It Works!

That little weather feed thingy from wunderground.com is pretty cool! We're hunkering down, waiting for Tropical Storm Ida to do it's thang and move along. Brian's clinic is letting out early. The elementary school I subbed at today was on its usual schedule (but 2:30 p.m. is late enough when you start at 6:25 a.m., and not much rest between the Weather Channel and MEMA (MS's FEMA) updates, I'm ready for a glass of wine and a nap!). My first class of the new semester would have started tonight, but thanks to Ida, it's been cancelled. This is as close as I'll get to a "snow day" and I'll admit, I miss it. All dark and windy, it actually feels like a "normal" November rainy day and reminds me how nostalgic I am for the "stay in/be cozy/craft/make shit in the crock pot" season. I could be happy with a winter that was a day or so a week like this. Oh, yeah, except this is nothing normal. It's the outer wisps of a massive storm, and just in case, I already had pulled all my important papers/photos to the side. Blows, man (hahahah, I'm punny).

Halloween Interlude

It wouldn't be Halloween without carving pumpkins. We just got back into town from being gone a week in San Antonio and had no clean laundry and no groceries. Walmart came through on groceries, but short on pumpkins. I had to barter to get the last pumpkin in the store on October 30 from a greeter lady who had already claimed it for her cart. I asked her, while pointing to her pumpkin, "How much you want for the pumpkin? Please. I'm desperate." She was very generous considering she hadn't paid for it yet. I gave her a spaghetti squash in exchange for her kindness and her pumpkin. It was a Halloween-Christmas miracle. But that was just one pumpkin. What were the girls going to carve when they came over?... (as if I was going to let the kids carve it...) Halloween morning, I stumbled upon a gloriously over-priced pumpkin at the local green house. I bargained the lady down $2 ($12 to $10) and came home victorious with my moderately over-priced pumpkin.

We had fun, carving, watching football. Danielle did the creepy scarecrow. I helped her clean up the stringy pulp and added the bat.

I improvised a "Go Gators" pumpkin. Now, I would have done a "Go Cats" pumpkin, but we were playing Penn State that day and the forecast for a Northwestern win was not so good. Cheering for my team is enough of an emotional commitment. And plus, I didn't have a giant Wildcat magnet I could trace. Lame excuses. Next year, I carve "Go Cats."

To pass out candy, I dressed up as "Spooky Kabuki." This was a recycled Elvira wig and costume, and with a couple tweaks, my blouse from China, and some chopsticks, I achieved a whole new look. I think it scared Brian a little.

Creepy, eh?!

I show you trick. Candy for you... Happy Harroween!... Candy for you... You no take candy from basket... I give to you. Waitchyo tern.

And whatchew costume?... You no dress up? You "hostage" for Harroween?... Ohhh, tha's very bad costume. You try 'gain nex' year, Okay?... (and then I broke character and said, "I'm just messing with you, here's your pretzels." Afterall, I didn't want to get egged by the hostage... but don't knock the pretzels shaped like bats and pumpkins.)

Big B and lil m's Big Adventure on the Big Island

COMING SOON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But first, I'm finishing the homework I put off for the last two and a half weeks (and still putting off since I'm obviously distracted and clearly not doing homework right now...)

A “Laundry & Bourbon” Hangover

Our one-act show about three women living in Maynard, Texas circa Late ‘60s, opened and closed this past weekend. I played a Baptist gossip named Amy Lee who preys on the private lives of others. From Friday to Sunday Matinee, we gave three performances to small but enthusiastic audiences. Before every show, we painted on our Tammy-Fay faces, put up our big hair, and Vaselined our teeth. I felt just like Whittley from “Different World.” No one would every suspect the vicious tongue behind these pearly whites! After every show, I had a mild but chronic headache. I think it was from my pitchy-shrilly Texan-Baptist accent.

I had the privilege of working with another great cast, a great directing team, and another memorable experience of unleashing my love of thespian culture on the unsuspecting folks of Ocean Springs. I’ve been deathly afraid I wouldn’t be able to shake the accent after the show. It’s jeyust sew mutch fuhhhhhhhn! Already, I’ve caught myself saying lines in passing conversations--- they fit the context so well, it just happen naturally. I almost want to go to a Baptist service now, just to check it out, see if the “Blood of the Lamb” really comes up in small talk.

Another side story: I had to sew my own dress for the show. It was really cool! The process, the pattern… not so much the fabric which was intentionally chosen for its tackiness. I put in a zipper, stitched in darts and made my own button hole! Of course, I have to tell everyone, “You see this? I made this!” There was some cussing, I’ll admit, and there were a few seems ripped (“this hurts me more than it hurts you”), but overall, I think everyone should make a complete outfit at least once, AND on a deadline. ;) Just interpreting the Simplicity pattern instructions was an exercise in foreign language. Simple, my ass. It took me five times of reading the instruction for the sleeves and borrowing the other girl’s dress to see how her mom sewed in the sleeves, before I figured out what “adjusting along the bobbin thread” was supposed to mean. Sometimes, you just have to do it and mess it up, before you know what the hell you’re supposed to do.

I finished on time with my last hem, just a few hours before Opening Night. It makes me that much more appreciative for all the work our Grandmas did just to clothe themselves and their families. And they didn’t have patters to follow! I’d be like, “F&^$% that noise, I’m outsourcing this *&^%*# to Malaysia.”

Reflection Upon A Spider's Web

I'll admit it.

It never ceases to amaze me how easy it is to get all wrapped up in my own personal and oft pretend business and busy-ness. Just as my worries are about to escalate, I find that I can be completely leveled in awe and admiration for Nature's beauty that surrounds us, like I was this morning by the delicate intricacies of a spider's great web, framed in dew. For at least 30 seconds, I allow myself this humble distraction, appreciating the beauty and perfect symmetry in form and function of Mother Nature's use of Fibonacci’s numbers.

Feeling refreshed with renewed perspective, I head back towards the house.

But first, I'll spend the next five minutes looking for bugs to throw into Ms. Spider's web.

...who says there's no free lunch once in a while?...

Farewell and Ado to Ye Fair Spainish Maiden...

Brian has been boat browsing online lately, the same way I used to “shop” for a dog in Alaska. He thinks he’s just doing price comparisons, but I can see the love/lust in his eyes. I know the various files he’s built with photos and Web links to his latest boat girlfriend of the week. There’s no holding him back now. Do I feel threatened? Not at all. I’ve already told Brian that when I’m on board, I pull Alpha Girlfriend Status. But otherwise, I think it’s all very cool. I love boats and the water, and the whole prospect is quite exciting. I’ve always enjoyed boat-people culture. Brian’s been teaching me about the different kinds of boats, walk-arounds vs. center-counsel. Some have plastic tops, some have bimminy (canvas) tops that stretch shade over the Captain. Then of course, there’s your port/starbird and bow/stern. Watch me work the lingo. Maybe one day, I’ll be a Real boat-person…

Lo and behold, Brian surprises me last Sunday by telling me we bought a boat. Really?! Let’s see! We had to go pick it up in Vancleave, a 20 minute drive north of us. He scored a major deal on it, paying only half of its retail value. It’s been ever-so-gently used and comes with its own marine battery, engine, and two paddles. Paddles?

Surprise! It’s a canoe. So, for the moment, we’re more like canoe-people.

