Can I Keep It?

Mona's Creole Cuisine

This year, we celebrated Mona's Creole Cuisine for the Mona Lisa and Moon Pie Krewe parade in Slidell.  I cheated a bit and recycled last year's frog outfits.  We went as frog legs.  I stitched together a couple of pairs of legs for us to carry.  I wish I could have found a wheel chair to push us around in, but alas, that didn't pan out. Charlotte decorated a stroller for us that had a huge plate, knife and fork.  And a ginormous fly for us to eat!

I wasn't the only cheater. Charlotte's son Lowry, repackaged his nutria costume as nutria stew.

He had a giant pot around him for the walk painted with flames.

Charlotte's nephew, Christopher, is a chef.  He runs Christopher's on Cary across the street from the Arcade where we have the Red Beans and Rice Ball after.  His costume, as well as his parents' (Brenda and John) costumes, were a given.

Brenda's Moon Pie cart was tarted up like a dining table.

And Charlotte was a fabulous blue crab.

Charlotte's friends, Addy and Amy went as Wild Rice.

While Amy's dad travelled on his Hov-a-round as a crawfish.

The back of his chair was made up like the shell of the crustacean.  Really cute!

This was the Cereal Killers Krewe.

Of course, they were all properly outfitted as the cartoon characters from the box illustrations.  There was even a Capt'n Crunch, but we failed to bring batteries for the camera.  Waa-wa.

Always dark when we begin, the Flabeaux light our way. Lowry's buds comprised the majority of the torch bearers.

Moon Pie! MOON Pie! MOOOOON PIIIEEEEE!!!  Is still ringing in my ears.

It poured rain all day.  Fifteen minutes before we lined up?  It vanished, leaving a cool night for tossing Moon Pies to the cheering crowds. 

Can't wait until next year!

 

Apres et le Fin

I have been lying in bed, two dogs pressed like hot water bottles to my side for the past week.  Watching bad TV and sneezing until I thought my sore throat was completely etched.  Gah.  I'm sorry for the tardy end to this lengthy adventure. (Who knew you could pack so much into three days? And so little into seven?)

Hud needed to have the French national sandwich, the Croque Madame!  So we stopped off for a bite to eat at a little bistro.  As you do. 

I had a beautiful Caprese salad.  They peeled the tomatoes!  Fresh Mozerella! Giant fragrant basil!

Fortified, it was off to pay our respects to Napoleon Bonaparte at the Hotel des Invalides. 

Napoleon's Tomb rests at the base of a rotunda, under the glow of a golden altar.

You enter by way of stairs on the backside of the altar and between two giant statues.

That's my red head on the lower right.  His big toe was the length of my hand. 

Above the doorway is a quote by Napoleon, "I want my ashes to rest on the banks of the Seine, amid the French people that I loved so much."

He rests inside of series of caskets on the bottom floor past the entry to the war hero catacombs where his son lays.

On the walls surrounding him are scenes of him as a Grecian god, enumerating his many conquests.

At the rear of the tomb is a gold encrusted statue of the emperor.

We turned to go back upstairs.

Past the catacombs of war heroes.

We made our way back up the marble stairs.

Out by the altar.

To view the tombs of other notable war heroes of France. Lyautey, Marshall of France who passed in 1934.

And the tomb of Marshall Foch, from the First World War among others.

But the day was getting late and we made the long stroll up under the Eiffel Tower and back to the hotel for a brief nap before going to the Eiffel Tower for New Year's Eve!

BONNE ANNEE!

It was simply the best New Year's Eve of my life.  Thank you, my sweet husband for such a beautiful memory.  I'll treasure it always.

I hope each of you are as blessed as I am.

 

 

Dejeuner a Midi

New Year's Eve, we started the day by tossing a coin.  Go to the Opera? Too far away. Sacre Coeur?  Did a church already.  The Bastille?  Maybe.  But knowing Hud is a Civil War fan, I figured that maybe he would like to go to France's favorite war hero's final resting spot --Hotel des Invalides.  It's right next to the Musee de l'Armee so he could get two birds with one stone.  What I didn't know is the best way to procede.  Hud ran down to ask Zahir at the front desk.  He sent us left out of the hotel, left at the first street, go three blocks and head right between a museum and a gallery and voila!

