly expensive but not ridiculously priced drink, or two, you can use the showers, chaises lounges, whatever. And swim in the gorgeous water, if it’s not too cold for you. With the overcast sky and the drizzle, it was a bit to cold for me. I have to be pretty warm before I want to dip myself in chilly water.

We stayed only about an hour. Then we came back into town to the shopping center. Mom was certain there was a large liquor store in the shopping center, in spite of the fact that we walked the entire center, didn’t see any large liquor stores, and where she thought it must be was closed for renovations.

“It’s right there, it must be right there.”

“That’s closed, Mom. There was the little one I saw.”

“I don’t want to go to the little one. I want to go to that big one I went to before. It’s right there, that must be it.”

“That’s closed for renovations, Mom.”

“Well the taxi driver said there was a big one here.”

“No, he said there were four little ones.”

“No, the other taxi driver.”

“The store he was talking about is the supermarket we passed. I saw it when we went by. He said it was two blocks that way.”

“Well there’s a big one right near here. It’s right there, let’s go over there.”

“MOM, that’s CLOSED.”

Dios mio.

And she kept asking everyone who looked native where she could buy liquor. Do you know what it’s like to wander around a city with a woman who insists on sounding like a lush? Many of them didn’t understand the word, “liquor” either, apparently. Or alcohol, which doesn’t make sense. You’d think it would be close enough to “alcool.” Oh well. So I’d pipe up from behind her, “Tequila, vodka. Para comprar tequila y vodka.” I figure they can’t mistake “tequila” or “vodka.”

We met up with some of our group in Carlos and Charlie’s. Surprisingly enough, this is not my kind of place. Everyone my age and most of the people twice my age were pretty wasted, and there was a periodic conga line for free tequila, squirted directly into the mouth of passing patrons. The music was loud, the lights were flashing, and all I could think was, great, there are at least five huge cruise ships in that port, and every mindlessly drunk American in town is within 300 feet of me. Yay. Made it out of there eventually, and came back to the ship to sit and rest my foot. I’m typing this now from the 9^th deck, where there’s a coffee bar, a library, the computer center, and a craft class making bandanas with beaded fringe. It’s terribly fun. If I’d brought my sister’s camera up instead of just her card, I could take a lovely photo of a parasailor with a red checkered canvas against the grey sky and grey water.

The water here is a gorgeous blue, right next to the ship. Just amazing. But with the clouds, as I look across the water right now, it’s a steely color. I suspect the shore I can see across the way is Playa del Carmen. It doesn’t look very tropical, but it does look very restful. Argh, I wish I had my camera. This parasailor is taunting me. This is what I hate about taking a camera at all. It makes me discontent to just see and absorb. I must capture digitally, and no one will ever really want to see it anyway, and I’ll never look at it again. So screw it. I’m just going to stop typing and start absorbing some more. One of the ladies beading across the table with me is from Bulverde, close to home. Small world.

Trivia

The craft class has left, and now I seem to be sitting in a trivia game. I think I’ll answer the questions and see how I do.

1. blue whale – world’s largest mammal - right

2. whale shark – world’s largest shark - right

3. sperm whale – what kind of whale was moby dick - right

4. ants – giant insects in “Them” - right

5. African – larger elephant (African or Indian) – guessed… right

6. true – male penguins care for young while females hunt for food – guessed… right

7. moose – Canada’s national animal – guessed right, but changed it! The beaver!

8. desert storm – desert shield became this in 1991 - right

9. 31 – days in months with religious importance to Caesar – guessed… right

10. wine – four letter word for fermented grape juice - right (duh)

11. Amsterdam – first European city to have street lights – guessed… wrong. Paris

12. baseball – team sport contributing most words and phrases to everyday English – right

13. pyramid at giza – only ancient 7 wonder still standing - right

14. Toronto – capital of Canada – wrong. I knew that, though. Ottowa

15. pink – color of yak’s milk – wrong. blue! Huh!

16. 12 – people fed from ostrich egg according to joy of cooking – wrong. 24!

17. Minnie Pearl - $1.98 price tag hanging from straw hat - right

18. brown – what color was coca-cola originally – green! Ew!

