A Dancin' Fool and One Hella Focused Dog

Look at what Ms. Amy's old cowboy boots can do:

Never underestimate the power of the pointer fingers

The dog who loved his ball.

Jugglin' Fools

Hayden learned the basics of juggling.

The fear of dropping the ball...

Thanksgiving in Sonoma I

Here we go with the family posts. Three days worth, I am afraid...

My brother-in-law lives in Sonoma (yes, he works with wine) and since he has produced the newest addition to the family, we all went to him.

We did the usual things like eat, play football, soccer, etc. There was some juggling and some very, er, interesting dancing. To start with, here are a few photos for the fam (how did we not get in a family shot?)

Hayden was the ball boy

Amy, Phoebe and Miles

Winnie, Miles and Me

Hayden, a contraption, a Miles-blurr and Sponge Bob

Amy, Eric and Phoebe (making her signature face for the camera)

Just returned from a California Thanksgiving, during which I got the stomach flu. Lovely timing, too, as the vomit flew RIGHT after my brother-in-law cooked a delicious dinner. Nothing says thank you like vomit.

So sorry, Eric. The food was delicious.

We'll see what pictures came out tomorrow...

Ruthie Monday XXX

Katrina Doldrums...Still?

I have decided to share. I realized that I have been greatly comforted by those bloggers who have put very personal feelings out there; I refer specifically to those feelings that are a result of the storm. So much time has passed, it seems unnatural to still be grieving. So I am going to share how I am feeling; below is a small illustration of my everyday life as one is incredibly lucky to have been, materially, relatively uneffected by this storm.

I have been remiss in my posting duties (really, since late summer). I chalk it up to a serious case of what I call the Post-K doldrums, which seem to hit at unexpected times, and (strange to me) with huge gaps presenting between jags. And damn it, it has been so long -and I think these bouts will continue to hit for as long as this backward-ass government chooses.

It hits as a feeling of exasperation, and of being overcome by a type of block (for me, blog-block, among other things). And oh, the empathetic sadness.

This feeling is best illustrated by the pursing of the lips while expelling (with great, but controlled force) a long stream of air from the (tight with anxiety)lungs. A pfffbd sigh.

It hits, for example, when I open the paper. I know it's bad because I am avoiding it lately. Or at election time -I don't know how overcome I am until the flabbergasted sigh hits (like when I am pressing the poll booth buttons -I feel like a monkey in an observation booth with a fake poll panel The audience says, oh look, she's democrat. Oh look, the monkey votes for women. Isn't that nice? Then they move on).

Or, as I travel around with my husband, taking photos for his book about the storm. I've met people who, right now, as we speak, are sleeping in tents inside flooded homes in the ninth ward -and it is frickin' cold out now. I am thinking of Albert right now, who I met this summer:




I was in a sculpture studio last Thursday, and a woman tells the story of a life-sized sculpture that she had made for her home in Waveland. It was to arrive from the foundry on the day the hurricane hit. She said that the sculpture was meant to be a proctectoress against storms for the coast. She started sobbing, saying it was just a day late-it didn't get there in time. It was immediately clear how much emotion she had put into the piece before the storm and how she now has given it special significance since it hit. Her home, of course, was obliterated. The statue is now, finally, standing on the porch of her home in Mid-City --which flooded to the gills and which took forever to get back to. I mean, this woman was sobbing. And I could tell she felt embarassed for it.

One cannot just go through life and ignore what's going on, no matter one's priviledged status (like mine -I live on the alluvial plane. My roof was blown off, but we raced back to town and replaced it before the rush. Others are just now getting construction crews to BEGIN. See Slimbolala).

People everywhere are uncapped and oozing all over. Still.

Well, I am leaving for the holidays tomorrow and will not be posting until the next Ruthie-Monday. I will leave you all with a cheerful series of photos. A secondline popped up on my block the other day. That's the best.

Ruthie Monday XXIX

It is getting chilly so I cut up a sock for Ruth-Anne. She likes it. It has a hood.Excuse the ghost eye.

Ruthie Monday XXIX

Ahhh....more beautiful weather.

Testing, Testing, Unh?

When I first got a new fancy camera, this guy, Ryan, wanted me to try it out taking these spontaneous and silly shots in the bathroom at the Circle Bar.

Apparently, there was another subject in the photo doing his business in the background.

I didn't even see him until, well...

Bird Omen

Yesterday, when I went to put the dogs out first thing in the morning, I saw this:

The bird did not stir when the three dogs rushed out the door. I shood them in immediately and went upstairs to get my glasses and grabbed my camera. When I returned, the bird had not moved. It looked dead, as though it had somehow been impaled on the fence post to my veggie garden.

I took a few more photos:




I crept closer. Its eyes were half-closed, and it was all squished in on itself. The flatness of its head struck me. I could tell that the bird was at least as big as my cat when stretched out. As I crept closer (mostly because I really was not eager to see the specifics of an impaled bird), it suddenly flew up and turned into the big bird I thought it might be. I let out a gruff little scream. It flew to a nearby tree.

It was a hawk. A hawk in my very urban back yard (close to the highway, close to St. Charles and a loud dairy factory). Now, I was raised with Native American beliefs; it would be said that the hawk could be my spirit animal and that it was there to say something to me. And so there is no question: this bird is an omen. With those deep-rooted thoughts in my mind, I was unnerved in addition to the elation I felt after I got over the startled feeling.

Well Ma, what do you think? Have I outgrown the spirit animal you gave me whenI was a kid?

Regarding the Election Results

Hooooooooooooooooo-yeah.

Yes.

Sara Roahen Goodbye

This is a bit overdue. Sarah left awhile ago, but I was too sad to post it sooner! She was the food writer for the Gambit and came back to New Orleans after the storm to focus on a book project, which had to end sometime. She now has joined her husband in Philly.

Sara and Sarah

Happy Sara, Katy and Hector

Katy R. surprised her with a going away second line band salute. They snuck in through my side yard and started playing for her. She was very pleased.

Good job, Katy!

I was so excited when they first arrived that I took a sloppy picture, but it shows her shock...

Scenes from the party:







Dancing shots:





Me dancing:

Miss you, Sara!