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The other day my mother asked me to take the baby off of her. She said it was laying on her ribs. Her portable EKG machine was in her smock pocket where it lives and I thought that the weight of that was what she was referring to as a baby. But it was sort of weird that she said baby. Then the other day she told me that she continues to hear a baby crying in the next room. So I said to her, I hope this baby who keeps making an appearance to you makes one to me as well and she just looked at me with a puzzled look.

In the realm of babies, it ain’t easy. You can get weapons of mass destruction, you can get medical marijuana, you can possibly even locate and procure a nuclear bomb for all I know, but a baby. Good grief. Today I heard another harrowing story of parents who were adopting, who at the last minute, in the delivery room, the birth father decided right then and there that he wanted to keep the baby even though he had no real intention of taking care of it and then for the next year, the baby lived in a foster home as he didn’t take it, the birth mother didn’t want it, and the parents who were right there with heavy arms waiting for it couldn’t have it. The good news is that after a year, the baby went to the parents who wanted it but the 12 months in between were fraught with acute anxiety and heartache.

Ever since T and I met we have talked about how we want to give back to the community some of our bounty. One of the things we always come back to is nutrition and feeding the hungry. We’ve talked about a bus converted to a moving restaurant for the poor, breakfast for poor kids, you name it. But in the end every time we think we have come up with something a friend “in the know” tells us how we would be doing more harm than good. Then one day while we were sifting through many of these ideas, I was standing in Swirl when a friend walked in with Janet who was opening up Liberty Kitchen – a restaurant devoted to teaching kids A to Z about hospitality while also dishing up good food. I sent a check for the cause but missed the opening party and all along have been taken with the work they were trying to do there.

Then I found out my cousin’s husband is the chef. Duh! Small world. So I went to meet my cousin finally for the lunch we never seem to be able to have and we ate there and first, the food was rocking delicious, but second I re-met Janet while there and realized I had been in her house because I was talking to her husband about tree cutting and he was showing me his trees that were recently cut. It’s a very small world. We’re neighbors.

And so if this world is small enough that you are reading this email and happen to be anywhere near Tulane and Broad – go eat at Liberty Kitchen. A big thumbs up.

The cathead biscuits tasted just like my grandmother used to make.

T is in the final days of finishing her book and was out watching one last film. So I had an evening to myself and started reading a new book – Ned Sublette’s Cuba and its music from the first drums to the mambo. I was instantly hooked as this is my own history he is writing about as well as my own soul stirrings. When I went to Cuba in 1999, on my 40th birthday year, I was struck by the music of Cuba. I had grown up with it all my life since my father was born in Havana and he was musically talented. But when I went there music oozed out of every pore of Cuba in ways that were almost surreal. I remember so well sitting next to the Swedish man at a bar who said to me, “Cubans are to music like dolphins to water.” And no truer statement was ever spoken.

When I returned I felt that all of the music I was listening to couldn’t compare to the sounds I had heard there and Ned’s book is a good illustration of how every bit of music I was listening to was a derivation of Cuban music. He says somewhere in the book that Louie Louie was based on a cha cha cha.

This morning when Loca and I were walking (faster) through City Park, I was thinking about growing up with this rich heritage that I inherited. A Sephardic via Turkey, then Cuba, yoked with New Orleans, born to a musical family albeit I’m atrociously tone deaf and can’t carry a single note, and music follows my lineage along that route and at the intersection of my mother and father.

I ran into one of my fellow walkers who has been laid up for a bit. I was asking him how he was doing and he commented you have to fall down to get up. I said well let’s be grateful to have this day. And he said, Amen Rachel. Then I continued walking and thinking about the road that led me here, almost the spice trail that led me here, paved by drums and horns and dancing, and I thought to myself, “Damn straight I’m grateful.”

Around this time of year, I try to set some goals. And here are couple along with perplexing issues that govern them:

1) I’ve put on weight the past two years – around 15 lbs. I was not a person who could stand a few extra, much less fifteen extra pounds. So I took up step class twice a week and a spin class once a week and wala – nada! Wala – nada is just not cutting it. So I need to take what I’ve got and give it some oomph, but my back has been a real issue that only now is getting resolved (the glucosamine, condroitin, and Omega fish oil). What I’ve learned is that the older you get the more you need to do. It goes hand in hand with the older you get the less you need to eat. Who invented these rules? Anyway, so now my pleasant morning walk with Loca in the morning has got to be energized. And I need to add weights.

But one thing I am considering – seriously – is a treadmill at my desk. Let’s say that this job is what has ruined my eyesight, my wrists and my back. Isn’t it worth it to invest $5000 to make sure that when I’m older that I’m not coiled up like a rusty old spring?

2) Peace of mind – how does one get this? I’m stressed about my mother, about my job, about the adoption, about bills, about my 15 lbs I want to lose, and if that was not enough I’ve decided to be stressed about T completing her book by her deadline along with other work things she has going on. Because you see, my own stress is not good enough, no, I need other people’s stress. So how to de-stress? I don’t know. I had my mystery book that was absorbing me but now we are waiting for the third in the trilogy and so I don’t have that to distract me. Both movies I want to see are not out in New Orleans yet, but this isn’t about a bandaid like a book or movie or Calgon to take me away, this is seriously about how to rewire yourself to not carry the burden like it’s a load. Ommmmmm. Yoga. That is helping.

After the gym, I’m off to see Pouring Tea: Black Gay Men of the South Tell their Tales at Tulane. I was recommending it to a guy friend of mine and said what interested me the most is that I find it hard to tell who isn’t gay in the South. Most Southern men I know are effeminate and so it makes it hard to really tell. Even the ones who don’t look effeminate – like the guy who cuts everyone’s grass around here – he’s a big smoke stack of a guy with tattoos all over and a voice like Judy Garland.

A friend was telling me that ten years ago when his father was dying of cancer, that his brother was a cheerleader for keeping his father going. But after several horrendous bouts of chemo late in the game, even the doctors said that the family would be better off helping him make the transition of letting go.

Another friend told me that while his mother’s dying was over a long period of time, that she always said she wished she had gone like his father, who had died suddenly after having gone to see Verdi’s Requiem. Now that is how I would choose to go.

Walking through the park this morning, I noticed a tree with chattering blue jays and decided that would be my theme for the day – happiness.

Yesterday when we were visiting my mom I drew the privacy curtain between her and her new roommate. But while we were chatting with my mom, the woman was moaning in pain. I called the nurse who came in briefly to assist her, but then when she left the woman was pathetically moaning and so I went over there and rubbed her legs and said, “It’s alright” and that seemed to calm her down. She reached for my hand and I held it. Then after some time, T came over and took my place so that I could visit with mom. T engaged the woman in talking about the photos that were up of her grandchildren.

Later when Hortense was doing mom’s respiratory therapy, T asked her if she found it difficult working there and she said, “Yes, because you get close to patients and most of the time the outlook is not good.”

Sigh.

This morning we walked to the park with our young neighbor and Loca and when we got to the Big Lake we went and stood under the big oak tree with six huge wind chimes and the sound under the tree was magical!

This Friday we’re headed to the Healing Center that Sally Ann Glassman started with a bunch of like minded people after Katrina. They’re having an annual Halloween bash with music and crafts and food and lots more. Then Saturday, it’s hand out candy to the kids – or maybe this year I might do moon pies instead. Meanwhile the entire weekend is Voodoo Fest right down the street. So much going on in one weekend – not to mention we fall back this Sunday morning and gone are the long days as we enter another cycle of winter.