19. Les Miserables – longest running broadway musical – phantom of the opera. Huh.

20. California, New Mexico – largest producers of carrots – CA and TX, I was half right!

Okay, I guessed on a lot of those, but I got 12 right. The couple behind me got 13. I’d have come in second. Hah!

Impatience

I am really not a patient person. And I’m a language snob. These are not endearing qualities. I’m tired of hearing people mispronounce things. Repeatedly. And I hate to sound like a pedant and always be correcting them. And my impatience with the hard of hearing doesn’t bode well for when I start losing my own hearing. I’m going to be pretty darn grouchy about it, I imagine.

And my impatience with people who have to talk about all the things they disapprove of over and over and over. Look, I don’t want to sandwich dance in a club, EVER. My personal space envelope around strangers is humongous, and I lack so much dignity in other areas that I have to preserve what I can. But you know what, if another young woman likes it, hey, Cozumel’s Carlos and Charlie’s is as good a place as any for her to indulge, and do I really have to hear about it before dinner, and again during dinner. Yes, there was dirty dancing in the club. No, I don’t care for it. But it happens. People enjoy it. Different… er… strokes. I would have gotten up and left, if Mom had wanted. I was only waiting for her. I saw things that embarrassed me. I have not and will not recount them at the dinner table, or here. But Mom's offended sensibilities don't seem to be stopping her.

So instead of going to the show, I’ve decided to come back to the room, order a glass of wine, and just chill. I need it. I hate being so impatient, but I don’t do well with crowds, and this vacation would be a lot more relaxing if I could just be by myself a lot more. I’ve said it before, but I just don’t like seeing the world with the words “American Tourist” branded on my forehead.

I’ve got my glass of wine and ginger ale now. Don’t worry, the Riesling was the cheapest wine on the menu, and I’m not ruining it in the least. I’m going to type up some notes so I don’t have to do all this when I get back. Chilling starting now.

Night

The water here seems different somehow. I don’t know why, but it’s lighter, softer. The boat moves through it and it slides and hisses like a light silk, frothing into a dazzling foam that fizzles out almost immediately. This is very different even from the blue water we had the first full day at sea, on the way to Progresso. It’s worlds away from the heavy, turbid ship channel water. I walk to the aft deck to watch our wake. I look up into the sky, and see the stars glimmering through the clouds. It’s lonely, and for the first time, here in the dark, I feel afraid of the cold, dark water below. I walk fast back to the door into the ship, to the light and warmth of a human world, apart from the awful, unfeeling beauty of the swirling blackness that surrounds and supports us. This is the definition of the sublime.

Cruise Journal: 12/11/2007

For Better or Worse

Today I realized, I am an American, for better or for worse. We went into Progresso and Mérida Mexico, in the Yucatan. I’m not really sure how I feel about anything. Some of the buildings were lovely, stucco over stone, painted in cheerful colors with white shutters and wrought-iron accents. But you look close and the paint is chipped, the wood rotting. The doors open into cool caverns of rooms no longer used or outfitted for anything like their original purposes. Now the walls are hung with cheap merchandize, tables are set up and loaded with more cheap merchandize, and people sit looking black against the shaded white walls, with a listless air. There’s activity and bustle out on the sidewalks, and many of the women wear straight white cotton dresses with brilliant embroidery. There are lovely parks and busy corners. And there is decay. All of these only add to my sense of dissociation and disorientation.

I’m one of a group of 10. My mom is about twice my age, and she’s the next youngest. Our group is white middle class conservative ex-military. They’re wonderful people. But they make me impatient. They know just little enough Spanish to mispronounce everything, send me off to ask the wrong questions, and make it difficult for me to understand the answers I get, because while I’m trying to ask in Spanish and understand the person I’m talking too, they’re asking in English with a few (mutilated) Spanish words, and talking louder than I’m willing to.

If I’d been by myself, I would have wandered through the markets smiling and shaking my head, meandered into bakeries and eaten one of everything, bought a necklace for way too much or way too little money, taken pictures of every little architectural detail that caught my eye, asked questions quietly and shyly, probably of the children and little old women. Instead I’m wandering along with people who are on one hand childishly proud of their ability to navigate a foreign country, and on the other wishing it were more like Disney World. Everyone is out to cheat us, so we must never pay what they ask. For all I know, this may be true. Americans are all rich, after all, and so why not make a little extra money off of their naïveté.

