We did arrive on Saturday evening as planned, everything else was a bit of a bollocks. Be that as it may, the hotel is very comfortable, and Callie and Piper were troopers. I now know what music to play for a yipping sometimes howling cat to sooth her nerves. Frank Sinatra and Mel Torme, god bless them.
I have to have a moan here, actually more than a moan, a diatribe. I hope gas hits $6.00 or more a gallon. During the whole trip SUV's in particular with or without trailers, boats and cars hitched, on an average drove 85-90 miles an hour. We are talking over horrible bridges with speed limits (visibly posted many times) of 45mph, and 50mph construction zones. Not one person drove anywhere near the speed limits and the aggression on the road is breathtaking. We are in the middle of a protracted war and I am in particular very aware of this. We as Americans behave as if there is no reason to hold back or change any habits of excess. We complain about the cost of goods, gas etc. but we continue to drive and spend as if there were no crisis. No reason to obey laws, or be civil. As a nation we are spoiled and insulated to the realities of the world around us. What will it take before we become stewards, preservers and conscious of the finite resources our children are dying and fighting for. Where are the rationing lines of the seventies? Why don't they print the EPA standards on the ads for new cars, when they continue to feature big FAST cars and SUV's, when do we start to grow up, and smell the coffee. The gov't would have us still drink the cool-aid of complacency. Where are the gathering masses, who are ready for change who are willing to roll their sleeves up and get to work on being part of the solution not contributors of the problem. Please slow down, vote, give a damn.
Okay, you really don't know the half of it but I feel a little better. We went house hunting with Mary our broker yesterday, and I will go again on Wednesday. We were invited to spend Thanksgiving with Barry's boss and family bless her.
Counting my blessings and waiting for the Turkey...
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Texas South
Well Brownsville reminds me a bit of Spring Hill, although Barry laughs at this analogy. However, I had visited there a few times in the early days when it was still very horsey, and farm. There are areas that also remind me of route 19, where all the big stores and commerce are. The History of this lower Rio Grand area is interesting. They call it the Valley, and was Mexican Territory even when Texas was made a state. In about 1836, this defaulted to The U.S. and somehow became part of Texas. There have a Pirate history very similar to Tampa Bay as well. Although much drier here, there is still farming and cattle ranches, are a large part of the economy. This was the Largest shrimping area in the states until a few years ago. Now the shrimping fleet has disappeared. It is over whelming Mexican in influence and we are clearly the minority, a very funny feeling. However everyone has been kind, and I feel very safe, as there does not appear to be this large divide in areas. Pickups and SUV's are huge here and our small Hondas a bit out of place. Saturday, a large number of Mexicans cross the border to shop, and the stores were very busy with Holiday shoppers, the mall was slammed and Sam's club was pretty hectic. We ate at Koi last night and had Sushi. It was different, I did like the seafood soup, but was not as enamored with the fish. It wasn't quite what we are used to. There is another place for Japanese to try so I'll let you know. The service was good and the restaurant was beautiful so I might try the cooked Japanese next time.
We have not gone to the old town yet, this area does have a much poorer population and is very unsafe I believe. So forewarned is forearmed. I think Beau and I will take a ride this afternoon. There is a significant Jewish population in relation to the general population. Most are of Sephardi's and Latino extraction. Although there is only a Cantor at the moment he is Orthodox and services are mixed, Friday night reform and Saturday morning Orthodox/Sephardi's. So it should be a hoot.
I am struggling to find our Organic foods but have scored a few hits at Super Target and I hate to admit I went into Super Walmart, as well as Sam's. Yes, Yes I know but must needs. The HEB we went to last week was very poor but I was told to visit the other one so... Anyway Barry was in San Antonio and he scored us some Organic meat, chicken and non pork sausage for me and pork for himself. I also found Hummus and Lavash. I am just a tad lonely though as Barry is working and busy. I will go to the Library tomorrow and find a list of groups etc. I must find a place for waxing and hair ASAP, don't ask. I want to do some volunteer work, so I'll be looking into that. They have a wildlife refuge here, where a few of the Meteorologists are active. As for work, I might get involved with Yoga, there is need for it, and as for anything else I am keeping my options open for the moment. Finding a class in speaking Spanish is at the top of my list. I am told there may be one at Luby's a kind of meeting place restaurant that is big in community affairs. It is really the Wild West here, the news is awesome, as neighbor vigilantes who shoot the bad guys are on every street and are hero's. Many people pack a pistol apparently you can do so openly here. I'll let you know about that.
For now that's all that's fit to print...
We have not gone to the old town yet, this area does have a much poorer population and is very unsafe I believe. So forewarned is forearmed. I think Beau and I will take a ride this afternoon. There is a significant Jewish population in relation to the general population. Most are of Sephardi's and Latino extraction. Although there is only a Cantor at the moment he is Orthodox and services are mixed, Friday night reform and Saturday morning Orthodox/Sephardi's. So it should be a hoot.
I am struggling to find our Organic foods but have scored a few hits at Super Target and I hate to admit I went into Super Walmart, as well as Sam's. Yes, Yes I know but must needs. The HEB we went to last week was very poor but I was told to visit the other one so... Anyway Barry was in San Antonio and he scored us some Organic meat, chicken and non pork sausage for me and pork for himself. I also found Hummus and Lavash. I am just a tad lonely though as Barry is working and busy. I will go to the Library tomorrow and find a list of groups etc. I must find a place for waxing and hair ASAP, don't ask. I want to do some volunteer work, so I'll be looking into that. They have a wildlife refuge here, where a few of the Meteorologists are active. As for work, I might get involved with Yoga, there is need for it, and as for anything else I am keeping my options open for the moment. Finding a class in speaking Spanish is at the top of my list. I am told there may be one at Luby's a kind of meeting place restaurant that is big in community affairs. It is really the Wild West here, the news is awesome, as neighbor vigilantes who shoot the bad guys are on every street and are hero's. Many people pack a pistol apparently you can do so openly here. I'll let you know about that.
For now that's all that's fit to print...
Brownsville Update
"Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can." Danny Kaye
So what have you done to make your life colorful lately? Adam has taken up smoking the pipe, and touring ruined palaces, Margo has just come back from a week of touring France and Belgium, Barry's new job is, well colorful, and he is jetting to Miami as I write. As for me, I am sampling the foods of the area which are indeed colorful, getting lost with colorful language involved and learning to communicate in Spanglish with the emphasis on Anglish.
The paperwork mounts on trying to line up the sale of the house with the gov. or privately. The house here needs to go to inspection so we are setting that up asap. Found really decent Chinese food at the Lotus cafe. They have three here in town and their cousins own a few in Harlingen and McAllen. I had lunch at the New York Deli, they've been here for around 50 years, and it was very good. Sandwiches N.Y. style salads a soup of the day but no real hot Deli type stuff, like Stuffed Cabbage etc. The owner is a Beetles nut so they have memorabilia and he plays Beetles all day. I think the staff probably goes loony at night. Hell, I hear my cell phone in my sleep.
We went to McAllen yesterday, about an hour plus north of here it is a slightly larger city, with two large downtown buildings. Like Brownsville there is no real city center just a very worn out old town area. What once was the shopping hub and main street it is now very decayed and relegated to "old Rags" Ropa Viehas ( a meat dish as well here) shops, perfume discount stores, and cheap ladies undergarments. It is surround by a very depressed area and rickety homes. Driving east of main street, we did find an upscale area and the Holy Grail of Grocery stores. The HEB that has the most organics and high end food stuffs south of San Antonio. We had our coolers and stocked up. There is a Borders, and a Chico's just West of the interstate.
Rossana, is the wife of a Meterologist at B's work. She is Mexican and Sephardi. They have invited us to the Latka making party at the Temple, where all the guys make and cook the Latkas. It sounds fun and it will be our introduction to the Shul here. Amazingly I found a super Stylist/Colorist who worked for Jose Eber. She was trained in Europe before she came to the states. I went to the (Eber)salon many years ago but Rita had just moved to Vegas and was working there. She has phenomenal credentials, is a permanent makeup artist, has a theatrical makeup degree etc. Needless to say my hair looks great!! She and I hit it off, and I now have a new friend who has a very interesting story to tell.
It is my intention to bring as much color to my new home and new friends as I possibly can. Eccentricity is all it is cracked up to be.
So what have you done to make your life colorful lately? Adam has taken up smoking the pipe, and touring ruined palaces, Margo has just come back from a week of touring France and Belgium, Barry's new job is, well colorful, and he is jetting to Miami as I write. As for me, I am sampling the foods of the area which are indeed colorful, getting lost with colorful language involved and learning to communicate in Spanglish with the emphasis on Anglish.
