Prayers of Thanksgiving

I remember the good night prayer from my childhood:  “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.  Watch me through the dark of night, wake me when the day is bright.  God bless Mommy, Daddy, Kathy and Ricky; Gram and Grandpop and Granny; Aunt Jean, Uncle Fred and Gail; MomMom and PopPop; God bless everybody.  Make Laurie be a good girl.  Amen.”    Everyone once in a while, I silently recite the prayer as I lay in bed at night.  I guess I’m still hoping for help in the good girl department!

Daily prayers have always been a priority for me.  I pray to God for support and guidance for myself and others in need; I lift up prayers of praise for the goodness in my life and the goodness I see around me.  I pray to end the suffering of those who are ill or suffering the evils of the world.  And I pray to God with thanks for the many blessings in my life:  my husband, my children, my family, my friends, my home, my job, my belongings, and the many opportunities I have for pleasure.

Gary and I will spend part of the Thanksgiving holiday weekend in New Orleans with our children.  It’s been several months since the four of us have been together and we are really looking forward to being with them.  Dear friends will host the holiday meal.  The forecast calls for a sunny, 70 degree day.  I will have many prayers of thanks to lift on Thanksgiving night!

Later in the weekend we will fly to the East coast and spend time with Delaware family.  I haven’t seen my parents or sister in many, many months, and even though it will be a short visit, it will be special.  It’s amazing how much food, talk, and laughter we’ll manage to fit in during our 24 hours together.  Prayers of praise!

We’ll wrap up our East coast visit at the Philadelphia Eagles game vs. the New England Patriots.  I can’t even talk about the Eagles as the topic of their season is far too depressing, especially for a holiday weekend.  I am just praying for the season to be over!

Throughout the holiday weekend Gary’s Dad will be on my mind.  For a long time he has been living with lung cancer and we know he doesn’t have many days left in this life.  He is a strong, kind, generous, faithful man and I have been lifting prayers of thanks for knowing him most of my life, and for having him as a father-in-law.  Throughout his illness he has prayed for God’s will in his life.  I too, pray for God’s will in Dad's life, and that he endures no suffering.

Be safe this Thanksgiving holiday, whether you are traveling across the country or a short distance away from home.  If you are going out to a restaurant, to someone’s home, cooking the turkey, or picking it up from the grocery store, may your meal be bountiful and filling, to your stomach and your heart.  Don’t let tensions or old family feuds interfere with your day.  Enjoy the Macy’s Day parade, the football games, or play a board game with the kids.  Remember in prayer those who have to work on Thanksgiving –  hospital workers, police and fire personnel, and the retail workers who will greet the early bird Christmas shoppers.

To my family and friends near and far, Happy Thanksgiving.  God Bless everybody.

Just sayin’.

Laurie

In the Dog House - Please

Late last week I picked up my car from the service center at the car dealership.  The new car showroom, the retail area, the waiting area and the service center check-in and cashier are all in the same building.  Everything in the dealership building was shiny and new.  Of course there were the slick cars ready to be driven out of the show room!  Snacks and beverages were available for potential buyers and customers.  Various jackets and shirts and caps bearing the logo of the car brand were displayed and available for purchase.  Everyone who worked there was smiling and helpful!   One of the sales staff offered to let me test drive a new car – he could get me a good price on my existing car and put me in a brand new one for next to nothing!!  The service cashier reviewed with me all the work done on my car – I’m all set for the Minnesota winter!  There weren’t too many customers in the showroom at that time, but there were several customers milling about the service area, picking up and dropping off cars.  Two of the customers were four legged – a large black lab was sprawled out in the waiting area, and another small brown and white furry dog was running around underneath tables and chairs in the waiting area.

I bet some of you have a mental picture of those dogs and are thinking “aahh, how cute.”  Hmm.  Right away I will admit I am not a “dog person.”  Those who know me well know I’m more of a “crazy cat lady.”  I have a vague memory of a beagle named Holly who was a pet when I was a toddler, but she must have gone to live on a farm (and not my grandparents’ farm!)  Other than my short relationship with Holly, I’ve never had a dog for a pet, and have never wanted one.  When I was 7 or 8 years old, Duke the German shepherd who lived across the street viciously attacked me.  Fortunately it was cold weather season and I managed to escape his hold by slipping out of my winter coat.  But the broken skin on my arms and legs and the rabies shot is still a vivid memory, and the remaining scars are a regular reminder of that scary incident.  Sorry dog lovers, I’m not fan of the species.  So I am always more than a little appalled when others bring their dog – or two –to places of businesses.  Why do dog owners think it’s ok to do this?

