I was in Terranova’s the other day and standing by the vegetable bin and a delivery guy was walking out the door and he said, “Yeah you right boo, have a good one.” And I smiled.
Today in an impossibly busy day I hear the vegetable truck going down the street – the guy shouting through his megaphone “I got mirltons, I got squash, I got tomatoes, I got lettuce.”
Sounds of home – ain’t nothing like the real thing.
A commentary from the Torah:
The idea of destiny is the third concept that lies between free will and determinism. Destiny neither controls or ignores us. Rather, it invites us to live a life beyond the narrow concept of self-interest. We can live our lives doing what we do, never reflecting on any larger whole in which we might be participating. But if the veil were lifted, our lives would be imbued with meaning and dignity. We are not coerced or tricked into reflecting on our destiny, rather, we are invited. And with this invitation comes the possibility of moving from an “accidental” life to one that is in harmony with the goodness of the original creation. If we live up to our unique potential, with the implication that we are at our personal best, we can have an important impact that reaches beyond the individual.
Too often we shy away from the challenges of trying to appreciate, embrace, and redeem our intrinsic human uniqueness because we may not know how or we fear failure. Instead, we often attempt to mimic what others are doing. While this imitation may be a source of flattery it is not a path to personal truth and realization. Marianne Williamson wrote “Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure.” The greatest heroes in history have been those people who, in their willingness to follow their own instinct and thoughts, fulfilled their distinctive potential and thereby contributed to a world beyond themselves. Their destiny was not fated, rather it was a by-product of their search for self-truth.
Amy (from The Cowboy and His Elephant fame) had her baby at Riddle’s on Saturday. Wouldn’t you like to give birth to a baby weighing over 300 lbs? If you’re looking for a good cause to donate to this holiday season – check out the work that Scott and Heidi are doing at this elephant sanctuary.
The meaning of moque – in French it means laugh but in Cajun it is a cup, as in a measurement for a recipe.
Pronounced here in New Orleans as lauhd tah day and that is what I said when I walked out the front door this morning and greeted the bayou and there before me was a fiery red sky that was spreading fast across the horizon. Lord Today! Indeed. I knew right at that moment that it’s all good and that in time, it is all revealed. Lord Today! again I say.
I’m on my third bowl of grits since yesterday morning and must admit it is doing wonders for keeping my stomach intact.
I left Arlene, who I think is too geriatric to go to the kennel, with mom while I was gone this weekend and mom tells me today that Arlene was talking to her. I said, what’d she say? Mom said, she told me to pick up the poop in the yard and pushed the box with the plastic bags in front of the back door.
All that purging I did this weekend set me straight in my head. Sometimes it is not the LaLaLaLa experiences that you need to get right, sometimes you get right from the wretching, purging experiences like I had this weekend. At some point when I was on all fours in the grass and contemplating the makeshift yellow bucket toilet one more time, I said to myself, “Self,” I said, “fuck a bunch of drama.”
I had made a wish to have someone come into my life in 2008 who I could have fun and sex with – instead I’m looking around and the person who caught my heart brings heartache and no fun at all – so, dear reader, pragmatist that I am, I purged all feelings, all wantings, all longings, for this person – all of it down into Bayou ____ and I came back healthier (despite how I look).
When I enter 2008, I know I’ll have a good time and if I’m lonely – which happens hardly ever – I know where to find people to pass me a good time, yeah. Now that is the good life.
I got a call from J who was on her way to Houston saying that at 10:30 PM on Friday night she was down – head in the toilet and everything else in the toilet – and that she didn’t come up for air until Sunday morning. Virus. That is the only thing that will explain what hit both of us in different parts at exactly the same time. Who did we get it from is the question?
Friday drove to the Belle Chase ferry to cross the Mississippi, daiquiri in one hand and Popeye’s fried chicken in the other. Then drove out to Point a la Hache to meet R on the banana boat, but on the way we passed some friends of A’s so we stopped to say hi – Mr. Shorty (aka Mr Magoo, he has Graves disease and wears coca cola-bottom thick glasses, so with his huge eyes he looks like Magoo) was holding court pontificating about some such thing and he said to me, see this point right here – “you can take a boat from here to anywhere in the world” – then we went to meet our boat. 
Auspicious beginnings for our duck hunting weekend – we were loaded down with camouflage, spirits and food and lots of goodwill. We arrived almost a half hour later in the middle of the swamp to the Ubangi camp. My my my – boys will be boys – it was done totally a la boy, with target practice set up everywhere, a mess structure, a sleeping structure and the makeshift turkey fryer hot water shower.
Three hours later fast forward and I am dancing in the mess structure and everyone is dancing with me. 
Five hours later I am crawling on my hands and knees struck by Ubangi fever that basically cripples me for the rest of the trip. I wake at 5AM to the men all putting on long johns and camou and hauling guns and wonder if I can make it outside to the bathroom for the umpteenth time. I cuss R’s name under my breath. Then I go back to bed and hear the gunfire sprinkling my distorted dreams.
I managed to rally for an airboat ride (doesn’t he look like GI Joe?) through the bayou and over the grasses to see the wild pigs, bald eagles, ospreys and ducks but the rest of the weekend saw me writhing in pain on the cot, on the sofa, and even on the ground.
Sunday, at 5:30 we’re headed back to the ferry – passing by the utter destruction of houses that took place in this area that saw 35 feet of water during Katrina – now it’s just all green and wild – then we’re crossing the Mississippi yet again on the ferry, the horizon blazing orange for a brief moment and Christmas music is playing and making the truck ride home seem more melancholy than it should. I’m 5 lbs lighter. As relaxed as I am going to be. And have no desire for camouflage anytime soon.