izzyblog

Just briefly, no baby. Tomorrow is the d&c to remove the tissue left inside me. I am scared shitless. I've never had an anesthetic before, and there seems to be no way of avoiding that part. I'm confident that my OB will do what she needs to do, but this anesthesiologist doesn't know me at all. Who is she, and what's she doing with my life in her hands? Why can't this be more simple?

One problem that arises with opting out of posting for over a year is the fact that so much information hasn't come through the mainline. One of the most salient bits of info is the fact that I've recently sold my yoga studio. I'm about 6 weeks into my studio-lessness, and I do believe I made the right decision. The new owner, Jen, takes to the job with just as much passion and determination as I did. And what's most improved at Tapas is the fact that she's much more outgoing than I am, so she works constantly to keep the place full of her own warm vibe. My vibe's warm too, but definitely quieter. She believes in selling herself as much as selling the place, and there's merit in her assumptions. A business that small really must invest itself somewhat in having good characters in place. Jen's contagious warmth is part of what will sell the studio, b/c most folks looking to do yoga in that neighborhood are looking for a place of community. They want to be pampered, amused, inspired, catered to. Jen's good at doing all those things.

But what's the "but" here? Well, although I've certainly burned out on planning, teaching too much, running payroll and other mind-numbing admin tasks -- and I am quite happy not to fret about the low financial returns on all that work -- I feel a bit adrift now without my little ship to captain. I feel like I've lost a bit of my own direction, my moorings, my "something important" to contribute to New Orleans. Teaching college freshmen is fine, but hardly as rewarding and "in the big picture" important as bringing physical and mental well-being to adult women. My daily cohorts are largely self-interested and self-important, inexperienced if at times charmingly so. The job is fine, but it just doesn't feel... significant. And I'm not sure how to change that.

Maybe pregnancy invites reflection. Maybe I'm reflective naturally. I don't know. But I find myself sort of floating through New Orleans at this point, irritated at the general failure of this city not to bloom up into something brighter post-K. Feels like NOLA has simply come back to itself; feels like I'm not helping its progress anymore; feels like the same tired issues (crime, poverty, inept government, low quality of life) keep plaguing the same tired place. Did you know that 2 young boys shot 5 people at Endymion on Saturday night? The victims suffered only surface wounds, but the shooting took place on Canal Street! Right at the edge of the Quarter! Ridiculous!! And these days, crime seems to have ticked up so much. I get lots of emails through Loyola about incidents in the university area (which is also where I live now). It reminds me of the crime waves when I was in college, when everyone I knew (including myself) had some sort of mugging or major personal theft story to relate.

When I left New Orleans for Montana, I never meant to come back. And now that I'm pregnant, I just can't see how I can raise my kids here. I love these old houses, my friends and the proximity to my family, but I also feel like this city is the pits. Where are the public swimming pools, the outdoor recreation, the recycling programs, the safety to be outside in your front yard -- those quality of life elements that I've loved in several other places? The other day, we went to a neighborhood association meeting, and the invited guest was someone talking about putting bike paths in place in NOLA. Temporarily, I got so excited. But as the guest talked, I started to hear the same old soundtrack. More studies need to be run before the bike lanes can be implemented. No bikes lanes will be painted on streets till those streets are re-paved. Having lived here for quite some time, I know that'll be several years. Sheesh. But -- the speaker did say that his organization has come up with a nice sign to post along bike paths that'll have a fleur de lis on it. Great. So we have the facade of change happening without any actual change.

Sometimes I'm hopeful. I was excited that Bobby Jindal was elected governor -- and I'm not a republican by any stretch of the imagination. The democratic candidates were just republicans in democrats' clothing though -- all good ole boys with same ole plans. More hope -- Baton Rouge is coming along, making some nice strides in redeveloping its downtown. Downtown looked more alive than it had in years when I drove down there one night in December. But our fair city? I just can't see the sunlight. I sit inside alot, actually, because there's not much that I want to do. I have a lovely yoga community that I enjoy, but I'm waiting for the second trimester till I can return to class. And I have other friends in the mind-body arena, like my friend Shannon who just opened her own bellydance studio, who are working to pump new life into the city. But when's the city going to step up? When will we get recycling back? When will the crime taper off? When will recreation become as much a priority around here as drinking?

