Promise of a Wonderful Winter

While waiting for nature to take her course is an admirable way to live, it does take some training to gear down to that philosophy of life. I've worked on it for five years and I'm still operating my internal engine at high idle. Maybe one has to be born to the pace of peace to live happily in the lap of its luxury.

New Orleans and the Gulf Coast of Mississippi are centers of celebration. When one lives with so much uncertainty of seeing another day, one learns to grab for the gusto in every mortal moment. There's a saying for that, down here, "Laissez le bon ton roulette." ("Let the good times roll.") Another saying about people from these parts is that they work hard and they play hard. Any way you say it, laughing is a way of life for people of passion.

I'm too young to begin living the last of my life. We live in a perfectly peaceful community in the forest, but a tomb is also peaceful. At our edge of the forest, we're surrounded by family plots similar to the cities of the dead found in cemeteries all over New Orleans. The difference is that, in rural areas, the family acreage plots are occupied by the living instead of the dead. Grandpas left land to generation after generation of their family folks.

This is not to say that there aren't also family burial plots where we live; there are, where families come together for picnics near their dearly departed. I'm just not yet ready for the celebration of my afterlife; I still have so much life I want to live in this world.

We don't ever want to anticipate outliving our passions, so we're taking measures to secure our second home. A place where the water washes away all cares, where the sun and clouds dance duets across the ripples. Where even the dead of winter is dancing with delight, and includes no snowbound cabin fever.

What a wonderful winter this promises to be.

Friends with Food Flair

What a feast of fish was fixed by our friend;
But not just any fish was this.
He made fresh catfish with almondine sauce
And side dishes that were most delish.

My man said it mostly took confidence,
And then he set his student free.
One lesson and Chuck's become a chef.
Who knew how easy it would be?

What many great meals await us,
Now that all four of us will cook?
We even share a preference for
The Ursuline Convent school cookbook.

One of the joys of being in New Orleans
Is the array of fine restaurant fare.
But we now can eat with so many friends
Who cook with equal flair.

My son specializes in barbecuing meat,
And boiling of things that swim.
His wife is a gumbo and bean queen;
We love to eat with them.

We ate Italian where the Saints hang out,
Redfish l'orange at a downtown hotel,
Beignets at Cafe du Monde for dessert
And their cafe au lait, as well.

I plan to eat many more delicacies
While I still have the time.
We'll be well-padded for our return
To the colder winter clime.

Veterans and Volunteerism

Today is Veterans Day. We're with friends who have a son proudly serving as a career officer in our armed services. They are justifiably proud of their son, as I'm proud to be married to a man who volunteered as a medical officer during the Vietnam War. He still volunteers his services to all who ask for his help.

We're now in Mississippi, where Richard is giving Chuck cooking lessons. Our dear friend has decided that he will cook for his wife one day a week, now that he and she are both retired to their dream home on the coast. He sent us a request to teach him a few culinary tricks, stating that he has mastered boiling water, but not much else. This friend is a renowned scholar, educator, and author, so we didn't think that he'd much care for my "wing-it" approach to cooking. Always methodical Richard to the rescue!

Upon getting my van rearranged for my next avenues of adventure, I came upon the men busily perusing cookbooks and writing grocery lists. I let them know that I'm available for consultation, and retired to the guest bedroom. I'm happy to report that the guys are at the grocery without a word of wisdom from me.

Chuck's beautiful bride Gayle is off ministering to the community, so I'm awaiting her arrival with almost bated breath. Gayle is an avid gardener who bought this home partly because of its fabulous landscaping, only to have Hurricane Katrina flood her home and take out most of her trees. She works diligently almost daily to reclaim her haven, and has finally received her just desserts. Her yard now proudly displays a "yard of the month" sign. I can't wait to see her smile as she stands in her little patch of heaven.

The only sadness marring our reunion is the news that their super-hero son is being sent to Baghdad. They say he's going to be involved in planning for our armed forces' future in the Far East. I derive some comfort from the knowledge that he's a very compassionate and thoughtful person. I pray that he has influence toward peace, as I know his parents have handed on to him a close walk with the Holy Spirit.

Living a Loving Life

All of this marriage business has really gotten me on a roll about relationships. It has provided an opportunity to realign our priorities and recommit to our own marriage vows. Richard has made it clear that he's tired of me being blind to those that seek to sap our strength.

Every time I think my heart has expanded as far as it can, someone else pulls on my heartstrings so tenderly that I begin looking for another empty niche in which to place this person. I'm thinking it's time to purge a few people who have been rotting in place for some time. Just like a few bad apples can spoil the barrel, a few negative people can punch holes in one's heart, and all the love can leak out. This is no way to treat the people who are willing to be positive, so the nay-sayers have gotta go.