Go under the Eiffel Tower! There was a Christmas village set up at the base and a small fair.  And 9,485,283 and a 1/2 of our closest friends and their dogs.  I really needed my dog.

We made a left at the carousel and headed for the Tour Eiffel!

Through the hoards of visitors. Closer...

Closer...

Under and out!

Another left.  A little to the right and follow the golden dome to this:

The Hotel des Invalides is a large church finished in 1706.  It served as a large complex of buildings, apartments, hospital and church to provide for soldiers who had served in various wars over the years.  Napoleon and his son were exhumed from Elba and Austria respectively and moved to the church in the 1800s.  Actually, Hitler (!) thought the son should be with his father and had the remains moved to the catacombs of the Invalides.  Who knew he ever did anything nice?  Well, I have read that he liked cats, so there must be some kernel of good in everyone.

First we visited the Musee de l'Armee to the left of the dome.  It's a vast complex housing the armory of France's great warring past.

I loved this Art Nouveau pitchfork gate.  But onto the show!

First, you pass though one man's vast collection of examlples of all the outfits soldiers wore throughout the ages.  I said, " Wow.  I've never seen such a big doll collection."  Hud said, "Good thing you didn't say that in French."  Hmmph.  It's a DOLL COLLECTION.  I don't care what he called it.

I had no idea the suits of armour worn by knights were so intricately and masterfully etched! 

This one belonged to Louis XIV.  As Hud and I wandered around, we started to notice that all the artifacts we were drawn to belonged to him.  Louis and I could have definitely shopped together.

Even the horses were suited up for defense.

And the children.

At first, I couldn't figure out what the hook was for on many of the suits.  Je parle comme un bebe, but I can read a good bit.  Finally, I read that it was a support on Jousting suits.  You know. For the jousting ram.  As you do.

I was amazed that they still had the pantaloons for this suit.  The fabrics were why the lighting was kept so low and flash was not allowed.

The variety of these powder flasks was so interesting.  They ranged from antlers to ivory to a small bejeweled turtle shell.  That's it, second in, from the bottom right.

This ancient shield was carved from wood, covered in leather and adorned with paint and guilding.

Little known fact, as a child, the Furry Godmother was pretty good with a crossbow.  This one inlaid with ivory could convince me to take up the sport again, I think.

But the most amusing piece of armory came in the form of a canon, celebrating the marriage of a duke and given by Cardinal Richelieu. 

It had a portrait of the bride.

Lovely.  The handles were a carving of the bride and groom in an embrace. Naked!

Isn't it romantic?  Nothing says love like your very own weapon of mass destruction!

Hud said, "This is wonderful!  I'll get the Metals Museum started on ours the minute we get back!"

Quelle romantique!

I'll leave it here,because Napoleon deserves a post to himself.

Adieu pour la nuit!

 

 

Breaking Tradition

Zali may never speak to me again.

Non, eye weel not!  You go to ze Paree witout ze Zali?  Quelle domage! Va tu fait cuire un oeuf! You do not luff your Zali!

We never really go anywhere that does not involve work.  But this year that all changed!

Hud wisked me away to Paris after Christmas to celebrate the New Year!  The first day we arrived late, so we went to a nearby deli recommended by Zahir, the manager at the Etoile Trocadero.  We had a split a tasty ham and cheese crepe and a salad, had a little walk and tumbeld into bed to sleep off the jet lag.  In the morning, we boarded the Metro and headed for Notre Dame on the Ile de la Cite. 

We made our way through the streets slowly.  Hud was taking pictures of everything.  And I do mean everything!

Each and every alley was documented on our journey.  We approached Notre Dame from the rear.  I thought he knew what it was already, but as we turned the corner, I was waiting for him to suck in his breath at its beauty.  I said, "There it is..." And he just stared across the park in front of the cathedral and said, "Where?"  So I turned him to face it. 

His face glowed with wonder. His eyes wide and child-like.  He whispered, "Oh, my..."  We winded our way throught he crowd and entered Notre Dame on the left hand of God as the pilgrims did in the 1100s when it was built in the honor of St. Denis.  St. Denis is the patron saint of Paris and the first bishop of Paris.  Sent to spread Christianity, he held mass in nearby caves and was later martyred.

