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A friend recently lost a relative and she said, “It’s sad. Just like that, she’s gone, they are scraping the body out, and the next thing you do is clean out the refrigerator. Like it was all nothing.”

Today they found an elderly black man floating in the bayou. He had apparently been there for a while. Did someone miss him? Was there an APB out for this old man?

I’m learning to live with impermanence – read: Katrina. I’m learning that life is short but it’s wide and I’m trying to adapt my way of life to that reality. I’m also fighting my nature to become a witness to my mother’s addiction instead of judging her. And yet, what’s it all about Alfie?

If in the end, after everyone sheds a tear or two, and continues on with breakfast, lunch or dinner, what will be your mark on this world? If it is small – maybe you left behind money that helps care for others – or if it is large – you’ve spent your life in service – in the end, isn’t it true that we all die alone?

I will take a minute to think about the old man they found in the bayou this morning and hope that he died while fishing.

Snappy was lasso’d on the bayou last night by a dog walking cowboy and Fish and Wildlife sent over one of their trappers, who tied up Snappy, renamed him Esmeralda (everyone is switching teams around here), and drove him to Lake Salvador and set him free.

Apparently Snappy was hot on the heels of two pom pom dogs and the cowboy was doing a good deed by rescuing these nondogs from certain death. Oh well, Snappy, excuse me, Esmeralda, was a welcome addition to the neighborhood after having endured the weeks of Swirl’s petition to change the provisos to serve wine and beer by the glass.

This also means those damn ducks are here to stay. We cruised by them last night in the canoe, they’re cute, and very duck looking, unlike our mallards and moorhens that populate City Park’s lagoons and the rest of the bayou, but they are a little too perfect and I was hoping Snappy would have at least had one opportunity to ruffle their feathers.

I did get out to the porch yesterday afternoon and we all sat there enjoying the view and less heat as the breeze had kicked up just a little. The light from the sunset was so beautiful, that we decided to get the canoe out and go for a quick ride. T rowed us around the bayou and we watched an amazing sunset with streaks of scarlet, fuchsia, and pale pink.

Then we came back inside and watched Weeds. Something about this season is not doing it for me. The family is broken up. Mary-Louise Parker and Elizabeth Perkins’ antics are headed towards slapstick – a place series go when they have nothing left to say.

All in all, we should have ended a nice day with a nice book rather than waste our time in front of the boob tube.

Nothing worse than being in your office around 7:30 on a Sunday evening. My favorite time of day is right now, the gloaming, and I’m racing to finish and go sit on the front porch and catch the remaining light of this summer’s day.

The ducks are a little disconcerting. We already had ducks but someone put some new ducks in the bayou. I know, I know, why would I want an alligator and not a duck – well duck shit for one! Alligators don’t leave duck shit all over the place.

Also, it’s a little weird making a duck ramp don’t you think? I’m mean I’m a Darwinist, can’t these ducks get in and out of the water on their own.

It’s all very peculiar.

But I digress, off to the gloaming, tomorrow starts another week.

I have had the pleasure of hanging around a 14-year-old lately and it is a curious age. There is an adult, a child, a teen, a sea of confusion, living inside that body and mind. “Who am I?” the teen asks herself not consciously but in everything she does. She aligns herself with adults she wants to emulate, and bats off adults the child in her wants to be free from.

I was 14 once – I think – and I was living in Atlanta, Georgia. I had a body like an hour clock and had been wearing a 4-snap bra for more than a year. I remember I traveled to visit my older brother in New Orleans and was sitting around the pool with him, a woman who I grew to love and adore (who died a few years ago in a car accident), and an assortment of other people who lived in the apartment complex.

At one point, every one ran inside to get something – cigarettes, water, go to the bathroom, and I was left sitting with this man, who I didn’t know. In my own world, I smiled at him and he said, “I want to eat your pussy.” And I was utterly shocked. I knew and didn’t know what this meant, but I had no clue how to respond and so I sort of caved in on myself.

My brother returned to the table right at that moment and he saw a look in my face and asked what was wrong. I had a choice right then and there to make this man uncomfortable or to continue to feel uncomfortable myself, and I chose me. “Nothing, we were just talking about how warm the water is in the pool.” That’s right, dear reader, I threw my OWN self under the bus!

I am a late bloomer, I chose a life of making other people feel comfortable and put their feelings always before mine. At 50, I’m still learning how to put me first without inconveniencing others. Still, I would hope I could help my daughter I hope to have stand up and throw her glass of water in some asshole’s face who said that to her at 14. But you can try your best to instill self-awareness into a child and yet, you never know how s/he will learn to negotiate the path of adulthood.

Maybe the only thing you can do is provide them a role model and hope for the best.

Our Croatian cousin wanted pancakes so of course there was an invitation to this kid and that kid that we were making pancakes and waffles at the LaLa this morning and nine kids showed up! Anyway, we worked fast and furious to produce buttermilk confections and every last batch was consumed and then about 2PM we all collapsed into nap mode.

The kids left happy – two water balloons each on exit, the dogs were happy – stolen sausage moments, and we were happy but exhausted.

When worlds collide – we started off with some friends who came by and then another, and then our neighbor was having a party and we went there to have food and then another set of friends dropped by on their way to a another party. My M.I.L. said, “What an evening!”

But this is typical of our little village here where everyone knows everyone and hanging out on the front porch and chatting about Obama to Reagan to pancake recipes is the norm.

Yes, you could live somewhere else – you could be in San Francisco right now and possibly going to see some fab play at the Berkley Rep or you could be in New York and having many a cocktail at the Soho Grand and celebrity sighting – but you know, you are right here at the epicenter of all that matters when you sit on this front porch and look at this bayou and contemplate the gaggle of ducks that have appeared on the other side of the bayou (we have lots of ducks but these are new ducks) and someone even put in a ramp for them (very organized) and everyone is a friend or a neighbor and NO ONE is a stranger and all topics are on the table. Hey, the food is good too.

Tonight, in our little village people are celebrating life in the way we know how – with other people.

You ever notice how the celebrity rant goes? Somebody over night becomes IT and then everything they do is under scrutiny and then suddenly the lynch mob appears to take them down. Well, our little four and a half foot alligator sheepishly appeared in our bayou and created quite a stir. There was a) the photo op, b) the naming – Snappy, c) the bravo, Snappy was eating the nutrias, d) the Snappy might hurt women and children, the e) Snappy’s dead, and then f) Snappy is captured.

Poor Snappy became victim to a group who are at once ready for some form of entertainment and of course, tragedy always takes the lead.

SNAPPY THE SURPRISE VISITOR
SNAPPY THE HERO, eater of nutria
SNAPPY THE POTENTIAL KILLER
SNAPPY THE VICTIM
SNAPPY THE CAPTURED

All of the headlines leads one to believe that Snappy was doomed to start with and that people who generate news are total freaks of nature.

Yesterday evening as I wound up the work week, I hit a snag that sent me into a torturous state. It was similar to the torturous state that had started the week. Let’s see week starts with mom falling again. Week ends with an external glitch.

I took to bed as any good Southern woman would do and called a girlfriend who knows the circumstances. Her voice was soothing on the phone, “Oh honey, I know what you must be going through.”

Then I told her the coup de grace – to top all current misery off – I had gotten on the scale and calculated that I had put on 16 pounds in the last year and a half and felt like Anna Nicole Smith – “Oh, but she’s dead, honey,” my friend coo’ed into the phone.

I went to bed without dinner. Spin class was my only refuge this morning.

New Orleans summer
Fahrenheit or celsius
Relief is slumber