  

I don’t dislike dogs in general.  Reggie next door is an old German shepherd (who looks very much like Duke).  I like Reggie.  He never barks at me, he follows the kids around the cul-de-sac when they are playing, and he often lies in the grass chewing his bone.  Occasionally he’ll wander over to our deck or garage, I’ll pet him for a few minutes and then he’ll go home.  There’s Brody up the street who is a beautiful golden retriever.  He barks a lot, but as soon as I say his name, he lets me pet him.  I think Brody would show the crooks where the silver is kept!  Tanner and Chloe are sibling bull dogs a few doors down.  They are a little too hyper for my liking, but are generally well behaved.  All that said, I don’t want to run into Reggie, Brody, Tanner or Chloe anywhere I conduct my consumer affairs.

Why do some feel it is socially acceptable have a dog tag-along no matter the destination?  Reality TV personalities carry their dogs around in expensive little bags – Paris Hilton, New York Housewife Jill Zarin and Bethanny Frankel of Skinny Girl fame, to name a few.  But those with dogs I’ve run into are not Reality TV stars!  My brother’s neighbor has as pet pig – Norman the Potbelly Pig.  Norman wouldn’t fit in a cute little bag, but he does have a leash.  Will we soon be running into Norman and others like him at the grocery store, dry cleaners, and pharmacy on Saturday mornings?

I would never bring Nola or Beignet, my extremely loveable and adorable cats, with me to the mall, drugstore, car dealership, or to a boutique in San Francisco, another place where I recently encountered a furry customer.  Common Sense (note:  capitalization intentional) tells me it’s likely there would be other customers at these places of business who wouldn’t appreciate my feline friends as much as I do.   No shoes, no shirts, no food, no drinks.  And please, no pets.

Just sayin’.

Laurie

Well Done. Go Thou in Peace.

This past weekend the United States Military Academy at West Point Class of 1986 celebrated its 25^th reunion.   During the reunion Gary and his classmates, particularly those in Company B3 (the Bandits) renewed friendships, reminisced about their cadet years and revived their class spirit, which is so unique among West Point graduates.

Gary’s time at West Point contributed to the formation of his deepest values.  Duty.  Honor.  Country.  A Cadet will not lie, cheat or steal or tolerate those who do (the Cadet Honor Code).  During reunion weekend I learned that a cadet is introduced to the Honor Code 16 minutes into the 47 month West Point experience.  The Class of 1986 Motto is Courage Never Quits.  The values Gary formed at West Point direct every decision he faces.  Those values served him during his military career.  He has brought those values to our marriage, has taught them to our children, and he leads with those values in the workplace.  If you know Gary, you know that West Point is at the core of the man he is. 

West Point is truly one of my favorite places.  The grounds of West Point are stunningly beautiful, located about 50 miles north of New York City, overlooking the Hudson River.  The post itself is rich with history.  I love to just enjoy the beauty of the grounds, the stately buildings, the statues and memorials, and the military officers and cadets.   I especially love all of the “Beat Navy” signs!  I’m so proud to be married to a West Point grad who had a very successful military career.  I’m also proud of the military accomplishments of his classmates, and our friends and family.  For me, each visit to West Point brings about a renewed sense of security that despite all of the troubles and challenges our world faces, the USA is indeed the greatest and safest country in the world because of our military. 

The demographics of the Class of 2015 (this year’s first year class) are very similar to Gary’s class, which entered the Academy in 1982.  The class of 2015 had 13,953 applications, 4344 congressional nominations, 2554 qualified candidates, and admitted 1249 cadets.  The majority of those admitted were high school Valedictorians, class presidents, team captains, and varsity letter winners, usually in more than one sport.  West Point retains 79-80% of each plebe (freshman) class.  This is astronomically high compared to other colleges.

A day in the life of a West Point cadet has also changed little since 1982.   Cadet Basic Training begins on R (Reception) Day in June.  The new cadets report to West Point and after a brief welcome are given 90 seconds (literally 90 seconds) to say good-bye to their family before they begin life as a new West Point cadet.  Within 8 hours the cadet chain of command will have in-processed approximately 1200 new cadets, who will have received vaccinations, gear, clothing, and haircuts.  They will have begun to learn to stand, march and behave like a cadet.  The day ends with the new cadets receiving the cadet oath. In just one day the cadets begin the transition from high school students to Army soldiers. 