The paperwork mounts on trying to line up the sale of the house with the gov. or privately. The house here needs to go to inspection so we are setting that up asap. Found really decent Chinese food at the Lotus cafe. They have three here in town and their cousins own a few in Harlingen and McAllen. I had lunch at the New York Deli, they've been here for around 50 years, and it was very good. Sandwiches N.Y. style salads a soup of the day but no real hot Deli type stuff, like Stuffed Cabbage etc. The owner is a Beetles nut so they have memorabilia and he plays Beetles all day. I think the staff probably goes loony at night. Hell, I hear my cell phone in my sleep.
We went to McAllen yesterday, about an hour plus north of here it is a slightly larger city, with two large downtown buildings. Like Brownsville there is no real city center just a very worn out old town area. What once was the shopping hub and main street it is now very decayed and relegated to "old Rags" Ropa Viehas ( a meat dish as well here) shops, perfume discount stores, and cheap ladies undergarments. It is surround by a very depressed area and rickety homes. Driving east of main street, we did find an upscale area and the Holy Grail of Grocery stores. The HEB that has the most organics and high end food stuffs south of San Antonio. We had our coolers and stocked up. There is a Borders, and a Chico's just West of the interstate.
Rossana, is the wife of a Meterologist at B's work. She is Mexican and Sephardi. They have invited us to the Latka making party at the Temple, where all the guys make and cook the Latkas. It sounds fun and it will be our introduction to the Shul here. Amazingly I found a super Stylist/Colorist who worked for Jose Eber. She was trained in Europe before she came to the states. I went to the (Eber)salon many years ago but Rita had just moved to Vegas and was working there. She has phenomenal credentials, is a permanent makeup artist, has a theatrical makeup degree etc. Needless to say my hair looks great!! She and I hit it off, and I now have a new friend who has a very interesting story to tell.
It is my intention to bring as much color to my new home and new friends as I possibly can. Eccentricity is all it is cracked up to be.
Hanging around
"When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on" Franklin D. Roosevelt.
I think I feel more like the Hanged man on my Tarot cards, just wait patiently would be my advise, so deep breaths and wait...
The appraisals were done but they are out of the 5% variance. So now we have a tie breaker appraisal and we have to wait till they contact us etc. So it looks like at least another week or two before we know what we will be offered for the house in Tampa. We will be in housing for at least another month plus. I hope we can stay here, the cats and I are used to the place and we feel comfortable here.
Barry and I joined the Golds Gym this week, it is brand new and in a great location. We worked out on Sunday and it was very quiet. The music is lousy, but that is just my little complaint with most music today, sorry kids really but BLECH, YUCK.
The weather broke for a few days and we were in the 50's day and 40's night but just for a few days now the heat and humidity have reappeared. It's actually warmer than Florida this year. No road trips for me lately although Barry is on one today meeting and seeing the areas they forecast for (the wild west). I did have my eyes examined (a red letter day indeed) and Adam you will be happy to know, no more cheap readers from out of the 50's. I am able to get Contact lenses so I can read close and read the computer. Long distance is still 20/20. So, no more having other people read menus, posters and the like. No missing glasses, or breaking them as I sit upon. I am going for a fitting today.
The roads continue to swell with Mexicans and winter Texans, you got it, they are not Snow Birds but Winter Texans, it says so on my Library card application. For such a small town the roads are filled no matter what time of day or night, the highway traffic to Mexico is non stop. I want to say whatever I have said about New Jersey, Florida, or D.C. drivers pale in comparison to Texas. So when you come to visit you are forewarned.
The people are generally nice and polite even if they turn into wear wolves when they drive. All my life I was the one with the accent, now I live in a place where everybody else has an accent, but now I really have an accent. As soon as I say something they ask where are you from? So do I say Florida of late or New York of very late? Either way they think my accent is cute. I am also a veritable rock star here. I stand out like a well something... The Mexicans unlike there stylish cousins the Cubins, are very Conservative. They generally dress in slacks and long sleeves, shirts or sweaters, no cleavage. It was ninety for three weeks and I am the only one in my skorts, skirts, and baby doll tops. Not to mention the ersatz blond hair. I am also, wait for it... Thin. My g-d I lived long enough to be thin. We'll it is relative. Because of a diet high in corn and dairy, the Mexican woman are very large. They are shorter than my 5'3'' frame and much larger. Suddenly I am tall and thin, I promise not to let it go to my head. At 55 I am turning heads and I didn't have to starve or anything. Wait till they get a load of Margo, Goli, Claudia or the Twins! On second thought I don't need the competition stay home girls it's all mine.
Food continues to be an interesting adventure, the "good" local cafe' Gaspacho was just okay, they have a buffet daily for lunch but I just had a luncheon special, it's just too much food for the middle of the day. Las Pampas was a terrific Venezuelan style steak house Gaucho decor et. all, A must when you come to visit.
I will say I am home sick for my friends and family hell you're all my family, so I am just plain lonely. It will get better once we know we can move forward and have some permanency.
I think I feel more like the Hanged man on my Tarot cards, just wait patiently would be my advise, so deep breaths and wait...
The appraisals were done but they are out of the 5% variance. So now we have a tie breaker appraisal and we have to wait till they contact us etc. So it looks like at least another week or two before we know what we will be offered for the house in Tampa. We will be in housing for at least another month plus. I hope we can stay here, the cats and I are used to the place and we feel comfortable here.
Barry and I joined the Golds Gym this week, it is brand new and in a great location. We worked out on Sunday and it was very quiet. The music is lousy, but that is just my little complaint with most music today, sorry kids really but BLECH, YUCK.
The weather broke for a few days and we were in the 50's day and 40's night but just for a few days now the heat and humidity have reappeared. It's actually warmer than Florida this year. No road trips for me lately although Barry is on one today meeting and seeing the areas they forecast for (the wild west). I did have my eyes examined (a red letter day indeed) and Adam you will be happy to know, no more cheap readers from out of the 50's. I am able to get Contact lenses so I can read close and read the computer. Long distance is still 20/20. So, no more having other people read menus, posters and the like. No missing glasses, or breaking them as I sit upon. I am going for a fitting today.
The roads continue to swell with Mexicans and winter Texans, you got it, they are not Snow Birds but Winter Texans, it says so on my Library card application. For such a small town the roads are filled no matter what time of day or night, the highway traffic to Mexico is non stop. I want to say whatever I have said about New Jersey, Florida, or D.C. drivers pale in comparison to Texas. So when you come to visit you are forewarned.
The people are generally nice and polite even if they turn into wear wolves when they drive. All my life I was the one with the accent, now I live in a place where everybody else has an accent, but now I really have an accent. As soon as I say something they ask where are you from? So do I say Florida of late or New York of very late? Either way they think my accent is cute. I am also a veritable rock star here. I stand out like a well something... The Mexicans unlike there stylish cousins the Cubins, are very Conservative. They generally dress in slacks and long sleeves, shirts or sweaters, no cleavage. It was ninety for three weeks and I am the only one in my skorts, skirts, and baby doll tops. Not to mention the ersatz blond hair. I am also, wait for it... Thin. My g-d I lived long enough to be thin. We'll it is relative. Because of a diet high in corn and dairy, the Mexican woman are very large. They are shorter than my 5'3'' frame and much larger. Suddenly I am tall and thin, I promise not to let it go to my head. At 55 I am turning heads and I didn't have to starve or anything. Wait till they get a load of Margo, Goli, Claudia or the Twins! On second thought I don't need the competition stay home girls it's all mine.
Food continues to be an interesting adventure, the "good" local cafe' Gaspacho was just okay, they have a buffet daily for lunch but I just had a luncheon special, it's just too much food for the middle of the day. Las Pampas was a terrific Venezuelan style steak house Gaucho decor et. all, A must when you come to visit.
I will say I am home sick for my friends and family hell you're all my family, so I am just plain lonely. It will get better once we know we can move forward and have some permanency.
Brownsville 2008
Barry and I, along with our friends Rossana, Geoff, their children, Daniella and Josef, had a sushi feast at Uchi Monday night. We closed the resturant down and then Barry and I headed out to a Dance club. They were playing house music for the most part but no one was dancing so we sat tight. The tables were all reserved so we found a wee spot for ourselves at the end of a banquet. Nursing our gin and tonics, listening to the DJ speaking in Spanish we were unsure what to do. A gentleman introduced himself as the owner and the group next to us as his family and welcomed us. At midnight he gave us champagne, and we all hugged and greated one another. His mother took my phone number and she called me this morning! I still don't know her name though, as the music was too loud for the introductions. We will meet for coffee tomorrow. They played Latin and Tejano music after midnight and we danced some and had fun. The women for the most part were dressed for Florida standards, conservatively. I did notice of the gals who dressed up, not in blue jeans, the posterior seems to be the feature that is accessorized. The dresses were tight at the bottom with many having tight ribbons or hems taught under the "cheeks" very few showed cleavage. The anti-Florida look. A few wore very mini skirts or hot pants. Barry was happy.