But the poverty I feel lurking just beyond the bright paint and impeccably clean parks tears at me. I *am* so wealthy compared to these people. They may very well live better lives than I do, for all that. But I know they lack comforts I take for granted. Free toilet paper in public restrooms, for one thing. And so, for a minute, let’s pretend they aren’t trying to cheat us. Just asking a certain price we’re well able to pay for a service they are well able to render. Like a taxi ride into town. How do we look, refusing to pay any more than a quarter what they ask? How do we look when we don’t know enough Spanish to understand what they asked in the first place, and so offer two pesos instead of the requested two dollars. And how do we look when we care so little for how we look?

I want to see these cities as something other than an American. I want to be someone they don’t expect extra profit from, and someone they don’t expect rudeness from. I want to eat their food and read their signs, attend their services, and slip quietly into shadows at the end of the day without having spent less money than I could have and more money than I should have. But for better or worse, I’m an American. With my Spanish and the improvements I would expect it to undergo after several days here, I might be able to pass for, if not a native, at least a Canadian. But my group is unmistakable American. So really getting to know the country will have to wait until some other time.

The Dinner Table

Maybe this fascinates only me, but let me tell you about the typical dinner table, and the typical cruise dinner. First, you sit down at a place setting that goes like this. From left to right: bread plate with small butter knife. Yes, everyone gets their own butter knife. It's fabulous. Salad Fork. Dinner Fork. Napkin. Dinner Knife. Um, salad knife? And above the knives, water goblet. If the wait person is standing near you, he/she will pick up your napkin and drape it over your lap. The wait person hands out the menus and puts out baskets of bread (slices, baguettes, and dinner rolls) and trays of butter packets (bowls with ice in them, with a vented cover that the butter rests on. They will bring you wine, or you can bring your own and they’ll pour it out. They fill your water goblet, and you open your menu.

The first section of the menu is appetizers. Next come soup and salad selections. On the facing page you have entrees, and below that, desserts (by far the most tantalizing part of the menu, as far as I’m concerned). From this list, you select as many as you want of whatever you want. I’m serious. Mom had two entrees from tonight’s menu (salmon and strip steak). I had two desserts (flan and chocolate soufflé with Irish cream sauce). The portions all tend to be reasonable. The appetizers and desserts are small enough that ordering two isn’t really that excessive. At least in the two standard restaurants (The Four Seasons and The Terrace). The Italian restaurant (The Trattoria) was somewhat more… abundant. And we ate there last night, which was lobster night, so the lobster lovers each had at least two tails. I had an absolutely smashing pork chop.

Basically, I’ve become addicted to butter on my rolls. They’ve got these little packets of Borden salted and whipped butter. God, it’s good stuff. I’ve also been making an absolute pig out of myself, and compensating by taking the stairs. I swear, they’re going to have to roll me off this ship. But the food is so GOOD! Everything about this whole cruise experience so far simply screams excess. I’d like to do this again some time, but I’m not sure my conscience will allow it.

Bowling

Well, so Rice didn't win the New Orleans Bowl. We really did not play up to the level I've seen us play this season, and you just can't win in the post-season without being at the top of your game. But I have absolute faith that this is just the beginning of our bowl experience with Todd Graham as head coach. We'll be back, and next time, with a win!

Win or lose, New Orleans was a BLAST. Morale for me was a little at ebb just because of all the travel and worry and nudging aside of Christmas traditions. But I got to see some friends I hadn't seen in years, and hang out with some of the most fun people I know in a city I'm quickly becoming entranced with.

I flew in Thursday night, and actually managed an earlier flight. I was waiting in my gate, and the flight before mine was a bit delayed, and apparently had 13 empty seats. One of the gate attendants approached me and asked if I'd like to just fly out now, and I said sure.