We already took our new member of the family out on her maiden voyage in the Davis Bayou. It’s nice! A green Pelican, with three seats, each with its own drink holder for your beer! Or soda. The motor is a nice perk, for those times when you just want to get back to shore because low-lying clouds and lightening are closing in. Here, Brian is trying to figure this boat motor for the first time, trying to screw it on without it falling in the water, and in typical Marlena-fashion, I’m asking him all these unrelated questions, like, “Did you and the girls ever get rained on when you went boating?” “Will a motor short-out if it gets rained on?” …“Are there alligators in here?” “Do you think an alligator could tip a canoe? What if it really wanted to?” “Did you see that big splash?” …”Brian, it’s lightening over there. Should we turn back?” “Look at those monster clouds! They look like burnt marshmallows!” “Would you take a bite out of that cloud if it were made of burnt marshmallows?”

It was a short boat ride, but at least we know everything works! We were able to get her out of the water before the skies opened up. Unfortunately, there’s a little more that’s goes into packing up a canoe for the day, beyond getting it out of the water. I’ve already learned my first marine lesson. Tying a boat up is no more fun in the rain than being stuck on a boat in the rain.

I love it though. I’ll be looking forward to packing a cooler, our fishing gear, and maybe Gretchen for afternoon cruises through the bayou. I’m training Gretchen to “Sit” in the canoe. We’re going to practice in the backyard.

Where's Cousin Eddy? He usually eats these g**damn things...

And now, it’s time for my favorite game! It's theeeee...

“What The Hell Is That?” Game!

Any time I spot an insect, arachnid, amphibian, reptile, green cloud formation, anything crawling in my house, road kill, strange bug bites (on me or Gretchen), I try to identify it. But first I say, “What the hell is that??!” You can play along too, At-Home Audience!

Today’s “What the hell is that” features a creepy-crawly neighbor that decided to seek shade under the wheel of my car. Ain’t he cute? I had to shoot it--- with my camera of course! I found snakes in our yard before but was never able to ID them. Can you guess? It’s a juvenile Cottonmouth moccasin. Yeah, also known as, you touch- you die. But I didn’t find that out until later, when the nice people from NPR’s “Creature Comforts” program emailed me back.

So, here I am throwing sticks at this thing, trying to get it to move from under my tire. I just wasn’t ready to adopt the natives’ mantra, “The only good snake is a dead snake.” But it still wouldn’t move. So, I told the snake, “Let me show you how we do things where I come from.”

I swaggered over to the fence, grabbed the hose, adjusted the nozzle setting to “Blast ‘Em," and I sprayed that SOB like my sister sprays the neighborhood Mexican kids. They ask for it while she’s watering her garden. They think it’s fun, and so does she.

The snake was moving now! Only not in the direction I expected. Instead of slithering away, the snake came at the jet stream of water like a surfer grabbing hold of a big wave, it’s cotton-white mouth open wide. “Yeah, let’s dance” I told it, feeling more like a dentist washing out its fillings. “You like that? Yeah? So does your momma--- Say ‘Ahh!’”

After at least three minutes of this, the snake gave up and unhurriedly slipped into the grass. Perfect timing, because now I have to leave, or I’ll be late. I got in the car through the passenger side just in case, and guess who’s still there? Coiled up right beside the concrete! I threw a penny at it from my open window, for good luck (and to see what it would do; snake was unimpressed with my offering).

One of the deadliest snakes in the U.S. and I’m throwing sticks and pennies at it. Just call me the Snake Charmer. Next thing you know, I’ll be speaking in tongues… which is funny since I AM playing the part of a “Baptist to the Teeth” lady from Texas in a play titled, “Laundry and Bourbon.” The three-women One-Act open September 18-20. I like to think the Spirit is still with me when I get home from play practice, 'jes watching over me when it's too dark to see what devil serpent might be a'waitin' under the car.

The Anatomy of A Summer Day in Mississippi

These Lazy Waning Days of Summer follow a pattern.

Sometime between 6 a.m. and 8 a.m., Gretchen and I head out for our morning walk under a cloudless sky. It’s so gorgeous, and so blue! Make no mistake, it’s already hot. No matter how early we leave, Gretchen always looks like she’s on the Bataan Death March on the leg back. “You’re the one who always wants to go!” I remind her.

If I’m doing yard work or housekeeping, I’ll start it now. I’ll also think about checking email. But must first put in my 20 minute crusade against dog hair.

Between 11 a.m. and 1:30 p.m., dark clouds will roll in. All this time, rolling thunder will fill the neighborhood. I can never tell if it’s thunder, or just neighbors wheeling in their trash cans. But the sound is too close, and it can’t be our next door neighbor Barbara taking in her trash cans. She’s always prompt about that, and garbage was collected three days ago. Sometimes, I think it’s just some truant kids horsing around, wheeling each other about in trash cans. I’ve never actually seen this.

Around 2 p.m., a huge downpour may or may not occur. It could last 10 minutes or it could rain about an hour. Either way, if you’re stuck in it, or if you have to run from the store or the house to your car without an umbrella, you may as well walk in the shower with your clothes on.

About 6 p.m., the sun is shining bright, there’s a nice breeze, and you’d never know of the preceding thunderstorm warning or sweltering mid-morning heat, if the frogs didn’t tell you with their post-rain song.

It’s pretty. It’s sounds like, “Mweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeggggggghhhhhh…….. Mweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeggggggggghhhhhh….”

This past week has been different though! The days are getting cooler, almost comfortable(!) maxing out in the mid-high 80's. The clouds are out of control cool. The other day, I saw mounds upon mounds of cauliflower heads, mushroom caps, Mickey Mouse waving, and Jerry Garcia, all in one sky. Last night, there was a dark cloud cover that ended short of the horizon, and the sunset's orange-pink beams were shooting up from below the clouds, below the horizon even, and creating almost a rock-concert lighting effect, with these hot pink spotlight beams penetrating up into the dark blue-gray cloud cover in several places from several directions. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Even if I had a camera, besides the one on my phone, it wouldn't have done the moment justice.

Of all the places I've lived, of all the awesome nature I've seen, there is nothing quite so pretty as the pastel palette left in the sky after a Mississippi sunset.

Current Events

The girls started school today. A lot of the public schools started last week. That’s just crazy! On the flip side, students get a whole week off for Thanksgiving and they get Fat Monday, Fat Tuesday, and Ash Wednesday off. And they get out of school before Memorial Day. But still! First or second week of August!? That was always around the time I started thinking about getting those books for the summer reading program, or maybe cleaned out my closet or under my bed with a little parental coaching. Even I had to admit by mid-August: there are only so many days you can go swimming, eat Fudgesicles and Pop-Ice as a major food group, and watch TV in a wet bathing suit. Ahh, but it was great while it lasted!

Hurricane season started two and a half months ago, June 1st to be exact. It’ll go until November 30. We’ve been following along a little to this year’s season, but most of the action has been in the Pacific. You can follow along too with this handy-dandy gizmo to the right from http://www.wunderground.com/ .

We’re keeping our eyes on TD Two, which has just degenerated into an area of low pressure... TD’s have always been an exciting part of the imminent season, but that was for Touch Down--- not Tropical Depression. I remember last year, right about when we hit the letter “E” that I started associating hurricanes with all the other things going on in our lives. You follow these storms as long as they last, which could be a couple weeks. Hurricane Edouard, we were finalizing and mailing wedding invitations. Hurricane Fay took us all the way through the Olympics and a few nights of the GOP convention. Hurricane Gustav paved the way for our first official hurricane evacuation to Memphis and just in time for the Delta Blues Festival! (“Kiss my blue suede shoes, Gustav!”)