Yesterday we went to the Bogorads for a Fajita dinner and I brought a home made lemon cake. So all in all we had a great start to the New Year. Barry goes back to work on Thursday, picking up a few shifts for some forecasters still out on leave.
The Library was interesting,the shelves very sparce, the DVD section very large. For the most part it was a homage' to the popular writers of the 70's and early eighties. I think Sidney Sheldon had the most books, with Jacqueline Susanne a close runner up. I was able to find a Mary Renault , Anne Ripley, and Julie Smith round out the trio. Although these books are a few years old I had not read them so over Christmas while Barry worked I was able to hole up and read. Speaking of books, Kvel time, I hope you all picked up" In the Sandbox", by Gary Trudeau, it is a chronicle of blogs written by Soldiers from the war zones. Adams' blog is heavily featured and his picture graces this wonderful book. Many of Adams' blog entries were visualized in the cartoon Doonsbury.
On Saturday, we headed up to San Antonio for the Penn State, Texas A&M game. It was at the Dome. Before game time we explored the River Walk. It was crazy full of fans and holiday vacationers not a spare square of space. I would love to go back and really do the River Walk, this time actually seeing IT, not hundreds of very libated patrons. So when you all come down it's on our list of must explore! The game was fun and the story that ensued is not for printed consumption, but a guy named CHUNK features very heavily. OH, and Penn state won.
We gorge - shopped at The Central Market Sunday and helped the General Market index single handedly. Foam coolers are a beautiful thing.
I hope I have great news by the end of this week about our home in FL. The gov't wheels do indeed spin slowly. We cooled down spectacularly it was 81 the other day we are in the 50's today. It has been very dry, the land is very brown and the grass almost brittle. On the way home Sunday night we saw a brush fire just yards from the road and surrounding the railroad tracks. It is fire season here and the threat is very real. Although there aren't a lot of true deciduous trees, most trees have lost their leaves and everything is brown and fairly barren. We passed many Ranches along our route to San Antonio, the flat land and wide open sky spaces are amazing after living in the crowded Tampa Bay area. Coming home with no lights around, the night sky was lit up with stars. I hadn't seen a night sky like that since the days we went camping, up state NY.
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Yesterday we went to the Bogorads for a Fajita dinner and I brought a home made lemon cake. So all in all we had a great start to the New Year. Barry goes back to work on Thursday, picking up a few shifts for some forecasters still out on leave.
The Library was interesting,the shelves very sparce, the DVD section very large. For the most part it was a homage' to the popular writers of the 70's and early eighties. I think Sidney Sheldon had the most books, with Jacqueline Susanne a close runner up. I was able to find a Mary Renault , Anne Ripley, and Julie Smith round out the trio. Although these books are a few years old I had not read them so over Christmas while Barry worked I was able to hole up and read. Speaking of books, Kvel time, I hope you all picked up" In the Sandbox", by Gary Trudeau, it is a chronicle of blogs written by Soldiers from the war zones. Adams' blog is heavily featured and his picture graces this wonderful book. Many of Adams' blog entries were visualized in the cartoon Doonsbury.
On Saturday, we headed up to San Antonio for the Penn State, Texas A&M game. It was at the Dome. Before game time we explored the River Walk. It was crazy full of fans and holiday vacationers not a spare square of space. I would love to go back and really do the River Walk, this time actually seeing IT, not hundreds of very libated patrons. So when you all come down it's on our list of must explore! The game was fun and the story that ensued is not for printed consumption, but a guy named CHUNK features very heavily. OH, and Penn state won.
We gorge - shopped at The Central Market Sunday and helped the General Market index single handedly. Foam coolers are a beautiful thing.
I hope I have great news by the end of this week about our home in FL. The gov't wheels do indeed spin slowly. We cooled down spectacularly it was 81 the other day we are in the 50's today. It has been very dry, the land is very brown and the grass almost brittle. On the way home Sunday night we saw a brush fire just yards from the road and surrounding the railroad tracks. It is fire season here and the threat is very real. Although there aren't a lot of true deciduous trees, most trees have lost their leaves and everything is brown and fairly barren. We passed many Ranches along our route to San Antonio, the flat land and wide open sky spaces are amazing after living in the crowded Tampa Bay area. Coming home with no lights around, the night sky was lit up with stars. I hadn't seen a night sky like that since the days we went camping, up state NY.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Never miss a thing. Make Yahoo your homepage.
Well, we just heard from CARTUS. The acronym should be SHTUPUS. Oy Vayh is it bad!!!
So we are lowering our price on the open market for three weeks, and then we'll have to hold our noses and grab our handkerchiefs and sign on the dotted line while we sob.
We made another trip to Dirty Al's and pigged out on Shrimp and Flounder, Saturday night. There is a really nice market here called H.E.B. another acronym, I've dubbed it the Heb. market. They have some really good bread and a decent Organics selection. But, it is the only "market" aside from the Bodegas, Walmart/Sam's club and Target.
Barry has been working non-stop, either in the office or at home. I have been reading and slowly going a little mashugana. I went with Rosanna to the Hadassah meeting and became a member again. This Thursday we are baking Cheese Cakes for the annual Deli Luncheon. They offer a lunch at the Temple for ten dollars with drinks and dessert. You get Corned Beef on Rye or Turkey on Whole Wheat,or Tuna on a Kaiser roll, all come with a pickle, potato salad, drink and dessert. The Cheese cake we make on Thursday at the Shule. Friday we make the sandwiches and serve the incoming. Barry is the designated driver this year to pick up the take away for the office. I was told to wear my sneakers and be there at 10:00 sharp. Hey is that anyway to treat a new recruit. Just throw me into the Luncheon making fray instead of the let's have a Luncheon for new members fray? My luck, and those are my brand new sneakers too.
I do get time off for good behavior though. B' has a convention, he is delivering a paper in New Orleans and I get to go. (My air fare is little enough for him to pay so that he never hears the end of it should he leave me alone again...) This will be our first look at post Katrina New Orleans. We are signed up for a tour to see the damage etc. Many of you don't know that it was Barry who wrote those all important impact statements that the New Orleans office used when they warned of the impending killer storm. The N.O. office used that statement verbatim. So although nearly two years later it will be interesting for Barry to see where they are in terms of rebuilding. As a vegetarian on my former trips to N.O. I didn't get to explore the whole dinning experience, and I intend to make up for that as only a FOODIE on the loose can. So from Sat. the 19th till Thursday the 24th I will be renewing my love of the French Quarter and the Big Easy, Barry will have his nose to the grind stone.
The Mexican food here in the lower valley is Mexican and not Tex-Mex so the foods are just a little different. There are two Taco places that are right behind the hotel I want to try. I was told to ask for the head meat or Barbacoa. Umm I think I'll wait until someone can order for me in Spanish so I don't end up with Testicles by accident. I like that sour cream is not used on everything and the cheese is Manchego not Jack.The beef is either small dice or a larger grind then I am used to. They do not use a lot of bell peppers either and that is a good thing for me. Twice I've had Fajita's and they were served with saute' or grilled onions and skirt steak that was sliced. No sour cream, but lots of Manchego cheese, Guacamole, tomato's, lettuce, and wheat or corn tortillas. Limes accompany everything and you get either red or white rice. I see mostly pepper sauces and not the sliced hot peppers although I guess you could ask for them. Sweets are big here, I just need a tutorial on the varying types of pastry. Cinnamon is a big part of the baking, chocolate, and sauces so I have to be careful.
Margo, enjoy New York and don't get lost in the snow drifts, Craig enjoy your new raise, Adam stay safe, Goli don't get too crazy, Sandra Happy birthday again. Birthday hugs to Cousin Andy and our sister Ilene. For all the rest of the gang, be warm, dry, and many kisses from them that are "Down Under", American Style.
So we are lowering our price on the open market for three weeks, and then we'll have to hold our noses and grab our handkerchiefs and sign on the dotted line while we sob.
We made another trip to Dirty Al's and pigged out on Shrimp and Flounder, Saturday night. There is a really nice market here called H.E.B. another acronym, I've dubbed it the Heb. market. They have some really good bread and a decent Organics selection. But, it is the only "market" aside from the Bodegas, Walmart/Sam's club and Target.