When I got on the plane, there were of course no window seats left, but some rather... ahem... nice-looking young men sitting in a row towards the back kept glancing at me as I walked down the aisle, so, in a what-the-hell sort of move, I made my way to them and asked if the seat between them was taken. They said I could certainly sit there, and the one on the aisle even got up and moved to the middle. Very gentlemanly, I think, since all the men I know would decidedly rather NOT sit in a middle seat.

I had apparently attracted their notice with my MOB jacket, because as I sat down, I noticed the rings. Rice rings. They were 2004 and 2005 grads, and former members of the football team! One of them had even been on the panel that had selected coach Graham. I never did get names, but I really enjoyed talking with them during the flight. Especially since it helped us keep ourselves distracted from the turbulence. The flight was a little rough, but at least the rain had stopped. New Orleans neighborhoods had apparently seen some flooding earlier in the day, but I was able to land just fine.

They apparently work in investment banking up in Dallas, and are just so excited about the changes to the football program. They also planned to get a cab the next day and drive around the city to see how places other than the French Quarter were fairing in the aftermath of Katrina. New Orleans is definitely pushing its way back up, but there's a lot to be done. And as Katy said, it really makes you want to spend your money on the street performers and the food and just being a tourist, because it's an industry that you can contribute to so easily, to help them get back on their feet. I hope we helped!

Speaking of my roomie for the trip, Katy, I called her when I got in, and she and a bunch of others were out at Pat O'Brian's tackling hurricanes of a different sort. I collected my room key from Joanna and Mark, who picked me up at the airport, and my uniform from Mike and Will's room, got everything situated in my own room, and set out with Mike for Bourbon Street and Pat O's. Which I keep wanting to call Brian O'Neill's. Bear with me.

Mike and I found a crowd out on the Pat O patio, and Katy was a little, um, tipsy. :-P I'm not sure how long they'd been there, but we didn't all stay much longer after that. Maybe an hour, and I had a Sprite. It rained a bit, so we got a little damp. In the end, the group split, and Mike took his group of very happy MOBsters back to the hotel while I agreed to get four of them over to Cafe du Monde.

Mind you, before the beginning of this week, I hadn't been to New Orleans since my junior year in college. I definitely need to learn the city a bit better. Right now I'm pretty well landmark oriented, but not at all directionally oriented, and I prefer to be both. My goal for my next visit is to pin down which way, exactly, is north. My next visit will likely be early in 2007, since work will be picking up. As it was, I got us to Cafe du Monde after only five extra blocks of walking or so, for which I felt kinda bad, because some of our party really needed the facilities. But we got there without losing anyone, and grabbed a dozen beignets for the five of us. Katy probably ate five of them herself. :-P Fortunately I had absolutely no problem finding Canal Street and our Mariott from Cafe du Monde.

The next morning Katy and I headed back to Cafe du Monde to meet my friend Ellen, who sang in Philharmonics with me. Hadn't seen her in a few years! On the way we stopped in the Jax Brewery shopping center for me to do some Christmas shopping. I was planning on having to grab a half hour somewhere to get to the Rice Village so I could buy my grandmother a gift card at Chico's, but I had noticed a Chico's there on the walk the night before. Score! We took care of that, and wandered around the shopping center checking out tourist junk for sale. It started drizzling, so we contemplated buying an umbrella, but in the end we were able to just wait it out, and when it cleared up we walked down to Cafe du Monde for our second visit.

It was amazing how many people we saw there and on the streets wearing Rice shirts! The owls were definitely out in force, and everyone was PUMPED. The trumpet player who was out on the sidewalk playing to us started up "Deep in the Heart of Texas" and a full two-thirds of the cafe patrons began to clap along. My friend Ellen showed up, and introducing her to Katy was really fun! They're both living in Michigan right now, so they had a lot of common ground to chat about. And of course there was all the gossip about ourselves and our mutual friends.

Ellen's family lives in Metairie, and their house was definitely affected by Katrina. It's been really hard on her mother, especially, and her father had to temporarily relocate to Philadelphia for work during this last year. It looks like things are starting to come back together, but it's still really hard. It reminds you that even when the tangible damage is dealt with, the scars that are left can run so much deeper. Life will never be what it would have been. It can only be... what it can be. It can only be what a person, a family, a city, and a nation can make of it. They still need our thoughts and our prayers, to say nothing of whatever tangible help we can give, to make it *good*.

