My pal, Leendaluu, mentioned to me that she planned on making gumbo for the Superbowl.  This was a week and a half ago.  Clearly she already believed the Saints would be in the game.  And so did I.  And her being in upstate New York makes it hard for her to buy filé powder, poor dear.  So I offered to send her some.  Well, not wanting to send her plain, ol’ store bought stuff, I asked my foodie friend, René, if he could help.  He emailed the coordinator of the Tuesday’s Farmer’s Market.  She said that the guy who sells the powder is usually not there regularly except during the holidays, but that if it was a “filé emergency,” she may have had a jar she could get her hands on.

Now, not wanting to overstate the case here, I asked René his opinion on what, exactly, would constitute a “filé emergency.”  In the end, all three of us agreed this was a true filé emergency and if there as a jar available, it was mine.

But then last Tuesday, I got an email informing me that Lionel, the filé guy, would in fact be at the market and I could buy it straight from him.  So Sun and I were given the treat of seeing the sassafras leaves pulverized before our very eyes in the biggest, smoothest wooden mortar and pestle that can possibly exist.  It was a slice of heaven.

Hmm, slice of heaven.  KING CAKE.  After having procured the filé powder, I knew I had to send Leendaluu a Saints Game Care Package.  So Sun and I then headed to Haydel’s to get a king cake.  Though Leendaluu can assuredly bake one that’s delicious, it’s always nice to have one delivered to your door.  And what’s king cake without chickory in your coffee? So next we headed to CC’s.  Now, to tie it all to the SAINTS, I added to her package the now infamous (at least on Twitter) Fleurty Girl’s #WHODAT t-shirt.

Then came the hard part.  I had to keep my big mouth SHUT til she got it! TWO WHOLE DAYS!!  But got it she did!  And she wore her shirt Sunday and, well, y’all know the rest of the story.

Looking back, there could never have been a more dire filé emergency. I hope she enjoys her gumbo as she watches the Saints win the Superbowl. I know my running around town getting all her items was the best day I’d had in a long while.

I haven’t been feeling the urge to write lately.  I write more when I am down, and as things have been rather peachy over here, there’s not much inspiration for writing.

I’ve been appreciating my weekdays with Sun a whole lot more lately.  I think it’s that she’s getting to an age, finally, where she’s really interactive.  And funny.  No, I won’t bore you with funny tales that won’t seem funny to anyone but me and CS.  But she’s certainly grown on me more these past few weeks.  Love her to pieces, I do.

I’ve got a new hobby lately.  Facebook.  I know. Sad. And worse? I am there for dumb Farmville!  I dream of living on that dang farm. It’s crazy! I am city girl through and through.  But what’s more addictive is watching the thread of a distant friend as she and another distant friend try to get each other’s head to explode.

She is a new mom.  And a doula.  She is an advocate to breast feeding, not getting vaccines, and not having others touch her baby (even at 8 months).  She is also now making her own yogurt and other delectable treats.  And she writes about these topics daily.

He is a guy. And a father.  But mainly a guy.  And so when she posts pictures on Ina May emerging from a homemade vagina, his head begins to spin.  And when she posts about a baby that died in flight because the airline “forced” the mother to cover her baby and she fell asleep, but the story she links to doesn’t mention the mother being forced at all, his spinning head begins to release steam.

He attempts to point out to her that maybe she needs to be more objective in her analysis.  But his approach does nothing but offend her.  And the more he pushes, the more she stands her ground, even as her head begins to spin and steam.

So now, each day, I can’t wait to see what she’ll post to get his goat which will inevitable lead to his responding.  And then hers, and his again, etc.

And I just sit back and enjoy.  And then I go to my farm and milk cows.

My slow and steady life is going just fine.

We’ve dropped my mother-in-law at the airport after a three-week visit. What a crazy three weeks it’s been. And now I am home and Sun is napping and my small house feels large, cold and empty. And that mirrors my heart. Mia is from New Orleans and her love of the city rivals mine. She, like her son, is someone I can sit and NOT talk to for hours. We just enjoy being together more than we enjoy being apart.