It's not that I don't still love them; it's just that the love I offer doesn't bear any fruit. Maybe that's because there are so many that want me without my man. This is not an option, as our marriage is one where "Woman draws her life from man, and gives it back again." We are partners in life and in love, and few respect that bond in any marriage. We're not just playing house; we are each other's home.

Face Off With Fear

My optimism doesn't make me an idiot;
It only means that I have high hopes.
How can we ever have joy in this world
Without some tools to cope?

Common sense isn't the same as sadness,
Anger, pessimism, or greed;
It is an understanding that we must
Define and reach for what we need.

Don't tell me what I can't do;
Teach me how I can.
If I need a helping hand,
You are welcome to chip in.

I refuse to act like an adult
If fear is going to guide my life.
Laughter, love, work, and prayer
Are my tools to get through strife.

All my friends may join me
And follow this simple plan.
I will look fear squarely in the face,
And live fully, while I can.

Madness to Mañana

All the hustle, bustle and noise has quite done my quiet man in. He's been blasted by a motor biker rally in Galveston, and nailed by noise while we dined at an elegant, but boisterous Italian restaurant. Latin love songs weren't his forte; neither were the swirling conversations attempting to outdo the music. And the traffic in Houston really drove him to distraction, where he says the GPS had a nervous breakdown trying to navigate seven lanes of traffic on either side of the freeways. At this point, I'm sure he feels like Dorothy in Oz, but without ToTo. I won't be surprised if I hear him chanting in his sleep, "There's no place like home." I don't think it was the GPS having the breakdown.

On our first day here, Richard really wanted to see the sights, especially the International Funeral Museum. He was unable to talk any of our friends into joining us for this excursion, which is how we ended up in Galveston. On our way out of town, we detoured to see a couple of friends who moved to Houston from New Orleans. Even though they highly recommend seeing this unusual sight, they admitted to never having been and not wanting to go. Once we got down to the wire, Richard was more anxious to get out of Houston than to see the sights.

Having lived in Coker Creek for most of five years, Houston really has been like being on another planet, or maybe a space station. Everything whizzes by at warp speed. Talk about a wildly swinging pendulum, one extreme to the other. Coker Creek is a bit too slow for me in winter, but in Texas everything is a bit too super-sized for our comfort.

We're on to New Orleans and the Gulf Coast of Mississippi to re-acclimate to a slower speed in life. There's a lot of Latin influence in that area, including the mañana variety. We'll reset our emotional thermostats with a series of siestas before heading back to the holler.

Godmother to Granny

The wedding is done; now comes the marriage. I was relieved to see that the bride has her own posse made up of family and friends, many of whom she cultivated as she became educated and successful in her career. She seems to be well-placed to form her own home.

Since this is a Biblical bride and groom, "The man shall leave his mother and father and cling to his wife". It is sort of sad for the mother of the groom, as she will have to remain friends with the bride or risk losing her son. In this union, it is fortunate for the groom's mother that she is good friends with the parents of the bride.

It's a huge burden for a young woman, to constantly consider what's most balanced for her society, not simply for the family that she has formed with her man. There are so many pressures to focus only on self and one's primary significant others that it is difficult to create a sacred bond seeking to make the world a better place. All these profound ponderings may lead one to believe that the wedding was a dud, but nothing could be further from the truth.

We had a wonderful time at the wedding; everything was perfectly planned and executed. I even had the opportunity to play fairy godmother to the mother of the bride. This was a Latin wedding, so "mi amiga" (my friend) wanted nothing more to dance at her daughter's wedding, but her shoes had grown or her feet had shrunken between the time she bought her shoes and the big day.

A visit to the powder room and good old Dr. Scholl's fixed her feet right up. She was able to kick up her heels without the risk of a posturing Prince Charming having to hunt her down to find the rightful owner of the wayward slipper. Cinderella's fairy godmother should have had such forethought and she may have become a great warrior for social justice instead of a pampered princess.

Once the five-hour reception supper was over, we were invited to an after-party at the hotel. Richard and I don't even want to try to keep up with the plethora of parties when two families decide to bond. While Richard repaired to our room for a bit of down time, I sat during the after-party at the hotel with the children of the sister of the bride so that the bride's mother, father, and sister could be part of the festivities. I was greatly relieved to have a good excuse to put on my pajamas.

It wasn't restful for me, as I ended up wrestling with the six-year-old junior groom. Next time I'll come with duct tape and a hog-tying rope, or at least a couple of soothing children's story books.