One Upon Mobile's Bad Weather POST #47

           

I never thought I’d hear myself say, “Yay!  It’s fall!”  Having moved to the Gulf Coast in the month of June of 2008, you’d think the heat would be overwhelming.  But that first year no one could convince me that the green, lush, colorful, garden-like setting would not go away at the stroke of September.  I barely went inside in spite of the heat, the ‘no-see’ems, and the heavy humidity that keeps seasoned southerners living strategically around the heat.

            One night, I was having neighbors over for appetizers and Mojitos.  All day I was envisioning my wonderful little porch ‘party’ with new-found treats like hot seafood dip, fresh goat cheese with basil, and boiled Cajun peanuts.  The group of six arrived and, when I went inside to make the drinks, they ALL followed me in the house.  I made the mistake of asking, “Do you guys want to go out on the porch or sit inside?”   I was certain they’d opt for the porch, after all, that’s what southerners do!

            In unison, the group shouted, ‘IN!!!”  As soon as we settled into the living-room   I noticed smirks on their faces; victorious smirks, I might add!  After a drink or two, the conversation became more relaxed – as if it wasn’t already, I mean, we’re in the south.  Then they shared their discussion on the way to my house.

Speaker #1:  “I’m so glad we got a nice neighbor that’s friendly and enjoys socializing.”

Speaker #2:  “Me too!  But I sure hope Miss Mary Beth doesn’t make us sit out on that porch and sweat to death!”

Speaker #3:  “Oh!  You know she will!   How do we get inside?”

Speaker #1:  “Good luck with that!  You know we’ll never get her in that house!”

I enjoyed their company immensely, though there was a twinge of guilt that the moon was shining bright and the warm – okay, hot – summer breeze would not have our audience that night.  I just couldn’t get it out of my head that - come September - it was not all going disappear.  I never wanted it to go away.  Ever! 

About a year later at a neighborhood barbecue, I overheard a conversation about me, one that was actually intended for me to hear.  It was Miss. Janet, a girl in her late 20’s who showered us with love and gifts our first year in the south, particularly when Mom was dying and she was one of the six at my 'porch' party.   It was a comfortable fall night, mid-70’s and no humidity.    Miss. Janet told how, ‘Last year, Miss Mary Beth was outside all summer long.’  Apparently she and the neighbors placed bets on how long it would take for the heat to win and for me to give up and go inside.  But to their surprise, I held my own for well over a year, taking every opportunity to be outside.   Miss Janet’s story ended with,  "It could be 95 degrees outside and she’d be sitting on her porch!  But you don’t see her ass sitting out there now!”

And Miss. Janet is right.  You don’t see 'my ass' sitting out there now  - well, at least not as much.  But I still prefer the warmer climate and have learned a few tricks along the way, like having ice water with fresh lemon on hand helps avoid heat nausea and will ease the transition from a colder climate.  And in the summer, going to the beach by 8 a.m. and leaving by 10 a.m. means you hit it when the temperature is ‘beach perfect’ and you still have your whole day ahead of you.  And, contrary to popular belief, people who live in hot climates are typically in cooler environments than our northern counterparts simply because we work and have lives here, most of which entail air conditioning.  The bay breezes here keeps the heat bearable and the Live Oaks offer so much shade that I find myself going out of my way to see the sky.

 But my big ‘ah ha’ moment happened on a pontoon boat on the hottest day in the summer with temperatures at 100+.   We were with  friends who moved here from Binghamton, NY, discussing weather when one said,  “This is our bad weather!  This is as bad as it gets (aside from the occasional hurricane that averages a hit to the same area about every 23 years), and look at what we are doing?  We’re in a boat!”  We were enjoying a ‘progressive pool party’ sailing up the bayous to host houses for food and swimming in their pools.  Yup!  That’s our bad weather!

But what I like best is the gift of ‘time’.  As mentioned in other posts, I have always had a sense of time passing – way too fast.  But the milder seasons seem to slow things down and the non-extreme temperatures offer the incentive to get out and experience life to the fullest. Not having to move and manage snow (and everything related) offers a ton more time to take advantage of all that life offers.    In my first year in Mobile, I experienced more than in my thirty up north and  I never cease to be amazed at more new adventures.  Yet, in spite of the never-ending list of cool things to do, there is more time to relax, and even tend to the daily necessities.   I've had more opportunity to reflect back on my life and often ponder how the past has prepared me for the future.   And that is what propels me to look ahead and dream, putting one foot in front of the other, as I leisurely meander through this journey called life.