Some of Ellen's other friends who were in town came to meet her, and a large group of MOBsters turned up, swelling the ranks of Rice folk, and the trumpet player cranked up Louie Louie, probably by MOB request. Katy and I were hungry, so we decided we would find Fiorella's and sample their world famous fried chicken for lunch. We grabbed Tera out of the big MOB group, and I called up Tim to see what he was up to. He and three other guys agreed to start heading down Decatur Street towards Cafe du Monde, and I agreed to call them once I'd found the place, since I'd received information that it was on Decatur.

Tera, Katy, and I wandered down towards the French Market, and caught a glimpse of our goal just past the big yellow cinderblock building that held Jimmie Buffet's Margaritaville. We went in to stake out a table, and got sent to the back of the restaurant. So I went out to wait for the boys, since there was no way they'd find us on their own at that point.

While I was standing on the sidewalk outside, a guy in a Rice sweatshirt came out of the gift shop next-door. I grinned and said, "Go Rice!" and he came over to chat. He said he had actually gone to Indiana, but his father had played football at Rice, and was a member of the 1961 team! The last Rice team to go to a bowl game! At that point, and older gentleman came out of the shop and walked over to us and said hi. I asked if he'd really played in the last Rice bowl game, and he said, yes! I told him it was an honor and a pleasure to meet him, and we talked a bit about all the program had been through over the years, and how terribly exciting it was to be in New Orleans for a bowl. They went on their way, and soon the boys showed up.

Okay, if you're ever in New Orleans, and if you like fried chicken, then Fiorella's is a place you do NOT want to miss. Ask me for directions. Oh my. Now, I've grown up in Texas, and my mom makes some pretty darn good fried chicken. Her's is different from this, but this stuff was PHENOMENAL. Crispy, piping hot, deliciously seasoned without being too spicy for me, but still with a tang that let you know this was definitely Nawlins chicken. We decided that between the seven of us, we probably ate four fried chickens and a Coke. Jake Blues would be proud.

By the time we were done eating, it was getting to be time to head back to the hotel. We wanted to stop at House of Blues for souvenir shopping, but they were unfortunately closed. So we just went on to get ready. While I was changing, Joanna called to make sure I was in and that she new my right room number, because she had something for me. She and Mark came down, and gave me a holiday gift!!! It was a GREAT tie that has a trumpet on it and says "New Orleans Jazz." Now I have *two* ties to wear for MOB that come from New Orleans and have cool stories (my other tie I bought 45 minutes before I had to be dressed and on the bus for my first ever game with the MOB, in a dollar store off Bourbon Street). Very nice present. I love it! Thanks again, you guys. :-D

For news of the game and the show, you can check out various forums. I just don't have the energy, and honestly, I wasn't at full strength for the game. Though I did do a good job of busting my chops and torching my vocal chords. Go Owls!

After the game the adventures around town began again. We were unfortunately too late to hit the Red Fish Grill, so I was disappointed in my hopes of trying the double chocolate bread pudding. A group of ten or so of us ended up in a pizza/daquiri shop down Bourbon, that was playing some really fun Latin dance mix sounding music. Paul and Chip (who moved to Chicago a while back, and we haven't seen since then) got their grooves on and were dancing to the beat. It sounds incredibly goofy, put like that. Only, the thing is, they're both *amazing* dancers. And I have to say there are few things I find more attractive/enjoyable to watch than a guy who can really dance. Those two were a blast. I even got to swing dance a little with Chip later on, which I enjoyed emmensely. Swing dancing is definitely something I need to pick up again.

From the daquiri shop we made our way back to Pat O'Brian's for another night. Roy offered to buy a round, so I agreed to have a Kir Royale, since that seems to be about the only cocktail I know of that I can actually enjoy drinking. Let me tell you. Pat O's makes a *very* nice Kir Royale. And Roy didn't even end up getting to buy. A gentleman in a Rice polo shirt saw our gear and came over to say hi. Turns out his son is a Rice player, and he just could *not* say enough about how much the support of the students and especially of the MOB means to the team and their families. He thanked us all profusely, bought our whole table two rounds, and chatted for a while about Rice football.

