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My NYT was a no show this morning, and friends called for breakfast at Cake Cafe, one of my favorite joints in the Marigny, so off we went. I had just been reading quotes in Harper’s of letters sent to Franklin Roosevelt after his radio announcements – some were banal like one who told him the pronunciation of status is with a long a not a short one, but a lot of them were insinuations that FDR was a communist “we all know your Communistic aims.–You old feather duster” or a socialist “…I have a suspicion that you know your Karl Marx pretty well…” much like Obama is referred to. And much like Obama, FDR inherited an economic mess.

Our friend’s mother was visiting from Florida and she said that this conservative trajectory had started back in the days of FDR as a radical reaction to the New Deal and that backlash continued through all of the conservative presidents we’ve had since such as Reagan and the Bushes to unravel the programs FDR created. The subject came up because my friend had asked why is it that there was such an opposition to ending these tax cuts to the wealthy that is on the table right now. What I wondered was when was there ever a liberal agenda? I don’t know of any time except for maybe the 60s when the hippy movement as a nonviolent reaction to the riots and segregation and other conservative agenda was in force.

Later when we were home, the nun rang, she had returned from Ireland and brought some Irish chocolates over (which were American corporation owned Irish chocolates – I knew this from past research on Candy in my work) and ironically she told us how all of her family and friends in Ireland are suffering from the economy, from unemployment and that it all points to corporate greed. The greedy are getting greedier and greedier, she said. We talked about the church and the emptiness of the cathedrals except for those of her vintage and she said that she felt comfort in knowing God Knows and God Has It Together.

Our conclusion at breakfast was much the same, albeit more secular, that this too shall pass as life is a series of pushes and pulls and we live inside the friction of liberals pulling at conservatives and vice versa, and there have always been poor, there has always been war, and there have always been greedy people since man was created, so it is probably best not to think too far in any one direction without losing track of the center. If the center be called God, than she knows and has it together, for sure.

Meanwhile, as a manifestation of the extremes – Tin was a perfect angel today, the flip side of his evil twin Skippy who showed up yesterday.

“I love the fall. I love it because of the smells that you speak of; and also because things are dying, things that you don’t have to take care of anymore, and the grass stops growing.”
–  Mark Van Doren

I was going to get some plants at Mizell’s yesterday and asked my neighbor if she wanted me to pick her up one and she said no way, everything is about to die. My allergies would tell you differently, there is something new growing that makes the edges of my face burn and my nose stopped up, something is growing somewhere.

I know the orange leaves on the crepe mean they will turn a blazing orange and then fall. Already the flower bed is mulched with fall colored leaves. My aunt was in her yard yesterday morning preparing the beds for winter in the throes of summer heat. At the farm in Folsom, people had come from miles around to buy seedlings. Here in New Orleans our growing season stretches into winter.

I sat at a picnic table with Tin trying to get him to eat a hot dog and the only other person at the table was an elderly woman. She didn’t say much the entire time, but later the owner came by and said, “Well, what do you think about my place here,” and the woman said, “Looks pretty much like my place.” And then they started comparing who had the most butterflies, and who had more acres. It reminded me of a sign I had just seen on a barn that said, “Keep it country.”

Summer never left, the change of light was a ruse, winter may arrive with a fury, meanwhile, my land lust is more subdued these days – not 60 acres do I want but just enough – fall is overlapping summer as it is want to do here in New Orleans – the one year anniversary of my mother’s death is approaching – Jewish New Year passed one more time.

My mind is pulled in many directions – is it the end or the beginning?

My last entry sent me towards Wordsworth and the contemplation of material versus nature, but after a day in the weightiness of New Orleans oppressive heat I have to step back and say sometimes nature is not so comforting as a Wordsworthian poem might represent.

Tin is a sweater, beads of perspiration appear on his lip if he even looks at the front door and yesterday he was sweating like an athlete. I poured some of my cool water on his neck and back while we were sitting in the shade to cool him down and to amuse him (he was not amused).

We were both sweating and I was trying to keep him from the harsh sun, but in the shade we joined the winged bugs (bees included – BEES as Tin yelled) who were hovering in the shade seeking their own respite from the oven-like quality of full sun.

Everyone here in the Gulf South knows  Mother Nature is not so benevolent. I write this from my screen porch this Sunday morning – the heat tolerable with the ceiling fan on – my New York Times has not shown up yet – and there is a bluebird perched high in the crepe myrtle, whose leaves are just starting to turn towards fall. Do you know that leaves die, they don’t change colors and fall, they die in the cycle of seasons. The striped banana tree looks almost dwarfed in its growth as it struggled to return from the multiple freezes we saw last winter – will it be harsh again (a friend writes that the almanac predicts yes).

Nature is not so kind – maybe the lot of humans is to toil – to make things and throw things away and then make some more – maybe that is our business, while nature’s business is to constantly keep us mere mortals guessing and cowered and in awe of her majesty.

Late in the afternoon on Saturday I went over to Walgreens to get Tin another sketch book as he and Margarete have filled up two already. His crayons and drawing are his new favorite thing. A second hand store has opened nearby on Carrollton Avenue and so I went in – not because I need anything, but because I wanted to do some mindless shopping after having a yellow day with Tin.

A while ago, someone told me of my stereo system that was once the Cadillac of hi fidelity that I could go to Radio Shack and buy a $100 stereo and it would be better than what I had that was now 20 years old. This person said technology had changed so much that smaller was infinitely better than the behemoth I owned.

While that is true about technology and right now we are living in such rapid advancements that built in obsolescence is not three years but three minutes, the truth is there is so much stuff out there in the world that why buy any clothes, furniture, dishes, car, purse, candle holder that is new.