The West Point school day begins at 0600, and breakfast and formation is at 07:05.  Taps are played at 2300, and lights out at 2400.  During the day there is a rigorous class schedule, and specific times for required intramural or intercollegiate sports, meals, and study hours.  Not a minute is wasted.    Specific uniforms are required for all activities, even recreation. 

West Point is the equivalent of a fully funded Ivy League education.  Each cadet receives not only a top-notch education, but also what is widely recognized as the best leadership training in the world.   Upon graduation, a cadet is commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the U.S. Army.  And since 2001, every cadet who enters West Point does so knowing he or she will go to war upon graduation.

On R Day in 1982, the class of 1986 had 1271 male cadets and 149 female cadets, for a total of 1420 cadets.  The class of 1986 graduated 1006 cadets.  There are presently 125 men and 14 women from the class of 1986 still on active duty serving in the U.S. Army; two of those men and one woman are General Officers, many are Colonels.  About 20 active duty members were at the reunion; ten were not able to attend as they are presently deployed in Afghanistan.  36 members of the class of 1986 have children who are or who were West Point cadets and several class members have sons and daughters who are deployed.  During the reunion, I heard many mentions of children hoping to attend West Point.   The proud tradition of The Long Gray Line will continue.

23 members of the class of 1986 have passed away.  Some died from cancer and other illnesses. One died in a car accident while deployed overseas; another died with his family in a tragic ski accident while vacationing in Austria.  A few were killed while performing training missions. The first Army officer killed in Operation Desert Storm was a 1986 graduate.  The only West Point graduate killed in the World Trade Center on 9/11 was a 1986 graduate, and the highest ranking officer – a Colonel -  killed in Afghanistan to date was one of Gary’s classmates and close friend.  Gary and “Johnny Mac” played soccer at West Point; they attended flight school, were deployed overseas and played soccer in Germany together.  Johnny Mac’s death in Kabul hit Gary particularly hard.  The Class of 1986 paid tribute to their fallen classmates who served our Country faithfully during a moving and emotional reunion memorial service.   Duty.  Honor.  Country. 

Today there are 48,717 living graduates of the United States Military Academy.  All told, there have been 68,196 West Point grads.   During the reunion, the Class of 1986 presented the Superintendent of West Point with a Class Gift of $1,000,000, raised over a 5 year period.   In 2010, 18,256 individuals donated $35 million to the West Point Superintendent’s Fund.  The Superintendent decides the best use of these unrestricted gifts, dividing the funds among all the priorities of the Academy, including academics, clubs, sports, etc.  A current priority is the sustainment, renovation and modernization of the facilities (for example, urinals still exist in the ladies’ barracks!).   Unrestricted funds are used for enrichment of higher education.  An example is the Center for Combating Terrorism.  These enrichment activities are not funded by the U.S. Army but are essential for the education of our cadets and future military leaders.

The leadership qualities developed in a West Point cadet and matured in our military officers are evident in the endeavors many in the Class of 1986 have embarked upon following their military careers.  Among Gary’s classmates:  the CEO of 7-11 (you might have seen him on an episode of Undercover Boss); a Congressman; a couple of actors (the Sopranos); several West Point professors; the COO of the Philadelphia Inquirer newspaper; as well as ministers, doctors, bankers (not just Gary!), advertising executives (think Mad Men), and leaders of businesses such as Sherwin Williams, Nike, Frito-Lay, and many other well known corporations.

The United States Military Academy began the tradition of class rings, and I think every grad at the reunion was wearing his/hers.  Most West Point grads wear their rings regularly, if not all the time.  Many males wear their class ring on their left hand, in front of their wedding ring (Gary does this sometimes).

No West Point visit is complete without experiencing Army football, which has some of the greatest traditions in all of college football.  Unfortunately, the unusual October snowstorm forced us out of New York earlier than planned, and we weren’t at the Army game in the falling snow when they defeated Fordham 55-0!!!  However, we have been to many Army football games so I shall describe the experience as if we had been able to stay for the game during reunion weekend.

Every Army game day begins with the Cadet Review and March on The Plain, the parade field at the Academy.   The Plain is flat, in stark contrast to the rest of the Academy grounds, which are very hilly.   Just about all 4000 cadets march in full dress uniform for review by the USMA Superintendent (“The Supe”), his distinguished guests, and many spectators.  The march instills discipline and order with the Corps of Cadets and fosters esprit de corps and camaraderie.  The rifle team performs, the sword team performs, and the band plays. This parade of West Point cadets is one of the most impressive and moving military sights I’ve ever seen.     