Gustav pushed back the closing on our house a week. No insurance company will issue policies on a new home when there’s a named storm in the Gulf of Mexico. Which makes sense, because, you know, it's nice to know the house will be there after the storm. And it was. Yeah! Hurricane Ike, we closed on the house, moved in, unpacked a little, and I was getting ready to leave for Chicago for the three week pre-nuptial planning. Hurricane Ike was my first experience of “hurricane track-change cheering.” Watching the news coverage from NOLA to Mobile, AL, you could see tangible relief on everyone when the Hurricane Hunters reported Ike would be veering west. Of course I was happy too- hey, we just bought a house! But I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. After all, somebody’s gotta take the hit, and this time it was Galveston, TX. But nothing happens in a bubble.

This was the water that came in under the condo, where we were still living while getting the new place set up. The other image is of Gretchen in the "new" backyard, enjoying the unique water view, all thanks to Ike. Parts of Chicagoland were still dealing with flooding from the “remnants of Ike” by the time I arrived in September.

Well, this year, I wanted to get a head start, be on a first name basis by the time they rolled in (posted below). (Is that morbid?) “Yooo Hoo… is that Ida Hurricane?... You’da Hurricane!”

So far, no hurricane action in the Atlantic--- which is good. At the same time, I’m not ready for another season with Jim Cantore. He’s the jerk face for the Weather Channel’s hurricane coverage.

2009 Atlantic Hurricane Names
Ana

Bill

Claudette

Danny

Erika

Fred

Grace

Henri

Ida

Joaquin

Kate

Larry

Mindy

Nicholas

Odette

Peter

Rose

Sam

Teresa

Victor

Wanda

...what? No Zolanda? Booooo.

Alaska July 2009

Click here to view these pictures larger

Sometimes You Want to Go Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Hey Family & Friends! It’s been three months since my last post. But you’ve got to believe me when I say that I’ve been writing to you and blogging in my mind every day. In the meantime, I’ve racked up some good stories: travel stories, local vignettes, and personal-growth(s) journeys. We’ll start with the most recent and work our way back.

A couple days ago, we had the privilege of entertaining our ol’ friends Nick and Karen Miniotis here in Ocean Springs, MS for a few days. A week and two days ago, we were saying our goodbyes to Nick and Karen after spending a few days with them in Eagle River, Alaska. WHAT?! Yes!! It was the ultimate noncontiguous progressive dinner party of all time.

Just as the one-year anniversary of our arrival to MS was approaching (July 17), we were packing to get out again: our Summer 2009 Tour Back North would take us to the two places I had once called home: Chicago, IL and Eagle River, AK. I had a couple days’ layover to spend in Chicago before Brian met me and we both flew direct from O’Hare to Ted Stevens--- Ahh, good Ol’ Ted Stevens Airport in Anchorage, Alaska. We staged our ten-day trip in four locations: Nick and Karen’s house in Eagle River, Kim and Dave’s House (our old neighbors in Eagle River), Kim and Dave’s pop-up camper along the Kenai River, and the Army Recreational Facility in Seward. Our mission: to visit the old house which Brian still owns; to catch up with friends and Alaskan Summer Ales; and to do some serious fishing. Before our arrival, the weather was unseasonably warm in the high 70s/low 80s, and the fishing report was better than ever! The Kenai River limit for red (sockeye) salmon was bumped up from three to six. As soon as we arrived, the temperature dropped 15 degrees and the fishing limit returned to three. It also rained every other day.

No ants at our picnic though. We had big plans and weren’t about to change them on account of the weather. Plus, the cold and rain were a breath of relief from the MS heat (at least that’s what I kept telling myself, especially while on our chartered halibut fishing trip when a huge wave splashed glacier-cold water down my waders. It’s Good Cold! Good Cold!). The first weekend, we spent camping with Kim and Dave along the Kenai River. Nothing like four friends communing with nature and not showering for 48 hrs. I felt bad for Buddy and Holly, their Labradors. It was a bad time to have a keen sense of smell.

Brian and I pulled on our waders Friday through Monday, but didn’t pull a fish out until Sunday at Resurrection Creek, where pink salmon (humpies) come in to spawn. They’re sort of the “easy-lay” salmon. Fun to catch, but you wouldn’t want to take a bunch home to mom. We spent Friday and Saturday on a quest for their more selective and tastier sister, the sockeye, but for all our efforts, caught nothing. Earlier, while we were shopping for camping groceries, Kim told me there’s an Alaskan superstition that if you plan a camping meal around freshly caught fish, you won’t catch anything. Now, we had a back-up mac ‘n cheese plan, but our garnishes and red-peppers with chipotle chilis in adobo sauces just wouldn’t be the same on mac ‘n cheese. Dave’s catch saved us from such a fate.

However, we weren’t shut out of wildlife! Almost ten bear spottings along the Kenai Peninsula, both brown and black bears. The young brown bears were splashing at each other across the river. They were super cute, until three of them came up from behind us while we were all waist deep in the Kenai River. We shouted and h’yawed at them so they’d move along, away from us. For some reason, “Go away, Little Bears” wasn’t as effective as the men’s gruff shouting. Still, it was “so” Alaska to see fishermen alongside bears, both focused on nothing but catching salmon, with eagles and gulls soaring above.

Sunday, we packed up the camp site, parted ways with Kim and Dave, and drove to Resurrection Creek for a few hours of easy fishing, then down to Seward to spend the night at the Army Recreation Camp in preparation for our 6 a.m. halibut and silver salmon charter. We booked our trip out of the Fish House and would be aboard the Aurora fishing vessel, dock H. All this we scouted out the night before. We went to bed early after a long, hot shower, and a nice meal at Chinook’s. I ordered halibut cheeks to get psyched for the next day’s mission. Before we left the dock, a customer with his visiting daughter and son-in-law was giving the captain a hard time. Many boats had not been able to go out far enough for halibut due to rough waves and poor weather. He waited and called and booked this trip just for halibut, so he told the captain, “You best be sure we’re gonna be fishing for some halibut,” (it was a bit much for 6 a.m.)… Later, half-way into the three and a half-hour choppy ride to the halibut fishing point, he was spewing his guts over the side of the boat. “Shoot for distance,” Captain Justin requested in the introduction spiel.

Brian and I each caught our limit for halibut (two each) and silver (coho) salmon (three each). I also caught a black rock fish, which is a kind of sea bass--- kicked his ass! Ugly SOB in a cute sort of way.

I looked into the eyes of each fish and said thank you before they were filleted by Deck-Hand John. Even helped bag some of the other parties’ fillets, because I’m hard-core and was certain I’d be sick if I sat in the stuffy cabin that now smelled like turkey sandwiches and the other eight people on our crew. Brian was more tolerant.

I won’t lie. This was our second time halibut fishing, but a lot more “work” than the last time we went. Eight hours is a long day with people you don’t know, especially when we still had another hour of fish processing and another three hours of driving back to Eagle River. We could have had our fish packaged and vacuum sealed by the Fish House for an additional fee, but we wanted to do it ourselves at the well-equipped Army Recreation Fish Cleaning and Processing Center. After all, we’re hardcore and cheap. Oh, and it was raining the whole time. I went through five shirts, two hoodies, a worthless windbreaker, and two pairs of pants. At least there was no shortage of daylight. And no shortage of learning experiences!

Lessons Learned:

1. When deciding on a fishing charter, bring twice the friends or book half the time/fish. If you want to spend 8+ hours catching fish with people you don't know, apply for a job or a position on Deadliest Catch.