When I was dating, the mothers of the boyfriends I’d met were all my mother’s age or older. And I always impressed them as a girl you’d keep around. And I always felt a pseudo mother-daughter relationship with these women.

When CS and I were dating, I refused to meet his parents until I had a commitment from CS. His parents live in Ohio and we were told we’d have his sister’s room to ourselves if we visited. There was NO WAY this old fashioned girl was going to share a room, A BED, in her boyfriend’s MOTHER’S house. And when I did eventually meet his youthful parents (I am the youngest of 5, my mother had me when she was 29; CS is the oldest, his mother had him when she was 20), I didn’t envision them as parental figures. Instead, we became friends. And this visit firmed up that fast friendship that began some eight years ago.

Mia wants to return to New Orleans. Her husband is agreeable to a move if he can find work here. I just keep hoping it will somehow happen. It seems impossible. That it isn’t meant to be that Sun will have her youthful grandmother near her the way I had mine as a child.

I know I’ll feel better day by day as the post-visit blues pass. But dammit. I miss her to pieces.

Sun cried in the middle of the night. We called her to our bed and all three of us went back to sleep. A few hours later, I awoke with Sun in my arms. There was peace. And I thought, “what was that bothering me yesterday?” Then I remembered. And the obligation of guilt kicked in.

Morning rolled in, we all rose a bit later than usual. I returned to the hospital to have more blood drawn then drove in to work for the first time since. I knew I had to get two sets of documents drafted and have lunch with a peer that I’d postponed on Tuesday. I couldn’t face the challenges of the day. Or so I thought. I finagled in my mind how to get things done in the office without my presence. The first step was postponing lunch. Again.

I turned on my computer and the email was already in my in-box: “I’m still on for lunch. Are you?” And I couldn’t bring myself to be weak and say no. Again. So I said yes. And then I got busy drafting my documents.

And work was my saving grace. The time zipped along. It was lunch time already. I met my new friend. We exchanged the married with kids info. He asked, “Just one? Are you going to have another?” And the pang to be honest beat in my chest — tell this stranger about your week, thought I. “Nope, just the one is enough for us,” I answered, not revealing too much to this unsuspecting stranger. “I think that’s great. My mother was an only child. And all the only children I knew did quite well. I am not sure why folks make such a big deal about only children.”

And just like that. My train was put back on its tracks. I felt normal. I wasn’t thinking about what had happened. I was sipping a glass of wine and enjoying the talk of family, law, nice weather in NOLA.

This “it” affected me, is affecting me, in ways I never could have imagined it would. But time is doing its job. And my train is on the track again, chugging along, even if slowly.

Things DO work out. Heh. What a wild ride this week has been.

Eleven hours, two smelly planes, two airports, one crazy van ride and many delays, we have arrived at our hotel in Elmira, NY.  I still need to look at a map to see where the hell I am–close to Canada?  My geography is so lacking.  Okay, I looked at a map just now. I don’t think I AM upstate. Doh! Rather, south New York near Pennsylvania.

Anyway, this is my Great Adventure!  CS, Sun and I are here as a result of this blog.  No, Ford isn’t paying me to come to NY to give a good review of its new Taurus.  Rather, I met Leendaluu through us leaving comments on each others’ blog.  And twittering.  Then one thing led to another, and she extended a very real invitation to come for a visit.  And we gave a very real YES! reply.

We’re staying in a hotel tonight to take the edge off of a rough day of traveling. But tomorrow morning, our families are meeting and spending two days and nights together.  And you know what? It’s going to be awesome!  I think what will be the weirdest of all is making our real voices match those we’ve got in our heads for each other.  She’s a bad-ass-take-no-prisoners blogger (and person).  But her telephone voice?  Sweet and NOT like she’s about to burn a bra.  And her first voicemail to me was that I didn’t sound like I was from New Orleans, or the South, but rather from New York.  I’ll have to educate her on the reasons NOLA yats sound like Brooklynites.

