Midlife Natalie

On our recent trip to New Orleans Fleur de lis and I spent some time driving through the Ninth Ward and adjacent areas.  We were interested in seeing how the area has recovered since it was devastated by hurricane Katrina and the flooding in the days that followed.  We saw house after house with the familiar spray painted markings denoting when it was searched in the days following Katrina.  While so many houses were still abandoned and in disrepair many of those that had been redone and were being lived in still displayed the spray-painted reminder on the front of them as a way to never forget what took place there.

Driving through the Lower 9th caused mixed emotions.  Seeing driveways to no where and the stone piers where houses once sat left me without words.

I tried to picture the houses here and the families whose lives now bear the scars of losing everything.  Where were they now?  Did they abandon New Orleans or were they living somewhere else in the city?  Had they been back and stood in the spot where their houses once sat?

And I wondered how much it costs to buy an empty lot.  What price can one put on a small, rectangular piece of land with so many stories it can never share?  Stories of lives lived there and lives interrupted there.  The laughter, the tears, the hopes, and dreams and fears.  The nightmares and the secrets.  Those alone are worth something.

While the devastation was devastating we were excited to see the work that Brad Pitt is doing in New Orleans. His organization, Make it Right, is committed to helping rebuild the Lower 9th Ward. The houses are green and designed to fit on the narrow lots where the original shotgun houses sat. Amazing!

What has happened in the years since Katrina is encouraging, but they have so far to go.  So many empty houses.  So many empty lots.  And beautiful new houses are beginning to dot the landscape.  Houses that are architecturally advanced and full of hope.

At the end of our self-guided tour I couldn’t help but think about all that I had seen.  I remembered the pictures  I had seen of the area in the weeks and months after Katrina.  I remembered thinking that there was no way it could ever recover.  But I was wrong.  I’m so glad I was wrong.  Life goes on where the old meets the new in the neighborhoods along Claiborne Avenue.

On Sunday Fleur de lis and I took a spur of the moment trip to New Orleans.  It’s the city of my birth and where she spent her formative years so we had been talking about visiting NOLA together someday.  We knew we would enjoy it but had no idea it would be the trip that it was.

But that is not what I’m here to talk about today.  Today I want to talk about the food.  Lord have mercy was there food!

And to even tell you about the food I must backtrack to Saturday night.  Saturday night we had planned to have sushi at our usual place here in town.  We love sushi.  Unfortunately, unbeknownst to us our favorite sushi place had just started to take a siesta on Saturday afternoons starting right about the time we pulled into the parking lot with Niki Maki on our minds.  Ok…on to plan B.  Plan B involved seafood as well, but this time Fleur de lis thought it would be fun to do it Creole style.  We drove halfway across town and pulled up to the restaurant she had in mind.  There we were greeted by a billboard that announced the closure of the restaurant and thanked us for 27 wonderful years.  Well drat.  By this point Fleur de lis was determined to feed me seafood.  She drove back across town to a joint called the Mardi Gras Grill. Thankfully it was open for business and serving some good ol’ Cajun cuisine.

I ordered the fried seafood platter, because by this point I was hungry enough to eat the whole ocean and because I am so indecisive that I really did want a little of everything.  And really…what better way than a platter!  I also ordered the pretty red drink you see pictured above.  The fried seafood platter coupled with the pretty red drink got Fleur de lis all verklempt over a couple of places back home in New Orleans.  She told me about having the seafood platter at a little place called Middendorf’s when she would travel from the family home to New Orleans to visit relatives.  She also told me about a hot spot called Pat O’Brien’s in the French Quarter.  This place is home to the Hurricane, AKA the pretty red drink I tasted at the Mardi Gras Grill.  So by the time the last crawfish was eaten and the Hurricane weathered a trip to NOLA was planned for the next day.