Barry has been working non-stop, either in the office or at home. I have been reading and slowly going a little mashugana. I went with Rosanna to the Hadassah meeting and became a member again. This Thursday we are baking Cheese Cakes for the annual Deli Luncheon. They offer a lunch at the Temple for ten dollars with drinks and dessert. You get Corned Beef on Rye or Turkey on Whole Wheat,or Tuna on a Kaiser roll, all come with a pickle, potato salad, drink and dessert. The Cheese cake we make on Thursday at the Shule. Friday we make the sandwiches and serve the incoming. Barry is the designated driver this year to pick up the take away for the office. I was told to wear my sneakers and be there at 10:00 sharp. Hey is that anyway to treat a new recruit. Just throw me into the Luncheon making fray instead of the let's have a Luncheon for new members fray? My luck, and those are my brand new sneakers too.
I do get time off for good behavior though. B' has a convention, he is delivering a paper in New Orleans and I get to go. (My air fare is little enough for him to pay so that he never hears the end of it should he leave me alone again...) This will be our first look at post Katrina New Orleans. We are signed up for a tour to see the damage etc. Many of you don't know that it was Barry who wrote those all important impact statements that the New Orleans office used when they warned of the impending killer storm. The N.O. office used that statement verbatim. So although nearly two years later it will be interesting for Barry to see where they are in terms of rebuilding. As a vegetarian on my former trips to N.O. I didn't get to explore the whole dinning experience, and I intend to make up for that as only a FOODIE on the loose can. So from Sat. the 19th till Thursday the 24th I will be renewing my love of the French Quarter and the Big Easy, Barry will have his nose to the grind stone.
The Mexican food here in the lower valley is Mexican and not Tex-Mex so the foods are just a little different. There are two Taco places that are right behind the hotel I want to try. I was told to ask for the head meat or Barbacoa. Umm I think I'll wait until someone can order for me in Spanish so I don't end up with Testicles by accident. I like that sour cream is not used on everything and the cheese is Manchego not Jack.The beef is either small dice or a larger grind then I am used to. They do not use a lot of bell peppers either and that is a good thing for me. Twice I've had Fajita's and they were served with saute' or grilled onions and skirt steak that was sliced. No sour cream, but lots of Manchego cheese, Guacamole, tomato's, lettuce, and wheat or corn tortillas. Limes accompany everything and you get either red or white rice. I see mostly pepper sauces and not the sliced hot peppers although I guess you could ask for them. Sweets are big here, I just need a tutorial on the varying types of pastry. Cinnamon is a big part of the baking, chocolate, and sauces so I have to be careful.
Margo, enjoy New York and don't get lost in the snow drifts, Craig enjoy your new raise, Adam stay safe, Goli don't get too crazy, Sandra Happy birthday again. Birthday hugs to Cousin Andy and our sister Ilene. For all the rest of the gang, be warm, dry, and many kisses from them that are "Down Under", American Style.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Crossing the Rio Grande
Today I made my first foray into Mexico. Rosanna, my Brownsville Angel, her father Mr.Torio, and Danielle, her wonderful daughter are my guides. The day is spectacular it is nearly ninety, Sunday it was still chilly with the heat on. My coloring was a subject of discussion with Rosanna and I had to swear I would not venture there alone once I learned the ropes. I don't speak a word of Spanish so really it was an easy promise to make and keep. Well for now. We park by the big college just two blocks from the border. Downtown is seedy and run down, the college rubs cheek and jowl with the Rio Grande and the once prosperous downtown area. It was the Jews who opened their stores just after WWI. How they got here I haven't a clue but they sold Furniture, Housewares, Liquor and Pharmacies. I'm pretty sure there were a few Shmata shoppes thrown in. They are still here the intrepid wandering tribe of Yids, they are still a vibrant part of the community even if their downtown stores are mostly gone. Lacks furniture is still downtown, and Feldmans liquor.
We walk over dividers and side streets as we near the cement compound with razor wire strung like festival lights over and along the buildings and border walls. To the right is the "To" Mexico crossing. We place sixty cents into the turnstile and BINGO Mexico. That is the cheapest trip over a border I have ever spent. Here there are automatic maybe AK47's in the hands of some very young looking soldiers. My son Adam would know what the guns are but for me, I wasn't really expecting such a large display of hardware. Hell, I only stepped one foot in. In for a penny or sixty cents... Garcia's is our goal. It is the over the border tourist spot, they sell pharmaceuticals and liquor, very good copies of designer pocket books, pottery, jewelry and chachkas. There are a few beggars, some very down and out types but mostly people going about the days chores or trying to cross to the U.S.
Crossing the plaza we head to an unremarkable two story concrete building that houses Garcias. There is a restaurant on the left when we mount the stairs, a large open room with all manner of local products and gentlemen who are dressed in white shirts ties and black pants ready to give you a better bargain than the sale sign. No matter where you wander the white shirt follows and points out the merits of the merchandise. On our right is a bar and night club very dark at the moment. It looks worn and perhaps a little dangerous right now with the lights out and just the shadows of tables, maybe a stage there in the background in the darker depths. Who knows it might be a fun spot at night.
Mr. Torio goes to the liquor store I go to the pharmacy and Danielle sticks like glue to the pocketbooks. The prices are crazy cheap and I pay six bucks for a sixty count bottle of Prilosec OTC and five bucks and change for Pepcid for Piper my cat. He and I both enjoy the delights of GIRD. At the rate I pop the Prilosec it begins to be a very expensive habit. I get a two month supply and some Retin-A cream for eight bucks. Crazy stuff this.
We shop around and I plan to pull my truck into the garage downstairs and load up with pottery et all once we are in the new house. The exchange for the dollar though is lousy we are just a penny over the Peso. So it really is dollar for dollar.
Mr. Torio veto's lunch at Garcias it is too expensive and a tourist trap. So we go out to the main street and begin to window shop, although the windows have little to recommend them. Rosanna gets advice for Taco's from a gal on the street and we head further into Matamoros. The streets become similar to other places I've been where it is semi-desert, with homes tucked away along the city streets. Danielle tells me "yes it smells like Mexico". She has never been to this town, Rosanna's mother lives further down the coast. To me it has a feel,a texture of Israel, or Greece that dry dust scent, it's true though, it does smell different. The spices of cooking hang on the hot air. Most of the roads are badly paved, with areas of cobblestone, and the sidewalks are concrete with a shell pattern stamped on. The homes are modest on the outside with wrought iron bars at the windows and heavy wood doors. Inside they might just be beautiful, with courtyards. It is surprisingly quiet and clean. I also notice it isn't as windy here as it is in Brownsville. There is a prevailing wind that comes off the Gulf, I have very few good hair days . Today I have it up and plastered with hairspray. It was blowing when we left Brownsville, here it is calm.
There are street push carts with charcoal braziers roasting whole corns on sticks, condiments of margarine, mayonnaise, a red sauce I assume to be pepper and some other bowls I can't identify. It smells great. A little farther along a push cart with watermelon, limes, coconuts and salt shakers. AT last Las Tablitas Resturant Bar and Grill. Mario Alberto Garza Segura, Propietario. The food is really good, the three girls have Crepes and Mr. Torio has the small Taco's I love. My crepes are huge filled with Bistek, mushrooms in a garlic cheese sauce. Good, not too spicy and very filling. I have a beer, afraid of the water. Rosanna, has squash crepes with cheese, Danielle, spinach and cheese she and I box the rest of ours. For an appetiser we had melted cheese on a plate with tiny tortillas to fill. A large chocolate cake arrives but I am a very good girl and keep my spoon resting on the plate.
Arriving back at the border we place thirty cents in the turnstiles and hand our identification over, I show my cache of drugs and the guard commiserates with me, he too uses the OTC. Just like that I am back in the states. There are cars waiting to clear the border, they line the road for quite a way. It is after three and I guess this is the start of the rush hour. It is a busy border, there are many factories in Matamoros. NAFTA and the local Mexican families who live in Brownsville, but still own business over the border. It is safer to live here and commute to work although crossing by car can take a few hours.
Just a pleasant day with great people, and a toe in the water of the other North American Country on our border. Going to Canada was just as easy really but always felt like an extension of the U.S. French, was also something I could tackle or mangle depending on your prospective. It always seemed to me not a big culture leap visiting there. South of our border though it is much more of a cultural change. Brownsville is the happy middle ground, but culturaly very much the Mexican Step-sister. Again, it was a very little step into this new world just at my door step, and Rosanna and I will have more adventures I am sure, after all a promise is a promise.