Under the Blue Moon #46

 I sat there watching the blue moon last night.  Thinking, as I often do, how thankful  I am that, for this phase of my life, to live in Mobile, a world that makes so much sense to me.  But the more I looked at the moon and the diamond-like stars that dotted the universe behind it, the bigger my world became.

      I imagined that each star was it's own story with one or more people who were also looking at the blue moon, just as I. Then it occurred to me that there really were millions of people with their own stories looking at the same blue moon as me.  Here are our stories:

The weather is perfect

The night sky is clear

In the hazy glow

The moonlight illuminates the magnolias so dear

Stars shine like diamonds in the universe

   

Magnificent houses silhouetted by the indigo sky                        

Live Oaks hanging majestically  

Moonlit romance dripping off their leaves                                                                                             Casting shadows of what will be 

And perhaps on days gone by

A young girl wishing for true love 

A young man throwing it away

A child wondering whats next

A girl dreaming of  what may come

Lovers dancing under the night sky

A young woman giving birth

A happy father cheers

Babies crying

Couples fighting

Dogs barking

Deals being made

Vows being broken

 Food is shared

 As friendship’s token

                               

A lover stands crying at the graveside of love

Another lies sick in a hospital bed

Knowing that soon, he too, will be dead

A grandparent dies

A young child passes

Families are huddled, broken in ashes

My sister

               Old men drinking bourbon, reminiscing

               Old women remembering their prime

               An old man smoking a cigar

               The next fish to bite can't be far

               An old woman twirls in the breeze

               Her dress swinging in the wind

                               

              

  

                                                    

A young couple skinnydipping 

Moonlight glistens thru drops of water splashing in the night

An expecting mother waits         longingly

Another baby claims it’s right 

All under the blue moon on this beautiful starry night!

Sweet Summer Solstice 2013 #45

                

June 21 has always been my favorite day of the year because it is warm and daylight lasted nearly till 10 p.m. where I grew up.  That meant that our outdoors games of Hide and Seek and Freeze Tag were endless.  My sister Chris’s birthday is this day and as a child I was envious that on her birthday, not mine, we played outside late into the evening and stayed up even later to wind down for the night.  Summer Solstice was magical and all things related to it were like a spell that kept me mesmerized throughout my childhood and I always felt sad when the day ended.  Conversely, I dreaded December 21 and was glad when it was over because it pulled me closer to my summer solstice. 

           

I think of how much has changed over the last five years and just like so many June 21^st’s,  the smell of fresh cut grass fills the air and brings back memories of happy times of relaxing summer days  surrounded by nature, and the sounds of children playing as laughter filled the air. 

Today I feel the warm, sultry breeze of a storm that has not yet made up its mind what it wants to do.  The Live Oaks that drape the streets are swaying the in the wind and a romantic song of the air rushing through the trees is beckoning me into an afternoon nap.  I hear children splashing and swimming in their pool as though no storm lurks and my dogs, Taco and Ghost, are chasing squirrels in the yard as they run up into the trees and along the fence line as if they are saying, “Na na na na boo boo!  You can’t catch me!  I’m telling on you!”  And then, just as we did to our own mom as children, they run to the nearest branch over my head and chatter down to me – and yes they make eye contact to make sure I’m listening - and I’m certain they are saying in a squirrel’s whiney voice, “Ghost is chasing meeeeeeee!”

           

And this year the Super Moon will show itself for the first time in 18 years – how ironic - and I have visions of long walks under the stars, basking in the moonlight and drinking in the sweet scent of Ginger and Sweet Olives on Mobile Bay.  I walk down memory lane and think of the summer solstices that I thought would last forever and wish that this one would too, yet when the night ends, I will find myself putting you to bed once again, my Sweet Summer Solstice.  Good night my friend, until our paths meet again.  Happy Summer Solstice!

A Tribute to Dad on Father's Day 2013! Post #44

               With Father’s Day coming, I’ve been thinking  a lot about my dad and the patriarchs of our family.   On both sides, we were always told to look beyond the ‘here and now’ at how our own decisions, actions, and choices will affect  future generations, particularly our own children and grandchildren.