Several other churches were built on the site , but removed for the emergence of Notre Dame in 1163.  It will be celebrating 850 years in 2013.  And I have to say the old lady is lovely.

They were saying mass as they do five times a day.  Seven on weekends.

 

There is beauty everywhere you turn and Hud was seduced by it.  This frieze surrounding the nave and choir details the days of Christ.

 

All the walls are painted with allegorical scenes, repaired after the revolution destroyed quite a bit of its original glory.

And exqisite sculptures of abound.

 

Not even the ceilings escaped decoration.

Hud asked if this really were Heaven.

And thinking that it might be, as we passed by Mary's alter, I lit a candle for Evelyn and her family.  I turn to the Virgin when I am struggling or in need of aid.  She answers most of my prayers with assistance and hope.

*for Evelyn, in loving memory*

The Christmas decorations are left until the Epiphany, so we got to enjoy those as well.

"But we still haven't seen the best part!" I told an astonished Hud. And we made our way outdoors.

The exterior is covered in scultures and bas relief, telling the woes of saints and the history of the bible.  On the right hand of God, as you exit, just above your head on the door jam is Adam and Eve and the Serpent.  Love the way the tree modestly covers their privates.

And how the half human snake gazes adoringly at Eve.

We made our way past gargoyles and spires.

To my favorite part of the cathedral.

FLYING BUTTRESSES!  I think that deserves a Ta Da! Don't you?

This place is so cool the public toilets in the back are faux bois.  Faux bois toilets, people!

Hungry, we crossed the bridge to get lunch to find it was covered in locks and bits of plastic on which were written the names of lovers who had been to the historic site.

And we vowed to return with a lock of our own.

The restaurant we chose was the A.O.C. They use local fresh ingredients.  The name is a nod to the French form of the FDA.

I'd rarely seen Hud happier.  We had blood sausage salad and warm goat cheese salad to start. 

For mains, the A.O.C. serves French comfort food.  I tried the rich fricassee de rosingnols and Hud had a succulent pork stew.

All of it was divine.  But my favorite was the blood sausage salad.  I think we surprised the waiter with our choices.  Having read Thomas Keller's The French Laundry, I believe in utilizing the entire animal.  If it gave it's life for your sustenance, then you have a responsibility to use all of it.

Lunch was at three, so by the time we got to Sainte Chappelle, the queue was too long to make it in by closing.

Sainte Chappelle is the home of the Crown of Thorns.  But we would have to see it another day.  We strolled on to the Pont Neuf.

And shared a kiss, as is tradition when visiting Paris.

The Seine roiled swiftly below us.  It was a great way to wrap up our day on the Ile de la Cite.

We said adieu to the Pont Neuf Parc and caught the Metro back to the Trocadero.

Okay.  Maybe I did browse for  a few antiques along the way.

I ahm Freench, Dammeet! Eye leek to rahde on planes.  Everyone has a doog.  You could ave taken moi. Je pout maintenant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Questionable Offerings

Zoe has been hard at work in the office.  Filing reports.  Interviewing interns.  Making phone calls.

 
Okay, I may have caught her napping.  But she works so hard! 

Or, you know, not. 

Simone even went up to her to make sure she's still breathing.  To everyone's relief, she was.

Zoe's office is the Booze Hound Bar and Grill on our sun porch.  When we were vacationing in Rhode Island one year to see the mansions and visit Green Animals, we stayed at a B&B.  It was a lovely old gingerbread  Victorian.  I enjoyed strolling throughout the many parlors and hallways, beautifully restored with intricately layered William Morris wallpapers. In the corner of the elegant dining room was an exotic plant.  The likes of which I'd never seen.  At breakfast, I queried the hostess as to it's name and origin. 

*That's a Sharron Barrett Plant Friend sticking out of the top.  And a watering ball from my friend, Tatia Johnson. And a bunny cling from the side from my mother.  Hoarders?  No.  We're collectors.

She blushed.  The plant was the ill gotten gain of her husband on a trip to Monticello.  When he wasn't you know, writing constitutions or being President, Jefferson was a horticulturalist.  He collected plants all over the world and brought them back to his greenhouses in Virginia to propagate.  This was a snippet of one of those treasures.

She asked me if I'd like a piece to take home. And gave me a cutting as we left to catch our plane.  I guess she thought if I became a co-conspiritor that I wouldn't turn her over to authorities.