We walk over dividers and side streets as we near the cement compound with razor wire strung like festival lights over and along the buildings and border walls. To the right is the "To" Mexico crossing. We place sixty cents into the turnstile and BINGO Mexico. That is the cheapest trip over a border I have ever spent. Here there are automatic maybe AK47's in the hands of some very young looking soldiers. My son Adam would know what the guns are but for me, I wasn't really expecting such a large display of hardware. Hell, I only stepped one foot in. In for a penny or sixty cents... Garcia's is our goal. It is the over the border tourist spot, they sell pharmaceuticals and liquor, very good copies of designer pocket books, pottery, jewelry and chachkas. There are a few beggars, some very down and out types but mostly people going about the days chores or trying to cross to the U.S.
Crossing the plaza we head to an unremarkable two story concrete building that houses Garcias. There is a restaurant on the left when we mount the stairs, a large open room with all manner of local products and gentlemen who are dressed in white shirts ties and black pants ready to give you a better bargain than the sale sign. No matter where you wander the white shirt follows and points out the merits of the merchandise. On our right is a bar and night club very dark at the moment. It looks worn and perhaps a little dangerous right now with the lights out and just the shadows of tables, maybe a stage there in the background in the darker depths. Who knows it might be a fun spot at night.
Mr. Torio goes to the liquor store I go to the pharmacy and Danielle sticks like glue to the pocketbooks. The prices are crazy cheap and I pay six bucks for a sixty count bottle of Prilosec OTC and five bucks and change for Pepcid for Piper my cat. He and I both enjoy the delights of GIRD. At the rate I pop the Prilosec it begins to be a very expensive habit. I get a two month supply and some Retin-A cream for eight bucks. Crazy stuff this.
We shop around and I plan to pull my truck into the garage downstairs and load up with pottery et all once we are in the new house. The exchange for the dollar though is lousy we are just a penny over the Peso. So it really is dollar for dollar.
Mr. Torio veto's lunch at Garcias it is too expensive and a tourist trap. So we go out to the main street and begin to window shop, although the windows have little to recommend them. Rosanna gets advice for Taco's from a gal on the street and we head further into Matamoros. The streets become similar to other places I've been where it is semi-desert, with homes tucked away along the city streets. Danielle tells me "yes it smells like Mexico". She has never been to this town, Rosanna's mother lives further down the coast. To me it has a feel,a texture of Israel, or Greece that dry dust scent, it's true though, it does smell different. The spices of cooking hang on the hot air. Most of the roads are badly paved, with areas of cobblestone, and the sidewalks are concrete with a shell pattern stamped on. The homes are modest on the outside with wrought iron bars at the windows and heavy wood doors. Inside they might just be beautiful, with courtyards. It is surprisingly quiet and clean. I also notice it isn't as windy here as it is in Brownsville. There is a prevailing wind that comes off the Gulf, I have very few good hair days . Today I have it up and plastered with hairspray. It was blowing when we left Brownsville, here it is calm.
There are street push carts with charcoal braziers roasting whole corns on sticks, condiments of margarine, mayonnaise, a red sauce I assume to be pepper and some other bowls I can't identify. It smells great. A little farther along a push cart with watermelon, limes, coconuts and salt shakers. AT last Las Tablitas Resturant Bar and Grill. Mario Alberto Garza Segura, Propietario. The food is really good, the three girls have Crepes and Mr. Torio has the small Taco's I love. My crepes are huge filled with Bistek, mushrooms in a garlic cheese sauce. Good, not too spicy and very filling. I have a beer, afraid of the water. Rosanna, has squash crepes with cheese, Danielle, spinach and cheese she and I box the rest of ours. For an appetiser we had melted cheese on a plate with tiny tortillas to fill. A large chocolate cake arrives but I am a very good girl and keep my spoon resting on the plate.
Arriving back at the border we place thirty cents in the turnstiles and hand our identification over, I show my cache of drugs and the guard commiserates with me, he too uses the OTC. Just like that I am back in the states. There are cars waiting to clear the border, they line the road for quite a way. It is after three and I guess this is the start of the rush hour. It is a busy border, there are many factories in Matamoros. NAFTA and the local Mexican families who live in Brownsville, but still own business over the border. It is safer to live here and commute to work although crossing by car can take a few hours.
Just a pleasant day with great people, and a toe in the water of the other North American Country on our border. Going to Canada was just as easy really but always felt like an extension of the U.S. French, was also something I could tackle or mangle depending on your prospective. It always seemed to me not a big culture leap visiting there. South of our border though it is much more of a cultural change. Brownsville is the happy middle ground, but culturaly very much the Mexican Step-sister. Again, it was a very little step into this new world just at my door step, and Rosanna and I will have more adventures I am sure, after all a promise is a promise.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Crescent City Dreaming
Alone, walking the streets of New Orleans the wind scurries around the corners and blasts down the Cobble stones. It's dry as a bone and cold really cold. My usual experiance in this town is "steam bath", wet electric blanket set on high. Today is biting, something else is awry here. Missing. What strikes me first, no garbage, and the Pomme of the French Quarter is missing. That indefinable "air" of age rotting garbage, alcohol steaming off the streets, and the punge of liquid human detress. Gone, some I suspect with the cold stiff wind, gone with the new respectable early morning quiet. A quarter so lightly peopled I am a little creeped out. So New Orleans is clean, fresh on a Monday morning in January. It is nearly three years post Katrina.
Much more is bordered up, the frayed seams of this old broad are truly comming apart. So many buildings lean and show their tatty outsides with inner secret courtyards, fountains, foliage, and iron work patio furniture. So many little ladies denuded sans boufont. Bricks and Tile, Plaster and Lathe intermingle in piles. Heaps of three hundred years, the mortor and hand made brick of Artizans. French, Creole, Cajun, Spanish, French and finally American. Madames' long slim shutters missing galousies, made from Cypress appear deranged, askew. Massive double doors strapped closed and padlocked. An unlikely chastity belt for Les Belle Grand.
The Antique stores on Royal Street look more antique than the goods and wares behind the dusty windows. As it's Monday most are closed. A few doors cracked open against the chill leak hot Jazz or Blues onto the nearly deserted streets, windows glittery baubled bedecked. Such gauchere can be found all year, just now it is abounding for Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) leaps upon this years calender in cold untimelyness. The Three King cakes are out, I find them at Walgreens. Purple, Gold and Green glory, with the secreted baby inside. If you find the baby in your hunk of cake you are entrusted to buy the cake next year. Hawkers press masks at me, the all important cloak of animinty one must acquire for high jinks of adult pervue. The crazies seem to have been diminished, the only people that are talking to themselves at the moment are those rushing for appointments with their bluetooths snugged to the folds of their ears. Hunh the mouths move, eyes out of focus looking into an inner world I'd say the crazies are just better dressed then they used to be.
On Canal Street I make my pilgramage stop on the corner of Talouse Street. It is a personal homage. I stayed here ten years ago at the Talouse (La Trec) hotel. A very difficult even dark period of my life. It was there in the hotel courtyard, by the fountain that I had my epifany. Here in the Crescent City I found a way to go forward, forming a life long personal mission statement.
A bowl of indifferent Shrimp Creole and Rice at the Market Cafe, astride the French Farmers Market still bare and unopened. The Cafe is open and indoor, staff personable. I am really saving myself for Cafe Du Monde, hot chocolate and Beignet. Having dreamed of these shirt pocket sized doughnuts for four years, long years, I am at last in the vicinity. Ready for the crazy white powder that floats and coats everywhere. Up the nose and poofing over your cloths. Divine. Alas I am foiled I haven't a soux or penny cash and time is pressing. Cash only drat Merde, I have to fly accross town to the Convention Center to meet Barry at his poster site. Not even a whiff of the holly grail, okay tomarrow I will get powdered with xxx!!
Tuesday I meet more people out on the street. It is almost balmy compared to the last three days. The Quarter is more alive noisier, but the small dinn is sadly underpowered still. Dr. Love is here with his crazy quilt out fit of cloths topped with a heavy over coat and layers of chains and medals hang over his lapel onto his chest. He happily roams Nola with his signiture outfit and THE Golf club of the day. He sogourned for two years in the Northeastern Diaspora with one of his daughters. He crows that he is back and out of retirement, again wandering himself all over. Street musicans so integral to the flavor and spice of the square display their talent and the music vies with itself for attention. Twenty fresh crisp singles I disperse slowly to the talented and intrepid. Not all of talent perhaps, but I give full measure to those with passion and a mark for the creative. Street performers covered from head to toe in staged outfits and then spray painted silver, gold or bronze man their posts, manniqined or pantomime they all look thinner older to me.
Palmest and Tarot readers are positioned around the park outside of the iron worked fence. Set up with card tables, camping chairs and sleeping bags in carts. Surrounded with the tools of their trade and handmade toutboard posters. It seems they are a kind of cult, following a gent who is a Tarot Pimp. He is out today having his own set of cards published. It depicts the figures of the Quarter and some of his followers. Tongue in cheek I believe. We discuss the merits of different decks and I glean their Katrina stories. Most were drifters who lived in flop houses and have drifted back. I am not sure about the available flop housing though, I think they are mostly living rough now.
