NOLA Notes

CS and I, with Sun in tow, returned for the third time (do recall that Sun is 3-1/2 years old) for the Open House of the school Sun is likely to attend this Fall.  We had previously decided this school was “it”; it had the right feel; lots of sunshine and awards of excellence; it is on the way to both my office and CS’s shop; it will likely have some of the kids Sun is currently in school with also attend.

Driving over, I started to get that sick pit-in-the-stomach feeling over whether this was really, REALLY, REALLY the best school we can offer Sun.  It isn’t the most expensive; the most exclusive; or other such things to make it the MOST BEST.

We’ve been talking to Sun about how this will be her new school soon.  We’ve done this in an attempt to ease the transition this will be.  We’ve taken her to events here to let her see the school often so that it won’t be new and unknown when the time comes to switch.

All that doubt I had about this not being the perfect school bubbled up as we sat in the gym with terrible acoustics listening to the school’s band play off tune.  So when Sun announced she needed to potty, I was happy to escape all that evaporating air.

As we walked down the hallway of the pre-4 and kindergarten classes, with the oh-so-familiar art of snowflakes made out of palm impressions and snowmen made of cotton balls, Sun asked, “Mom, is this my new school?”  “It will be,” I responded.  Sun looked back at that hallway, pleased, and asked, “Where are all my new friends?”

Her question stopped me in my tracks.  I got down on my knees, looked Sun into her most trusting, open-minded eyes, and hugged her.  “They’ll be here when you start, honey,” I managed to squeak out as I held back tears.

Because, like parents, schools are not perfect.  The idea of a perfect school is a myth that serves only to foil parents’ efforts by making them feel they aren’t doing the best they can for their children unless they find the scholastic atmosphere of top academics, racial composition, character-building, friend-making, much-homework-but-not-too-much, feed-to-a-perfect-high-school-and-in-turn-college.

School is but one component that will contribute to my child being an amazing, successful, well adjusted adult.  And all of the few schools we’d whittled it down to will serve her well.  And if this school turns out not to be a perfect fit, we have the freedom to move her later.

I don’t recall ever having the confidence, lack of fear of the unknown that Sun has about starting this new school.  She sees this new experience as one filled with new friends and joy.  And if Sun gets some of those other elements that my husband and I found so important in selecting this school, well, then our homework will have paid off.

There was a reporting on Twitter that Cochon Butcher had its version of mini kingcakes too.  Now, I LOVE the Butcher–their sandwiches, meats and even praline bacon.  But cake?  Sans meat?  How could they compete in the mini kingcake war?

For starters, they offer four flavors, cinnamon, praline, strawberries and cream, and chocolate.

These cakes are not as “mini” as the other contendors, nor as cheap.  But they have every right to be in this fight.

I tasted all but the chocolate.  The appearance, texture and flavor of the three I tried were spot on.  The certainly taste the most like their regular-sized counterparts.  What makes these cakes shine is that they are perfectly flaky and perfectly moist.

Out of the three, my favorite was the praline one.  I am a real traditionalist when it comes to flavoring my kingcakes, so for me to like the cinnamon but prefer the praline one, that is saying a lot for the praline cake.

My one critique of the Butcher’s kingcakes, and it is my general criticism of kingcakes overall, is that they are too sweet.  That white icing coupled with the granulated sugar–there is an actual crunch of sugar as you bite down–causes my teeth to hurt after just a few bites.

So, where do the Butcher’s kingcakes fall in the Mini Kingcake Wars with Hubigs and La Dolce Nola?  At the top.  These cakes, in a blind test, taste the most like their regular counterparts.  In fact, these are better than many kingcakes being offered in traditional bakeries all over the city.

Get downtown for this one.  You won’t regret it.

UPDATE: I’ve now tasted Cochon’s chocolate mini kingcake too.  I still prefer the praline one best.   The chocolate is not a very sweet chocolate, and I like that about it.  But the overwhelming taste is still cinammon.  I don’t think they need to ramp up the chocolate flavor but rather tone down the cinammon to let the chocolate be more of the star.

