After dropping off some of the cajun meats, CS and I packed up Sun and joined Southern Mom and her family for the annual Alligator Festival in lovely Luling, LA. Who knew I’d spend all my time this weekend driving to wee little LA towns?

We waited in Wendy’s parking lot, er, I mean driveway for 30 minutes due to George’s inability to be on time. Then witnessed Amber come crying into the house claiming her mother had left her in the car. Wendy’s response (I can’t make up things better than actually come out of Wendy’s mouth when she is reprimanding someone) was, “Oh, Amber, please. It isn’t like I left you at the mall.” Tee-hee.

Then we were off. Louisiana doesn’t have “county fairs.” For one thing, we don’t have counties, we have parishes. But even so, we don’t have parish fairs. We have festivals–the most famous being our Jazz and Heritage Festival. But we also have festivals named for the following: gumbo, seafood, strawberry, crawfish, black bear, French Quarter, satsuma, oyster, tomato, Greek. The list is almost endless. Go here to see more.

This was my first foray to the Alligator Festival. I had high expectations: Great food and music in great weather. Overall, the food was good, but some items disappointed. And their “arts market” was really disappointing–who sells Avon at a festival?  And how can they not have any of those gator-paw back scratchers??

Further disappointing, the zydeco music stage and food were separated from the rides. I am not in to riding carny rides, but from a festival-goer standpoint, it’d have been nicer to have the whole thing feel more integrated. I expected more of a food and music festival and it was more of a carny ride festival.

I probably won’t be returning in the future. Even though the Gator on a Stick was quite tasty. You could buy all manner of foodstuffs on a stick–alligator, chicken, shrimp, and even crawfish sausage. But no fried Pepsi on a stick. Moosh, let your peeps know they have an untapped market down here.

Nonetheless, we did enjoy the day. Go here to read all about our exploits.

I returned to LaPlace, LA today with Southern Mom and our chirren to buy us some meat. Not just any meat, mind you. Top quality andouille. And boudin. And hog’s head cheese.

Here’s the deal. We Louisianans are persnickety about our food. And it is not uncommon to drive for an hour for one ingredient for a dish. Frankly, it could be tantamount to blasphemy not to do so for some ingredients. Andouille is one such ingredient. Andouille is, simply, a cajun sausage; a slow-smoked pork sausage. There is one place across the river  that has respectable andouille. And that is already a 30 minute drive. Tack on another 15 minutes, and you find yourself in the Andouille Capital of the World (or so proclaimed former Governor Edwards).

There are two places in LaPlace that are famous (yes, famous–one is advertised as being used by top chef John Besh and the other was recently showcased on “Feasting on Asphalt with Alton Brown”) for selling their cajun meats. And oddly, they are within feet of each other.

We loaded up the ice chest and hit the, er, asphalt. We went first to Jacob’s.

Knowing I’d be going here today, I mentioned it to a few friends and family members. They all asked for some goodies. So I was buying for five. You walk in Jacob’s and are first surprised at how small it is in there. But you quickly overcome that with the delicious smoky smell of their fare. It is wonderful. I got three links of andouille and four servings of hog’s head cheese. Then I saw hot tamales and thought of CS and grabbed a bag of them, too. Here’s all of what you can order:

Southern Mom picked up some boudin. Wonder if she’ll offer any to her Beagle (aptly named Boudin).

Then we skipped over to Bailey’s.

The smoky smell wasn’t as strong (but that may be because I had gotten used to it at Jacob’s or because Bailey’s is substantially larger inside than Jacob’s). Here, I picked up four more links of andouille and one more hog’s head cheese. Here’s Bailey’s mascot, Sausage Man:

We overlooked that he reminded us a tad of South Park’s Mr. Hanky, the Christmas Poo (judge for yourself):

And by the end of the day, I had spent just around $50. And for that, I got all this:

and had a great time to boot! I sense gumbo in my near future. Stay tuned for a review of which andouille is better.

As an attorney in a not-so-small law firm, there are many opportunities to eat for free whilst on the job. Here’s a primer of how to save serious coin on meals.

Let’s start with breakfast. At my office, two attorneys bring breakfast once a week. One brings on Wednesdays, the other Fridays. Do you think it is a coincidence that two of my three days in the office are Wednesdays and Fridays? If so, think again.

Then, folks tend to bring left over cakes and other desserts they had at home that they’d rather not leave for themselves and their families to nosh on. These delectables usually arrive on Monday mornings (my third day in the office, and again not a coincidence).