2. Make sure your husband has eaten if it’s been eight hours since the last meal and you’re about to do something important with knives.

3. Don’t start the morning by bitching at your boat captain. You and your crew will never know if the outbound ride was really long and choppy, or if it was just that way by design…

4. If you’re designing squid-like fishing lures, call them something clever like “hoochies.” That way, fishing captains around the world can say things like, “You won’t get any action if you don’t jig your hoochie.”

5. Ladies: always have a pair of comfy pants on hand if you’re going to be fishing all day--- even if you think you’re protected by overall waders. Mark my words, should water spill inside, and all you have on hand to change into is a pair of tight jeans, and you have to roll them over cold, partly dried thighs in the public restroom while balancing on little pieces of toilet paper, you will be hating life.

Once we arrived back in Eagle River, I was done fishing for a little while. Despite the weather, we went golfing (were joined on the last tee box by Mr. Fox) and took separate trips to Girdwood/Portage Glacier and Talkeetna. The rain didn’t deter other tourists who flocked in by the Princess and Holland Tour busloads.

We had some fantastic culinary adventures too: besides campfire sockeye salmon and halibut cheeks, we had steak and Alaskan King Crab (thanks Kim and Dave!) and grilled coho salmon with fresh dill from the garden garnished with avocado, tomato, and lemon greek yogurt sauce (thanks Nick and Karen!). Our visit would not be complete without a meal at our ol’ favorite Eagle River pizzeria, Pizza Man, who thankfully still serves good brews on tap. We had a great time with good friends in Alaska and (albeit uber-brief) Chicago.

I even felt sadly nostalgic leaving Alaska for Mississippi (with three connecting flight). There was a lot to be nostalgic about. Brian and I spent our first year living together in Alaska. Even the flight from Chicago to Alaska with Brian by my side bought back memories of leaving a known life in Chicago for a wild life and love in Alaska. I’ve been sad leaving AK before, but that was because back then, I was leaving Brian. Brian was with me now. So why was I sad? I think it was for the memory itself, for the passage of time, for the things we looked forward to in MS and how much has already happened, mostly great life milestones like driving 5,500 miles across North America , buying a house, getting married, watching Brian’s girls grow up, cheering for a year’s worth of Danielle’s soccer games, helping Rachel with her college search, getting to know our Life in Mississippi, and figuring out my own place in it. Some things threw off our plans, like Brian’s best friend passing away. It felt good to reflect, even to be sad.

I needed that trip. We needed that trip. And to keep the “party” going, Nick and Karen arrived the day after we landed. They used to live in this area, and they had their own nostalgia to share, how much they enjoy the sound of frogs at night (no frogs in Alaska) and how happy they were to be stationed here after living in Wichita Falls, Texas for several years. We do our best to optimize our existence wherever we live, however long we live there. It’s not until we leave a place, that we feel nostalgic for it, even if it's combined with total relief for being over and done with the place. After revisiting where we’ve been, I feel like I can better appreciate where I’m at and get back to making Ocean Springs “home.”

This place is so unique in its own right. And for the first time in my life, I am looking forward to fall and winter more than any other season of the year.

May 12th is Limerick Day

There is a land called Las Vegas
Where the hopes of winning are contagious.
But win, we did not.
N'er to be found, a loose slot.
Aye, tis better to invest in cocktail waitress.

PAAS Goes Camo!!!

Are those camouflage stickers and PAAS coloring?? YES!! I've colored a lot of eggs and seen a lot of PAAS packages in my time. Now, some background information: I cannot begin to explain or understand why "camo" print is a fashion statement [er, in some huntin' camps]. You can find jackets, pajamas, journals, rugs... it
even comes in pink. But this was the first time I discovered and bought me some CAMO colors and stickers. I tried to make a joke with the lady at the Wal-Mart check-out, asking her when PAAS come out with the CAMO edition, and how are you supposed to find them if they're in camouflage!!... She said, nonchalantly, "Oh, they've always had that one." "Not where I'm from, Lady! Boy, have we been missing out!!.." As of late, I've been catching myself giving voice to my internal monologue. Dangerous.
Before you get all excited about pre-ordering your PAAS "CAMO" for next year, the stickers didn't stick very well and the colors were more or less the same. It was just clever branding of a traditional product for a specific market. Those PAAS people are geniuses.

We also did some PAAS "SPORTS" eggs for variety. Note that when I say we, I mean the girls and Brian, and when I say the girls and Brian, I mean just the girls. I was fixing our Easter lunch and forgot to put in an order for a PAAS Shrink-Wrapped baseball and football.

Hoppin Into Spring Break Mode

Spring Break for Rachel and Danielle officially kicked off on Good Friday. Is it almost over already? We had fun where we can: colored eggs, I made them watch the MGM classic, "Ben Hur" starring Chuck Heston, did a little golfing, watched some WGN baseball and celebrated Tax-Day by going to the beach (a year ago, it was snowing on April 15, and a year before that, it was probably snowing on April 15).

Danielle explores "greener" modes of transportation.

Gretchen waits patiently for the other half of my $5 foot-long.

Brian and the girls show off their PAAS creations.

I tried to talk one of our lunch guests, 92 year-old Bettye Kellar (not pictured), into coloring an egg, but she was having more fun sitting on the rocker, reading the April issue of Rolling Stones, and enjoying the sunshine. She's also Jewish, not that it would have stopped her. She's 92! She does whatever the %$#@ she wants.

Gretchen and I were psyched for [the rescheduled] Opening Day. White Sox had a great start to their season, which lasted as long as Gretchen's baseball.

Spring Abounds!...One Mississippi… Two Mississipp---BOOM!!!!

I thought April showers were supposed to bring May flowers… not rip the heads off them. It’s been a soggy and stormy last two weeks. Last weekend, so much water had collected, the houses on our street looked like they each had their own Medieval moat around their property. Just in time for mosquito season, alright!

Today’s weather activity culminated in tornado warnings, wind advisory alerts, a flash flood warning and severe thunderstorm warnings, you know: the usual. In the last hour, the sky has gone from the color gray to gray-green to black to gray to an almost blinding white. The sun has tried to peak out from the clouds a few times. But that was in between tornado warnings. The coast is clear for now. But for a while, our local NPR station was giving storm updates every two minutes, each one book-ended by that sharp high-pitched eeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrblllppppgppplllggllp eeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrpppllllggghhggg. Then, as the storm was lifting, the station happened to be playing Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune, as if the clouds were choreographed.

But I don’t mind a little rain now and then. As the local gardening radio show host would say, “A little rain is what separates us from West Texas.”

In the last six weeks, the most beautiful canvas of azaleas has been blooming all over South Mississippi and Lower Alabama (L.A.). I’m learning, slowly but surely, all the different vegetation around the area. Thanks to the patient advice of a good friend and horticulturist, a few neighbors and the nice lady at Ace Hardware, I almost have everything in the front yard identified and didn’t have to do too much experimental “prune first, ask questions later.”

I even filled some planters with a modest crop of fresh herbs, tomatoes, onions and arugula, just in time to find out that some of the herbs and all the lettuce won’t make it to July. But boy, they sure are tasty now! It’s funny to think a year ago today, we were still shoveling snow. Mmm, memories.