Twitter has been abuzz about the latest NOLA craze: the mini kingcake.  Genius, I know, right?!?

First was Hubig’s to hit the scene last week.  They admitted the first batch had “sliding icing” issues and needed clear packaging.   So as they were revamping, La Dolce Nola hit the twittertube with the news of their mini kingcake too.  I had to be on Metairie Road yesterday and couldn’t resist stopping in at La Dolce Nola and trying one of their cakes.  Then I saw Hubig’s ones at Rouses today.  I have now eaten both.

The results?

1.  Appearance.  Both are circular, following the tradition of their regular-sized counterparts.  Both are LESS ICED than the regular ones, and this is a good thing as far as I am concerned.  La Dolce Nola has none of the white icing–just a thin sugar coating covered with lots of the tri-colored granulated sugar.  Hubig’s has the white icing with the tri-colored sprinkles on top.  By appearance alone, La Dolce Nola wins.

Hubig’s mini kingcake

2.  Texture.  Both are CAKES.  These are not donuts or pies or bagels or other bakery items.  They are cakes.  La Dolce Nola’s is more flaky where Hubig’s is more dense and chewy.  In this department, Hubig’s felt more like the real deal.  But let’s get to it, shall we.  Which tasted better?

La Dolce Nola’s mini kingcake

3. Flavor.  Both were tasty, and I’d eat both again.  Hubig’s has a touch of cinnamon that is lacking in La Dolce Nola’s; this doesn’t make or break either.  Hubig’s chewiness coupled with its cinnamon flavor gives it a slight bagel-esque vibe.  But it isn’t SO chewy and SO cinnaomony to make think you are really eating a bagel.  La Dolce Nola’s has a less sweet taste–a welcome element when most kingcakes are so sweet they make my teeth hurt.  But what does the most damage to La Dolce Nola’s is that theirs is a touch dry.  Not so dry as to make me never eat one again.  But dry enough to make me feel I need coffee with it to fully enjoy it.

So, taking all elements into account, if I had both in front of me, I’d pick HUBIG’S as the winner!  In this case, runner up is quite good company!

Now for the warning:  These fellas are small.  Think jumbo donut.  They cost under $2.  You will so easily be tempted to buy these darn things that it might behoove you instead to just go buy a regular size one and admit you will eat it all and be done with it than do the slow death of denying you will eat that much kingcake this carnival season and in the end eat MORE than if you’d have done the sudden death of a regular one all at once.

But enough of what I think.  Get out and try both yourself and come back and tell me which you like better.  If you learn of others, leave me a comment so we can all get in on the fun.

Whatever your preference, vive la kingcake!  Thank you both, Hubig’s and La Dolce Nola, for giving NOLA a whole new way to love and enjoy the beloved kingcake!

I am not an advocate of gun rights.  That makes me sound very un-American these days.  This Salon article surveys the rise of the power of the lobby that is the NRA and the backing down of Democrats to push for tighter regulation of guns.  The most shocking statement in the article is that “a record-low 44 percent of Americans in an October Gallup poll said they favor stricter gun control. That’s down from 78 percent in 1990.”

I promised myself I wouldn’t write a post about gun control in response to the Giffords shooting.  But since our anti-gun politicians have deemed this issue one they can win no votes over and have thus gone quiet, we citizens who feel that gun control in America is out of hand must speak out.

Since I am writing this post when I promised I wouldn’t, I will at least avoid arguing my position as to how I, personally, interpret the mere twenty-seven words of the Second Amendment, read in its entirety as follows:

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

I won’t make arguments as to the politics of guns because for me gun control is not a political issue.  It’s a personal one, and one of ethics.

For example, it is not a political issue whether hunters use a shotgun to kill deer.  I personally can’t eat a turkey I’ve looked in the eye while he was living.  The thought of killing him to eat is sickening to me.  And the further removed notion of killing him for sport is beyond my comprehension.  But that is me personally.