So, I am now off to finish my hotel beer and fall asleep.  Because I don’t want to miss a moment of the next 2+ days.

Comic Con is in full swing in San Diego and we are in the middle of it!  This year seems more crowded, with my favorite Exhibitor not here I left my laptop at home and am on CS’s, so pics are forthcoming.

Tonight, though, was decadent. We went to a mod restaurant .  One that’s sleek and expensive and has not one highchair in the joint.  We left Sun at the hotel with my sister and took a cab to join NOLA friends that also attend The Con every year.  We went to Suite & Tender and enjoyed dishes like Kobe beef carpaccio, scallops coupled with pork belly, crab cakes, seared tuna, sea bass, spare ribs and lobster.  And we had desserts!  And they even gave each of us a small pack of cookies for the road.

The restaurant was dimly light.  I was given a tray of steak knives to choose from; I selected NOT the switchblade one, nor the one designed by the folks that make Porsche, nor even the one designed after a samurai sword; no, I selected the one with rose petals in the handle.  Why? Because I wasn’t a mom tonight.  I was a woman.  In a dress.  And heels!  With rose petals in my flatware.  In a restaurant that has people that are so cool and hip they use new fancier words than “cool” and “hip.”

And the thought bubble over my head now reads, “Thank you, San Diego, for always being such a lovely host.  Thank you.”

Greta of Kiss My Gumbo extended an invitation to me and three other bloggers (and Chris Shultz extended the same invitation to several other NOLA bloggers) from folks at Ford who are part of the 100 Cities Tour promoting the 2010 Taurus.

It was really great to meet other NOLA bloggers I hadn’t yet met and to catch up with those I now consider my friends.  We had dinner at Mandina’s and then had the opportunity to go for a test drive in the 2010 Taurus, one of only two currently in the entire country.  Cool, eh?

Greta failed to let the nice Ford people know that I buy a new car every 15 years and am still four years out of even hoping to think about a new car.  Nonetheless, I can honestly say that if I find that I do need a new car soon (over even in four years), the new Taurus is in the running.

Aside from the cool keyless entry, the Sirius radio, the sync up capabilities with your cell phone, and the, like, seven funky colors you can select for the inside floor lights (I liked the purple), what I liked best was that it felt solid and controlled.  It handled very smoothly, even on NOLA’s notoriously bumpy streets.  It was also an uber quiet ride.  And then there’s its size.  I HATE large cars and do not think that just because I have a child I need a minivan or an SUV.  Nope, this sedan had more than enough room for my entire family and the stuff we’d take if we’d ever evacuate for a hurricane again, which we won’t but which is now a legitimate consideration New Orleanians have when shopping for a car.

And did I mention the radar on the front end that automatically slows down the cruise control when you approach a slower car and then resumes your speed once that car is no longer in front of you?  Cuz that was just cool and new and pretty awesome.

I wasn’t paid to review this car (other than my lovely meal with great folks).  And I am not running out to buy a Taurus once they are filled on the car lots here.  But for the next four years, at least I now have a vision of what to dream about.

Friday night was another wedding for us, as was Saturday.  These two both had a bittersweet element to them.  Each had a family member that died too soon.

Friday’s wedding left me somber and sad.  The death of the bride’s brother some ten years ago still stings us all from time to time.  I couldn’t help but have the ghost of his memory follow me home Friday night and permeate my thoughts.

Then Saturday, the groom’s sole groomsman was not his brother, as it would have been were he still alive.  The  absence of the groom’s twin was poignant.  But unlike the sad memories recalled the night before, the memory of this deceased sibling felt more like a sprite dancing and smiling with the bridal party.

And again, there was that restocking of my own marriage that weddings have the effect of on me.  And again I’ve come to the conclusion that my husband and I just down right have it good.

It’s Sunday now.  And we have a baptism to attend this morning.  And then we need to go out and buy Sun a lunch kit.  She starts daycare on Tuesday.  Damn these long days and short months!