                As a kid, Dad and Grandpa (Grandpaw) never missed an opportunity to turn something into a life lesson whether an event, a story, or even a walk in nature.  It forced us to think beyond what we could see, to understand how the past relates to the present, and the present to the future for those who follow us.  They showed us life from a much broader perspective than our own reality and enabled us to see ourselves in context to the rest of the world.  Furthermore, both Dad and Grandpa made conscious decisions at certain intervals in their lives that they knew would impact their own family line.  For example, Dad was born and raised in the hills of Kentucky where boot legging and the KKK lurked in the mountainous woods until he was 13.  Grandpa had always said, “The people in the hills are either very good or very bad.  There’s not much in between.”  Knowing that the dice rolled 50/50, he made a decision to move his family out of Appalachia to Fairborn, Ohio where the kids would have a better shot at an education and would be able to see the world outside the hills.  And he was right!  His decision to uproot his family to move to a strange place and start over meant that his seven kids were positioned for better education and opportunities.   And this is what led a farm boy (Dad) from the mountains of Kentucky to serve a term in the Navy, graduate from Ohio State as an Electrical Engineer, and work for 14 years on the Gemini  space program with GE and Martin Marietta.  Dad had turned down a job offer from his commanding navy officer, Ross Perot - who had just started his own Electrical Engineering Company - to work with well-known GE and Martin Marrietta.

The Gemini program was to show that we could send more than one person to space in one capsule for an extended period of time which, at that time, was two people for two weeks.  In order to put a man aboard, they had to launch 3 successful missiles first.  The contract agreement was to send up 15 missiles.  After 8 missiles, all goals were accomplished so new goals were established, all of which were met and completed and after 12 missiles they had worked themselves out of a job by doing it so well and the last three launches were cancelled.   Martin Marietta had the launch vehicle – the house to hold everything.   Dad worked for GE and they had the radio guidance system which meant that once the ‘umbilical cord’ broke, they had to be able to remotely control the missile from the ground.  They also had the range safety system so that if the missile got out of control and posed a danger they would blow it up – which dad is thankful they never had to do. 

         Once the mission was successful, Dad and a crew of 14, including his team of 4 electrical engineers, had completed their part of the project and were then moved to a new project.  After GE he bought a struggling company called Microwave Systems – the kind of microwaves that go through space – and built the company back up and sold it in the early 80’s to Corvis, where he continued to work the first couple of years as president.

But as a child, I remember dad always talking about two things – and this is where we get into legacies and the example that he is for me.  He would take us to lumber companies and hardware stores where we would spend hours (or so it seemed to little girls who thought about fancy hats and ballet slippers) as he measured, took notes and strategized.  He said that someday, when he retired, he wanted to open a building and supply store.  And in all honesty, I often wondered, “Who does he think he is?  He’s not a business owner!  He’s an electrical engineer!”  What that was I hadn’t a clue!’  All knew was that his briefcase – which he would never let us open unless he was there – was filled with proctors, graph paper with what looked like encrypted drawings, and various types of instruments that did not even remotely resemble the everyday tools that were in those stores.

The other thing he talked about was moving into the country to buy land and do enough farming to feed his family from the fruits.  These two dreams were so far from where our lives were, yet he scrimped, saved, and planned, even when those around him did not see the value or the feasibility of attaining his goal, nor did we like living on a tight budget that meant we didn’t always get what we wanted when we wanted it.   But Dad knew it would mean a better tomorrow.  And so many times we must have felt like dead weight, being pulled along to a place we couldn’t see nor did we have the faith to believe in.  During that time, I would often find Dad reading the bible and studying books about money, how it works, and how to live your passions.  In 1977 he moved us north and shortly after I graduated from High School, after retiring from Corvis, he retired he opened his first Building and Home Center, then purchased Agway Farm and Feed Store, and has since bought into the ACE Hardware system. 

What impresses me most is that Dad had a vision just like Grandpa did.  He saw the long-term value and knew what was best for his family.  All of the sacrifices resulted in us having a healthy and vibrant dad who still runs multiple businesses and travels the country in his 80's.  Did I mention that he and our step-mom went para-sailing and paddle boarding 2 years ago?

But there is more about Dad as a family man; like the time we were at a church camp swimming hole and Dad was on a hill fully clothed in his suit, glasses, watch and good shoes  and we were in the water.  My sister Sandy (Gug) stepped off of a drop-off and began struggling while Kare and I begged the adults in the water to help, particularly the fat guy next to us flirting with a woman, who we punched and scratched his back to get his attention to no avail, when suddenly like a flash out of nowhere Dad ran down the hill and dove into the water, suit, glasses, shoes, watch, wallet and all and pulled her out before the adults who were right there knew it was happening.  

Then there was the camping trip when we were hiking in the woods by a shallow river with big rocks in the middle.  Dad had a state-of-the-art, 35 millimeter camera that captured our whole lives to that point.    We’d have ‘slide nights’ on the ‘big screen’ with popcorn.  He asked me go get his camera.  Coming back, just as I was handing it to him, I slipped on a rock and both the camera and I were under water.  Dad grabbed my arm and pulled me out as I begged forgiveness for getting the camera wet.  But his reaction surprised me when he said, “Honey, I don’t care about the camera!  All I care about is you!”  The camera never worked again and our slide shows came to a screeching halt.  I knew we couldn’t afford another one, yet nothing was ever said about it again.