The football teams plays in Michie (pronounced Mikey) Stadium, named for Dennis Michie who organized and coached the first West Point football team, in 1890.  The playing field is named for Earl “Red” Blaik, Army’s head coach from 1941-1958 who led the cadets to a national title in 1944 and 1945.  Cadet attendance at football games is mandatory and the Corps stands for the entire game.  The game ball is usually brought to the field by the Black Knights parachute team.   What a way to start the game!  Plebes do pushups for every point scored by the Black Knights.   The rabble rousers are also an important part of the Army football experience.  Dressed in unique West Point outfits, the rabble rousers hype the crowd and get the fans in the stands cheering.

Despite the spirit of Army football, the team doesn’t appear on any BCS lists.  Don’t judge Army football by its W-L record.   By the time they graduation, every single West Point cadet will have the knowledge, skill, strength and leadership to face any opponent in combat. As newly commissioned Second Lieutenants they will lead their soldiers out of harms way in remote places very far from home.

During the reunion class meeting the Superintendent’s office gave the class an update on what’s happening at the Academy.  In addition to the Honor Code, West Point now has a Respect Code, to educate and create awareness among the cadets about sexual harassment, assault prevention, and ethic, ethnic, cultural and diversity issues.   The Supe’s office didn’t spend much time talking about the Respect Code, as it is a fairly new initiative at West Point.  My own suspicion is that the Respect Code has something to do with the military’s recent (good) riddance of the “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” policy and allowing gays and lesbians to openly serve in the military.  I hope the Respect Code is successful.

I was disappointed by a few comments I overhead about one classmate who attended the reunion with her same sex partner; and another off-handed but insensitive comment about gay marriage.  I hope the Respect Code will help the next generation of cadets to all have attitudes of acceptance and inclusiveness.  There was also talk of 3 or 4 classmates who haven’t been seen or heard from in some time – women and men.  I wondered if the experiences of those individuals at West Point and/or in the military wasn’t as positive as it was for everyone else at the reunion.  Could these women perhaps have been sexually harassed, or worse, during their years at West Point?  The entering class of 1982 was only the 6^th class of women at the Academy.  I suspect there were senior officers at that time who were resentful of the female presence. Are there men from the Class of 1986 who have been absent from reunion gatherings because they are resentful of having to keep their true selves secret for so many years?

Overall, the reunion weekend was a huge success and a fabulous time.  Despite 25 years, distance, deployments and distinguished careers as General, Colonels and business leaders, Gary and the Bandits fell right back into step.  They still call each other names like Cecil, and The Narrator, Bucket Head, Wizzy, and Mooky.  And they talked and laughed about their “Beast Barrack” experiences, and who could and couldn’t pass the SAMI inspections (Saturday A.M. Inspection – a white glove room inspection).

There is always one story that comes up when Gary is with his West Point buddies. A form of punishments for cadets who commit an infraction is “walking the area.”  Cadets are “awarded” walking tours as punishment for infractions.  Being late to class or not passing a room inspection might result in a 5 hour walking tour, while more severe misconduct can result in upwards of 60-80 hours.  The tours are “walked off” by wearing the dress uniform and walking back and forth in a designated area.  Cadets who walk more than 100 hours during their time at West Point are affectionately known as Century Men.   Gary is a DOUBLE Century Man – a legend at West Point.    He never had to walk the area for an infraction such as not passing a room inspection, or his uniform not being appropriate.   He had just three infractions, but they were big ones, (code: beer).   Today’s cadets ractually look at Gary in awe when they find out he’s a “Double Century Man!”

As I mentioned, the unusual October snow forced us out of New York earlier than we had planned.  But it was a fabulous 25^th reunion weekend, and we’ll look forward to seeing all of our West Point friends again soon.

Until then, well done.  Go thou in peace.

Just sayin’.

Laurie 

Food Insecurity

I have no insecurities about food.  I love food – eating, grocery shopping, organizing my pantry, planning meals, cooking, reading about food, clipping recipes, entertaining with food, eating at restaurants, taking a cooking class, and watching food shows on TV.  Mexican, Thai, Italian, Chinese, (some) seafood, Pan Asian, a little Indian, and good ole’ fashion American food – I love it all!  My husband and I have favorite foods and restaurants in towns and cities all over the country, and since our visit to London this past spring, there too.  We cook at home together and often head out for a nice restaurant meal.   Food glorious food!