For the spring, I look forward to gardening and having a crawfish boil, and I'm a little bit looking forward to going to the Quarter dressed up tomorrow. But even gardening, parties and masquerades can't seem to solve this bigger issue, this sustained disappointment with my city. Some of my friends and coworkers still feel an intense love for this place -- I hear them talk about it. I used to feel that too, but I don't anymore. When I think about NOLA these days, it's with a sinking feeling of resignation. I'm really not sure how to solve the issue. I have a great job, good friends and close family. I don't want to leave that. But feeling adrift like this, I find that a terrible isolation creeps in, in the midst of all that I've always known and felt connected to.

Mardi Gras is upon us, and it's downright chilly! Brrrrrr!!!! Although last Mardi Gras was a bit chilly some nights too, this one is definitely colder than I remember the holiday ever being -- primarily because Mardi Gras is earlier this year than I remember it ever being. This does add a bit of difficulty to the costuming process, since bare patches of skin often contribute to many a costume. I'm at a bit of a loss concerning dressing up this year, though I think that I'm going to go as a Ponchatoula strawberry. If I do, it'll be rudimentary, but I'll post some pictures.

For the college kiddies, Mardi Gras rules have changed since when I was at Loyola as an undergrad. I'm not talking about the drinking age (although it's ticked up, I'm sure my students are clever at finding covert means of imbibing). But these kids do get an entire week's holiday. Wow! In my time, that holiday was three days -- two because EVERYTHING comes to a standstill here for Mardi Gras, and 1 extra day for the kiddies to puke and recover. By Thursday, everyone was still a little sleepy, but mostly good as new. Lest this sound like a complaint, please note that it isn't. I am just delighted that we won't be meeting again till February 11th. And that'll be a nice week too -- just days before I turn the big 3-4. (Gasp!!)

There are other little changes to consider this Mardi Gras weekend too. For the first time in many years, I'll be alcohol free for the celebration, thanks to a little somebody incubating inside me. I'm 9 weeks pregnant today, and I'm hoping hoping hoping that this baby makes it through the first trimester, unlike our last attempt. We did see the heartbeat for this one last week, which means that we're already off to a better start, though still not out of the woods yet. But I'm hoping.....

Ah, lovely! The floors in the upstairs portion of our house are finally complete.

Now that football season is a bit less pressing in these parts, Jesse has turned his Sunday focus to renovation projects again. Of course, he's now sitting down in front of the tube, reviewing the last few minutes of the Pats vs. SD game on our DVR, but he put in a good long day of work beforehand. Days like today, I don't mind the fact that our relationship relies on largely on stereotypical gender roles. Inhaling large quantities of toxic materials isn't my cup of tea, and there were plenty of those stinking up the house today.

Today's project was bamboo flooring. Most of the floors in our house are the original boards from the 1920s construction, and these have held up rather well, though the refinisher seemed to believe that our floors couldn't be sanded down and refinished again after his job, as they were so thin. Those floors run through the house, and stained, they're a warm, inviting amber color. They were hiding under a rather repellant pelt of faded carpet when we bought the house, but they're buffed up nicely now. The trouble was with the back two rooms, which were covered in an industrial tile that my environmental geologist husband identified as 1950s asbestos tile. We hemmed and hawed about pulling up this tile to reveal the floors beneath for some time, but the intensity of the labor and the possibility of environmental hazards kept us hesitant. About two weeks ago, we decided on the bamboo and found a terrific sale at Home Depot.

My dad has been particularly helpful with these projects. Truth is, I think he's happiest tinkering. He's done home repair work quite regularly for as long as he can remember. He's owned property since he was a young adult and has held himself personally responsible for repairs the whole time. Makes sense. He's a blue collar guy, a butcher, from rural Louisiana. He should know a good bit about manual trades, and he does. And I think he really takes a shine to helping Jesse. He devotes some good long days to working here.

My mom, she's begun to bring food, and I welcomed her homemade spaghetti sauce today. Dee-licious. With the temperature finally feeling like January, warm comfy pasta felt as Sunday as an afternoon nap.

Oh dear! First thing -- Ellie, of course I'd be happy to. If it's not too late, please send an email to my school address -- tawatts@loyno.edu.