A March In Memory

This March has come in like a lion and is still roaring. I was initially going to write about "the March of the Parents," how my mom and step-dad drove down for a few days, and then Brian's parents came just last weekend to stay with us to see Rachel's performance as Mrs. Peterson in "Bye Bye Birdie." And then I was going to write about the Vagina Monologue performances and the five stages of VM cast bonding, but we became busy again prepping for the Bergeron family visit and Rachel's play. Before our Saturday night VM performance, Rachel and I spent the afternoon costume shopping for vintage hats and tacky garden party dresses for her character. So much fun. So much theatre! As Brian put it, when asked if he likes going to see plays, "I've spent five nights in the last seven days in a theatre. What do you think."

But between all the excitement, there has been a steady undertone of sadness and suffering. Brian's closest friend passed away on the Ides of March, ending the chapter on a valiant battle against pancreatic cancer. He would have been 62 next month. Nothing I write will be as poignant as what Brian has already written below.

Friends, If you have not already heard, I am sorry to inform you that my dear friend, Murray Kellar, passed away on Sunday, 15 March. Murray was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer this past summer and fought a good fight until last month when he finally experienced Liver failure. Murray made the choice to die at home with his family under the care of hospice. Dolly and his family were with him till the end and he was/is surrounded by love and affection. Murray was lucid and even funny at times till the last few days of his illness and was able to enjoy many visits and notes from loved ones. Dolly has asked that should anyone be inclined, to please donate to the American Cancer Society in Murray's name, in lieu of flowers. A memorial service will be held this week at the VA Chapel where he served as Director of Dental Services and Hospital Dentist, following his military career. I will try and forward the memorial service details as soon as available. Dolly is currently overwhelmed as you can imagine, but holding up well considering the circumstances. Should you wish to share condolences, written letters/cards might be most appropriate, at least until the memorial service has been held and things have settled down a bit for her and the family. Please pass the information along to anyone who might have been inadvertently missed, especially those who have retired from his USAF, VA, or Hospital Dentistry families. Thanks to all of you for being good to Murray and his family in their time of need. Please tell someone close to you that you love them; and if you can make them smile or even laugh in honor of Murray...Lord knows he did that for all of us on a regular basis.
God Bless,
Brian

*****
The memorial service was yesterday, and the chapel at the V.A. Hospital was packed wall to wall. Brian gave one of the eulogies, and in five minutes, had the entire room laughing, crying, remembering and celebrating a life well lived.

Our thoughts and prayers continue to be with his loving family.

Visit the guest book link above to get a taste of the legacy of heart and humor that we will all miss so dearly. http://www.legacy.com/sunherald/GB/GuestbookView.aspx?PersonId=125207832

Or read the comment below, Murray's response to my story in the Anchorage Daily News Paper about pre-wedding dance lessons:
(original story: http://www.adn.com/life/story/423619.html)

Battle Cry for the Bachelor
Posted: June 2, 2008 - 11:22 am
Submitted by Murray Kellar, a "Concerned Friend" of the Fiancé, (In response to 5/25 posting, FACE THE MUSIC AND LEARN TO DANCE)
I've watched enough science fiction flics to know that you are not the "Real Brian." I also know that by speaking out like this, your alien friends will be swooping down on me before I've even finished this memo. Too late Yoda. I anticipated your moves and am already gone. You'll never catch me, and I'm going to discover your weakness and hunt you down like the dogs you are for what you've done to the Real Brian. Do you think all humans are idiots? I know Brian would never take dance lessons. Brian is (was) a man and he played golf and poker and had guns and stuff... "Dance lessons"...??!! Do your homework next time, Mr. Spock, before you try to pull one over on good ole homo sapiens. I'm outta here, but you'd better be looking over your shoulders or tentacles or whatever passes for a head in your slimy world, cause me and the boys are comin' for Brian, and we'll be using the "Raid" on any of your insectoid vermin who gits in our way!!!!

Here was Murray's response when he found out his comment was posted to my blog:
Musta been a pretty slow news er "blog" day... Well let me know if you need any other good blogs. I once caughta fish and have been thinking of writing a book on fishing techniques.

Mardi Gras Mambo

Here are photos of decorations around town and from the Ocean Springs parade on February 7. The Mardi Gras party atmosphere starts here around late January. Haven't seen anyone topless. But with all the beads you collect, it sort of works as a halter top.

My brown bag says, "Hope your Tuesday is Phat, like yo Momma."





Elvis is alive!!

Who's the King of the King Cake Castle Now??

So, it's Mardi Gras season here, in full swing now with less than a week to go. I've decided to make a King Cake from scratch (not that Super Walmart's is bad--- It's great with coffee or when you're PMSing. But don't eat the green section- it's not ripe yet).

In my research, I found a recipe and while reading its reviews, came across this: From http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/reviews/Twelfth-Night-or-Kings-Cake-103104

"...Excellent. Just like I've had at Mardi Gras. A comment regarding two other comments; if you don't have experience working with yeast, or if you didn't make the recipe at all, you probably shouldn't review it. The thing I like best about Epicurious is that it is not a beginner's site. If you can't really cook, try Betty Crocker."

Oh snap!! I love when people talk trash in online recipe forums.

I'm going with this recipe: http://www.nolacuisine.com/2007/01/06/king-cake-recipe/

and will post MY comments when I'm done.

Don't Mess Wit My Valentine's Date!

On Valentine's Day, the Mississippi Coast Coliseum hosted the 2009 Blues Festival. I had been eyeing this event for months, thrilled that Brian agreed to go with me as our Valentine's Date Night.

First, the mmwb-pre-requisite back-story:
I love the Blues. I love Old School R&B. And now, here I am in Mississippi: the "Delta" ...the place where the Blues were born!, long before they were sung in Chicago... This is "Hard Time Mississisppi" where Stevie Wonder was "Living Just Enough for the City." This is the place Bessie Smith would moan about in "Mississippi Moan." This is the birth place of Muddy Waters, where he honed his Delta Blues sound before gettin' out of Dodge and bringing his music to Chi-Town to spearhead what would become the Chicago Blues Scene. I used to LIVE down the street from Buddy Guy's Blues Club, and now I'm in Mississipp'...and the only times I've heard some Live Blues since we moved here was when we were in Memphis, TN seeking refuge from Hurricane Gustav, and once when a very talented white man was playing for a not-so-diverse crowd in a Downtown Ocean Springs Bar. Like I said, the guitar player was surprisingly good. But, Man! Where are my Brotha's and my Sista's!!?

I couldn't believe that my daily interactions in Anchorage, Alaska had more diversity than my daily life in Mississippi. It was while listening to a late-night Blues program on NPR when it all hit me: I left the city of Chicago to ultimately end up here. What kind of inverted exodus have I made?!...

Cut to: 14 Feb 2009
I have seen it all AND satisfied my six-month craving for some Blues. I also found my Mississippi Brothas and Sistas. It was more of a Rhythm and Blues festival, but the Blues artists in the second half of the program held the show to its name. We saw Denise La Salle sing "Don't Mess with My Toot-Toot," a song she's been singing and strutting across the world, which also can be heard on the "Big Easy" movie soundtrack. Then, Bobby Rush (whose family moved to Chicago in the 50s-they're no fools!) came out all a-funkin' and a-hoochie-coochie-mannin' with two-big-bootied-back-up-dancers. He asked the audience to "Wave your hands in the air." But he stopped everything and said to two dudes in the front row, "Why you ain't wavin' your hands? Betchyou listen to that Snoppy Doggy A&^%$#-Sh*&^%. Without me and James Brown, Snoop Dawg would be Sh*&%.... Who do you think started Rap when Snoop was still in diapers..." And then, Bobby Rush proceeded to mock-cover Snoop Dogg/Dr. Dre with a full two minutes of hip-hop-hibby-hibby-hops, gins and juices and rip-roaring expletives. And his act was AFTER the "Sixty and Sexy" audience-participation dance contest, which was more like "shake your sub-gut maker." Once the 300 lb. contestant took the stage, the skinny hussies didn't stand a chance.