My earliest memory of food is not a pleasant one.   I was 4 or 5 years old and my mom served lima beans for dinner.  I would not eat my lima beans, and I guess I played around with the beans and pushed my dad’s patience too far, because he made me sit at the table and eat an entire serving dish of lima beans.  I have not had a lima bean since!  But I have some early good memories of food too.  When I was a child, my dad would make egg salad every Easter Sunday, out of the hard boiled eggs we colored the night before.  The white bread was always fresh, and he put lettuce on the sandwich.  To this day egg salad is one of my favorite sandwiches.  Dad also used to make pancakes for my sister, brother and me, and he would fashion our initials out of the batter.  My dad is something of a perfectionist, and he would make the letter backwards, because the bottom side of the pancake always cooks nicer. 

Another early memory is going to my maternal great grandmother’s apartment and finding molasses cookies in her pantry.  I don’t know if the cookies were homemade or store bought, but I remember how good they tasted.  Curiously, my dad recently told me that his grandmother used to bake molasses cookies, but a written family recipe didn’t survive her.   I’ve been on the lookout for a molasses cookie recipe for some time.

Food is a large part of my life, as it might be yours.  What will we have for dinner?  Where shall we meet for lunch?  Want to order an appetizer with our drinks?  Shall we get popcorn at the movie?  Want to go to Dairy Queen tonight?  Honey, will you please stop by the grocery store on your way home from work?  We’d love to come over, what should I bring?    Nope, no food insecurities for me.

But millions of Americans are food insecure.  Here’s the fact:  food insecure is defined as being uncertain of having or unable to acquire enough food for everyone in the household because of insufficient money or other resources.   Don’t be fooled by this terminology.  More plainly, food insecure means “hunger.”  Dictionary.com defines hunger as  “a compelling need or desire for food.”  In 2006, the U.S. changed the definitions it uses and eliminated references to hunger, keeping various categories of “food insecurity” instead.  You say to-mahto, I say tomato.

In doing a little research for this blog post, I learned that in 2010, 17.2 million American households, or 14.5% of all households, were food insecure, the highest amount ever recorded.   I was overwhelmed by all the facts and statistics I read about “food insecurity”, but here’s the bottom line:  food insecurity – that is, HUNGER - exists everywhere in America.  It does not matter what part of the country you live in, or whether you live in an urban, suburban, or rural setting – hunger has no boundaries.  Hunger is not limited to the unemployed, the disenfranchised, or any one ethnic group.  Many two-income families are food insecure.  In the Twin Cities, where I live, 35% of the families who rely on food shelves are working.  There are parents who skip meals or do not get enough to eat so they can make sure their children do.  And there are children who do not get enough to eat, who are hungry at school and are hungry at home.

According to the United Way Twin Cities, 1 in 10 in my community is “food insecure.”  Because the economic downturn has continued, food shelves have become a regular source of food for hungry families, children and seniors, instead of the emergency support they used to be.  Food needs continue to increase, and hunger relief programs are having difficulty meeting the demand.

I live in a nice home in a neighborhood that statistically would be considered affluent.  I can see the local high school from our front window.  Since the fall of 2010, the school has had a permanent food shelf.  It was set up by staff in response to rising poverty among students, and the sense that too many kids were going hungry during the school day.  Three other high schools in the area also have food banks, as do several elementary schools.   Will this extension into the schools of food shelves continue?  What a shame if it must.

I can’t even scratch the surface of this issue with a blog post.  I’m just uneasy that in America there are so many people who are hungry, uh, I mean “food insecure?”   I will be thinking about what little I can do about that.  Maybe you could too?

Just sayin’.

Laurie

A View From the Streetcar

This past week I rode the New Orleans streetcar on historic St. Charles Avenue for the first time in years. It was lovely! I took my ride on a gorgeous evening; it was a little warm and muggy for September, even by New Orleans' standards, but I didn't mind, as the breeze blowing through the open windows of the streetcar made the ride very comfortable. There was only one other passenger when I hopped on board so I practically had the streetcar to myself. Perfect conditions!

In New Orleans, the vintage electric rail vehicles are called streetcars - never trolleys. No one is quite sure why or when this distinction was made. Perhaps it was because New Orleans was the first city west of the Allegheny Mountains to have passenger rail service. "Streetcars" rolled through the streets of New Orleans for 60 years before the "trolley", a device that transmits electric current to the motor, was used to power them. Today there are three streetcar lines in New Orleans: St Charles Avenue, Canal Street, and the Riverfront line. The St Charles line is the oldest continuously operating streetcar in the world. The 13.2 mile route rumbles along the "neutral ground" (median) through downtown, the Garden District, uptown, the university and Audubon Park areas, Riverbend, and Carrollton.  The car itself is made of solid green steel, the seats are shiny mahogany, and the fixtures are brass.  Every New Orleanian and most visitors to the city ride the streetcar, past the antebellum mansions, schools and churches, world class restaurants and hotels, Loyola and Tulane Universities, and gorgeous Audubon Park.