We had morning commitments so we planned to head out as soon as we could after that.  Of course we couldn’t actually leave until we were properly nourished so lunch was eaten at House of Pies.  Oh…and dessert was eaten there too.  No way I can go to a place called House of Pies and not get dessert!

Once we were on the road we both started sharing road trip memories.  We had a common memory called Stuckey’s as I’m sure much of America does.  We wondered aloud if there were even any Stuckey’s around anymore.  Moments later we saw a sign advertising the famous Stuckey’s pecan log so we pulled over for a little visit.

Here we browsed the road trip souvenirs and decided against purchasing any of the lovely trinkets because we knew they would only end up in the trash some day.  Instead we decided to go with a six pack of GooGoo Clusters which would end up in our bellies within a few days.

Later around about dinner time Fleur de lis saw a sign for Cracker Barrel and pulled off the freeway so we could eat again.  We rounded the corner and came across a gas station that should have been called Kraker Barel instead.  Needless to say we didn’t stop there for dinner.  We went on down the road a piece and stopped at a well known eatery called the Waffle House.  Now I must admit here to a slight aversion to the Waffle House.  My last experience there included a worn out waitress, some cigarette ash, a sticky table, and a legion of flies so I was a little nervous about going in.  I am here to tell you not all Waffle Houses are the same.  This one served up a piping hot waffle free of flies and cigarette ash.  Huzzah!

We pulled into New Orleans in the evening with big plans for the next day.  And of course our big plans started with the free breakfast at our hotel.  After breakfast we did some touring then stopped at a little place I like to call Cafe du Monde.  I like to call it that because that’s it’s name.  It said so on the sign which I didn’t take a picture of because I was too busy stuffing my face with this.

These are beignets.  I have fond memories of beignets at Cafe du Monde.  Most of them just involve eating the beignets and sipping the creamy hot chocolate, but they are memories nonetheless.

After leaving Cafe de Monde we went around the corner to Aunt Sally’s where we purchased a 6 pack of pralines to go with our GooGoo Clusters for maximum road trip snacking.

At noon we made our way to Pat O’Brien’s for little nip.  I ordered the Hurricane and Fleur de lis chose the Rainstorm.

We had our drinks in to-go cups so that we could take our souvenir glasses home clean.  Stumbling out of the bar we decided it was definitely time for lunch.

We made our way over to Mother’s Restaurant where we waited in a long line for some po-boys that were more than worth the wait.

Later, after a food induced coma/nap at the hotel, it was time to eat again.  We chose a local dive called the Harbor Seafood and Oyster Bar where I ordered a cup of seafood gumbo AND a cup of turtle soup.  I’m indecisive, remember?  We also shared a piece of bread pudding that had more fruit in it than I’ve ever known to be in bread pudding.  I mean I get the whole raisin thing, but this bread pudding had grapes, pineapple, apple, and who knows what other fruits as well as raisins.  Despite it’s chunkiness it was still pretty good.

The next day started with the hotel breakfast, moved on to lunch at Don’s Seafood Restaurant (because our first choice, Middendorf’s, was closed on Tuesdays) where we ate more fried seafood as well as hush puppies to die for and some shrimp etouffee thrown in for good measure, and then culminated with massive amounts of GooGoo Clusters and pralines on the ride home.

I proclaimed then and there that I was never eating again.  I was so full from all the yummy food I ate that I couldn’t even imagine putting another thing in my mouth.

Until I woke up the next day craving beignets.  Thankfully Crescent City Beignets here in town was an ok substitute for the real thing.  Then I had a Tilapia sandwich and a cup of creamy potato soup for lunch at Empire Cafe.  Add to that the last of the pralines and you’ve got a good 10 pounds gained over 5 days.

This evening we have plans to go for sushi.  And we’ve come full circle.  Let’s just hope they’re open for dinner or who knows where we’ll end up!

I’ve reworked a post that originally appeared back in March of 2008 on my old blog.  I started to say a lot of things then that I want to say again.