Dad was also the greatest boyfriend scarer, creep warder-off-er, and jerk prevention expert a girl could ask – and may I say we did not always appreciate that at the time.  Many would-be beaus were scared off and only the boldest and bravest made it past our front door.  One time Dad and I were walking into the house when a two guys in a car yelled some vulgar things to me.  I had no idea who they were but my first thought was, “Oh crap!  Dad’s going to think I know them or that I somehow attracted that kind of attention!”  Dad ordered me back in the car and, as though we were on a high-speed police chase and he was the cop, we screeched out of the driveway and flew down the road then whipped around another corner just in time to see the other car come to an abrupt stop in a dirt driveway and two figures, unidentifiable in the cloud of dust, ran into a house.

Dad ordered me to stay in the car and, like a bat out of hell, ran up and pounded on the door so hard that it actually bowed in each time his fist connected to the door and I was certain it was going to break in half and fly off the hinges.  Finally, the door opened a crack and a voice said, “Mr. Deaton, that was ‘Steve’ who did that and he said to tell you he’s sorry!”  Dad ordered ‘Steve’ to come out but the voice said, “Mr. Deaton, he’s hiding in the back room and won’t  come out because he’s afraid!”  After several attempts, Dad made it clear that if they ever come near any of his daughters  or if he ever catches them talking to any girl like that again, he will ‘beat the tar’ out of them.  The voice, shaken and high pitched, assured him that they would not ever do that again.  We never knew who the voice was.

Twenty five years later, I was at work when my employees told me a man who looked like he stepped out of the Gentlemen Quarterly magazine and driving a Lamborghini stopped in to see me.  He told them he went to school with me and hasn’t seen me for 25 years.  I had missed him and spent the next two months wondering who on earth it was.  I was across the street when my employees paged me and said, “The GQ guy is back to see you!”    Full of curiosity, I ran back over and after a guessing game that GQ made me participate in, I still had no idea.  Finally, he identified himself.  He was a shy, seemingly nice kid from an extremely poor and dysfunctional home life with deplorable conditions.  He explained that he had recently retired from the Navy after 20 years and that his life had gone quite well and there were two people he had always wanted to go back to see to let know that he had done well with his life and that was my dad and I.  In high school, though we hung with many of the same people, he never said 'boo' so I didn’t know why he picked me or my dad, whom I was certain he didn’t know.

“But I do know your dad!” he explained.  “Do you remember when some guys yelled some things to you and you and your dad chased them down?   Well, I was the guy behind the door!  And let me tell you, we were shitting bricks!  But up until that day, I never saw a man who loved and protected his daughters like that and I realized that that is the kind of father I wanted to be.   I have a daughter now and if anyone ever said that to her, I’d be just like ‘Brant’!”   What struck me most is that he knew Dad’s first name (we were new in town at that time and it was years before Dad actually worked up there.)  But he explained that, that day changed his life and he had always wanted to make Dad proud.  He did go see Dad after that and apologized and told him the same story.  And Dad was proud!

There were the many nights when for whatever reason, there was a knock at the door at 2 a.m. and Dad would grab his gun and order us to stay up the stairs and we’d all hover on the stairway as he opened the door pointing the gun and saying, “What do you need?”  This happened when the man fell into our well in the middle of the night – another story – and when people broke down in the country, or when some dumb smart alec thought it was okay to come visiting at 2 a.m.  Regardless, we always knew that as long as Dad was around, we were safe.

Dinner time was always the best because no matter what, we ate around the table and that was when we saw dad at his best;  happy, joking, and all of us went to the dinner table expecting to laugh, talk, share, and relax, and always feeling a little more connected afterwards.

When I think of Dad, I think of safety.  I think of perseverance and vision.  Having a dream, a goal, and a vision even when others can’t,  or won’t, and going for it because not only is it best for him, it is best for those who depended on him to be healthy and happy.  As children, our vacations were filled with nature, blue skies and, ironically, rocket ships, military planes, and the history of our country.  And every time the national anthem played and I saw the American flag and the blue sky and my Dad’s blue eyes, I thought that somehow, they were all inter-related.  It all had something to do with Dad.  Whenever I put my hand over my heart to say the Pledge of Allegiance, I think of Dad and Grandpa, who dared to dream, dared to step out of their comfort zones and embark on new adventures for the betterment of themselves and the future generations of their family.  I think of the time that both served our country and, the more I do so, the more I am convinced that it is all related; Dad’s blue eyes, the blue skies, the American flag, safety, peace, security, and love.  Yes!  They are definitely all related!