Secondly, I'm finally attaching a pic of one of my fave things I did this holiday season, which was to bake a bunch of loaves of Anise Kuchen. It's such a fun bread. When it gets to its second rising, you oil strips that you've cut from paper bags and staple them over the kneaded individual rounds that will become your bread. As the rounds rise, they grow around the strips of paper, making a cloverleaf shape of dough that you can tie ribbons into once the bread is baked. I love to make these when school gets out and then give them to my aunts. I've tried giving them to friends too, but most of my friends don't really care. As my friend Polly says, she's "undomesticated." So I keep a bunch for myself too.

In fact, today I finally ran out. In addition to the anise kuchen, this year I made some sort of eggy bread that reminds me very much of a Jewish challah -- yellow, sweet and addictive. I got both recipes from my bread bible, Bernard Clayton's book of breads. In the years I've been acquainted with this cookbook (it came with Jesse when we first consolidated some years ago now), I've only tried a couple of recipes, and I've returned to them time and again, working to perfect the method. This is unusual for me. I usually flip through a cookbook with salivating ecstasy, like an impatient little gobbly goat, trying one recipe after another. I think the difference arises from the fact that bread-making is such a time-consuming process that I usually only do it when I'm off school, so I turn to what's most tried and true. Cooking dinner can be a more regular affair, so I tend to be more risky, more fly-by-night -- and I think that my cooking often suffers from this approach!

In some ways, NOLA hasn't changed much.  On Saturday night, I followed Lei Lani's recommendation and went out to the French Quarter for our second annual Santarchy celebration.  This year's gathering was bigger than last year's, and most of our crowd upped the ante on costumes too.  I find as I get older that I have increasingly more recyclable materials for costumes.  In fact, all I had to buy this time around was a Santa hat, some crazy Christmas knee-socks, and a pair of red maryjane crocs that I plan to recycle for Mardi Gras.  For that holiday, I'm considering dressing as Little Red Riding Hood, and I'm digging through various versions of the tale to determine how best to refine my costume.  At this point, I'm leaning toward making a cape that approximates wolfskin, but that may be too ambitious a project.  We'll see.

In any case, Santarchy was as much fun as any other NOLA-specific holiday. (It fits particularly well in NOLA despite the fact that Santas gather in anarchy in many US urban settings.)  Much drinking, carousing and warming up to total strangers.  Drunken bathroom confessions. The usual pleasures of debauchery and sloth.  The pic is of me dancing on the bar at Coyote Ugly.  I hope that doesn't ruin my reputation for any of you.  Hell, if you know me, you're more likely surprised that this is my first time officially dancing on a bar. 

Beyond that spectacle, the holidays are warming up nicely.  We finally got our tree this weekend.  I've been hemming and hawing about the idea for weeks now.  Putting up a Christmas tree is lovely but far from pragmatic.  And much as I want to snub the system and forego the tree altogether, an echo of my perhaps-fifteen year old self remains restless, reminding me of my adolescent insistence that I would always get a real tree, EVERY CHRISTMAS, once I left home.  Since I've been a homeowner, I've mostly fulfilled that ambition.  I buy my beautiful spruce or fir, decorate it with meaningful ornaments that come from special places (Montana) or people (Jesse's fam), love it immensely and then throw it out to be recycled as wetlands-building materials.  And that whole process seems green enough.  But also tiresome, like most rituals.

The difference this year seems to be rooted in the overwhelmingness of this past semester.  With delay of cold temperatures and mounds of papers to grade, my scrooge self kept kicking back at my rose-colored holiday ideals.  I wanted to get beyond the need for a tree, but I still wanted my ornaments up, and I wanted to feel the nostalgic, pretty drift of a feeling that swims alongside a few glasses of wine and a blue-lit tree.  There's a seductive romance about that light on a tree on a cold evening, a tinny song of sorts, a swell of romance that accompanies those little blue lights.

Well, to make a long story short, we bought a hibiscus tree this year.  It's a real tree, primed to be planted in a huge hole (which Jesse will dig, not me, of course) in a few weeks.  There's not enough room to hang all my ornaments, but I defend the scarcity with an appeal to preciousness.  What hangs is unique, carefully chosen.  The pink flowers burst out and fall, a rash cycle of beauty perhaps more than appropriate to NOLA.  In the two days we've had this tree, it's cycled through a number of blooms.  I think it's in tune with us.  Explosive, charming, effusive... and then in time, it will quiet and be planted, set low in the earth to provide its loveliness -- now sustaining, not simply passing -- another show of recovery in our city.