And if it is carnival time (early January through Fat Tuesday), we have King Cakes in the office every Friday morning. Usually from Randazzo’s or Haydel’s. Never from a grocery store.

Then sometimes there will be some client meeting or whatnot that requires breakfast to be brought in. Extra danishes abound on those mornings.

Now let’s move to lunch. This is the real bonanza. If you don’t eat one free lunch a week at the firm’s expense, you just aren’t trying. First, there are department meetings. I am in two departments and they each meet once a month. That’s two free lunches a month. Sign up for other departments, that’s more free lunches. If you are a department head (I am not), that’s another free lunch once a month. Ditto for the management team and the marketing team–some attorneys are in so many of these that they could probably eat for free every day! Hell, just this week I attended a meeting I would otherwise have avoided simply because I had not packed a lunch and those four magic words were uttered: “lunch will be provided.”

Then there are lunches for the employees to discuss health insurance and the 401(k) plan and the like. These are usually about four times a year. Then there is the occasional Firm Pizza Day (and the annual Firm Turkey Day the Friday before Thanksgiving).

And often times you don’t even need to attend the meeting. If it is expected to have a large attendance, salads and pastas and other hot meals are ordered and served buffet-style. If you don’t mind eating at 2pm, you can snag the copious leftovers.

Did I mention that all of these free meals I’ve discussed so far are in the office? Free and delivered to your door. But if you are willing to step outside, then you can munch on like Pac Man. You can attend a lunch-time continuing legal education (CLE) program or attend a firm-sponsored table at a civic meeting. Or you could even take a client to lunch. And during the summer, grab a law clerk and head out.

If you manage to not get breakfast or lunch (and shame on you if you could not finagle either), fear not! You may still be able to snag dinner. Yes, there are CLEs that provide dinner. Or join an organization (that the firm will pay for) that meets over dinner. Then there is the once-a-year end-of-summer clerk dinner as well as the occasional firm dinner for just the attorneys. Sometimes it’s a client appreciation/development event that the firm sponsors and is more of a cocktail party affair, but you can still eat enough to skip dinner.

And in between all of these, there are snacks. The copier companies, court reporters, and other companies thanking us for or trying to get our business send the firm cookies and other afternoon treats. During the holidays, there are more treacle treats in our office than the law should allow–from satisfied clients to referral sources.

If you can catch any one of these meals, it really can carry you through the whole day. And that is good. Because if you otherwise do not have plans, you may find yourself spending $15 on a ham and cheese sandwich from a shop around the corner. It really is no wonder why I can’t lose those last 10 pounds of baby weight now that I am back at work!

Now that I am back at work, the things I really don’t like about working have come flooding back to me. With no further ado, here’s my Top Ten List of Things I Don’t Like About Working:

1. Having to Wake Up and Arrive at a Stated Time. Even though Sun is sleeping at least seven hours a night, I still don’t sleep well and am a bit of a night owl. So no matter when I go to sleep or how much sleep I get, I always hate getting up in the morning. Add to that the pressure of having to be in the office at a respectable time in the morning, and this waking up early thing is a real drag.
2. Wearing Suits. Now, I do like the garanimal quality of suits. I don’t have coffee until I am at the office. And not being a morning person, it is good that I can just match up my suit and I’m a-go. However, suits are expensive and far less comfortable than jeans.
3. Wearing Heels. With those suits come heels. My poor feet are killing me!! Too bad sandals look so bad with a suit.
4. Traffic. On maternity leave, I’d leave the house for an errand at around 11am and with no real time frame in which to get somewhere. Now that I am back in rush hour traffic, I hate it! People are so crabby in rush hour traffic (me included!). It sucks!
5. Paying to Park. While on leave, my parking costs were suspended. Now I am back to shelling out over $200 a month to park. It always sucked, but now I am only working three days a week. So by my math, I am paying $18 a day to park. Gulp. But I do pay extra for a reserved spot (I got tired of parking on different floors every day and “losing” my car only to spend 20 minutes every evening to find it. I was too proud to take one of those “You are parked on . . . ” Cards) and I do have in and out privileges and am protected from the elements. But I pay dearly.
6. Driving in Parking Garage. Our building’s garage is narrow and folks FLY up and down as though it were not two-way. It is frightening.
7. Crappy Office Coffee. It isn’t the $2.50 cafe au lait I’ve gotten myself spoiled on. ‘Nuf said.
8. Expensive Lunches. To not eat at my desk, it costs at least $12 to eat out. But really, it’s usually closer to $20. For a salad. Or a sandwich. Not gourmet. (How can it cost more to park than to eat??)
9. Stinky Bathroom. Though our office is just ours, we have a lot of women. And let’s just say it isn’t as nice in there as it is at my home.
10. Ruined Cuticles. With all the stress of waking up, dressing in suits and heels, driving in crazy traffic and the garage and the high cost of lunch and parking with no good coffee or a bathroom, my nerves get the better of me and I rip my cuticles to shreds as a result. It’s a vicious cycle.