Finding My Laugh Post #43

     

I mentioned in my post, 'The Fricken Chickens’ that I had always had a problem with laughing at the most inconvenient and often inappropriate times.  I had hoped time and maturity would temper that but it only did a little bit.  Being a ‘peripheral person’, while the rest of the world is focusing on the unfolding, obvious drama in center court, I tend to look at the peripheral drama; that which no one pays attention to and often slips by unnoticed.   I’m convinced that that is where the best and worst of life plays out; the humor, the pain, and even the deception and crookedness of mankind. It is also where the most comical things happen and I would be lying if I said I haven’t received much amusement over the years by simply watching life unfold on the sidelines. 

        But those who knew me best in the north also knew that I had a silent laugh.  In high school, a friend (Sylvia!) was quick to pick up on that and she’d mimic me which would make me laugh more, proving her point.  Many people over the years commented on that and I had always wondered how it would feel to laugh out loud.  I had accepted the fact that neither I nor anyone else would ever hear the sound of my laugh.   

            I was probably in the south for about two months when one day something happened and I burst out laughing, a loud (for me anyway), comfortable, relaxed, hearty laugh; not the self-conscious, nervous laugh I had stifled in a world that was foreign to my spirit.   Years ago, as an ER Social worker, I had bronchitis and my co-workers, doctors and nurses, deemed it asthma.  They had me take a breathing test by blowing into a tube that leads to a box with a ping pong ball to see how high you can lift the ball.  I blew as hard as I could and it didn’t move one bit.  A nurse thought I was doing it wrong and demonstrated with what seemed to be an effortless puff and the ball smashed into the ceiling of the box.   I tried again several times and could not move the ball.  The nurse pointed at me and said, “You need to take breathing lessons!” 

            It was 1993 but I didn’t heed her advice until 2006 when I fully admitted to myself that I was living my life as a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. 

For far too long, I allowed fear, spiritual manipulation, and my sense of duty to save the world to keep me from making needed changes.  In 2004, the bottom dropped out of my world.  The mask that hid a faulty spirituality was ripped off - not by choice - and my then religious beliefs and the people who perpetuated them were exposed for what they were.  It was as though someone had stripped everyone naked, and the fat, the bones, the cellulite and dimples, and all the things we spend our lives trying so hard to hide from the world, were in plain sight spilling into my own spirit and I knew it was the source of my discomfort, anxiety, and even my silent laughter, yet it took three major life crisis’ to intersect at the same time for this to be cracked open like a coconut and expose what my heart had denied for so long; Christianity and God as I had known it had never really existed.  It was freeing, yet scary and for the next couple of years I spent floundering as though I were a hot air balloon with no particular destination. At times, I saw familiar faces and even reached out hoping to be rescued from the unknown, yet in an odd sense, I knew that the season of superficial faith was over.  But I didn’t know where it led; to atheism?  I wasn’t sure.  In 2007, I began Yoga and Meditation.

           

It was during meditation that I found strength within myself that I had no idea was there.  I realized my own spirit had given up and retreated years ago, though I had still chosen happiness.  In meditation, I found gifts that I didn’t even know I had and some that had been buried and long forgotten.  But most of all, I found God in there, deep within my heart, and that was the biggest surprise of all.  For my whole adult life, I was told that we have a ‘God-shaped void' in us and, unless we invite God in, He doesn’t come in and we are up the crick without a paddle!  I had watched too many people spend their whole lives seeking God when, in reality, he's already there. Or people ‘waiting on God’ to do what they should have been doing years ago.  It a fear-based spirituality, kind of like "Don’t step on a crack it will break your mother’s back" that makes God out to look like such an ass who plays with our heads and emotions by making His will for us a guessing game and keeping us uncertain of his presence.

         It was only through Yoga and Meditation - not prayer which is often self-directed and ego-driven - that I heard the screams of my soul.   Sometimes we just need to shut the hell up and close out all the distractions - including phone, TV and internet.   For me, it is in silence, deep breathing, being, accepting, letting go, forgiving, moving forward, embracing, and listening, that my spirit is able to soar to a place of peace and joy.  It is there, within myself, that I found that God, and his ‘will’ for us, is not so complicated after all.  The reality is, He's already in us and we have a choice to acknowledge or reject Him.  Ironically, those who proclaim to know God the most often spend their whole lives seeking Him like blind sheep - though he is right here -  waiting for Him to manifest himself supernaturally when, in reality, He does it naturally. 