I’ve lived in a bubble for most of my life. I was raised Southern Baptist by awesome parents. I did go to public schools, but I was somewhat naive when it came to other people. I think I assumed that most people’s families were similar to mine. I went to a Christian college where my bubble continued to envelope me. I got married right out of college and settled down to have kids. The bubble was ever present. Life in the bubble was comfortable. Easy. I did teach school for awhile and met a few people who lived life outside that bubble. I didn’t understand them, and they scared me. My world-view was small and safe.

In 2002 we moved overseas. I tried to carry my bubble with me. There were many, many people who were different than me, but I did find a rather large group of people who fit quite nicely into my bubble. But then something happened. I got tired of life completely in the bubble. I was meeting people outside of the bubble naturally, and I found myself challenged by our differences. They didn’t scare me. I wanted to understand them.

This same philosophy has carried over to my blogging buddies. The first blog I had was originally private. Only people I gave the blog address to could see it. In November of 2007 I made the big change from private blog to public blog. I stepped out of that bubble. After that many people I didn’t know read my blog. Some even came back for a second or third visit.  In January of 2008 I joined twitter.  I wasn’t sure what it was or how it would benefit me, but it seemed like the next big thing.  I started to converse with some of my blogger friends and talked to new people in real time.  It was amazing!  Despite our political, religious, cultural, and sexual orientation differences we became friends, and that didn’t scare me.

Fast forward to today.  I don’t have that real life safety bubble anymore.  I spent so much time outside of it that I no longer fit in it.  I still see some of my friends from those days.  We still talk on occasion. Many of them are facebook friends, and we exchange pleasantries online but not much more.  I don’t think most of them would understand some of the changes I’ve made in my life in the last 2 years.  Sometimes it seems easier not to burden them with the choice of whether to accept me or reject me.  Better to gradually grow apart than face the rejection some of them are sure to offer.  I guess I do that to protect myself.

Since that time I have also had some major blog changes.  That original blog where I shared family stories and life in general is still there, but it has seen it’s last post.  For a couple of years I also kept an anonymous blog as a way to deal with all that I was going through.  It’s still out there as well, but it’s locked down…available only for me to read and reflect on.  I started this blog a year ago in an attempt to mesh the ideas behind the other two blogs.  I needed a place where I felt comfortable sharing my life with people.  Some of the friends I met at my original blog have followed me here.  Many have not.  That’s mostly my fault I think.  I haven’t been good at keeping up with many of them as I’ve dealt with the major life changes at my place.  I’ve invited a few of the readers I had at the anonymous blog to read here as well.  I think they’re doing that.

And I’m making new friends.  People don’t scare me anymore.  Everyone has a story to tell.  Everyone has an experience I can learn from.  I may not always agree with those I meet. My beliefs may be completely different from theirs. I may not always understand where they are coming from. But I can listen to them. I can love them. I can be their friend. And the great thing is I want to. I want to live a life full of compassion and love…for everyone I meet.

My kids will be going to California with their dad in a week. There are a couple of reasons why it disturbs me a bit.  This is the first time I won’t be going on a major family trip.  They are driving across the country and staying with friends and in hotels.  Back in the day I was the one who made sure everything pulled out of their suitcases made it back in.  After spending a night somewhere everyone packed up their own bags and loaded the car.  Then I walked through the rooms of the houses we stayed in and looked in drawers at hotel rooms to collect pillows, underwear, socks, and toothbrushes left behind after they were done packing.  I can only imagine what all they will leave behind.  I can almost guarantee that the oldest will leave her phone charger cord at the first place they stay.  Considering she’s texting on her phone all the time that might not be a bad thing.  Once her phone dies she’ll have to focus on something else until she can convince her dad to buy her a new charger.