We also ran into some of the team. They *also* thanked us profusely. One of them in particular hung out at our table for while, toasted us, yelled "GO MOB!" a fair number of times, danced along with Chip and Paul, and after being away for a bit, started carrying over six more hurricanes for our table. There was a *lot* of liquid enjoyment running around our group. But it was *just* a blast to meet these guys, and to know that what we do really means a lot to them. That is, after all, a lot of why we do it.

I was good, and didn't even try to start the second Kir Royale that had appeared on the table. One is my limit for now. I don't think I managed to get drunk, and I didn't feel sick, so I think my tolerance is improving with very minimal effort on my part. I still prefer soft drinks. :-P After some portion of about, what, 25 hurricanes? had been consumed, along with several daquiries, some beer, and my girly drink in a champagne glass, it was closing time. We all headed out to the street, and getting Katy back to the hotel took some doing. She was *quite* sloshed. We stopped a couple of times for glasses of water to pour into her, and managed to hang together as a group pretty well, considering I was probably the only person who qualified as sober.

We decided that Katy probably wasn't going to be good for the 6:30am bus loading time, and that I as her roommate was not up to the task of getting us both down there after that much booze and only about 2 hours sleep (it was 3:30am when we left Pat O's, and it did end up taking a fair amount of time to get back to the room). So Will graciously agreed to take me, Katy, and Tera back to Houston with him. We agreed to meet downstairs at 10:30am, we all got back to our rooms, Tera helped me get Katy to bed, and we all slept happily and deeply for a few hours, at least. Which explains why I'm incredibly sleepy right now, and ready to turn in as soon as I finish telling you all my stories.

We got all checked out of the hotel on time the next day, and decided to make one last run to Cafe du Monde. We parked by the steamboat landing and got to look at the Mississippi under a gorgeous blue sky, and listen to the steam calliope play some *beautiful* Christmas carols. Hee. We grabbed our beignets to go, and ate them sitting on a bench in Jackson Square, after looking over the street artists' works on display. I bought an old slate painted with a night scene and a trumpet player. I love it!

Some time after noon we got on the road, and headed back to Houston, with some stops along the way. We hit a Burger King, and when I went across the street to the Chevron for a soda with a resealable top, I saw something pretty appalling. They had angel figurines about a foot tall with fiber-optic light up wings in shades of pastel pink and blue. Ew.

The drive back was uneventful, and now I'm home, so the adventures are over. Time to slow down a bit, and enjoy Christmas. Cruise stuff when I'm done doing that. :-)

Oh, I forgot

Another uber-cool thing about the W. The mats in the elevators.

When we first got there, at around 3:30 pm, they said "Good Afternoon" and I went, huh.

When I went downstairs for dinner at around 7 pm, they said "Good Evening" and I went, awww yeah.

When I went downstairs the next day to check out at around 7 am, they said "Good Morning" of course.

Talk about attention to detail. :-)

I <3 New Orleans

Cruise journal coming soon, I promise. As soon as I have time to think about it without forgetting all these other adventures I’m having that I want to share.

I’m in the W New Orleans. I’ve been awake since 3:45 this morning. Halfway through my meeting at Shell, I realized I’d been up for over 6 hours, and the morning wasn’t half over. It’s been a long day.

I’m so glad my coworker Danny offered to drive. He actually knows where to park at Intergalactic. We got there in good time, considering our flight took off a bit late. They had to find 11 people willing to take the later flight, cuz they’d over booked. For $300 in travel credit, I’d have done it, but I kinda had somewhere I needed to be. Like the meeting I was traveling for.

Anyway, so we board the plane. I had a window seat. And an aisle seat. At the same time. And two people had to move from the front to the back to make sure the plane was balanced okay. Fun! But I wasn’t nervous at all. Danny said he was.