We just call it the Monticello plant.  Or the Jefferson plant.  It's easy to grow.  Likes bright indirect sunlight and water once a week.  No food.  It blooms several times a year.  And in the years we have had it, it has grown all the way from a four inch trimming to the floor.  It has started to snake its way under Zoe's, er, "desk". 

So we, in turn, have been cutting it off and giving it away to friends.

 

 

And this is also hanging from it.  Because it needs lots of things to amuse it.  That's the only downfall of the plant apparently.

Our friend, Keith Renard gave the Lollypop Baby to us years ago.  He's getting married this November.  last week, we gave them a potted piece of the Monticello plant. 

Stollen property from a landmark estate.  Isn't that what Martha Stuart says in her wedding magazine is the perfect gift for the bride to be?

 

On Giving

A couple of weeks ago, I made a gift for Evelyn to give to her today.  Her forty-ninth birthday.  However, when her husband called to deliver the sad news that she was near the end, I decided to send it to her daughter, Rachel.  It was a smile box. 

My friend, Nay Nay and I had kept one between our desks in the shop of the department store where we worked many years ago.  When one of us became grumpy, the other would reach in the box.  It was filled with pretty paper smiles we had cut out of magazines.  We'd stick to our lip gloss and continue to listen patiently until the fussbudget looked up and saw the fake smile stuck to our face.  It's kind of like banjo music, you could't help but laugh when you saw it.  Nay was aquainted with Ev.  She suggested I make her a smile box to get through her days.  I figured Rachel might need it more, given the way events had unfolded.

Last weekend, I spent in Richmond, saying good bye to a dear friend.  A sweet, happy spirit.  A kind and loving mother and wife, whose beautiful children faced the visitation with poise and dignity.  I told my mother on the phone the next day how well Ev's kids were handling it.  She replied, "Well, Evelyn was very mature and poised, you and Heather?  Not so much..."

My high school friend, Thommy was sweet enough to babysit me throughout the ordeal.  I met him at the funeral on Monday.  He steeled me to go in.  Inside, was filled with many of our dearest high school friends.  Evelyn was good at that.  She was a collector of people.  Once you got in her circle, it was hard to leave it.  You didn't want to.

We sat in a pew with the others from our class, when a hand touched my shoulder. I turned. My eyes clouded with tears.  It was the third part of our triangle!  Heather had come to say goodbye to Evelyn!

We had not seen each other for thirty years.

It was as if time never passed.  I think it was Evelyn's last gift to me.  To Heather.

She had been trying to get us together for years.  It just never worked out.  Until now.

Happy Birthday, Evelyn.  Thank you so much for your warmth, your humor, your talent, your friendship --your life.

 

Reunion

 

Me and Ev, October 15, 2010

*This great shot was taken by the talented Hud Andrews!*

On Going Home

No matter how many years have passed (thirty-two) since I moved away from Richmond,  I have always considered it to be my home.  Despite the fact that I have no dwelling to call my own there, it is the place that holds my heart.  I grew up with some of the nicest people I have ever met in all of my wanderings.  They are the family that resides in my spirit.

I was supposed to spend the day, furiously packing my bags for home.Tying up loose ends.  Making apologies to the dogs.  Instead, I am wandering around in circles like a dog looking for a good spot to lie down.

My oldest and dearest friend --the one who made my teen years fun and exciting --the one who forged gallantly through the wilderness of our youth to adulthood --is leaving for a place that won't allow her to come back.

I thought I could get to her in time, but her husband called me yesterday.  She is slipping away quicker than first thought.  Visitors (and the medications she has to take for pain) make her nervous.  Not wanting to add to her distress, I cancelled my trip.She needs to do this in her own brave way.

Going home will never be the same again.

Ze Craft Ees Faire! (Zali Helps a Mother Out)

New York, New York! What a whondurfull sound!  Ah LUVE ze New York!  I LUVE ze hotels! 

Ummm, no, dear.  We were in Nashville at the TACA Spring Show.  We didn't have to fly.  We drove.  Four hours.  You slept on my lap the whole time. 

What?  Ze Zali, he does not understahnd zees, "Nashveele". 

That's where we spent the last four days.  Nashville.  Music City.  Home of Country Music.