The other scary part of this trip is that they will be gone for 2 weeks.  That’s the longest I’ve ever gone without seeing them!  It will be so strange.  Once I went 2 weeks without seeing the oldest.  She was at camp, but everyone else was at home.  On several occasions I’ve gone 7 days without seeing them, but I was the one gone so it didn’t seem as long somehow.  This is going to be crazy.  I have a few things planned, but I’m pretty sure staying home for a furniture delivery and painting my daughter’s room don’t count as vacation.  There is a four day window of opportunity for fun during the time they’re gone as well.  We’ll see what I can do about that!

No matter how full or how fun I make my kid free two weeks I will still miss them.  Gulp. Sniff Sniff.

Fleur de lis sure can tell a story.  I’m not talking about a made up, fiction kind of story…I mean one of those true life stories.  Most of her true life stories are from her childhood.  Something will trigger a memory, and she’ll just start talking.

The other day she told me a story about a favorite aunt and uncle.  She said that when she was a child she thought they were so rich. Unlike her family who had to save every penny they always had extra pennies for taffy from the Roman candy man or a jello cup from the corner store.  And her aunt kept peanut butter cups in the refrigerator!  Always.  When she would stop at their house she was allowed to open the refrigerator and get one peanut butter cup as a treat.  She told me that back then peanut butter cups weren’t packaged like they are today.  They were layered in a candy box.  After eating all the peanut butter cups on top a thin piece of cardboard was removed to reveal a second layer.  Fleur de lis went on to describe the kitchen and what else would be found in the refrigerator on a regular basis.  She just got lost in the memory.

I love when she does this.  She describes the scene with just the right amount of detail to transport me there.  She will finish her story, notice my silence, and apologize for reminiscing.  I’m sure that at times she thinks I’m bored, but what she doesn’t realize is that I’m usually still lost in her childhood.  Feeling the humidity as I sit on the stoop of the house of her youth.  Sitting at the kitchen table watching the condensation bead up on the can of Jax beer her uncle is drinking.  Walking down the street with a little 5 year old girl on her way to her first day of school.  For a moment I am there.

Another thing I love about her stories is that when she talks about growing up the thick accent that is normal for people from that area of the country returns slightly. Not with every word, but certain words do stand out.  Most people probably wouldn’t even notice it, but having lived in that area once upon a time myself I hear the difference.  Like yesterday.  Yesterday when she told me about those peanut butter cups the way she said those words…peanut butter cups…sounded different than any other time I’ve ever heard her say them.  She had no idea and just kept right on talking.  I liked it.

Later that evening, long after the story had been told, Fleur de lis found a picture of this aunt and uncle to show me.  It was taken on her grandmother’s 80th birthday, and it happened to be taken in the kitchen.  She was focused in on the people in the picture, telling me who was who, and I was looking around the room she had described.  I saw the refrigerator, the table, and a picture of the Last Supper hanging over the window in the room.  Then I glanced down at the table.  There was a birthday cake with candles.  And I saw something else at the very edge of the picture.  Something that most people would probably overlook.  An opened box of peanut butter cups.  When I pointed them out to Fleur de lis she gasped and laughed and almost cried.  She had never noticed them in the picture before.  Seeing the peanut butter cups that made such an impression on her all those years ago was like a gift, and it made my heart smile.  It was the perfect ending to the story.

Sometimes I miss my grandma.  She died in April of 2008 after suffering a stroke.  I don’t remember when I saw her last.  It must have been over Christmas 2007.  We lived in Turkey when she suffered the stroke, and I flew home to attend the funeral.  My grandmother had been living with my aunt in another state due to some dementia and the inability to take care of herself that went along with it.  The house she lived in my whole life was sold quite a few years ago so there had never been a reason to go back there.  The funeral was held in a town close by, but her burial site was right down the street from her old house.