So meeting good job team blah blah blah. Then they took us to lunch. At the Red Fish Grill. I had the venison patty melt, and yes I’m now fully aware that my lack of appreciation for sea food and spicy food mean I will never fully enjoy all New Orleans cuisine has to offer. It was still a dang good burger. And I’m *fully* capable of appreciating the chocolate bourbon pecan pie with caramel sauce that they put in front of me for dessert. FULLY capable. I was really full. And they recommended a good place for us to go to for dinner, and we went, and I was too full to really do it justice. But my ravioli were yummy, and the duck Danny ordered was SUPERB. There was a jazz pianist in the foyer, and wainscoting and striped wall paper and stained glass and still life paintings in heavy frames. But my favorite part of this trip by far was the walk back to the hotel.

First off, I love this city because of how much is within walking distance, and how many people walk. We walked to lunch. We walked from the office to our digs. We’ve walked everywhere. And anywhere you can walk along the street admiring the paintings in the galleries, then get pulled to the window of a club by the sound of a band with a 70 year old drummer, a 20 year old pianist, and a trumpet player who sounds as rich and smooth as Miles Davis… That’s heaven. Danny keeps talking about jazz fest, and I really want to come back here for that weekend.

I have another meeting at 7:30 tomorrow morning, so I should really go to bed. But I have to tell you all about my room. Where to start. Well, let me go over to the window and gaze through the white louvered wooden blinds. I can see the Hilton. I can see the Harrah’s. I can see the pool that has “WET” in big letters on its bottom (they like W words at the W, apparently). I can see some unmarked tall buildings, and the rest is kinda lost in the fog that’s draped the city all morning. I have a closet with an actual door, a nice roomy bathroom, and an incredibly soft, cushy, and roomy king-sized bed. It really seems excessive for one small me. And that’s just the beginning.

I have a machine on my desk/table that will sell me a handful of Hot Tamales for 5¢. I have a clock radio that plays CDs. I have a 27” TV and a DVD player. I have two cushy chairs with a glass-topped end table. And I have a mini-bar & munchie box that has, I kid you not, a teddy bear in a plastic wrapper. In case I forgot mine. Which I did. But since he costs $12, I suppose I’ll leave him for someone else. But I want him very much. Lessee. What else is in the goodie pile?

• White wine
• Red wine
• Bubbles

(WTF? Bubbles? Hold on. Okay, bubbles must mean that miniscule bottle of Champagne.)

• Bud light
• Heineken
• Corona
• W wine ($42 friggin dollars???)
• Soda
• Juice
• Large water
• Small water

(They’re all snooty, and call it H2O.)

• Energy drink
• W snickers
• W M&Ms
• W Oreos
• W cocktail jelly beans
• W Cocabon chocolates
• W Twizzlers
• W cashews
• W trail mix

(What makes them all so “W”? Oh, the fact that they’ve been additionally-packaged in a plastic box with a sticker across the lid that says “W”. I bet that’s so you can’t just replace them with, you know, stuff you bought at the gas station for less than, what, $6? Right.)

• Pringles
• Energy bars
• Mojito mints

So much for the edibles. Now things get even more fun. Besides the teddy bear, we have:

• CD
• T-Shirt
• Tote bag
• Short story book

(Huh, wonder what sort of authors? Huh. Among others, the author of Bridget Jones’ Diary and Steve Martin. Can’t see if they’re any good. It’s also wrapped. :-P)

• W candle
• Umbrella
• Corkscrew
• First aid kit
• Intimacy kit

Yes, that last is just about what you think it is. Eeenterrrresting. The coffee and tea aren’t on the list with prices, so I can only assume they’re complimentary. There’s an incredibly soft bathrobe in the closet, tempting me to take a bath and lounge around in it. There’s a little catalog where I can order W pillows and décor and jewelry and even MATRESSES. Oh, CAN I??? Yeesh.

The stationery rocks, though. You know how in the 18^th century you wrote your letter on thinner paper, and continued onto the envelope, which was just like the paper, only sturdier, maybe, then folded it all over and sealed it with a… wax seal? Looks like they’re trying to mimic that. Might have to snitch some and write someone a letter, just for kicks.

But for now I’ve described all the wonders I’ve found thus far, and it’s REALLY been a long day. I’m glad I’m going home tomorrow, but I’m glad I’m coming back for fun later this week.

Night, all!