I began my ride at Audubon Park and Loyola, and rode to Jackson Avenue in the Garden District, which took about 25 minutes. I didn't talk, text or surf, choosing instead to focus on the many scenes around me and those I observed from my open air window view.

The streetcar conductor greeted me warmly as I paid my $1.25 fare.   He also greeted the conductors of other streetcars passing in the opposite direction, with a slight lift of his hand in the movement of a salute, and a subtle nod of his head.  What I heard him saying loud and clear to the other conductors was "where y'at", an affectionate greeting among friends in New Orleans.

During my ride I saw many people out and about on St. Charles Avenue.  Joggers and walkers and bike riders; dog walkers; parents pushing strollers or playing with their kids at the playground; couples strolling; downtowners heading home after a day at the office, and college students heading to their apartments after a day on campus; men and women, boys and girls, young and old, black and white, rich and poor.  Quintessential New Orleans.

I love people watching and I am always interested in everyone's "story", because everyone has one.   I wondered about many of those I observed from my sreetcar window.  The fit young white woman jogging slowly, almost in place, with the overweight black man who appeared somewhat older than her.  How did they meet?  What did they have in common?  Was she his coach, helping him with his health and fitness goals?  Or were they co-workers in one of the downtown office buildings, or  professors at one of the universities?  Or maybe they were just friends on the "neutral" ground (this was my favorite scenario).  I liked seeing the group of boys and girls from one of the area schools jogging together along St. Charles Avenue.  From their T-shirts I knew they were on the cross country team.  Seeing parents with their kids at Danneel Park brought back memories of me taking my daughter to this beautiful uptown playground so many years ago.   

St. Charles Avenue has been described as the "Jewel of America's Grand Avenues."  The grandest of residences line the Avenue, homes that in the 18th century belonged to the wealthy and powerful who built New Orleans into the city it is today.   There are also beautiful, historic churches and synagogues that are New Orleans' major centers of worship.    The architectural styles of the homes and historic buildings are Greek, Mediterranean, Italian, Spanish and Victorian.  They are made of wood, brick, stucco, and stone, and the colors are traditional white and beige, but also blue, green, pink, yellow, even purple!   Many of the homes have large wrap-around porches, just as you'd imagine a Southern antebellum home to have, and are surrounded by ornate iron fences.  Front doors are decorated with welcoming wreaths, towering oak trees are in the yards, along with beautiful shrubbery and flowering bushes and trees.  Alongside American flags waving from porch railings, I saw many New Orleans Saints, LSU, Tulane, and Fleur de Lis flags.

One corner home in particular caught my eye, not so much for its architecture, but for the four large dogs sitting on the porch and roaming the yard.   There was a black lab, a German shepherd, and two fierce looking black dogs - I don't know what breed they were.  They were obviously guard dogs.  Which got me thinking that regrettably, for all its grandeur, St. Charles Avenue still has its crime challenges, as does every New Orleans neighborhood.  This blog is not for writing about the reasons for or causes of New Orleans crime rates.  It's just sad to me that after all the city has been through, crime is probably still its biggest challenge, as least to the ordinary resident. 

An election is coming up in New Orleans, and I observed many campaign signs along the Avenue.  I note this because several of the candidate names were familiar to me for one of two reasons:  1) the candidate has run for office over and over for as long as I can remember - a "professional" candidate (is this good for Louisiana?); and 2) a few of the judicial candidates I knew when they were young lawyers - even law students.  A reminder of the length of my career (and, sigh! my age!).

During my ride I saw many signs advertising open houses being hosted by New Orleans private schools  this time of year, to recruit students for the 2012-13 school year.   Numerous  homes had these signs on the fence or in the yard.   From living in the city for so long, I know the real reason these signs are posted is to broadcast one's allegiance to a particular school.  In New Orleans, where one attends grammar and high school is of extreme importance in social and professional circles throughout one's entire life.  One of the first questions a person asks when meeting someone new is "Where did you go to school?"  Not college, not graduate or professional school.  Grammar school and high school.  It truly matters in New Orleans.  This question will be asked of a New Orleanian all of his/her life.

