You Know You Need A Break When...

You're laughing at Pat Sajak on Regis and Kelly.

That's a new low for me.

But he is hilarious!

Just One of Those Days

I cannot sit still today. I can't do work. I can't take a nap. I can't decide where to take the bar. I can't decide if I want to sleep in tomorrow. I can't decide if I want tea now or maybe later. Maybe now AND later?

And, just now, one nanosecond ago, I couldn't decide if I was done with this post.

Jeez.

The Pursuit of Happiness, Not Just Another Will Smith Movie

One of my dearhearts, my kindreds, Stephanie, has found the love of her life. I met him last night and he’s perfect. Not perfect. Perfectly imperfect and perfect for her. They compliment each other the way men and women are supposed to compliment each other. He teases her, which she needs. And she blushes when he looks at her. It’s a beautiful thing, love. And she hasn’t always been able to see how worthy she is of such a thing, so it’s good to see a good man sit her down and tell her not only that he loves her but she’s deserved that love all along.

One of my other dearhearts, my other kindreds, Katherine, is not having so lovely a time. Love, yes, she has oodles of that as her fiancé is good at reminding her of happier days to come. But her back hurts today, and has been hurting, and it has been raining here for at least a lifetime. And we are all so so done with this chapter in our lives. So ready to see what’s next, to make homes and explore new lives. And I think she’s stifled here. It’s not really a feeling I can relate to, honestly. I’m not in love with anyone (but I’m feeling something). The closest thing to a lover I have at the moment is this city. She breaks my heart daily and I return daily for abuse, hoping this time she’ll love me back. Katherine, unlike New Orleans, has love waiting for her just a few months from now. Marriage, kisses, a white dress, a new home…all thousands of miles away and a few too many days to count. I suppose it would be tough, near impossible, to wait like that. Wait for your life to start. I think she’s a strong woman, and a patient one, for loving us as well as she does when her heart is so far away.

And then there’s me. And I’m happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time. And I cannot tell what’s changed. I was so sad for so long, and so angry. Katrina ruined everything. Threw everything away that I thought I was keeping. Changed the city that I thought would be my forever home. My life felt like it was built by some outside consultant, some contractor sent here from Whoknowswhere to shape a life that would be Successful and Prosperous and Proud. But I feel safer now, and more at peace with where I’m going. I can only believe that God has a handle on the things I cannot see, that he knows where I’m headed even though I change my mind daily. I can only trust that he’s pointing me somewhere grand, maybe it’s here. And maybe it’s not.

You Need To Go To Delachaise

It's an oddly-shaped little restaurant. It's thin and long and parked between a gas station and a hospital. For the longest time post-Katrina it had wood planks covering the front windows which only enhanced its shabby-chic aura. Now the windows are repaired and the lights skimming the panes are small and bright and give the impression of flickering when one has had more than one glass of the Grenache. It's a beautiful, warm, dusky place and probably my favorite haunt for a slow, happy evening.

Try the chocolate souffle.

Baby, It's Cooooooold Outside

My parents live in Minneapolis so I realize my definition of "cold" is probably highly offensive to my northerly friends and family members. But Louisiana cold is different. It's a wet, humid, windy cold that seeps in through every crack and crevice of these poorly insulated buildings.

My Peace Corps friends will have the best understanding of this as I'm sure some of you nearly froze to death (like me) shivering in a house made out of stone with constant gusts of cold pushing through under every door, through every window (no window panes, people, just wood shutters), through the walls themselves. I used to boil water and then put it in my Nalgene bottle and snuggle up with that for the night (outfitted with leggings, sweatpants, sweatshirt, hat, gloves, scarf, and teddy bear). Louisiana is, of course, very different from North Africa, but there are days when the similarities are eerie. This morning I was sitting on my floor (cold) nibbling on almonds and hard boiled eggs for breakfast, dipping my egg in a mixture of cumin and black pepper and I had the most powerful deja vu of my life. I remember sitting on a similarly cold floor, cursing similarly messy soft-boiled eggs, eating similarly too-salty almonds, and similarly wishing I could crawl back under the covers.

Such deja vu led me to thumb through my old lesson planning book from Morocco. I had maybe 150 lesson plans written out, half of which I never got to use. I am so blown away by my innocence, my desperation to save a little portion of the world. I was so brave! And strong and undaunted. I jotted notes in some of the margins after class, and my messages are so honest and silly.

"They hated this."
"This was incredibly dumb."
"I love it here so much! And they really like the Shel Silverstein poems."
"What was I thinking?"
"Need to learn more Arabic before I try this one again."
"I wish the girls would participate more."
"Abdullah cracks me up."

I am so surprised at how carefree, and yet terrified, I was. I haven't reread my journal much. I've picked it up a few times, thumbed through a few pages, but I've never actually sat down and read through it. I always thought it would be so painful. But now I think I refrain from reading it because that life seems so far away and that girl that I was seems so much more powerful and self-assured than I am today. I feel like I should have "improved" exponentially since then. It's been nearly four years. Shouldn't I be smarter, stronger, more self-aware today than I was in that village?

But then I think maybe that's a ridiculous expectation to have of oneself. Why "improve"? I do not know that I am better at anything since leaving Morocco. But perhaps I am better at being myself, and less prone to moments of self-doubt. I think maybe law school makes one forget how powerful a person can be outside their career, their school, their future plans. Everything here seems so dollar sign-oriented and success is predicated on some outsider's vision of wealth and its attributes. That seems so silly to me. My ability to make the perfect pizza dough using only Moroccan ingredients and the most ass-backwards "oven" on the planet is not exactly marketable. But it's special. And cool. And it kept me warm on chilly days far from home.

Keep warm, everyone.