I live in Louisiana, the Sportsman’s Paradise.  I fish and crab.  And thus kill those animals and eat them.  And I have fun in the sport of it.  How is that different from someone hunting deer?  Other than that the hunter needs a gun and me a net, there is no difference.  And I would be a hypocrite to say that guns for the use of hunting is immoral, unethical or illegal, let alone unconstitutional.

Hunting aside, this issue of guns in America escapes me.  I *get* that people feel safer when they have one in their night stand or on their hip.  I don’t agree that I, personally, would feel safer with a gun but I can appreciate that others do.

Rene over at Blackened Out asked a valid question that I ask you: When have you, or someone you personally know, used a gun to save a life?  The question is NOT when did you feel having a gun on your person or in your home to protect against a hypothetical person who may have intended to do you harm prevented such harm.  The question is when IN FACT has the presence of a gun come into play and been used to save your life or the life of someone you know?

Think about it.

Really hard.

Rene, and now me too, know not one person, or one person who knows one person, that has used a gun to save a life.  Not one.

Now I ask you this: When have you, or someone you know, been harmed by a gun?  I don’t mean stories that have made the news (and oh, there are plenty); I mean people you know in your life.  I can immediately think of my mother-in-law’s story of being help up at gunpoint; the friend that committed suicide with a gun; and the friend’s friend that was shot in the leg at a parade.

So my hard question is: when we know that guns harm countless more people than they protect, why are Americans wanting guns in their world?  What good can a semi-automatic really do for you?  An illusion to being safe by having a gun on or about you does not mean you are, in fact, safer.  Having a gun may only make you FEEL safer.

And if you simply MUST own a gun to preserve your sense of safety, I venture to say that if that thief enters your house intent on doing you harm, the ca-chunk sound of a shotgun being cocked will do much to deter him.  And if that doesn’t stop the hypothetical perp in your home, the broad spray of a shotgun makes it such that you don’t need really good aim to stop him in his tracks.  Nor a scope; nor magazines of 18 rounds.  So if you must have a gun, why must that gun be one that requires target practice?  Why one that could take out 19 people in a matter of seconds?  One that is no good for hunting and seems to have as its sole purpose the shooting dead of as many people as possible as quickly as possible?  What sort of attack is it for which you are really preparing?

To me, there is no question.

My post yesterday expressed a lot of anger I have over what I have perceived as the culmination of an atmosphere that has been becoming increasingly charged in large part by the tea party and their much-touted gun rights position.

It was pointed out to me on Twitter that this vitriol we today are hearing so much about is heaped on both sides of the aisle.  I have given yesterday’s events a lot of thought.  And am writing this post in an effort to practice what one preaches–to take my own advice.

Based on what I recall in the news and various outlets, the outrageous and egregious political hate-mongering has been from the tea party.  But I concede that I avoid watching most all news.  And consequently there could very well be Pelosi-types that are making just as charging comments against her Right opponents as I can recall being slung from the Right.  Rather than spend my day googling or having comments left by others that can quickly point to the clips of just such Leftist venomous words and deeds, I concede that, in fact, such acidly bitter words have been slung from the Left.

Whenever I am faced with reconciling a truly horrific, violent act (9/11, the Oklahoma shootings, etc.), my immediate reaction is to seek to squarely place blame to those responsible–either legally or ethically.  That was yesterday’s post.

But soon after these devastating, inhumane acts, my feelings turn to what it would take to turn this crazy world around and stop seeing violence as an acceptable answer.  And such queries always lead back to myself: What can I do to reduce the violence in this world?  Because, you see, I cannot stop the Loughners or the McVeighs, the Taliban or irresponsible vitriolic American politicians.  All I can do is look within to see if somehow I played a hand in this atmosphere as well.

And an honest answer to myself would be that, sadly, I did.

I have a hand in further charging this vitriolic atmosphere when I think, and worse, SAY that any one ideology is the problem; when I disagree with the political climate but do nothing more than squawk about it rather than get more involved and take action; when I do nothing beforehand to prevent what I am oh-so-quick to I harp I-told-you-so about; when I am naive enough to think that the bitter lies are on just one side of the aisle.