An older couple got on the streetcar about half way through my ride.  They were nicely dressed and told the driver they wanted to exit the car at Washington Avenue.  I knew immediately where they were headed -- to Commander's Palace for dinner.  Commander's is located in the Garden District and is one of New Orleans most upscale, well regarded restaurants.   Commander's is owned by the Brennan family, purveyors of several of the city's finest eating establishments.  Paul Prudhomme and Emeril Lagasse began their renowned careers in Commander's kitchen.  The couple seemed so excited during their ride, and as they exited the streetcar and began their walk down Washington, they were holding hands.  I felt happy for them, knowing a fabulous meal and special experience awaited them at Commander's Palace. 

As the streetcar made its way across Napoleon Avenue, there was a subtle change in the appearance of the oak trees that line St. Charles.   Mardi Gras beads hung high from the branches of many of the trees.  Mardi Gras parades follow a route that travels from Napoleon Avenue onto St. Charles.  I love Mardi Gras and since moving away from New Orleans ten ago, I've been back for Fat Tuesday 4 or 5 times, and reservations are in place for 2012.  As I began seeing those beads high in the oak trees, scenes from past Mardi Gras celebrations flashed through my mind.  Staking out "our spot" on the Avenue in the pre-dawn hours of Mardi Gras day.  Hoisting my young daughter into that seat on the top of the ladder and spending all day uptown-literally all day-watching parades, waiting for Bacchus, the biggest of them all.  Being hoarse from yelling "throw me something Mister!"   How many of the beads in those trees were ones I didn't catch?  Or ones I tried to throw back at the King Kong float in the Bacchus parade? 

So many things to see and so many memories to enjoy.  My ride ended too soon.  As I thanked the conductor and said good-bye he replied with a traditional New Orleans "Aw..right dawlin'....."  The lilt of his voice was like a soft jazz tune.  I will hold that note in my memory until the next ride.

Just sayin'.

Laurie

Where Are You From?

Where are you from?  I've been asked this question practically my whole life. "You're not from around here, are you?"  "I recognize your accent, but I can't quite place it."  "What brought you here?"  My responses have changed many times over the past 37 years.  Recently I've begun to wonder - where AM I from?

I spent my formative years in a small town in South Jersey (if you've lived there you understand the South distinction) and my pre-teen and teen years in Delaware.  New Orleans was home during my 20's and most of my 30's, and the last 10 years or so I've lived in Connecticut and more recently in Minnesota.  Hence the reason for the number of different answers to the same questions all these years.

I lived in New Jersey until I was 10, and have vivid memories of those years.  I clearly remember my sister as a toddler and when my brother was born.  I used to ride my bike to my grandparent's house and I picked and ate green beans right out of the farm ground of my other grandparents.  My aunt was the drive thru teller at the bank  and another aunt was the children's choir director at the United Methodist Church, where everyone I knew worshipped.  Every Easter Sunday my Dad would make egg salad sandwiches from the eggs we had colored the night before.  My great grandmother spent the night at our house each Christmas Eve.  Summer Sundays meant my parents and their friends - who were all called "aunt" and "uncle" - and all the kids would gather at the lake for a giant picnic.  I remember learning to ride my two wheeler on a gravel driveway with the boys across the street.  Brownies and Girl Scouts, the volunteer firemen's carnival, the five and dime where I could buy candy for a penny (literally), the tree in our backyard that I used to climb.  I've only been back to New Jersey a few times in all these years, but Facebook friends and posts have recently brought this small town alive to me again.  This is where I'm from.

When I was 10 years old we moved to Delaware,  into a brand new home in a new housing development with other young families.  We had a "rec" room, a swimming pool, and I rode a bus to school for the first time ever.  Life was idyllic.   Divorce shattered all of that, but I adjusted.  My teen years were fairly normal, although looking back I wish I had taken better advantage of the familial, friendship and educational opportunities that were all around me.  My first marriage took me away from Delaware when I was barely an adult myself.  Since then, I've traveled to Delaware whenever possible to visit parents and siblings, relatives, life long friends, nieces, nephews, and many of my in-laws.   I always look forward to our traditional family get-togethers, shopping with my sister and mom at the mall or the outlets, my brother's quick wit, the familiarity of my Dad's horseshoes and habits, and taking the kids to the beach and the boardwalk.  For many years my sister and brother-in-law have made their large, comfortable home mine and my husband's East Coast hub.  My favorites are always in the kitchen pantry (Herrs and Tastycakes!), and he's been a member of the neighborhood golf club.   This is where I'm from.