Sun attended her first funeral today. I seem to attend a lot of funerals. And I have certainly been touched by many deaths this year (four, if you are keeping count). This funeral was particularly sad — it was the son of a friend of mine that committed suicide. He was 28 years old and left a five-month old baby boy.

The funeral was just out of the city (in LaPlace, LA), and I took the “scenic route” home–Airline Highway instead of the Interstate. After passing the site of Shell’s refinery that was belching filth into the sky (to quote “The Police”), I did pass the bucolic scene of a marshy area that had cows grazing in a field with egrets on their backs. Really. Egrets on the backs of grazing cows.

And as solemn songs of Bob Dylan and Daniel Lanois wafted in my ears, I took stock of my life. This is what going to a funeral does to me — it makes me take scenic routes and muse about the value of my own life. And today its value is quite high. Sun alone gives my life new value. But in addition to that, my work life is healthy, my marriage is solid, my love for knitting has been rekindled, and I started back with Yoga today.

I want for nothing. If only I could carry with me this high-valued feeling of my life all the time without having to go to someone’s funeral to trigger it, I’d have it all.

So, Pete and I were admiring Sun’s recent picture when it occurred to Pete that Sun’s hair, in addition to being muppet hair, looks like the old-time handlebar mustaches of the wild, wild west. Damned if I could disagree. So here’s what Pete thinks Sun would look like as “Wild West Sun”:

Still damned adorable to me!

My hubs dabbled in photography. It started with a trip to Europe. He needed a digital camera for the trip. And he researched the best deal for the money. He spent a lot of money on that camera. This was over five years ago. He came home from that trip and realized he had a talent. I encourage that talent. He hated his job “working for the man,” and so we worked to get him working as a full time photographer.

He bought stuff. Lots of stuff. Cameras galore–film, digital, antique, brand spanking new, cheap, expensive. And lens and lights and camera bags and those umbrella things to capture the light and light meters and photography books and magazines. And he attended conferences and got better. And he got gigs. He photographed weddings, children, pets, baptisms, high school seniors, parties.

Then we bought a business post-Katrina and he put the photography on the back burner to focus his energies on the business. And he’s happy with the business.

But we have a new baby, dammit, and what does any new mom want? PICTURES! I have thousands of pictures of my cat from when CS first began taking pictures. He has even promised to take a picture of Sun every day of his life but hasn’t. But yesterday! Yesterday! I got this:

There were other equally as good pictures. I spent all day at the office gazing at the pictures he took of Sun. Sun and her muppet hair. And when I got home from work, CS told me that she grabbed things for the first time–a toy, her burp cloth. And when I picked her up, she grabbed my necklace.

It is truly amazing how much she changes from one day to the next. I will insist that CS keep photographing her to capture it all.

Sunday afternoon, the hubs and I went to Borders for me to get a new book. I have now finished “The Good Earth” (thanks for the recommendation, Mamma Loves) and “The Namesake” and could not get excited about “Dr. Mary’s Monkey” (sorry, Former Secretary). While at Borders, I saw a display for a writer of knitting books. I thought at first that it was a patterns book, but sat down and flipped through it anyway. It is a book about the humor in knitting.

Now, not to overstate the point, I am a nerd. I read a lot, am a tax attorney, and love yoga and knitting. And married a computer geek. Even so, I never found all that much humor in knitting — what with the cursing when things go awry (and for me, that is all too often), the constant counting, and the reading of patterns. But, oh, was I wrong! Ms. McPhee is one hell of a writer and her muse just happens to be knitting. And it is sad that only knitters will enjoy her writing because she deserves a bigger audience. (On the other hand, McPhee is a best-selling author selling to the multitudes of knitters in the world).