Lunch is another indifferent meal, this time a Shrimp Poorboy. I am discouraged with my less than memorable meals.I have had wonderful food on preceding visits, although,as a recovering vegetarian I was hopeing to finally truly eat New Orleans. Barry and I had a wonderful dinner Monday night. We went to a place I was familiar with from years past, Bacco. A planet in the steller constillation of resturants under the Brennan family. Creole cuisine with Italian flair. Some changes to the interior I note, but our dinner, after drinks at the well stocked bar was memorable. Service was as it should be. We may have had a Jerry Springer sighting, he and a companion had a nice secluded spot, overlooking the larger room. Barry and I had a nice secluded spot all by ourselves.
Still I have not scored Beignets, I am waiting for my beloved so we can look foolish and saited together. Art is hanging on the black wrought iron fence cloths pins and metal brackets secure the flimsy paper and bits of board. Jamie greats me with a big smile, she is the young artist a New York transplant who also has just returned after two years of exile in Brooklyn. We share a bond her mother grew up in Levittown. She gives me her web site www.NamelessArt.com. I like her work dark and quirky, what else should be here. She tells me she is half Jewish half Italian. I had noticed her huddled together with a very wan looking pale almost bedraggled girl, holding hands and sitting on the curb. As Jamie and I talk about the world up North the silent girl hitches her skirts over her bike and pedals away. I was sorry we didn't get to chat, and sorrier she felt the need to leave.
There are boutiques of every kind this boutique has the stuff I love to look at with the price tags I need to avoid. So on to Chatres Street and I spy two large plump beautifully marked felines in the window. I am drawn as a moth to a flame. Oolie's Barry would exclaim if he were here. Five Oolies actually each one larger and more luxurious than the last. Some Coon, some Persian mixed. They are lush content and just friendly enough to entice me further into the store. The room is brick, built with fantastic wood floors. What's on the walls though are splended enormous woven rag rugs. Ronda Rose is an artisan of rare quality. She has three looms one over one hundred years old. Most of her work are custom orders and her clever weaving has the most surprising results when you walk accross them. They have a lenticular effect depending on the pattern of the material and the color of the weft. Our new home is all Porcelan Tile, gorgous but cold and echoing. I am decorating it in my dreams while we wait to take possesion. These rag rugs may be too homespun in flavor for the big modern spaces we need to cover, yet with the right colors...I'd love to own Artisan rugs, in a perfect world Goli and I would be shopping for Persian or Turkish rugs and carpets right now. When I was in Turkey I was agog with the types, colors, patterns and materials. Packed away in my suit case was a modest runner, my personal majic flying carpet. When I entered the states and they opened my luggage the customs man laughed, there were hardly any cloths and a honking rolled up carpet instead.
Wednesday, Barry and our friend Jack rush over for our assignation. Stealing away for a late lunch at Mothers. Venerable and seedy this old dame has seen it all. The boys split a Shrimp Poorboy and slurp down steaming bowls of File Gumbo. Crawfish Etouffe explodes out of my bowl the rich brown sauce staining the white short grains of Louisana rice. Inhale and it's all good the world is all good. Barry is lucky I hate greens and pass mine over to him, they are redolent of smoked ham hocks. He is in heaven and Jack hasn't come up for air down over by his dish. Okay I fell wicked greedy but visions of Beignets still dance in my head. We drink our iced tea, I've sweetend mine as a reminder of the Southern Custom. As one of the staff is clearing I tell Jack I missed getting their biscuits hot with butter. Mothers has the best in town. With that my benafactress brings two fat fluffy hot biscuits, jelly and yellow butter. A feast. We three fall over them Barry with his beloved jelly, me with a modest slather of butter and Jack with a combo. Saited the men dash back to their meetings at the convention center, while I skip back to the room. It's cold again and my body is comming up with more complaints. Blistered toe, sniffles, shin splints ughh. Lunch doubly makes up for no dinner last night. After rounds of "cocktails" with Penn State Alum, WASIS, and some electronics company, we returned to the room too burned out to venture out. As always I had my secret surprise. It's my magic act always having something in my bag, usually off beat and gourmet in style. So my stash from the New Orleans Southern Candy Makers sees the light of night. B' is impressed, we each choose a dark chocolate swirled and enrobed marzapan. A few sips of water and we tuck our selves up.
Tonight is the banquet for the AMS awards. We hope to go to Bourbon Street at the very least later. After the dinner we meet Jack and a few other for drinks then we wander over to Bourbon street. There are conventioneers, Kodak and our lot. A sorry collection of souls, so few it's a pitiful sight. We have a destination, the Funky Pirate and Big Al. We lose the others at the entrance of a bar with a lousy band. To my joy and dismay we get a table right up front. Big Al blows us away with his singing and his playful lyrics. Big Al is to pornographic lyrical lovemaking as Shakspere was to literary profanities. He belts them out rolling the sound around the timpany of his four foot wide diaphram up through his prodigous chest and exhaling it out of the recess of his throat. His set ends, it's one a.m. and we head over to Cafe Du Monde halleluah. We expect to wait on line. No one is there, the staff are napping or texting, waiting for the bar crowds, we get the hot out of the fryer batch. Barry has coffee, mine is sweet hot cocoa. We neither speak, when it is but a sweet memory, I exhale with such repletion, the waiter laughs a knowing laugh. Now we trudge back ready for bed and our trip home tomarrow.
Time to address Miss Katrina. Really talk about her. On Sunday we took a three hour "Katrina" tour. I did not humm the song. The notes are too tragic. Safe in the bus glancing out of rain spotted windows mile after mile roles by. They say it is an act of nature, its finale is beyound understanding and belief. I am a mere mortal and my fellow mortals from New Orleans are among Princes and Kings. They began again with nothing, nothing at hand. They helped neighbors haul and lug scrape and tear down, pick up stick by stick. The Army Corps of engineers removed the ruble from the streets, the rest the restoration was left to a pitiful few. With little or no resources. With heart and soul and little miracles in the form of volunteers they soldier on daily. Scoured once vibrant neighborhoods feature crumbling homes, shops, schools. Bare foundations where homes were swept away in their stead tiny trailors cling to the sides of the lawn just off the street. Some parking lots have become trailer villages. Not just the lower ninth ward. Neighborhood after neighborhood gone, wrecked, fallow. Homes without their innerds, mold from head to toe. Brick buildings with the ghost of water lines telling the tale of tradgedy. One restored home among the ruins alone in a vast sea of perpetual piles. No neighbors no schools no stores. There is a stillness a holding of the breath. We as a group are holding our breath. I am in turmoil, I am uncomfortable with the role of observer behind the glass partition. Observers of habitat, (where are the Tigers, the rare animals). Musicans village, a few homes bird of paradise colored. Built among carnage with sweat equity and donations headed by Winton Marsalis and Harry Connick Jr.. A few owners step out on their porches to great us as we alight our white coaches. At first I stayed on, uncomfortable with the Tigers at the zoo vouyer aspect. No, it's alright, the New Orleanians want us to see what has taken place, what is being done. They pose for our cameras. Hug some of the women of our party. Personally I wanted to plant my feet where once there had been a wall of water, maybe ten, fourteen feet of water. We see some of the pink prefab homes Brad Pitt has organised, they are layed out and ready to be built.
We pass Fats Dominos home, restored and waiting for his return. He and his dog were plucked off the roof by rescuers. Fading but still ledgeable are the spray can markings scrawled on the standing homes. Messages to each other: D.O.A., the most chilling, a close second TFW Toxic Flood Water. Modern Hyroglyphics, the number of cats, dogs rescued etc. Driving, listening to our wonderful tour guide, who anticipates daily, moving into her rebuilt home carries us along. An Irish transplant with a wicked sense of humor, Carol tries to impart the truth of this disaster with comic relief. It is still over whelming best intentions aside.