Moving to New Orleans was very unexpected for me.  But the city became an important part of my life and is part of the fabric of my being..  I have cherished friends and I built my law firm career there.  My daughter was born and raised in New Orleans, and it's where she attends college.  I visit New Orleans often and when I do I feel happy and full of pride.  I lived in New Orleans longer than I've lived anywhere else and my happiness and pride stem from the life I achieved for my daughter and myself while we lived there.  I had a wide circle of personal and professional friends, I was part of a church community, I was active in volunteerism, my daughter attended a great neighborhood school, and I owned my own home. Today I'm proud to watch my daughter become an adult in the city where I became one too.    This is where I'm from.

A second chance at marriage (another story for another blog post) brought about a move to Connecticut. As much as I loved New Orleans, I never once hesitated to make this move.  Our Connecticut town was Norman Rockwell perfect.  It was a beach town, our daughter could safely walk to school and freely roam the streets, I had a perfect law firm job 1 1/2 miles from our house,  and my husband commuted by train to his Manhattan job.  We had wonderful neighbors and friends and hosted many  parties at our beautiful, remodeled Dutch Colonial, especially in the summer by our pool.  The town held summer concerts on the Town Green and an annual Memorial Day parade, and our church congregation dated back to pre-revolutionary war days.  From spring to fall we would eat at one of the many sidewalk cafes.  We frequently went to New York City, drove to Boston to sightsee, or to West Point on football Saturdays.   We were close enough to our Delaware family that we had visitors from time to time, and we were able to make the drive to see them for holidays, kids birthdays, and other family events.  My husband and I built a life in Connecticut that felt good and right for us and our kids.  This is where I'm from.

As comfortable and happy as we were in Connecticut, career opportunities brought about a move to Minnesota.   This one didn't come as easy for me as the others.  In fact, I resisted the move.   My husband went to Minnesota a full 1 1/2 years before I did as our daughter was in the middle of her junior year of high school, and we made a family decision to let her graduate in Connecticut.  He commuted home to Connecticut every other weekend.   After 1 1/2 years, however, she was off to college and it was it time for me to join him in Minnesota.  After the moving truck drove away, after I said goodbye to my friends, I walked through the beautiful, remodeled Dutch Colonial that now belonged to someone else and broke down.  I didn't have it in me to start over in a new city yet again.

I've lived in Minnesota for four years now.  I've survived 4 winters!  I have valuable friendships.   I've mastered the downtown skyway system, I have doctors, a hair stylist, a manicurist, a drycleaner, and a seamstress.  We have our favorite restaurants, and occasionally we even cheer for the hometown team (that's saying a lot, if you know of our Philadelphia team affiliations).  We've even been "up North" (once!).  Our kids have bedrooms in our house, can find their way around the Twin Cities and have a few friends here.  Our families and some friends have come to visit, and have commented on how beautiful and clean it is in Minnesota.  I've adjusted to the slow and steady pace of the Midwest. 

Today when we travel to visit our family and friends the questions we seem to be asked most often are  "How long will you live there?"  "Do you think you'll move again?"  If history is any indication, Minnesota isn't my last stop, but I will try not to think about where I'll land next.  Instead,  I will continue to enjoy my visits to that small town in New Jersey, and to Delaware, New Orleans and Connecticut.    I will remember to give thanks in my prayers for the life experiences I've had in each of the wonderful places I have lived, and to work harder to stay in touch with the many family and friends who have touched my life, because it is those experiences and those people which have made me the woman I am today.  I will enjoy Minnesota. This is where I'm from.

Just sayin'.

My First Post

Is there anything I can share that anyone will want to read?  I am married to a fabulous man I've known all my life (that story is for another post).  We have two remarkable children, I'm sure I'll write about them sometime too. We have two cats, and  friends and family all over the country.   I'm in year 26 of a career in law firm administration.   I've watched All My Children since I was about 5 and am sad it's ending this September.  And I've watched GH since I was about 10 and am so glad it's not ending (shout out to Kat)!  But I'm more than the sum of my soaps!  I've been blessed with many life experiences, some have been wonderful, others have been, well...."learning opportunities."  I have many thoughts and ideas and observations.  But can I turn all of this -- all of ME and my life -  into into words that you will find interesting, humorous or inspirational?  Since third grade I've been a writer-wanna be (not sure I've ever told anyone that truth).  Could there be a Carrie Bradshaw, Dave Barry, Maureen Dowd, or Mitch Albom buried inside of me, waiting to exhale?  Just sayin'.