The night ended with Clarence Carter who sang his big hit, "Slip Away" and was fantastic! Brian, who agreed to rise up and dance with me a little, is fantastic, and a great sport, considering he was one of the few guys there NOT wearing a three-piece purple [or red or white] suite or a wide-brimmed hat. He was wearing a fleece pull-over and jeans. Even still, he alerted me that the Ladies were checking him out in the beverage line, for he was "Pretty fly for a white guy." I say, True Dat.

Ode to the Human Spirit: Thou Art Resilient

At a young age, we learned that the timeline of Man was divided into B.C. and A.D. (or B.C.E. and C.E. if you had Mrs. Byzeck-Sheridan for Ninth-Grade Religion class). Along the Mississippi Gulf Coast, you could say that time is divided into B.K. and A.K. "Before Katrina" and "After Katrina." This is the hurricane that we all saw ravage the Coast and flood New Orleans over Labor Day 2005. And it was awful. But the eye of the storm passed over the Louisiana and Mississippi border- a little over 40 miles west of us- dumping the worst of a hurricane's counter-clockwise fury onto every MS coastal city and town, including Ocean Springs, where we live now. One of my favorite cities, full of artists and antiques is Bay St. Louis. They were completely leveled.


I didn't fully appreciate Katrina's impact on the Gulf, outside of Louisiana until moving down here. Almost every conversation, no matter who I'm talking to or what it's about, Katrina comes up. It could be the most mundane conversation, like getting directions somewhere, or the introductory things you talk about when meeting someone new: where you live, what you do. People will often have two answers, before the storm and after. Because the world as they knew it was washed away in a 27 foot surge and had to be recreated over the last three and a half years--- which isn't THAT much time. A lot of work remains. A lot of empty slabs of concrete or a grand staircase or fireplace that leads to no where serve as memorials and reminders to how far everything has come. We have a couple empty slabs on our street, but if you drive a little further east, there are a few streets that are still leveled. These are high-end ocean-view lots, worth half a million and up, even without the house. I've whined a few times, wondering why the gorgeous beach-front along Highway 90 has no continous board-walk, no fun restaurants or bike-paths. But there's no shortage of ugly brick Waffle Houses and IHOPs. Oh, and there's a Hooter's further down in Gulfport. Then, my pottery teacher explained that these franchises are the only ones who can afford the outrageously priced property insurance. Oh.


But there is so much that has been built from nothing.

One day, when I was feeling fat (it's contagious here you know), I went for a super-long bike-ride, all the way to the bridge that connects Ocean Springs to Biloxi, crossing over the Biloxi River on one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other. The bridge has a gorgeous pedestrian path, safely separating walkers from highway traffic, and wide enough for bikers and joggers to run and ride freely. I pushed up to the top of the incline, and then at the top, paused. It was so beautiful. And the salty sea air smelled so good, so fresh. I didn't feel fat anymore, I didn't feel frustrated or overwhelmed or homesick. Exercise is cool like that; makes you feel alive again, and puts everything else in perspective.


I was on the new Biloxi Bay Bridge, which opened April 2008. Rachel Bergeron, then 16 years old, sang at the dedication.

This was the original bridge, after Katrina:






And below in the background is the new bridge, stronger than it was before, more beautiful and better than it was before, and a testament to the spirit of this community. "Katrina" will always be a loaded word, a book-end to a life before and a life after. Until she's dethroned by the next storm. Which is a long, long time from now, and we won't talk about it (knock on wood).

If and when you come to visit, I will take you on a bike ride or a walk or a drive across the bridge. It's pretty cool.

Southern Living: Chapter 2

I hate iced tea.

Reflections on V-Day

On Super Bowl Sunday afternoon, I auditioned for a local production of "The Vagina Monologues." Sort of getting back to my theatrical roots these days.

It's being produced by the Walter Anderson Players and would show at the Mary O'Keefe Cultural Center, a public building. I've seen this production twice while at Northwestern University. In addition to being fantastic, "Monologues" has a much bigger social agenda. It benefits our local domestic violence shelter, and ten percent of the show's proceeds go towards V-Day, an organization founded by the playwright, Eve Ensler, whose aim is to end violence against women. The 2009 V-Day program is campaigning to raise awareness and end the horrific violence against women in the Democratic Republic of Congo. I just heard Eve on NPR two weeks ago; it's the stuff nightmares are made of:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=99838343. Or http://www.glamour.com/magazine/2007/08/rape-in-the-congo

The 2008 V-Day campaign honored and spotlighted Katrina Women Warriors--- doesn't get any closer to Home.

But during the audition, we were informed that there might be issues with censorship, which is not allowed as part of the royalty-free production contract, and one of the local Aldermen takes issue with the title. Is it "the"...? How about "monologues"...?

... Can't really do much if you can't get past the "V" part.

And that's when all of a sudden, I just felt dizzy. Where am I? Did I fall in a worm hole? I wanted to go back in time, to when I first saw "The Vagina Monologues." It was exciting, it was sad, it was moving, it was hilarious! There were faculty members in the cast for God's sake. I could picture the production in my mind becoming fainter and fainter, like Marty McFly's family photo in "Back to the Future." Noooooooo!

No matter what happens, I met some really cool women at the audition. And all of them were firm believers in education and awareness. One of them is a teacher. At her school, 33 students out of 1200, are pregnant--- one of them, with her second child. That's even higher than the state percentage, which is the highest [number of teenage mothers] in the nation.

Two of the women auditioning, one of them in her 70s, grew up in South Mississippi. And when THEY were growing up, no one, especially not their mothers, talked about such things. When they had their periods for the first time, they had no idea what was happening to them. They thought they were sick or dying. How TERRIFYING!

I guess we've come a long way, Baby... maybe? But the whole experience made me feel incredibly grateful for my college education and for my mom who had no problem telling me what was going on. And for both my parents, who put the fear of God in me should that little egg become fertilized prematurely.

Then, I remember the V-Day campaign for women in the Congo.

And I humbly give thanks. Every day as a woman in America is a blessing.

Reflections on the Inauguration of the Millennium

Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around ... when yellow will be mellow ... when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen. - Rev. J. Lowry

Amen!

It’s Inauguration Day. Yesterday was MLK Jr. Day. What an amazing time in our country’s history. What a milestone. Our neighbor, Barbara, came over for my Inauguration 2009 Party and the two of us watched together. Goosebumps, tears, pride, resolve, hope… I’d say “it was better than CATS.” But it was so special, I can’t even joke. I still choke up when I hear other people sharing their inauguration stories. Today, we are all untied again. I can’t help but reflect on this monumental event and Obama’s amazing race to the White House. And how it all relates to me.

My first brush with Obama-For-President:
Borders Book Store on North Michigan Avenue, Chicago
October 2006
He was signing copies of “The Audacity of Hope.” I had my copy and my place in line at 8 a.m. After hours of waiting and queue fraternizing, I had made it to second floor, close to the front of the pack. “Awww Man, I thought it was Jamie Foxx,” was the running joke of the morning. When it was my turn, I folded open the hard cover to the blank second page as directed and stepped up to the table. Boy, he’s tall! I used my 5 seconds with Senator Obama to say thanks, good luck, and thanks for leading the White Sox parade and hope to see you in front of the Bears parade! .… I managed to get it all out before security was flagged.