What if we as a world put a moratorium on producing one more thing and invested all of our energy into renewing, revitalizing and refurbishing what is old. Think of all the houses and office buildings and warehouses that would be fixed up, or the clothes that would be updated, the jewelry, the purses, the tchotchkes, and artwork that could be dusted off, sanitized, and used a new?

The world is too much with us
Late and soon
Getting and spending we lay waste our powers
Little in nature we see that is ours
We’ve given our hearts away
A sordid boon…

I had to drive to Bogalusa this morning and deal with some of the finishing touches concerning my mother’s grave and so I decided to take Tin to the Butterfly and Hummingbird Festival at Mizell’s Farms. It’s fall here in New Orleans but it was 96 degrees at 9:30 am as we made our way to the northshore, crossing Lake Ponchartrain over the Causeway. The Causeway is becoming an icon of death for me as I’ve crossed that bridge for my father and my mother both going to and from cemetery to services and all with too much time to myself to think.

26 miles in relative silence as Tin alternated between crying and singing, not sure how he was going to spend his day yet. I just looked at the vast water on both sides and kept to the road.

We made our stop in Bogalusa and headed to Folsom, by now the tears were advancing to trantrum hysteria until he fell asleep for twenty blissful minutes and only woke as we pulled into the farm’s gravel driveway. They had booths set up to talk about metamorphosis and hummingbirds and plants and The Nature Conservancy and the Wildlife Society and all sorts of nature lovers – only it was about 115 degrees or more by the heat index and it seemed as if someone had put valium in the drinking water.

Tin climbed up on a bench and fell off the back of it, off the deck, into the bushes but he didn’t make a peep. He was just fine. Although he cried for nearly the entire rest of the time – he cried when the woman tried to show him the parrot on her shoulder, he cried at the butterfly enclosure, he cried at the giant saucer shaped hibiscus, he cried about his hot dog, he cried about not having my water versus his water, and he cried all the way back to the truck.

Ta ra ra boom de ay we had no fun today.

I ran into my guru in the park this morning, the mayor of the neighborhood, and we were talking about my mother’s grave, and angels, and dogs, and all of the symbols and portents we put on things in our lives. He was telling me about an object his wife had wanted that she didn’t get when her parents died and she had a hard time getting over the loss. A friend said, “Let that bird fly” and that is just another way, in New Orleanese, of saying like the monk did, “I left that woman there at the fence, so should you.”

Maybe the old woman who lives on the bayou who said she has no thing for history has something right – maybe today is our time and yesterday, we were a different person. I was thinking about this as last night we watched A Single Man, Tom Ford’s movie with Colin Firth, which was a cry fest. A 16 year relationship ends in a death. How do you get over the grief, the sadness or like song asks, How do we divide our home, our hearts? In the words of Tony Soprano, you wipe the tears from your eyes and “you pick up the pieces and you go on.”

You let that bird fly.

Friday nights have become for the most part, nights at home and last night, T suggested that after we fed Tin we’d walk over to Swirl and so we did. But of course, we arrived much later than we though since it takes a long time when you wake up late from a nap, and when dinner is suddenly not enough and you want three servings of mashed potatoes, one half a sweet potato, one hot dog, one container of yoghurt and are still asking for “moh r”.

So we pulled up in our stroller about 7:30 and the place was hopping with the back to school crowd – summer is over so the Turkish contingency was there all looking rested and tan, the woman who is going to teach drums to Tin was singing to him as he ran up an down the stairs next door, and a Tulane friends, and neighbor friends, and well what a difference a child makes, but how fun it was to connect with everyone after not having seen them all summer.

One friend who had spent time in California was considering a move back to El Lay where family is thick, and I told her, L.A. doesn’t need you, but New Orleans does.

It seems like the summer was long enough to make everyone think about what they are doing and short enough to miss it already.

When Tin came into our lives, we knew that he would enter a wide web of loving friends and family, but there was serious consideration as to what would happen to him if something happen to both of us. In comes Tante Marline, we both agreed that she would be able to pick up where we left off so she became family (well more so than before). It’s interesting how when people meet Tin, their view of adoption and the possibilities enlarge with him in focus – “I want a Tin,” a friend said to me, and just yesterday, someone said about a couple I know, “They want a Tin.”

There is only one Tin, but I can assure you there are many children out there who need homes if you are willing to open your heart.

A few months ago I parked at Rouse’s like I always do, on the street beside the grocery store. I parked in the same direction as everyone else parks that is butt facing Carrolton. Well I came out and had a ticket for parking the wrong direction. Since every day everyone parks that way, it just vexed me. So when I sent in my $20, I wrote on a Post-it note: That was low down.

Coming out of Rouse’s after a grocery run, I see this police woman sashaying out of the store, and going to her police car that is the ONLY car parked facing in the wrong direction! Of all the nerve, I thought.

The theme at the new yoga studio on Canal Street is getting in touch with your source. They had a visitor offering classes over the past week, Lama Christie McNally. She was offering a class called Two as One and I went hoping to get closer to my relationship with my self and with others. It turns out the class was about moving through yoga practice with a partner. I, unfortunately, did not go with my partner, and ended up getting hooked up with an acquaintance who had to leave early. As I was moving through the same positions that everyone else was doing with a partner, I partnered with the wall. And I thought about being alone while everyone else was hooked up and I liked it and I didn’t like it. I’ve never had any issues with flying solo but I have to say I much prefer flying with a co-pilot.

Meanwhile, I took Aaron’s class a few days later and he introduced the idea of moving into uncertainty as yoga’s source and how tearing asunder forces you deeper into who you are. It made me think of myself and my relationships and I thought imagine I’m not who you think I am, that I’m better and let me imagine that you are better as well, then from here we can tear down what have now become expectations of how we are going to react, act, and deal with each other and we may grow.

Rock on.