Well, upon closer inspection of the rack that displayed her books, I noticed that she was coming to the store the next day for a signing. Once I read half of her first book (aptly titled “Yarn Harlot”–isn’t that great?!) Sunday night, I kept thinking of her signing throughout an otherwise rough Monday. So I decided to head back to Borders and check it out.

The hubs and I (along with Sun) arrived a wee bit late. Turns out McPhee was also giving a lecture. Well, within no time, I was laughing aloud and feeling the tension from the day wear away. I learned a lot (not about knitting but about how many knitters there are in the world and how smart we are and how much disposable money we have!). Sadly, I bolted out early when I heard Sun crying from the music department. I did not get my books signed.

Today, McPhee wrote about her recent visit to New Orleans. And it is spot on. I am not the least bit surprised that she was astute enough to capture our spirit in such a short period of time. And like Monday night, I learned from McPhee. This time it was about the “bottle tree.” I have never heard of this nor believe I’ve ever seen one. Too bad for me. I will now be on the look-out for one.

So although I failed to get McPhee’s signature, I got a lot from her lecture and her blog. And for that, I am grateful indeed. And inspired to finish my afghan.

As I am waiting for the doctor to come see me for my annual exam, I hear him outside the exam room. “Nola . . . recently had a baby . . . the ninth of June. . . is an attorney. . . .” What? Why is me being an attorney relevant? I think it is because I suspect that every doctor who hears that his patient is an attorney immediately thinks “attorneys sue!” to themselves as a defense mechanism.

The doc walks in alone and asks if I’d mind if a third year med student could do the exam. Sure, why not? How else are fledgling wanna-be doctors gonna learn?

We go through the Q & A part of the exam–do I smoke or drink? Any problems? Chit chat about my recent bout of mastitis. Then the doc exams me. Then he asks the student to do so. And then he asks her, “Is her uterus antiflex or retroverted or can you tell?” I’m all, “what the???” But then she begins the exam. My initial thought was, “Hey! He said my uterus not my tonsils!” Yipes.

Then she is done. She turns to my doc and says, “I’d guess [boy, those are some words that strike confidence from a doctor, huh?] retroverted.” And then my doc say, “No. It’s antiflex.” There is a bit of giggling (ok, I think that came from me–and it may have only been in my head) and then my doc goes on to explain the tell-tale signs of an antiflex uterus. Oh my. Well, this science class has been lovely and all, think I to myself, but can we wrap it up already??

I don’t know the difference between an antiflex and a retroverted uterus and whether mine being antiflex was good, bad or indifferent (maybe that was covered with the next patient). But I will admit that this whole med-student quiz tickled me but good. I enjoyed that she seemed to know no more about my internal anatomy than I did. Or maybe she was just nervous thinking I’d sue her if she got it wrong.

Dear Nola,

I hate to take this measure and write to you, but you have left me no choice. It was one year ago that you went to Colorado and discovered and fell in love with my yarns–that you decided to knit your most ambitious project to date. And yet here I sit, still unfinished. Oh, the humiliation. The left-over sock yarn teases mercilessly. Didn’t you finish those socks (two!) in under a month?

And I have seen the new books — the designs for baby items. Please don’t make a liar out of me too. I swore to the sock yarn that you’d NEVER start a new project before completing me.

Was it my fault that you forgot the pattern and over-knitted causing you to do “catch up” decreases on the following row for over a foot of me? Is it me that asked you to rip that mistake out and re-knit me? No; I would have accepted such mistake just to be complete. Oh, to be whole!

I know it bothers you that you decided you needed more yarn and now I have two different dye lots in me. I am no longer pure. I weep over my imperfection. I see it in your eyes — the resentment. But it wasn’t my fault! You decided I needed to be longer and wider than the standard afghan — I would have been happy to be normal. But I know you are now ashamed of me. I remember the days you’d take me out and work on me in public. How long has it been since you’ve done that? Oh, too long! You say it is because I am too large now to fit easily in a bag. But I fear it is your shame. You wanted me as an heirloom. But who will want me now?

Dear Nola, please don’t let me lag and become your “never to be completed” project. How would I ever get over it? I see you watching TV, doing nothing more. I know you are tired from Sun. (Did I mention how much I love her, too?) But I miss our time in front of the TV together — that was our time!

Aren’t I more than half-way finished? Don’t you want to finish in under a year? Before winter kicks in? And start on a sweater for Sun? And booties? Don’t we both deserve for you to finish me?

longingly and lovingly,

Your Afghan