Second encounter:
Super Tuesday in Anchorage, Alaska
February 2008
(Written last year, after the event. I still had a lot of pent-up stress...But it was all worth it.)
Never participate in anything that is pronounced by combining caulk and ass. Imagine 3,000 people driving (organized carpooling or public trans hasn’t caught on yet) to the Nate Begich Middle School, looking for parking, parking on the medians, in between the landscaped evergreen bushes, next to bike racks, double parked left and right. Keep in mind, middle school parking lots were not designed to accommodate mass parking. After I realized this wasn't going to be pretty, it was too late to turn around with all the other responsible voting citizens closing in behind me. I parked illegally and walked in the school, entering the 6th dimension. The last time I was stuck anywhere so crowded, it was on the Red Line CTA coming home from a Sox vs. Cubs game. The poll volunteers ushered me towards the gym since I was already registered to vote. That's where I got caught in the cattle line, no where to go, no where to run, no where to exit, being walled in by the responsible voting citizens spilling in behind me. We were instructed to get a blue card and proceed to the room that corresponded with our district where we could be manually counted. What the hell archaic process is that?? So, like my grandpa, I made friends with people in line. A half hour later, they announce over the loudspeaker that they've run out of blue cards and that we no longer need them. Mind you, I have not physically moved in the sea of people for about an hour. And the woman next to me starts coughing. It's like Germ-A-Palooza 2008. Then, they start announcing over the loudspeaker that whoever owns the white Ford truck license plate XLF77FU must move their car, it's blocking the entrance way. Then they make the announcement again, then they announce other cars that were going to be towed. But there's no way to get out to move your car!! And the parking lot is so overfull, where are you gonna move it to? There's no where to go!! Unless you were body surfing, there was no way to physically leave the school. Plus, after waiting in line for the blue card/golden ticket/papers of transit, there's no way in hell anyone is going to give up their spot. I was imagining writing a letter to Obama, letting him know how thrilled I was to be part of the Obama majority from AK and then asking him to pay my towing fees from the caucus night.... Then over the PA, we hear that the white Ford is blocking an ambulance. Well, this is just great. I swear, I was waiting for the "showers" to turn on and kill us all.

Finally, there was a mass clearing, I got my blue card, found my room, which had been relocated from where the map said it was due to over-crowding. I looked like a stockbroker, walking around the hallways, holding up three fingers on one hand, two fingers on the other. "32nd District?" "32nd District?" I shouted down the hallway. "Do you know where the 32nd District is meeting?" "Can someone please, for the love of God, tell me where the 32nd District is meeting!?!?" My queue buddy Mary and I were wondering around, convinced that we missed the counting as we passed rooms that had finished tallying their vote. Finally, we found the meeting place. Mary went to the Hillary line or was tired of being queue buddies because I lost her. I waited in line again with other Obama supporters, holding my blue card, waiting for the guy who was making tick marks on a legal pad, to tell him, "Obama." Doesn't anyone verify my driver's license? My voting card? No master list to check I am who I say I am and live where I say I live? No? Ok. And then we were supposed to move to the other side of the hallway and wait. To hell with this. I gave my card to a nice boy named Marcus and asked him if he would please see to it that this went to the right person. I was on the verge of blowing up the school myself. Marcus made an astute comment while we waited in line. He had been there waiting for a while. Longer than I. But he was in it for the long haul. I was ready for wine and Cajun gumbo two hours ago. He said, "It's easy to understand how FEMA became such a mess. And our lives aren't even being threatened." I wasn't so sure about that part, I was still suspicious of those showers. Especially when I later found out the republican primary had a normal polling process, and there was even a place to vote republican in Eagle River. I knew I should have gone with McCain. End of the day, I'm glad I went. I'm glad I exercised the rights that my fiancé serves to protect. It was inspiring to see so many people turn out for this. But pride and inspiration lasted for, like, a minute. The rest was a giant pig f***. Good times!! Go Obama.

(If I was alive 60 years ago and Black, I would have never made it past the poll tax. "You want me to pay for this? The hell with you!")

Third:
Naperville, IL
September 2008
Mailed my absentee ballot to Alaska, where I was still registered. Knowingly outnumbered with Alaska's own Palin in the contest. I think my vote was counted. Eventually. But I sealed that envelope with as much Gusto! as I said "I do" to Brian two weeks later.

Fourth and final:
Election Night in Ocean Springs, Mississippi
November 2008
I should clarify here that Brian and I are a “mixed” marriage when it comes to politics. I should also clarify that I am subtle like a train wreck. As we drove Danielle to soccer practice that evening, I alternated between NPR’s election coverage and Disc 2 of Michael Jackson’s Greatest Hits, singing “If you wanna be my president, it don’t matter if you’re black or white…” I was giddy with historic un-precedence. State by state, the votes were piling in. Obama was winning swing states. My democratic-minded friends were keeping me on the pulse of Blue v. Red. I was on edge with excitement on the sidelines of a soccer field. More NPR and M-Jackson on the way home. Then, at 11 p.m., the California polls closed. In this minute, at the top of this hour, the Democratic Presidential Nominee Barack Obama became the President-Elect Barack Obama. I cried. I wanted to go outside and bang pots and pans. We had just moved in to the neighborhood, and McCain/Palin signs were posted up and down both sides of the street. You probably don’t need me to tell you that this area wasn’t known as “Obama Country.” But when you’re on the winning side, it’s best to show some class and dignity, to refrain from gloating. But when I saw the McCain/Palin signs still posted the morning after the election, DAMN! I came close to chalking OBAMA RULES on every driveway. Back to 11:01 p.m., this One Moment in Time as Whitney Houston would say, I watched the glowing gathering in Grant Park in my Ol' Hometown. I just went out on the porch, spoke with like-minded democrats on the phone, and gazed up at the stars with gratitude.

Then, a fiery meteor blazed across the south-western horizon and into the upside-down open chalice of a crescent moon.

Whatever it means, all is right with the world.

G'night and G'bless.

Life in MS Chapter 1: Country Dawgs and Knocked-Up Bitches

Crude? Not even. I need to make an important clarification here. We’re not talking about dogs. We’re talking ‘bout your certified pedigree country ‘dawg.’ And some of them happen to be female. And pregnant.

On a regular basis, when I leave the house, whether to walk Gretchen or go for a run or even a bike ride, I am chased by dogs. Every day, at least once a day, I tell a dog to, “Go home!” Doesn’t matter what time of day, what the temperature is, what kind of neighborhood I’m in or even if the owner’s within earshot. Little dogs, big dogs, barkers, growlers, yippers; they all come out and let me know that I’m passing by THEIR territory. I should explain that while we live in a gorgeous area, there are a few pockets of impoverished living arrangements, dilapidated homes and “Katrina cottages” where it’s hard to tell if they’re occupied or not. Until I see their dawg come running after me.

