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I was speaking to a friend who was talking about her mother, she said that her mother had always had a way of making her feel fat, or of actually saying, you’re chubby, you have a fat head. We laughed, how could your mother say you have a fat head? I was telling her that I had heard from someone else just yesterday who said their mother said they looked terrible in brown – brown is like black, only better – how could you not look good in brown?

We pondered back and forth about mothers and daughters and my friend said that these snide comments were drawn from competition between mothers and daughters. But I said you know I think it is different. I think it is that mothers see themselves in their daughters and the critical voice in their own head just comes out without filter because it’s almost as if the daughter were an extension of themselves. So the hyper skinny mom seeing her daughter not hyper skinny, incites fear and the critical voice. It’s weird, but I know I’ve written about this a few times but when my mom was in the hospital a few years ago, I was sitting on the bottom of the bed curled around her feet and she was sleeping. She woke up and looked at me and I smiled at her and she said, “Your eyes are so tiny. They used to be huge. You might want to think about doing something about it.”

Then my friend said it was different with sons because they wouldn’t have that same transference. But I told her that I had just read about a woman whose mother in law wanted to friend her on Facebook and she remembered when she first met her on a trip with her then boyfriend and how she walked into the bedroom from taking a shower to find the mother sitting by her son who was lying on the bed, combing her fingers through his hair. The woman was appalled.

Hell I’ve been appalled at the weird dynamics between mothers and their sons and I have had my share of mother in laws after three marriages. But I told my friend what I never had before was this perspective and that is after having Tin, I could totally see myself running my fingers through his curly hair when he is 35. And to know that I would be 85 when he would be 35, I would hope I would be sensitive to his partner, but there is a very good chance with one foot in the grave I might not give a rat’s ass about the partner and still see my little boy underneath that grown up man.

Parents and their children as I told my friend – it’s all about the natural process of life. A little baby is cute and so when it whines and messes all over itself, we go “poor little pumpkin,” and grandparents when they hiss and moan and look like a wrinkled apple core, we think well it’s their time to go. Similarly, children – boys or girls – need to rebel, be disgusted, be frustrated, be in opposition to their parents because that is what they are supposed to do – grow apart, become independent. While parents – maybe we still see the little boy or little girl with their tiny hand curled around our finger smiling back at us even while they’re walking out the door. And maybe parents need to know when their job is over.

My friend said to write all these things down because one day, I would have a 16 year old boy, and then another day a 25 year old boy, and eventually a 35 year old boy, and he would bring home someone he was interested in and in order not to keep perpetuating the same fucked up family dynamics maybe I could try a new approach like remembering that he is a separate person from me and that his squeeze is walking into our life and needs room.

At yoga today, Michele was out and Libby was in – she’s awesome in her own way. She said the theme of the month has been about Radha and Krishna, the divine love and about how enlightenment is seeing yourself in others much like Hemon spoke about in his Lazarus Project narrative. More importantly the talk was about how the very struggles that we go through make us who we are and we couldn’t be that without having walked through the whirling blades of life.

I came to this conclusion a while back when I realized that my parents, as flawed as they might have been, made me who I am today and I wouldn’t be me if they were not them and since I do love myself, I must love who they were to make me and forgive them their inadequacies.

Similarly, I have forgiven my own trespasses as they brought me to a higher level on the wrung of life – one I wouldn’t have gotten to on the path I was so determined to stay on. Had I not done this, then I would not be here, I would not be with Tatjana, I would not have Tin, I would not see the bayou outside my window each morning. Since I love my life, I must love all that got me here.

Metamorphosis – What’s happened to me? (Kafka)

I must admit that I have had little need for outside noise – a day’s work and time with Tin is all my muddled brain can afford these days. Loca didn’t get her walk this morning and was psycho by the time we got out this afternoon making me almost psycho. She hopped the entire way around the bayou. A woman called to me pushing a stroller, “I feel your pain.” She yelled over that she had a dog who was identical. The ubiquitous Midcity black lab mix – the ones that go down first at the kill shelter we call the LSPCA.

I read an article about how having children isn’t what it’s cracked up to be and that most women say they don’t want children. Interesting. I have to admit that after 50 years and perhaps the last twenty wanting one, I can’t believe that anything else in this life would possibly come close to being a mother.

Honestly.

A friend wrote me when I was trying to adopt that I was giving into hope in this world to take on the job of being a parent. And I’d say that it is all about perspective. When you watch a little boy who hasn’t napped rattle his head and cry when an air particle hits him, you realize how fragile we all are at times in our life, and how nice it is to know that when we are vulnerable, someone has our back.

But more wonderous than that is the knowledge that every thing I do with him matters. Unlike a lot of things we do in life. And I have to say if you have that sort of charge in life, and therein that perspective, how could you tell me that having a child with all its drawbacks isn’t the most rewarding experience of your life?