After the tour we attend a little dinner with a panel of experts. They relay the story of recovery. "They" are not talking heads, "they" are citizens victims of the storm a few even members of the AMS, American Meteorlogical Society. The soldiers, Calvary so to speak. As the Federal Government did not send in the Calvary nor did they deem it important to rebuild any part of the area up to modern specks. Step by step the Social Scientists, local Church Leaders, and citizen activists treated us to a birds eye view of the Hurculian effort to restore and rebuild vibrant communities. They are all fearfull, every Hurricane season they fear. The Senior citizens are fearfull, of not living and dying in their home, and of dying from another storm in their home. The loss of possesion for the women and loss of control for the men haunt them, beleger them. Here are communities whose roots go back six maybe seven generations. They have family all around, hand down their homes deeds so old they may not even exist anymore. Later, I spoke privately with a few of the Panel, the new charter schools have no mandate for programs that include children with disablities. Nothing is in place for the most disadvantaged, from mild dyslexia to the fully disabled. It appears the white children are enrolled with religious institutional charter schools, heavilly funded. The minority poorer working class families have the new experimental public charter schools. So we have formal segregation. Another troubling product of the mass out migration is they are finding young teenage boys returning alone, living in ruined and Toxic buildings. Here to attend their schools, on their home turf with out the rest of their displaced family.
Barry and his fellow scientists discuss the merits of rebuilding here below sea level, in a vulnerable area. It strikes me that the Dutch and other countries with low lying areas comparable to Nola, have levees and Dykes that are enginered with every intention of keeping the populus safe. Why not here? They have set up a system of block captains, they each keep lists of the homeowners, where they are located, phone numbers, insurance companies, and all members of household. This will all go into a larger data base. If they need to evacuate again all info is handy and relevant. It would be wise for Coastal Texas, Florida, And the East Coast in general to adopt many of their innovations as a pre-emptive of the big one. Barry adds California for "their" big one.
With the change in government we are sure to have, I hope that attention will be paid albiet late, to the on going struggle and tragedy of New Orleans. It is also my hope that they do something to change the pitiful budjet of the Weather Service. Out dated and dying technology, under staffed and hanging together with the perverbial paper clip is not how we want the frontlines of Natural disasters to function. The young people comming through the pipe, with their ideas, ideals and tremendous work ethic need to have their energies and abilites matched with top notch technology. Funding for research is essential. We personnaly have suffered from the crunch of shorted funding. The best and brightest need to stay with this service. I have met such dedicated brilliant innovative scientists at these conventions. A geek fest to be sure, yet these geeks are our first line of defence. The National Weather Service are in our backyards not in some remote Corporate central local. Each office attuned to the nuance of their particular local. I think of Barry as an alchemist. He takes the hard science, the data models and finally adds the intuition and gut of one who hears and feels what we do not. His forcasts, research are among the top, he doesn't just disgorge data. They go to our schools educate and out reach. They provide tours of the facilites and work with local orginizations. These are the people who have the most invested in our welfare. Not a corporate board with political, ego and bottom line raison d'etre.
Hopefully you all will take a trip to New Orleans still one of my favorite cities and we can swap food notes, and resturant critiques. Let the good times roll.
Much more is bordered up, the frayed seams of this old broad are truly comming apart. So many buildings lean and show their tatty outsides with inner secret courtyards, fountains, foliage, and iron work patio furniture. So many little ladies denuded sans boufont. Bricks and Tile, Plaster and Lathe intermingle in piles. Heaps of three hundred years, the mortor and hand made brick of Artizans. French, Creole, Cajun, Spanish, French and finally American. Madames' long slim shutters missing galousies, made from Cypress appear deranged, askew. Massive double doors strapped closed and padlocked. An unlikely chastity belt for Les Belle Grand.
The Antique stores on Royal Street look more antique than the goods and wares behind the dusty windows. As it's Monday most are closed. A few doors cracked open against the chill leak hot Jazz or Blues onto the nearly deserted streets, windows glittery baubled bedecked. Such gauchere can be found all year, just now it is abounding for Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) leaps upon this years calender in cold untimelyness. The Three King cakes are out, I find them at Walgreens. Purple, Gold and Green glory, with the secreted baby inside. If you find the baby in your hunk of cake you are entrusted to buy the cake next year. Hawkers press masks at me, the all important cloak of animinty one must acquire for high jinks of adult pervue. The crazies seem to have been diminished, the only people that are talking to themselves at the moment are those rushing for appointments with their bluetooths snugged to the folds of their ears. Hunh the mouths move, eyes out of focus looking into an inner world I'd say the crazies are just better dressed then they used to be.
On Canal Street I make my pilgramage stop on the corner of Talouse Street. It is a personal homage. I stayed here ten years ago at the Talouse (La Trec) hotel. A very difficult even dark period of my life. It was there in the hotel courtyard, by the fountain that I had my epifany. Here in the Crescent City I found a way to go forward, forming a life long personal mission statement.
A bowl of indifferent Shrimp Creole and Rice at the Market Cafe, astride the French Farmers Market still bare and unopened. The Cafe is open and indoor, staff personable. I am really saving myself for Cafe Du Monde, hot chocolate and Beignet. Having dreamed of these shirt pocket sized doughnuts for four years, long years, I am at last in the vicinity. Ready for the crazy white powder that floats and coats everywhere. Up the nose and poofing over your cloths. Divine. Alas I am foiled I haven't a soux or penny cash and time is pressing. Cash only drat Merde, I have to fly accross town to the Convention Center to meet Barry at his poster site. Not even a whiff of the holly grail, okay tomarrow I will get powdered with xxx!!
Tuesday I meet more people out on the street. It is almost balmy compared to the last three days. The Quarter is more alive noisier, but the small dinn is sadly underpowered still. Dr. Love is here with his crazy quilt out fit of cloths topped with a heavy over coat and layers of chains and medals hang over his lapel onto his chest. He happily roams Nola with his signiture outfit and THE Golf club of the day. He sogourned for two years in the Northeastern Diaspora with one of his daughters. He crows that he is back and out of retirement, again wandering himself all over. Street musicans so integral to the flavor and spice of the square display their talent and the music vies with itself for attention. Twenty fresh crisp singles I disperse slowly to the talented and intrepid. Not all of talent perhaps, but I give full measure to those with passion and a mark for the creative. Street performers covered from head to toe in staged outfits and then spray painted silver, gold or bronze man their posts, manniqined or pantomime they all look thinner older to me.
Palmest and Tarot readers are positioned around the park outside of the iron worked fence. Set up with card tables, camping chairs and sleeping bags in carts. Surrounded with the tools of their trade and handmade toutboard posters. It seems they are a kind of cult, following a gent who is a Tarot Pimp. He is out today having his own set of cards published. It depicts the figures of the Quarter and some of his followers. Tongue in cheek I believe. We discuss the merits of different decks and I glean their Katrina stories. Most were drifters who lived in flop houses and have drifted back. I am not sure about the available flop housing though, I think they are mostly living rough now.
Lunch is another indifferent meal, this time a Shrimp Poorboy. I am discouraged with my less than memorable meals.I have had wonderful food on preceding visits, although,as a recovering vegetarian I was hopeing to finally truly eat New Orleans. Barry and I had a wonderful dinner Monday night. We went to a place I was familiar with from years past, Bacco. A planet in the steller constillation of resturants under the Brennan family. Creole cuisine with Italian flair. Some changes to the interior I note, but our dinner, after drinks at the well stocked bar was memorable. Service was as it should be. We may have had a Jerry Springer sighting, he and a companion had a nice secluded spot, overlooking the larger room. Barry and I had a nice secluded spot all by ourselves.
Still I have not scored Beignets, I am waiting for my beloved so we can look foolish and saited together. Art is hanging on the black wrought iron fence cloths pins and metal brackets secure the flimsy paper and bits of board. Jamie greats me with a big smile, she is the young artist a New York transplant who also has just returned after two years of exile in Brooklyn. We share a bond her mother grew up in Levittown. She gives me her web site www.NamelessArt.com. I like her work dark and quirky, what else should be here. She tells me she is half Jewish half Italian. I had noticed her huddled together with a very wan looking pale almost bedraggled girl, holding hands and sitting on the curb. As Jamie and I talk about the world up North the silent girl hitches her skirts over her bike and pedals away. I was sorry we didn't get to chat, and sorrier she felt the need to leave.
There are boutiques of every kind this boutique has the stuff I love to look at with the price tags I need to avoid. So on to Chatres Street and I spy two large plump beautifully marked felines in the window. I am drawn as a moth to a flame. Oolie's Barry would exclaim if he were here. Five Oolies actually each one larger and more luxurious than the last. Some Coon, some Persian mixed. They are lush content and just friendly enough to entice me further into the store. The room is brick, built with fantastic wood floors. What's on the walls though are splended enormous woven rag rugs. Ronda Rose is an artisan of rare quality. She has three looms one over one hundred years old. Most of her work are custom orders and her clever weaving has the most surprising results when you walk accross them. They have a lenticular effect depending on the pattern of the material and the color of the weft. Our new home is all Porcelan Tile, gorgous but cold and echoing. I am decorating it in my dreams while we wait to take possesion. These rag rugs may be too homespun in flavor for the big modern spaces we need to cover, yet with the right colors...I'd love to own Artisan rugs, in a perfect world Goli and I would be shopping for Persian or Turkish rugs and carpets right now. When I was in Turkey I was agog with the types, colors, patterns and materials. Packed away in my suit case was a modest runner, my personal majic flying carpet. When I entered the states and they opened my luggage the customs man laughed, there were hardly any cloths and a honking rolled up carpet instead.