FYI: To see more pics of Santarchy (or our contribution to the merriment at least), please join me on Facebook.  My pics are in my profile; look me up.  I know, I'm old for Facebook, but many of my other 30+ friends are there too!

So this post is for Wendy and Monica, specifically to thank you both for surprising me by actually reading and commenting on the first entry I've posted in over a year. Wow. I can't imagine what possessed either of you to check this site today, but I totally want to thank you for sending your support and love. I just finished sending folks home a few moments ago from yet another dinner party. Happy December to y'all, and I wish much that you'd been here too. Monica, everything was veggie -- not even any fish tonight -- so it would have fit your palate with no temptations whatsoever! And Wendy, everything was themed toward comfort food, which reminds me of the first time I ever had dinner at your place -- remember that? A pasta meal with a cream sauce -- and tonight my neighbor Art brought over his kitten who reminded me of Maisy.

Love to you both, and thanks so much for writing. Duncan of course says hello to you too.

Ahhhh..... sweet freedom.

Finally, I'm starting to shake off the haze of the semester. It's been a better, harder ride than usual this semester. Loyola finally gave me an upper level lit class, American Romanticism, and I found out what it could mean to have students who are capable of being pushed to high levels. It's intense. These guys respond well to challenge, and they're active in the classroom. Their interest pushes my learning to a higher point too... a great exchange of ideas.

On Friday, I felt like a little puddle of head fog, but today seems a good bit clearer. I'm excited. I have a veritable fiesta of grading to look forward to, but it feels much more manageable. I'm having a dinner potluck at the house tonight. Cool. I get to see people again!

Yoga this weekend was intense too, though Jordan can't seem to lead a class that's anything less than intense -- and that's why I love his classes. I did dropbacks for the first time with no help -- what a thrill. Michele talked me through it. If you just plug the thigh bones in correctly and maintain integrity in the legs, the spine can sort of spill over backwards, leaving easy room for the hands to catch the body in a backbend. Perhaps even more surprising is the fact that I stood right up out of it too. Again, when the thigh bones are plugged it, the transition simply feels natural. I also got to demo two poses -- tittibhasana, which has perhaps the best name (for my money at least) on the yoga syllabus, and hanumanasana with the back foot lifted and held by one hand reaching overhead. Damn! That one was super-intense. I was whipped and giddy by the end of that particular session.

Jen will be buying the yoga studio this Friday, and I can't wait! In fact, I can barely believe that it's actually going to happen. But as soon as it does, man, I'm investing in a Mac. I'm so psyched! Merry Christmas to me.

I woke up this morning to the pinpricks of tiny claws on my back.  Mama Cat, our token front-door stray, finally brought her kittens up from wherever they'd been hiding, and Jesse brought one inside to wake me up.  I scrambled awake and made my way outside to see them.  Oh, they're so beautiful!  One black and white, one Siamese and one solid black.  I'm smitten!

So we hung out, Friday actually being a relatively good day to be distracted, and I watched the tribe of them interact.  Poor Mama.  She looks so tired, and she resists nursing till her babies shove and shove their way to her teats.  She sits in a tight ball, trying to resist their pushing, but the hunger always wins.  Her eyes narrow and her ears fold back, and I wonder if she's tired of being a mama, if this morning she simply got completely fed up and decided to drop the kids off with me.  This suspicion is only fueled by the fact that she's now run off to someplace else, leaving her kittens behind on my front patio area.  And the little dears, they're so fiery.  Ten minutes of my being inside, and they've forgotten me.  I open my door to say hello to them, and the black one hisses and spits like a firecracker, his legs sprawled open with all the piss and vinegar he can muster.  I'm not sure what to do with them.  Taking them inside would throw Duncan back into a mewling mess of despair -- I've been through that -- kittens make him throw up.  So for now, I've set out a soft towel and some food and some hope that Mama isn't completely done with them just yet.

Okay, so when *did* all my friends become teachers??  I mean, sure, this happened a long time ago, and on some level I think that I knew about this odd warp, but wow....  So yeah, a very *large* majority of my friends are teachers.  Egads, the damned!  That's way too many gifted minds working in servitude.

Well, I'm taking a yoga vacation starting tomorrow.  An immersion with John Friend in Atlanta.  Should be of terrific interest.  Today was the yoga demo at Whole Foods.  Lots of fun.  I even did a fabulous version of tittibasana (which is even more fun to say as pincymayurasana).