Hint:  If you have the gift to be an artist, singer, dancer, carpenter, speaker, etc., you don’t need God’s special permission to do it!  He’s already given it to you!  And amazingly, the more you use your gifts, the path in which to use them becomes clearer.

        Over the years I've realized that my laughter is a gift that has gotten me through both the good and bad times.  I'm not sure if the deep breathing enabled me to laugh out loud or the other way around.   Sometimes I wish I could take that test again because I know I can blow that ball to the top just as that nurse did, as long as I can do it without laughing.

The Land of Kings and Queens Post #42

       “There are absolutely no words to explain this to the outside world.”  That was a statement made by a good friend, Dannae, from California, who has lived in Mobile for about three years.  We were waiting for the Merry Widows to arrive at Joe Caine’s house to make their annual debut on the porch to throw black roses and beads to the cheering crowd.  In the hour before, a dis-jockey plays music and people dance in the street, making the wait for the widows a party itself.  And Dannae was right!  There are no words to explain that, or even the rest of Mardi Gras, to the outside world. 

         Before moving to Mobile, I would have never believed there was really a land – especially here on American soil –full of Kings and Queens.  I dared to imagine it as a child, as one of many movies I wrote and produced over the years that took place only in my mind, specifically to give myself a break from the realities of a world that, to me, was like putting a round peg in a square hole.  I didn’t know at the time how ill-fit I was in the north.   But a tell-tale sign was my need to explain everything to everyone.   In reality, I was really explaining things to myself, trying to make sense out of a world that, to me, made no sense at all.  But for some reason, Mobile and the Gulf Coast, in all of its kookiness, frivolity, and the over-the-top ways they do everything, makes perfect sense to me, as though I had known all along that this is how it life should be.  Nothing needs to be explained now, even to those who demand an explanation!  

 On a conscious level, I probably know only a fraction of the reasons this feels so right and those are what this post is about; a world where everyone has a place, people value the happiness and well-being of their neighbors as they do themselves, things that seem frivolous serve practical purposes,  everybody is included,  and life is viewed not as something to endure, but to relish and celebrate every moment possible.  And let’s not forget the way people interact, chatting with strangers while waiting in long lines, friendships made in strange circumstances including long lines, post-hurricane barbecues where people have no power and are cooking everything in their freezers, Art walks, Balls, and even hiking in the woods.  I’m amazed at the close friends I’ve met in the funniest ways that would seem strange to much of the country.

                And then there’s Mardi Gras with the parades and balls!  Millions of dollars are spent each year with no less than 10,000 costumes handmade every year by local seamstresses.   The number of prom dresses sold in cities around the country is dwarfed in comparison to the ball gowns sold each year before, during and after Mardi Gras.   Thousands of caterers are kept busy with their biggest gigs during the Mardi Gras Season, and the bakers who are overwhelmed with Kings Cake orders and beautiful pastries and desserts for the balls, brunches, lunches, and dinners during the season.  The handmade robes for Kings and Queens made every year are alleged to start at $10,000 according to the design which is created by the kings and queens, along with purchases of diamond and jeweled crowns.  I’m certain I don’t know a fraction of what all this entails.  And let’s not forget the local restaurants and businesses whose revenues skyrocket during Mardi Gras, and the Mardi Gras stores that thrive all year.  The bottom line is, there is an astronomical amount of people employed because of Mardi Gras; many of whom may otherwise be on the unemployment line.  This has an amazing financial impact that cushions the Gulf Coast communities against economic downturns. 

                But most fun is that so many ordinary people have their own moment of glory; the parade and then the ball call-outs (tableau)  That is when all the members of the society are introduced, group by group, and they come out in mask and costume with spotlights on them, bow to the queen or king, then dance down the stairs onto the main floor.  That is what the society lives for all year!  Some societies parade (the other thing they live for which precedes the ball on the same night) and some don’t but the ball, callouts, parade and costumes are made according to the theme. 

Now if we are all honest with ourselves, we would admit that we’d like to have our own moment of significance; when we feel loved and adored just as we are, faults and all;  when the world around us stops to acknowledge us, or we are recognized for something we accomplished.    Mardi Gras gives thousands of people that opportunity each year, and let’s not forget the Peoples’ Parade – on Joe Caine Day - where anyone who will pay the price can be in it. 

Maybe in an odd sense, Mardi Gras gives thousands of society members significance, a season to celebrate themselves, each other, and even the homeless men, whom they pay with both money and goods to help load and unload their floats, and also to march in the parade holding the float signs - giving them an opportunity for the limelight as well.    