Words have consequences.  And so does inaction.  And even thoughts of violence have consequences.  In these cold, hard days of being an American, it is time each one of us looks first to ourselves to see if our hands are just a touch as sullied as we cite our opponent’s are.  And work first to cleanse our own.  Only by cleaning one’s own hands, hearts and souls can the process begin to cleanse the nation.

It starts with me.  And you.  Can we walk together, hand-in-hand to a better tomorrow?  Or will we chose to continue to see our fellow Americans whose ideas of a better America being different from our own as the enemy?  This choice is before us, clanging louder than I’ve heard it clang in my lifetime.  May we Americans heed the call and rise up together and not tear each other asunder in the name of politics.

Yesterday, I learned Tulane posted on its listserv that is accessibly by all Tulane employees and students that an employee’s laptop had been stolen over the holidays, and that the computer had on it all, ALL, employee confidential information–name, social security numbers, salary, date of birth, date of hire–for all 2010 employees.  And Tulane’s response is to pay for each employee an identity theft protection for a year. No mention of the employee being fired.  Or why he had this laptop chuck-full of confidential information not on his person but in his car left unattended.

My response? Total irresponsibility.

WHY was this confidential information on a laptop and not a secure server?  How was this laptop allowed to leave the campus?  What training did the employee have about leaving this computer in his car?  As an attorney, I NEVER leave a file in my car. NEVER.  I take work home and stop to eat before I get home? My briefcase comes in with me.  Inconvenient but SAFE.  Why?  Because my clients have entrusted me with confidence in handling their files.  It would be irresponsible to toss it in the back seat and assume it will be safe.

The shooting of Congresswoman Giffords strikes the same chord with me.  At this moment, we don’t know the motive of the shooter.  It may end up being some jealous ex-boyfriend.  But it doesn’t change the climate of irresponsibility that is atwitter over gun-rights-folks ala Sarah Palin right now.

It is irresponsible to advocate for gun rights, to tout, “Don’t retreat, reload;” to promote guns being carried at political gatherings and then to go silent when a politician is shot up at just such a political gathering.  It is irresponsible to suggest that what is best offered in such a case is prayer.  I am watching Fox to understand the Right’s position now.  That is where this talk of prayer was addressed.  Otherwise, the Right sees this a just another tragedy.

The focus of Fox’s Right guests seems to be on whether higher safety measures will be put in place in the future.  How very non-self-reflective of them.

I am told I am jumping to conclusions not even knowing if a gun-toting anti-Democrat was the shooter or what his motive was.  I am writing this now before that motive  is known to make the point that even NOT knowing his motive, that the silence coming from the Sarah Palins is deafening.  That all they can offer are their prayers and not an understanding that maybe, maybe, the position they advocate, the venom with which they spew it, the don’t-retreat-reload-stance is irresponsible.

And what if it turns out that a gun-toting anti-Democrat was the shooter?  That he took too literally the target Sarah Palin had of Giffords, and others, on her website?  I’ll bet the farm they will deem the shooter a lone wolf crazy person that didn’t represent the party’s true tenets and oh-what-a-shame.  And the question of what is one’s responsibility when advocating for the support of dangerous weapons in dangerous settings will not even cross their small minds.

My husband was ever so excited to show me the latest app for his new-fangled smart phone: Swype.  The idea is that you no longer TYPE on that ever so annoying virtual keyboard.  No, now we humans don’t even need the dexterity of our fingers to send a text, an email or even to tweet.  Now all one needs to do is move his finger around on the keyboard and HIT all of the keys in the general order they appear in the word.  No more of that annoying LIFTING OF A FINGER.

Folks, this takes the virtual cake.  I’ve always had a healthy appreciation for the smart phone being smarter than me.  But NOW I have to be insulted by the smart phone thinking itself SO SMART that it knows we humans are the epitome of lazy?  Well, here’s where I take a stand.  I WILL NOT succumb to this non-typing swyping.  I WILL NOT take the first step to the bidding adieu of the QWERTY keyboard.  I mean, QWERTY was invented to increase the typing speed of humans.  Now that we are no longer typing, that pesky QWERTY nonsense will be as obsolete as Liquid Paper in no time.  There is order in this Universe and this Swype app is a small step down a slippery slope to undo all that order.