I received an email, spam of course, that had Rachel Dangermond Recovery in the subject line, when I was deleting it, I saw that it was all about refinancing my house on 10 West Street in San Rafael – the death knell that I heard in that house sounds no more – I rose like a Phoenix.

There have been several sightings of three ducks fucking or attempting to on land and on water. Usually two males fighting over one female and everyone looking frazzled in the meantime. Something about spring in the air puts a spring in your step – you’d think all that undercover stuff during this long, cold winter would have been the randy period, but no, it’s great weather that brings out the beast.

When I redid the floors of the LaLa, I stained them ebony and when we had the big freeze the filling between the planks just popped out, one two three, and for some reason, the stain wore off along the high traffic areas around the same time. So yesterday I got some ebony stain and put it down and am going to work it till I figure out the best way to hide the color fading away.

Similarly, I took the hair dye that I have used to dye my albino skinny minny eyebrows and used it to cover my greying temples and sideburns last night. This is a patch until I see my hair stylist and he comes up with a better option to hide the color that is fading away.

This ole mare ain’t what she used to be.

I was listening to an interview with Evan Christopher today on OZ and he was talking about how after the levee failure musicians felt they had to take responsibility for their own music and also about the importance of paying homage to those people who were important to you. The song they played was called The Memory Song from his new album Wrath of Grapes and it is one of those uncanny days in New Orleans where the weather makes you want to just lay in the grass and stare at the cloudless sky and with Evan’s clarinet in the background you could just die there, happy.

The demise of the music business – Evan’s CD has no label to send him around the country promoting and selling his music – nowadays the musician has to have a website, a Facebook page, a twitter account, and email list etc. Could you imagine being a musician and just trying to write original scores? Well as a writer who wanted to be the George Eliot of modern times and ended up being a blogger, all I can say is whatyagonnado?

You can hear Evan playing this Monday (29th) at Chickie Wah Wah even though their website doesn’t show it, and their voicemail message doesn’t say it. You might also be able to buy his CD there too and if you don’t make it there, he said he would consign the rest to Louisiana Music Factory.

The day that started off looking gloomily cold turned out to be gloriously beautiful. I went for a run with Loca while Margarete was still around to watch Tin. Not having that extra pair of hands and eyes is daunting – single mothers – god bless them.

The line up at the Square is stellar this year and this little boy likes to boogie just like his mommy so we’re definitely going to try to attend the incredible music that New Orleans is offering up – African Jazz Band on the second Sunday of every month in the French Market, French Quarter Festival, Jazz Fest – the fun doesn’t end.

Meanwhile, Tin was getting his groove on to Carly Simon that my neighbor was playing on vinyl tonight – nice night cap before we segued into Goodnight NOLA.

Right by the Botanical Gardens where there has been for eternity a weak display of Knock-out roses and not much else is a brand new fountain with a woman holding an urn that looks like waves and fish are leaping up at her feet. The best part is she has an outie just like Tin! Anyway, behold the new fountain and bravo City Park on installing yet another wonderful addition for us to enjoy.

With T out of town I have a new schedule with the nanny coming and T not here to do the mornings as usual with Tin. So this morning I scheduled calls for before he wakes up but I completely forgot about Loca and her walk. Turns out the nanny showed up an hour earlier because T had asked her to and so I was able to quickly move to getting Loca out the door for a brisk walk.

I ran into the mayor of the neighborhood (self acclaimed) and asked him his male opinion about the grey side burns and his response was “the prettier the feathers, the prettier the bird” – in essence he concurred with the female opinion I had received yesterday from my dear friend who said “lose the grey, it makes women look old” – so there it is.

Tonight I’m going to make an attempt at covering the grey with a temporary fix and then will seek permanent remedy from my trusted hair care provider at my next appointment.

In cleaning the countertops I picked up the two elephants that sit on the windowsill. They are wish boxes and inside were several wishes that gave me pause.

MOM – ENJOY & TRANQUIL

BEAN – HEALTH & JOY

US – HEALTHY HAPPY BABY

K – PEACE OF HEART

The first two were for Mom and Arlene and now they have passed into that great tranquil beyond. The baby we were wishing for is Tin, we just had no idea at the time. And for K, she’s the first birth mother who changed her mind about us adopting her unborn baby at the 11th hour, I hope (know) she has found peace with her decision.

A long time ago my sister had given me a wish box on a necklace. During my time of crisis in 2005, I put many wishes in there and later, friends and colleagues added some of their own wishes for me in Shanghai, and then afterwards, some colleagues added some in New Mexico while we were all there for a conference. When I took the wishes out a few years later, most all of them had come true. A colleague had made a wish for my mom to be healthy as he knew that was top of mind. He ended up dying two years later and I still think about the generosity in which he wished health for my mom.

Another colleague had wished for a baby for me, and hey, again there’s Tin.

Another friend/colleague, Chinese sister, had wished me love, and hey, there’s T.

Another colleague and friend had wished for untold riches and hey, there’s my life full of friends, animals, lover, baby, love and joy.

I wrote out new wishes and put them in.