I miss that grandma.  The one who lived in that house.  The one who got up early every summer morning to go to the garden to pick what was ripe.  She wore clear rubber shoes/boots that cinched up and buttoned closed.  I liked to wear those shoes around the yard because they felt nice and slippery.  I miss those shoes.  In the late mornings we’d walk to the post office to pick up her mail.  On the way home we stopped at the local store to pick up a few things, and she would always let me buy something.  I usually picked out coconut candy.Sometimes I picked out a whole frozen German chocolate layered cake.  It was the first German chocolate cake I’d ever had, and I’m convinced it was the best as well.  I miss that cake.  In the afternoons we’d go visiting.  Sometimes we walked to the neighbors, but other times we’d get in the car and drive out to the country to visit whoever she “had a mind” to see.  I miss those trips.  The old country roads and rickety wooden bridges.  The sweet iced tea on the porch. Collecting eggs or picking berries to take home.  Wooden steps and well water.  It was something.

I often wonder what kinds of memories my kids will have of their grandparents when they grow up.  I have no doubt that they’ll be good ones.  They’ll just be so different from mine.

When my oldest was a baby my parents bought a weekend lake house.  After a few years they upgraded and moved to the lake.  I was so excited for my kids.  This was a place they could remember.  There were acres to explore.  Fishing and four wheel riding.  Swimming and a vegetable garden.  I couldn’t wait to make memories.  Then we moved overseas.  Still though there was a familiar place to come home to.  I loved that.  My parents lived in that house for a few years, then due to several health scares decided that they needed to move back to the city.  I was sad.  I grieved the loss of unmade memories.

After living in suburbia for a couple of years my parents built a house in a quiet neighborhood in the country.   There are lots of trees and places to explore.  The houses are spaced far enough apart so there’s no neighbor intrusion.  They have a swimming pool as well as a nice backyard.  My mom planted tomatoes, turnip greens, green beans, and has blackberry bushes growing wild along the back fence.  The streets are paved and perfect for bike riding.  My kids have a great place to make memories.

Last month my parents bought another weekend lake house.  It doesn’t have the acreage or forest around it like the old one.  From what I can tell from the pictures I’ve seen it doesn’t have as much character as the old one either, but it has a lake for fishing and swimming.  They have a peach orchard and blueberry bushes.  There’s room to explore in the wide open.  We haven’t had a chance to go out there yet, but I can’t wait to see what memories are made there.

This weekend we went from this

to this,

and from this,

to this.

The before pictures were taken after swimming and hair drying. They didn’t usually style their hair that way. My dad had the privilege of blow drying their hair and then shaving it off. They both like the new styles, but I must admit that I will miss the long flowing locks. They both look so much older and taller now!

Once upon a time in Turkey while at the store scouring the aisles for swimming goggles my son said something that made me giggle.  We had only looked where we thought the goggles should be.  No goggles.  So my almost 13 year old son said this, “I have an idea.  Let’s split up.  Daphne, Fred and I will go this way.  You guys go that way.”  I laughed as I thought about it.  Why did he choose to go with Daphne and Fred? What about Scooby, Shaggy, and Velma?  And why in the hell did they always split up that way?  I think Fred wanted some alone time with Daphne so he sent the others off to chase imaginary monsters.  You never saw anything kinky, and Fred and Daphne always showed up later looking just as put together as when they left.  Fred’s ascot and Daphne’s scarf looking pristine and perfect.  Poor Velma usually seemed to get stuck with Shaggy and Scooby who wouldn’t do anything without a Scooby Snack or two.  I’ve always wondered what was so great about those Scooby Snacks.  Scooby and Shaggy wouldn’t put themselves in potentially dangerous situations for dog food, would they?  Surely not.  Then at some point Velma would lose her glasses which usually resulted in them being found next to whatever ghost, monster, or demon they were out to uncover.  And there was lots of running.  Always with the running.  And so now we come back to me.  If I had to choose who to go with when we split up to look for goggles I would choose Velma.  I like the short-haired, smart type.  I bet under that orange turtleneck she was a little vixen.  And I’m all about that!