And as I sit in the quiet, as Sun “reads” to herself before falling to sleep for a nap and my husband showers, I have my own ghosts and sprites sitting with me in the room.  Some whisper regret, others undying support.  They may be with me ’til I die, but I AM determined to live Happily Ever After.

It’s wedding season here in New Orleans.  We’ve been invited to not less than six weddings in six weeks.   Some are the traditional New Orleans’ wedding: Cathedral ceremony and country club reception.  And some are less traditional: all-in-one wedding/reception at a room in a local restaurant.  And several in between: home ceremonies, French Quarter brunches, decadent escapades.

Tonight was the least frilly of them all.  After all, it’s on a Wednesday night. Now, I am not a weepy gal.  I didn’t get teary-eyed when I got engaged, when I learned I was pregnant, or at any wedding I have ever attended.

Until tonight.  Ok, I am lying.  I didn’t cry.  But I did get teary-eyed.  And that takes a lot.  So what did it?

Well, the bride was a lot like me.  She swore off marriage and kids just as I did.  Until it was undeniable.  And that raw emotion showed in her eyes.  And her unsteady hands that had to be held by her beloved during the ceremony.

And the minister was superb.  He called on us in attendance not only as witnesses to the marriage but as advocates of their marriage.  So that when one of the spouses called on us in time, as they will as our friends, facing a rough spot, that it was our duty, OUR DUTY, to vie for the marriage.  To rise against their walking out on the marriage as so many do nowadays.

Being married now, I always listen more intently at the exchanging of the vows.

Do you take this person, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and health, and to be true to in good times and in bad, and to seek no other.

Because when you are taking those vows, health and wealth and infidelity are far from your mind.

They should say, “Not if, but when, this person is sick, and you are too, and money is tight, because that day will come, and when it comes, do you still promise to forsake all others and be true to just this one?”

CS has engraved in French on his wedding band, “You and no other” for the days, and I am certain they exist, that he doubts our survival.  It’s there as a reminder to both of us.  We exchanged vows six years ago and I still feel complete devotion and commitment to those vows.

I do.  I will.

Always.

I am a “tight” knitter: my stitches are tight.  I have to remind myself to ease up on the tension of the yarn; relax my fingers and my mind.  I knit a cap for CS years ago, and it was a big hit.  It was a straight knit 4, purl 4 pattern, your typical skull cap.  Several friends wanted me to knit one for them.  I was happy to oblige.

The day I was given the (erroneous) news that I had a severe infertility problem, I boarded a plane for a weekend in New York.  That flight was delayed and we sat on the tarmac for what seemed like hours.  I was working on one of those skull caps for a friend.  My gauge was off.  Way off.  I knit several inches worth then ripped back to nothing at least four times sitting on that miserable tarmac.  All the while, my ears were plugged into my iPod listening to Bob Dylan.  And tears ran down my cheeks.  I couldn’t bother with what the 50-something business man thought sitting next to me of the mess I was.  What could I say to him to excuse my bizarre behavior?  No eye contact was the best bet.

After a few days, months, I would try that cap again and again.  My gauge was never right.  I’d check my gauge before starting, a task I loathe, and still seemed off.  I ripped out this cap another four or so times.

The yarn I had selected for my friend began to show signs of my struggle.  It was fraying, cracking, and in time, breaking.  After a year, I threw the yarn away and decided CS could knit the cap for our friend.  (He’d learned to knit Sun a blanket).

More years have passed and CS still has not knit that cap.  I am now picking that project up again.  I have a new ball of yarn.  Different colors even.

And yet.

My gauge is off again.  The size 8 needles I used so easily the first time are way too big.  Even 7s won’t do the trick.  I will be testing 6s this evening.  And as I knit 4, purl 4, I am reminded of that damn day in the plane.  And the sting of disappointment I’ve endured with this cap.

I am realizing I should have knit this cap years ago.  So now I am determined.  I will knit this cap.  I will exorcise this demon.  I will release that tension.  Once and for all.