  But along with the ocean and bay breezes that sweep across the lush, garden-like city, perhaps it is Mardi Gras and the opportunity it brings that is like a vitamin shot that boosts the morale of  thousands of people who, in turn, pay it forward throughout the rest of the year in their everyday lives and that makes life much nicer for everyone in general.   

Another Year Over, A New One Just Begun Post #41

              As a child, I was always keenly aware of the passing of time.  At age five, I often visited a neighbor lady who was 84 and would think to myself, ‘Someday, I will be her age!’ Deep in my heart, I felt the time would come much faster than everyone said.  At age 15, while sitting on the porch swing, home alone listening to a ‘Kansas’ song, ‘Dust in the Wind’, once again, I was overwhelmed with the reality of time passing.  I thought to myself, ‘This song is so true!  We all fill a body and pass through this world like a speck of dust in the whole scheme of time.  Before I know it, I’m going to be 35 years old, then forty, then fifty, and so on.  And I will remember this moment.’   And I do remember that moment, as though the only thing that stands between me and that fifteen year old girl is a curtain.  It was around my junior or senior year when the song, ‘And So This is Christmas’ by John Lennon came out. 

                Again, the feeling of time passing would haunt me, even at that young age.  Before Christmas, the feelings of guilt at what I hadn’t accomplished set in and like the Ghosts of Christmas’s Past, the memories of each holiday season would flood in and the awareness of how much had changed in my then, short life.  The clouds, cold rain and snow back there in the north only exacerbated that.  In my 30’s, my assistant at work and I would talk about how we wanted to spend the rest of our lives and she would say, “Mary Beth, let’s make our forties the best years yet!”, though we were still in the first half of our 30’s.  But just her saying it was enough to inspire me to do just that.  The more we talked about it, the more I realized that many things in my then-present life did not reflect where I wanted to go.  I wanted to find a greater, yet more practical, level of spirituality, to be financially secure enough to put the needs of those I loved the most  - my family – first, to live in a warmer climate that was conducive to bringing out the best ‘me’, and to be in a healthy marriage where each other was our top priority.  I would watch my two oldest children explore life’s adventures together and listen to the conversations of two kids reporting back to one another their experiences and each giving input to make sense of it all.  Their energy, excitement, and zeal for life made me realize; that is how I want to grow old!   Moving through life; always growing, sharing, experiencing, solving, loving, exploring, and aging together in the most healthy, active way possible.  Yes!  That was it.

Dad & I, 2010.   I think he get's it!

                But there were many obstacles and, as with any project, things often feel worse before they get better.  I read, studied, and prayed about how to live the best life possible for myself and those I love.  I knew that when we're not, those around us suffer too.  To get there meant cleaning and weeding of things, people, property, location, and basically my whole comfort zone, and replacing them with like-minded people, a more viable location, and rebuilding my comfort zone here in the south.  My last goodbye when leaving New York was with my dad in his office at his work.  We both teared up and it was one of the few times I saw him choke on his words.  I wanted to cry too but I surprised myself by saying, “Dad, you know it’s what I have to do!”  And he, being the great dad that he is, agreed, and I could see that, once again, he was letting me go so that I could grow and change in the way that was needed.  

My talk on change at the Bienville Club

                So, here I am, nearly five years later.  Another year is over, a new one just began.  The last five years have been magical in so many ways.  The fear of leaving my comfort zone – as gloomy and cold as it was – proved to be more like the Wizard of Oz hiding behind the curtain, yet when exposed, he was easy, gentle, and nice.  And being here in the south has also been easy, gentle and nice.  There will be more changes this year but the hardest part
is done – which was leaving the familiar.  But most ironic, is when

This is my paradise - and it feels familiar!

we find a place that works better for us, we realize how unfamiliar the old ‘comfort zone’ really was.  Our inner spirit resonates with our lifestyle and environment and that allows us to stop playing a role and become who we truly are; possibly learning to love ourselves for the first time in our lives.

              The New Year has always brought a reprieve to my awareness of time passing and it gives me hope of good things to come; needed change, rebuilding, restoration, love, laughter, health, and legacies to pass on.   The bonus of living in the south is that the less extreme seasons and the slower pace has –for me – slowed down time and there just seems to be more of it to do the things I love and hope to do.  There are many things on my resolution list this year – all of which I hope will bring into full fruition the dreams I had in my early 30’s for the second half of my life.

Mardi Gras is at hand and once again, there will be parades, balls, brunches, lunches, dinners, and parties.  There will be fun, laughter, celebration and joy during the next six to eight weeks and I look forward, with great expectation and hope, as well fear of the unknown, to what the next year will bring. 