Well, I for one want my daughter to learn to type and not just SLIDE HER FINGER AROUND ON A KEYBOARD LIKE IT’S A FANCY MAGNADOODLE.  Bad enough she’ll really never appreciate what “phones with cords” are all about.  But now I have to suffer the indignity of a keyboard used NOT TO TYPE?

I won’t be a part of it. No way. No how.

Good day.

I could give up liquor or cussing like a sailor.  Or I could start a diet.  Or swear off picking my cuticles on a bad day.  Or commit to reading only highbrow Russian literature written over one hundred years ago.  Or throw away my television.  Or go entirely green.

The options are endless.  What to chose? What to chose?

I am resolving to living healthier.  I need my mind sharp and my body functioning to the fullest abilities when I am 80 and 90.  We in my family live long.  We don’t always stay sharp though.

I’ve never much cared about being uber healthy or ultra thin.  I’ve always been in good health, and I suppose I am now.  But I can *feel* things are shifting.  Weight doesn’t fall off as easily as it used it when I put my mind to it.  My bum wrist is starting to show those early signs of arthritis.  My spine is more comfortable slouched than straight up.  And these now minor changes are as big to me as if they were a neon sign: Your body is getting older and not doing your biding as quickly as it always has.

So I am upping the ante.  If the same-old/same-old isn’t enough to get me feeling the best I know my body can feel, then it’s time to recommit to yoga.  And eat more vegetables.  And jumping rope too.

Living in New Orleans results in Food being a word that starts with a Capital Letter.  We LOVE to eat; to cook; to celebrate with Food and by Food.  I am NOT giving up Food.  I’d just as well as move to Nebraska where a good meal is simply a steak.  But in order to get the full benefit of life in New Orleans while at the same time keeping my mind and body fully functioning for another 41 years, I am resolved to getting off my sofa more and onto my yoga mat.

Namaste and Happy New Year.

Well, this getting hacked has made me want to whitewash my blog and start fresh.  So the Manifest Theme from WordPress is scratching my itch.  I am certain that soon the oh, so white everywhere will start to hurt my eyes and I’ll want to jazz it up.  But for now, this look seems right.  To write, to wit.

My muscles are getting softer and my bones more brittle.  Being the youngest gives me the ability to look ahead 2, 5, 6, 7 years and see what predicaments into which my body will be getting me.

My mother started to “shrink” about 15 years ago.  We laughed that we were all getting taller than her even though we were no longer growing.  Then arthritis, bursitis and bone spurs started to demand her attention.  Now she’s just undergone shoulder replacement surgery.  Overall, my family is healthy.  But there are certain, common, ailments that we are slightly more at risk over–like osteoporosis.

I feel like I am falling apart–that I will follow the slow road to decline if I don’t TAKE ACTION NOW.  I simply MUST exercise more, eat more green leafy vegetables, practice more yoga, walk my dog more often.  Because unlike my mother who has already lived to raise her children and see grandchildren and great-grandchildren, I must stay together just to be sure Sun gets through school with me still in tack.

I was not ready to be a mother until I became one, at the age of 38.  I have no real regret over not getting there sooner–it just wasn’t the hand I was dealt.  But being an older mother does bring with it a bitter-sweetness: I, personally, am a better mother BECAUSE I am an older mother–I am more mellow, wiser, more patient–but BECAUSE I am an older mother, I have great trepidation about Sun’s future without her parents.

In 40 years, when Sun in my age, she will have, at best, two elderly parents and no siblings.  When we die, she’ll be an orphan.  Not to be melodramatic, but coming from a large family, it greatly pains me to think of my darling Sun alone.  All alone.  When these thoughts creep in, and they do often enough, I push them away by having faith.  Faith that Sun will make the right kind of friends to see her through her entire life so that when we are gone, she’ll have her own family and a lifetime of good memories in which to seek comfort and love and strength.

But between now and then, I have GOT to get my ass in shape so that I can make the most of my life with the ones I love.