Pocket Aces

Fat Tuesday

Thinking about New Orleans today. Yes, because it's Mardi Gras, but also because I've been reading some books on this gorgeous city lately, and have made a few ill-fated attempts at a trip down there.

Did you know that after your Bananas Foster during Breakfast at Brennans, you can go out to their courtyard (everyone in the Quarter has a courtyard. I want a courtyard.) and visit their turtle family?

 

It's possible that their brother was in the turtle soup. Don't tell them. And yes, I am talking about flaming alcohol and fruit (but mostly alcohol) for breakfast. 

 

Wrought iron balconies are everywhere. I want one of those, too.

 

And little cherubs peek out at you from all sorts of places.

It's hard to describe New Orleans. It's such a dirty, beautiful, romantic city. Anything that can capture your imagination can be found there.

 

History. More history than you can wrap your head around.

 

Tiny old bookstores with chairs to get comfy in and tall, tall stacks of books all around you.

 

Food.

   

The unapologetically seedy side. (At a bargain, even!)

 

Liquor.

 

Pirates.

 

And after all that carousing, you'll be pleased to find that New Orleans takes it's religion, and it's churches, very seriously.

Also, of course, music. But I don't have any pictures of that.

Next time we go down, here's what we'll do:

 

Wander around Jackson Square with the people and the music and the pigeons. Look off to the right there, where I might see a piece of art that's perfect for Mason's bedroom.

 

Get ourselves some go cups and become part of the entertainment. That's never been difficult for us.

 

Find a bar and lose focus. Also, eat some really amazing garlic oysters.

Happy Fat Tuesday. Laissez les bon temps rouler!

(Photos from September 2007)

Digging deep.

I know it's not Tuesday, but I leave you with this bit of ridiculousness:

You're welcome. Have a great weekend! (Mine is starting early. I hope it doesn't end with me wearing another Keystone Light hat.)

Two.

Dear Mason,

Yesterday, you turned two. And suddenly, right before my eyes, you grew up. Gone is the baby who needed to be in a stroller, and in her place is a little girl who runs holding hands with her brother. You got a brand new potty for your birthday that you are already excited about sitting on, and though you still sleep in a crib, you don't need to anymore. A big girl bed is in the works.

As should be expected, I'm both happy and sad at this development. I cheer your independence, love that you are determined to do anything your brother does - only better. I love that you ask me (ask me!) for more juice in the morning, and that you're learning how to play hide and seek. I love that, even though I am hardly a morning person, you never fail to make me smile with your cheery play when you wake up. I love that, after waking, the first thing you want to do is go find your brother and play. I love that when I put you down to bed at night, after a requisite snuggle and book in the rocking chair, you lay down in your crib and turn over and - all by yourself - close your eyes and lay quietly till you fall asleep. I didn't know such a thing was possible, until you.

But there are things I'll miss. It's very likely you are our last baby, and these days I find myself a little sad looking at clothes you've outgrown. Toys you're done playing with. Sippy cups abandoned for bendy straws.

Enough of that - this letter isn't really about me. It's about you, and how I never want to forget that right now you are a beautiful, energetic little angel who loves Mickey Mouse and the Backyardigans and coloring with crayons and eating yogurt with your very own spoon and your Lambie and climbing on all the furniture in the house and shoving all the wooden food into your toy microwave until the door won't close and dancing with your brother and your daddy and your mommy. And french fries. Oh, how you love french fries.

I may not be much at predicting the future, but I'm willing to go out on a limb and say that while some of the things you love will change, those french fries are probably here to stay. So are your mommy, daddy, and brother. We all love you very much.

Happy Birthday, Mason Angelina.

Love, Mommy

What the 'L'?

Wow. What a terrible title. And you know what? I'm not gonna apologize for it. Live with it.

So it's a meme-y time of year, it seems, and they just go 'round and 'round. I like them, particularly for the kind of day/week/month when I don't have anything topical to ramble about. This one is about listing 10 things you love that start with a particular letter. I grabbed it over at Jambalaya, and the lovely wordnerd assigned me the letter 'L'.

I gotta say, 'L' was hard. I had to get Marc to help me out. I should have had 'B'. 'B' would have been a no-brainer. Here we go, in no particular order:

1. Lilacs. Not my favorite flower, visually - that honor goes to the short-lived peony - but hands down the best smelling.

2. LOST. Oh, come on. Too easy.

3. Licorice. Specifically, red. Specifically, Twizzlers.

4. Lipstick. Clinique, Raspberry Glace. I've worn the same color since high school. I'd think that was a little sad, maybe, except that I can't seem to find another color I've liked as consistently.

5. Louisville and Lafayette, CO. I wasn't born there, and I've lived other places since, but this is my hometown. They are two distinct little towns, with rivalries and everything, but really it's all one place. A certain someone I know who uses a lot of exclamation points will likely jump in the comments to list the differences between them like I don't know them, but I will just say that with time and distance, in my mind they are one now. It's where I grew up.

6. Libraries. What's not to love about a library? Stacks and stacks and STACKS of books. In college, I loved those little study carrels. Like a little private world with your books. Trouble was, then, I wasn't always reading for pleasure. I think I need a study carrel now.

7. Lennon, John. Looking purely at the Beatles years, I'm a Paul girl. But John's solo career, despite (or maybe because of) being tragically shortened, certainly packed more punch.

8. Liquor. Yes, there, I said it. I like this, and this, and sometimes even this. And just to show that I'm an equal opportunity boozer, I drink more than my share of wine and beer too.

9. Literature. Well, duh.

10. LISTS! Of stuff I love! Top 10 lists! Top 100 Songs of Any Year lists! Top 10 list of all the lists I've ever made! Bring 'em on!

For posterity's sake, here are some 'L' items I considered, and discarded: lollipops, limbo, lampshades, Louisiana, love, little things, lemonade, Little Debbie Nutty Bars, laughing, linens, and life. Not that I don't love those things, of course. Life is great and all, just - zzzzz.

Also, Marc lobbied hard for lesbians. When I resisted, because, you know, it's not that I don't love lesbians, it's that I don't LOVE lesbians, he tried to appeal to the wordsmith in me by going for the double word score with lipstick lesbians. I was so tickled, I almost gave it to him. Almost. Besides, I told him, I already talked about lipstick.

Wanna play? Consider yourself tagged. Ask me in the comments, and I'll give you a letter.