Merry Christmas from Dixie Post # 40

 Last week I went to the best Christmas party ever!  There were two hosts.   One is a friend that I met on the street during an art festival when he and his beautiful lady were sitting in lawn chairs with a small table set up, sharing glasses of wine, gourmet cheeses and snacks.  It warranted a picture and, forever being the tourist, I asked if I could take a photo.  This led to a conversation that sparked a friendship and has opened the doors for fun opportunities for all of us – often inviting each other to cool events.  His lady friend – Lynn had paintings in the art show and they were going straight from there to the opera where he, John, would be one of the lead singers.  They are also ballroom dancers.  

Schoolhouse saved & moved to the estate

          The other host owns the property where the party was held as well as a chain of markets here.  The homestead is in the country on Mobile Bay where he & his wife and their grown children live in various houses connected by trails and long wooded driveways.  There are ponds, bridges, a water mill and lighted trails in the woods that lead to the bay.  But what was most impressive was the host’s desire to, not only preserve history, but to bring it to his family and then to share it with other people - like me.  

Church saved & moved to estate

There is a quaint old school house from Toumanville on deck to be torn down and he negotiated a deal to buy it, then moved it to his property to be restored.  He did the same with a beautiful chapel and a small general store that both narrowly escaped being destroyed and were also moved there and restored.

            We arrived at 4:40 in the afternoon, parking near an outdoor theater where a Blue Grass band was singing “Merry Christmas from Dixie”.   As I looked around at the water mill  next to the wood bridge that crossed a creek to the main house, the song seemed so perfect.  There were food and wine stations outside and in the school house was a room full of decadent appetizers, desserts, and yet, another wine and soft drink station.  The party-goers were free to roam the property to check out the historical structures and walk the trails.  Various musicians performed at the outside theater and the chapel with one group playing violins, cello, harp, and other beautiful instruments.  The weather was warm, though it cooled after dark just enough to need a sweater.  It was picture-perfect!   I love the country, especially in a woods-like setting; and the way the host blended local history into his family life just felt like this is the way life should be.

 But for some reason, this season – this year – has been particularly hard.  I find myself tearing up over  Christmas songs while shopping.  Though it’s been four years since Mom died and eight since losing my step-mom and step-dad, at the most unexpected times, the tears start rolling and that once familiar lump that lived in my throat from 2004-2009 returns without warning.  My life seems to be in review and things from that period rear their heads unprovoked. I find myself living in regret; regret for not being able to save Mom; regret for allowing other people to do the talking for me when I should have done it myself; regret for being too honest when I shouldn't have, and for words left unspoken that should have been said; regret that I was out of state taking care of Mom and unable to be with Sally when she died; sad that standing for justice is not always rewarded and that the truth does not always prevail.  Sadness and depression are not normal for me and I don’t like it, yet siblings and nieces have shared the same experience – a delayed reaction to those years which we all spent in survival mode; dealing with the two deaths after short-term bouts of cancer and four years of caring for Mom who was rendered an invalid from a brain injury.  There was no time to grieve!

For myself, I’ve learned not to go through a divorce, a life altering brain injury, and illness and death all in the same year;  each of which encompass loss and draw out friends who don’t understand.  It’s like being in a canoe heading towards a waterfall and those who are on the shoreline are either throwing bricks at you or yelling words of advice, and you are trying to figure out which is which.   The bricks will sink you for sure and the advice may or may not apply, and you are just paddling, grasping for any stick or log that floats by, hoping that it will get you to shore - though about half will ultimately drag you over the falls.  That was my 2004-2009!

            But then I go back to the party; the setting in the woods donned in history and I see some of that regret and sadness washing right over the water falls when I realize that we can’t control how other people respond, what they say, or what they believe to be true.  We can’t control brain injuries, sickness, or death.  But we can control the setting in which we experience those things, particularly the grief.  And in spite of all of the would’ve, could’ve, should’ves, I realize now that I controlled what I could – and that was my environment; what I see when I look out the window, the climate I live in, and the overall personality of where I live – which is much more empathetic.  And though I must still, at times, walk through the shadow of death, loss, sickness and regret, I have chosen my setting of where this will take place.  And though oddly, this delayed reaction hangs over me this year like a dark cloud, being there in the woods walking the trails, listening to music, eating the food, and sharing wine, I’m thankful that I get to go through this here in paradise.   And I thank the host (no name so the party doesn’t go viral next year) for making me a part, for sharing history and the beauty of his piece of heaven with me.    Thank you Mr. Host, and thank you Mr. John!  Merry Christmas from Dixie!