While renting our friends’ condo at Harbor Landing, we became acquainted with the neighborhood “regulars.” Nobody seemed to know who owned the dogs, because I would ask them, like I asked the group of kids waiting for the school bus one morning. A chestnut Labrador mix had been following me and Gretchen for most of the block as I passed them, but when I gestured to the dog, the kids just shrugged and said, “That’s just one of the neighborhood dawgs…”

On a different morning run, I passed by a house with a Lab in front, the same that had followed me the other day. This was early in our Miss’Sippi Living experience, before I had wrapped my head around the whole ‘neighborhood dawg’ concept. I waved to the woman out front and asked if the dog belonged to her. When she replied yes, I let her know he followed us home the other day across Beachview Drive, a VERY busy street. “Oh yeah, he does that all the time. Kody’s jest got a mind of his own and likes to do his own thang...” Being the new kid on the block, I wasn’t going to judge. Shit, Kody’s living the High Life! I said thanks and waved good-bye. Kody ran along side us a few more times after that, like a running buddy. He’d follow us all the way to the front steps of our condo, and I’d tell him “So long, Kody! This is our stop!” and remind him to be careful crossing Beachview on his way home. And then he’d scamper off towards the other condo units, sniffing stuff. Yazoo was another dawg that ran with the same footloose crowd as Kody. He looked like the dog from The Little Rascals and would hang out at the pool, finding shade under a lounge chair. He was tiny enough to squeeze through the fence, and it’s not like he went IN the water to cause trouble or blow his cover; we figured he came for the atmosphere and the privacy. Yazoo is the name of my favorite county in MS. I had no idea what the dog's real name was.

The other country dawgs haven’t been so likeable. .

I don’t know if I draw more attention by having Gretchen with me, or if it’s good that I have her for protection. On one morning run, a very pregnant and very unfriendly Boxer came at us and started barking. She stopped within a few feet, close enough to see that her underbelly was swollen from nursing. “See what happens to loose females,” I told Gretchen. She kept barking at us from the middle of the road. Keeping my distance and Gretchen’s leash taught, I called out to no one in particular, “Could you please come call off your dog?!”- my voice inflected with ignorant hope that someone would hear or care or be awake to take ownership of their knocked-up bitch. “Please call of your dog???!!!” As Gretchen and I started turning around to find another path of less resistance, an anger came over me. The Hell with this! There was only one way home, and we had been out long enough- we’re going home! I looked the slut dog straight in the eye and with my sternest voice, ordered “GO HOME! GO ON NOW!! GO HOME!” And I’ll be damned, it worked. We lived to stir up bayou vermin another day.

Now, I’m completely accustomed to the neighborhood dawg. Even after buying a house and moving to new neighborhood, Gretchen and I still manage to stir up the ‘locals.’ These country dawgs generally stick to their own yards, except for a few exceptions. There’s a motley crew down the street consisting of a black Lab, a Pomeranian and a Chihuahua. We call them Jose, Jack and Jim. The three of them once tried to gang up on Gretchen and put the ‘moves’ on her before we could shake them off- obnoxious albeit somewhat amusing, like the movie, “The Ringer.” Then there’s an old Basset Hound who I called The Admiral because he would patrol back and forth between his yard and the neighbor’s across the street, assuming he lived at one of those addresses. As soon as he saw us, he would ‘sound the alarm’ which sounded more like one continuous note than a dog bark. A few weeks ago, I found out he’s a she and her name is Lucy. But we were right to think she owned the neighborhood. Her and her dachshund sidekick make the neighborhood rounds between 10 and 11 a.m., which is usually when I catch them scampering between yards from out my window. When I do, I can’t help but proclaim, “Heeeere’s Luuuuucy!” a la Ricky Richardo.

And to think poop on the sidewalk was my biggest pet peeve back in Chicago and Eagle River, Alaska. At least poop doesn’t chase you.

Here’s a song I like to sing when I see neighborhood dawgs. It came to me while biking home the other day, after shooing away a mangy terrier.

(To be sung in the style of John Denver)

Country Dawwwwwwwwg
Leave me aloooone
When I’m comin’
Down yer roooooooaaad!
Get a leash…
Or a fence…
Country Dawwwg
Leave me a-loooooooooooone.

Variation: “…When I’m bikin’/runnin’/walkin’/joggin’ down yer road…”

Interesting...

Here's a good one. Currently, it's 35'F in Ocean Springs. We're going through what you might call a "cold spell." The front page of the newspaper yesterday displayed warnings and safety tips durring the "Deep Chill." Never mind that kids back in Fairbanks, AK will continue to go outside for recess as long as it doesn't drop below -20'F. In the meantime, back in Eagle River, the temperature at this moment is 37'F. At this second, it's warmer in Alaska than in Southern Mississippi (I'm sure it won't last, and they'be been paying their dues with the longest cold streak of temperatures below 0'F since October... a couple weeks ago, the city of Anchorage had to postpone the ice carving festival because it was so cold, the ice was turning to powder, instead of retaining its shape when cut into. Let me repeat: too cold for ice in Alaska. Sort of wacky).

So, to recap, Ocean Springs, MS 35'F. Eagle River, AK 37'F.

Chicago, IL right now? -12'F

Cinematic Flora & Fauna

There are TONS of movies that depict the richness and mugginess of this area. Listed below is just a small sampling of the obvious titles, as well as a few sleeper films that will gear you up and help you practice your accent for your trip Down South.


IN THEATRES- Curious Case of Benjamin Button- haven’t seen it yet, but already have it on the Netflix list!

Forrest Gump- We drive right pass Bubba’s hometown, Bayou Le Batre (Alabama), on our way to Mobile.

Big Easy- A good flic based in N’Awlins, with lots of good ol’ Cajun spice, sass and seediness. Dennis Quaid has the Southern thang down pat.

Heaven’s Prisoners- Alec Baldwin, Mary Stuart Masterson and Terri Hatcher play just a few characters in this colorful cast of good people caught up in bad circumstances. Great bayou scenes just south of N’Awlins. Terri Hatcher likes dem Gin Ricky cocktails. Brian introduced me to this film- surprisingly entertaining!

Interview with a Vampire- The first part of this fantastic and soft-gay-porn classic takes place on one of the Louisiana plantations we visited along the historic River Road called Oak Alley. Many of the scenes were shot in and in front of Oak Alley, so named for the 20+ majestic oak trees that line the driveway to the mansion.

COMING SOON! Hurricane Season- A movie about people picking up their lives post-Hurricane Katrina and find their spirits lifted by a high school basketball team, starring Forest Whitaker, Bow Wow and Lil’ Wayne!!! I can’t wait.

COMING SOON! Midnight Bayou- This was being filmed at Oak Alley Plantation while we were there! Starring Faye Dunaway.

There are a couple others, like Mississippi Burning, but it was too scary to watch.

BCS Bowl Trivia!

Is it a Wide Receiver or a string of counties in MS?

How bout those Gators, eh? Since all of my hometown alliances came up short this BCS/NFL/MLB season, it's nice to follow and cheer on a winner once in a while, even if it's only second-hand spousal celebration.

Well, did you try your luck yet? Could you pick out the true wide receivers from the made-up names based off of Mississippi state counties? Answers are bolded.

JASPER JONES
CADE HOLLIDAY (WR, U of F)
TIPPAH LEE DESOTO (Isn't that a good one! Totally made-up using counties of MS)
DESEAN JACKSON (WR, Philadelphia Eagles)
TATE COVINGTON
MARION BENTON
OMARIUS HINES (WR, U of F)
TRAVIS SIKES (WR, U of AL)
CARROLL HOLMES
LAMAR WILKINSON

Trickier than it seems... Brian and I came up with this game during our August evacuation from Hurricane Gustav, while driving the backroads of MS and listening to NPR storm updates.

Thanks for playing! Join us next season.