Wednesday, Barry and our friend Jack rush over for our assignation. Stealing away for a late lunch at Mothers. Venerable and seedy this old dame has seen it all. The boys split a Shrimp Poorboy and slurp down steaming bowls of File Gumbo. Crawfish Etouffe explodes out of my bowl the rich brown sauce staining the white short grains of Louisana rice. Inhale and it's all good the world is all good. Barry is lucky I hate greens and pass mine over to him, they are redolent of smoked ham hocks. He is in heaven and Jack hasn't come up for air down over by his dish. Okay I fell wicked greedy but visions of Beignets still dance in my head. We drink our iced tea, I've sweetend mine as a reminder of the Southern Custom. As one of the staff is clearing I tell Jack I missed getting their biscuits hot with butter. Mothers has the best in town. With that my benafactress brings two fat fluffy hot biscuits, jelly and yellow butter. A feast. We three fall over them Barry with his beloved jelly, me with a modest slather of butter and Jack with a combo. Saited the men dash back to their meetings at the convention center, while I skip back to the room. It's cold again and my body is comming up with more complaints. Blistered toe, sniffles, shin splints ughh. Lunch doubly makes up for no dinner last night. After rounds of "cocktails" with Penn State Alum, WASIS, and some electronics company, we returned to the room too burned out to venture out. As always I had my secret surprise. It's my magic act always having something in my bag, usually off beat and gourmet in style. So my stash from the New Orleans Southern Candy Makers sees the light of night. B' is impressed, we each choose a dark chocolate swirled and enrobed marzapan. A few sips of water and we tuck our selves up.
Tonight is the banquet for the AMS awards. We hope to go to Bourbon Street at the very least later. After the dinner we meet Jack and a few other for drinks then we wander over to Bourbon street. There are conventioneers, Kodak and our lot. A sorry collection of souls, so few it's a pitiful sight. We have a destination, the Funky Pirate and Big Al. We lose the others at the entrance of a bar with a lousy band. To my joy and dismay we get a table right up front. Big Al blows us away with his singing and his playful lyrics. Big Al is to pornographic lyrical lovemaking as Shakspere was to literary profanities. He belts them out rolling the sound around the timpany of his four foot wide diaphram up through his prodigous chest and exhaling it out of the recess of his throat. His set ends, it's one a.m. and we head over to Cafe Du Monde halleluah. We expect to wait on line. No one is there, the staff are napping or texting, waiting for the bar crowds, we get the hot out of the fryer batch. Barry has coffee, mine is sweet hot cocoa. We neither speak, when it is but a sweet memory, I exhale with such repletion, the waiter laughs a knowing laugh. Now we trudge back ready for bed and our trip home tomarrow.
Time to address Miss Katrina. Really talk about her. On Sunday we took a three hour "Katrina" tour. I did not humm the song. The notes are too tragic. Safe in the bus glancing out of rain spotted windows mile after mile roles by. They say it is an act of nature, its finale is beyound understanding and belief. I am a mere mortal and my fellow mortals from New Orleans are among Princes and Kings. They began again with nothing, nothing at hand. They helped neighbors haul and lug scrape and tear down, pick up stick by stick. The Army Corps of engineers removed the ruble from the streets, the rest the restoration was left to a pitiful few. With little or no resources. With heart and soul and little miracles in the form of volunteers they soldier on daily. Scoured once vibrant neighborhoods feature crumbling homes, shops, schools. Bare foundations where homes were swept away in their stead tiny trailors cling to the sides of the lawn just off the street. Some parking lots have become trailer villages. Not just the lower ninth ward. Neighborhood after neighborhood gone, wrecked, fallow. Homes without their innerds, mold from head to toe. Brick buildings with the ghost of water lines telling the tale of tradgedy. One restored home among the ruins alone in a vast sea of perpetual piles. No neighbors no schools no stores. There is a stillness a holding of the breath. We as a group are holding our breath. I am in turmoil, I am uncomfortable with the role of observer behind the glass partition. Observers of habitat, (where are the Tigers, the rare animals). Musicans village, a few homes bird of paradise colored. Built among carnage with sweat equity and donations headed by Winton Marsalis and Harry Connick Jr.. A few owners step out on their porches to great us as we alight our white coaches. At first I stayed on, uncomfortable with the Tigers at the zoo vouyer aspect. No, it's alright, the New Orleanians want us to see what has taken place, what is being done. They pose for our cameras. Hug some of the women of our party. Personally I wanted to plant my feet where once there had been a wall of water, maybe ten, fourteen feet of water. We see some of the pink prefab homes Brad Pitt has organised, they are layed out and ready to be built.
We pass Fats Dominos home, restored and waiting for his return. He and his dog were plucked off the roof by rescuers. Fading but still ledgeable are the spray can markings scrawled on the standing homes. Messages to each other: D.O.A., the most chilling, a close second TFW Toxic Flood Water. Modern Hyroglyphics, the number of cats, dogs rescued etc. Driving, listening to our wonderful tour guide, who anticipates daily, moving into her rebuilt home carries us along. An Irish transplant with a wicked sense of humor, Carol tries to impart the truth of this disaster with comic relief. It is still over whelming best intentions aside.
After the tour we attend a little dinner with a panel of experts. They relay the story of recovery. "They" are not talking heads, "they" are citizens victims of the storm a few even members of the AMS, American Meteorlogical Society. The soldiers, Calvary so to speak. As the Federal Government did not send in the Calvary nor did they deem it important to rebuild any part of the area up to modern specks. Step by step the Social Scientists, local Church Leaders, and citizen activists treated us to a birds eye view of the Hurculian effort to restore and rebuild vibrant communities. They are all fearfull, every Hurricane season they fear. The Senior citizens are fearfull, of not living and dying in their home, and of dying from another storm in their home. The loss of possesion for the women and loss of control for the men haunt them, beleger them. Here are communities whose roots go back six maybe seven generations. They have family all around, hand down their homes deeds so old they may not even exist anymore. Later, I spoke privately with a few of the Panel, the new charter schools have no mandate for programs that include children with disablities. Nothing is in place for the most disadvantaged, from mild dyslexia to the fully disabled. It appears the white children are enrolled with religious institutional charter schools, heavilly funded. The minority poorer working class families have the new experimental public charter schools. So we have formal segregation. Another troubling product of the mass out migration is they are finding young teenage boys returning alone, living in ruined and Toxic buildings. Here to attend their schools, on their home turf with out the rest of their displaced family.
Barry and his fellow scientists discuss the merits of rebuilding here below sea level, in a vulnerable area. It strikes me that the Dutch and other countries with low lying areas comparable to Nola, have levees and Dykes that are enginered with every intention of keeping the populus safe. Why not here? They have set up a system of block captains, they each keep lists of the homeowners, where they are located, phone numbers, insurance companies, and all members of household. This will all go into a larger data base. If they need to evacuate again all info is handy and relevant. It would be wise for Coastal Texas, Florida, And the East Coast in general to adopt many of their innovations as a pre-emptive of the big one. Barry adds California for "their" big one.
With the change in government we are sure to have, I hope that attention will be paid albiet late, to the on going struggle and tragedy of New Orleans. It is also my hope that they do something to change the pitiful budjet of the Weather Service. Out dated and dying technology, under staffed and hanging together with the perverbial paper clip is not how we want the frontlines of Natural disasters to function. The young people comming through the pipe, with their ideas, ideals and tremendous work ethic need to have their energies and abilites matched with top notch technology. Funding for research is essential. We personnaly have suffered from the crunch of shorted funding. The best and brightest need to stay with this service. I have met such dedicated brilliant innovative scientists at these conventions. A geek fest to be sure, yet these geeks are our first line of defence. The National Weather Service are in our backyards not in some remote Corporate central local. Each office attuned to the nuance of their particular local. I think of Barry as an alchemist. He takes the hard science, the data models and finally adds the intuition and gut of one who hears and feels what we do not. His forcasts, research are among the top, he doesn't just disgorge data. They go to our schools educate and out reach. They provide tours of the facilites and work with local orginizations. These are the people who have the most invested in our welfare. Not a corporate board with political, ego and bottom line raison d'etre.
Hopefully you all will take a trip to New Orleans still one of my favorite cities and we can swap food notes, and resturant critiques. Let the good times roll.
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