Yees, of course.  Zhat ees what I said.  Nashveele.  Eet does not take anytime to geet zhere. A few meenutes with a sandwheech eentermeesion.

 

Zali adores traveling.  By plane or car, he's a stellar companion.  Quiet and well behaved in the hotel, he only barked when some kids slammed a door at two in the morning. It was more of a "Hey!  Zees keeds today!  Ze people!  Zhey are sleeping!" than anything else.  He has a rolling backpack we call "the apartment".  Hud says when Zali disappears in it below the opening that he has gone to the pantry to make a sanwich.  Zali even has his own luggage, pictured above.  It's a round red suitcase that opens to reveal a stainless water  and food dish.  Its tag reads, "Globe Trotter".  The photo is a complete fluke.  Zali sleeps in the bed, on his back for better peepee airing, of course.

Not that he's spoiled or anything.  Nooooo.  Nuh-uh.  Nope.

Ahnd, ze muhzur and fahzur took mee weeth them to ze crafts fair!  Ze people came to ze booth to see how handsome ah ahm!  Oh, and maybee to buy some of ze muhzur paintings.  No!  I jest!  Zhey came to see me! 

The weather on the first day was lovely, but blustery.  Our neighbor's display was toppled by a huge gust of wind.  Show people are normally very nice and we all ran over to help her right it.  The second day started out sunshiney and bright, but it quickly turned sour.  Dark clouds spilled in.  Rain spat out of the sky in the most annoying fashion.  It wasn't enough to soak the festival goers, just irritate them.  It ended as sweetly as it began.  Cloudless on the third day, the temperatures climbed ten degrees higher than the previous two.

On the third day, Zali awoke a bit cranky.  The whites of his eyes were beet red.  He flopped his head on my arm when we awoke and ran his paws over his face.  Breakfast made him queasy.  I wrote out a note per his direction, that read, "So very sorry, but please do NOT pet me.  I am very tired.  --The Zali Lama".

Ten Sousand people have run zheir hands over my magnificent fuhr!  I refuse to be charmeeng today!  Non!

Aside from several strolls throughout the day up to the Parthenon in Centennial Park, he stayed in his apartment sleeping.  He awoke at closing to watch us tear down the tent.  Smiling, he asked me if we were going home?  I told him yes and he beamed with joy.

No, Joie!  Simone!  Ah mees Simone!

A few minutes with a sandwich intermission and we were home by ten.

*Happy Mother's Day out there!  I spent it with my two favorite men, Hud and Zali.

  Hope yours was equally fun.*

One More Time

On the Saturday after the parade, Charlotte thought it would be nice to take out her husband, Tom's boat  to lunch and tour Bayou Liberte.  Had we taken the car, the round trip would have taken about ten minutes.  On meandering flow of the bayou, it was two hours.  Each way.  We spent the entire day on the boat.

And I loved it.

 

Well, all except the hard turns we made in Lake Ponchatrain.  It reminds me too much of the car accident Charlotte and I had in 1995.  Charlotte and I were headed to Mississippi to pick up my exhibit and put up one for her, when we hit a patch of black ice.  Charlotte's driving kept us from careening down the steep embankment until the trailer we were pullling swayed to my side and swung to her side, swatting the van and sending us three times ass over appetite before landing on the passenger side in the median of the highway.

 

We were happy to make it home that day, unharmed.  But that movement is etched in my eustatian tube's memory.

 

Homes edge the waterway.  This is George Dunbar's studio.  Dunbar is a Louisiana artist with an international reputation and family friend of Charlotte.

No one knows why the indians left them, but shell middens like this dot the bayou.  Perhaps they dumped the seashells here out of ritual. Or maybe they attracted animals. Or perhaps they just were stinky.  We'll never know.  They do, however, form pockets of land that allow trees to take root.  The trees provide homes for osprey and other wildlife like Nutria.

 

 We wound around until we came upon one of the most famous inhabitants of the bayou.

 

Meet Melvin at his pad.  I admired his decorating sense.  Mel invited us for to stay for a beer, but Charlotte's son and father were waiting for us at the restaurant.

 

It was a beautiful lazy day.

 

On Bayou Liberte.

 

*All the gorgeous photography by the talented Hud Andrews*