the year in review

The first snow-related school delays were announced Monday morning, I've had to turn on the heat in the house, and the Charlie Brown Christmas special came on tonight. The end of the year is quickly approaching, with the promise of new beginnings just around the corner, and I can't help but to reflect upon all that's happened this year. It's been a year of highs and lows, loss and gain, trying new things and returning to some old activities--overall, a year of some really hard lessons learned. I've made friends, lost friends, and found out a whole lot about myself along the way.

I entered the year as a college graduate, having finally graduated over 21 years since I entered college for the first time. It seems ridiculous now that it took me that long to do it, but I know all of the reasons why, even if no one else does, and I refuse to judge myself harshly for what I've been through or for the choices I have made. I'm right where I want to be right now, and I have a drive and a passion going forward, and that's all that matters.

If my finishing my degree didn't seem unlikely or impossible enough, this year saw a truly incredible event when the New Orleans Saints not only made it into the Super Bowl for the first time, but also won the game. I was lucky enough to be in New Orleans for the weekend, where I got to go to Mardi Gras parades for the first time since my family moved away from the city when I was 12. I also got to see a childhood friend whom I hadn't seen in as long. I realized that no matter how much time has passed, New Orleans still feels like home.

I have family members who decided not to speak with me this year. I also had a friend decide that she no longer wanted me in her life. On the surface, it sounds like I must be a horrible person, but I don't feel bad at all about their decisions. I have chosen, quite consciously, to live an honest life and to strive toward sincere relationships with others. My choice has made some others uncomfortable. I'm sorry for their discomfort, because I know how that feels, but I will not change who I am or what I will allow into my life to make them feel better.

My animal family experienced a lot of changes this year. The New Year started with a newly adopted Alla reminding us all what it was like to have a kitten in the house, and in May, we welcomed a full-size puppy into the mix when Iko came to live with us. I saw her shelter picture on Facebook on an early Wednesday morning, and a week later I was in North Carolina picking her up from her foster mom. It was love at first sight for me, but my happiness was short-lived when just a month later a fatal illness was showing itself in Alla, and my once playful kitty was on a quick downward decline. I said goodbye to her in August, before she ever had a chance to grow to adulthood. My heart was broken, but still open, and I soon found another young cat in need of rescue. Hazel traveled from a shelter in Georgia and landed firmly on my lap. Brandi, Eli, and Bennie are all elderly now and are experiencing their own infirmities and limitations, but I am grateful for each and every day I have with them, and I am committed to doing all I can to keep them happy and healthy for as long as possible.

I haven't had a chance to travel as much as I would have liked to this year. A trip to Indiana was scrapped in May, and a trip to Tennessee was canceled in November. I did, however, get to spend some time in Florida in April for what I hope will be my annual skydiving trip. I got much closer to a few friends and found out that another relationship had changed. I floated in the Gulf of Mexico, dug my toes into the sand, ate too much, drank a little, got a tattoo, played video games, and jumped out of a plane. It was a great trip!

Staying home more meant doing some travel around New England and crossing off the last remaining things on my "To See & Do List" for the region. I finally got to Salem, Massachusetts, one of the few places in the area that I had wanted to see even before moving here. We managed to create the perfect mix of history and haunting, and I learned about American chop suey. October was dedicated to pumpkins, and we went to Maine, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island to see them. We saw giant pumpkins, painted pumpkins, carved pumpkins, and lit pumpkins. We watched pumpkinboat races, pumpkin pie eating contests, and pumpkin chunking done by catapult and by air cannon. And the pumpkin whoopie pie I had was amazing!

I turned 40 in November, which seems really weird to me. I really wanted to do something fun for my birthday, but we found out a week prior that we were being relocated to Louisiana in a few months, so I decided to be practical and to spend the week painting, packing, and staging our house in preparation for its sale. The week has grown into three now, since we obviously underestimated the sheer volume of "stuff" that we own and the time needed to prep and paint walls, trim, cabinets, doors, and fixtures, but if the hard work pays off with a quick sale it will be worth it. Our Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations have also fallen victim to practical needs, but I am looking forward to many years and many celebrations in our new home.

As this year ends, I am happy about what lies ahead in the next. I am looking forward to living in Louisiana again and to being closer to family and friends. I am excited about exploring a new area and about having new adventures. I have personal and professional goals that I am anxious to start working towards. More than anything, I am pleased with an opportunity to lay down roots, to establish myself in an area, and to create a sense of home. I have felt like a gypsy for a while now, moving every few years, and never quite feeling settled. I am grateful for the perspective that I have gained from living in the Midwest, the Northeast, the Tennessee Valley, the Blue Ridge mountains, and New England. I am proud that I've been able to adapt to a variety of settings and that I've been able to work with people from different backgrounds. I know that the future will bring great things, but mostly I feel that the future will bring me full circle into myself.

This blog was born from the ending of another blog, and it has been an affirming experience for me. My first entry was inspired by a trail of footprints in the snow, and I can now see more clearly where those footprints lead. I know that the path will not always be smooth or clear, but I trust that it is heading always in the right direction. I know, too, who I want with me as a travel the path, and I know that together we can face whatever lies ahead. I hope that I will remember to enjoy the view along the path, realizing that it's often not about what lies ahead (or even behind), but more about what surrounds us, what is unseen, and what waits down this fork or that. I hope that those whom I have met and will meet along the way will be better for the experience, even when our interaction is less than positive. I even hope that the owner of the dead blog will someday learn the lessons that she needs to in order to live an authentically happy life, because that really is what it's all about....really.

ode on a big apple

"It couldn't have happened anywhere but in little old New York." --O. Henry

A few weeks ago, I spent a day in New York City, walking around a large portion of lower Manhattan, eating pizza in Little Italy, entering the bizarre underground world of designer handbag sales in Chinatown (knock-off or stolen, I don't know), exploring local neighborhoods of NoHo, SoHo and NoLita--the streets lined with merchants' booths and the air filled with the aroma of meats smoking on grills, having dinner and drinks in the Flatiron District, and even shopping at a church rummage sale. It was a long, rich, and rewarding day, and I went home exhausted, my love of the City firmly in place.

Oddly, some of my most amazing memories and experiences have taken place in New York. At 18, I drove there from Cornell with a car-full of close friends, saw the City for the first time, and fell in love. I spent my 30th birthday there, which marked a turning point in my life, causing me to question all that I had known to that point and setting my future off on a distinctly different path. Mitchell and I spent a couple of days there about a year after we moved to Connecticut, and I was finally able to wake up in the "city that never sleeps." And now, on this trip, New York played the perfect host to a reunion 28 years in the making.

My oldest and dearest childhood friend had told me that she would be coming to New York from Houston in the fall of this year. We hadn't seen each other since my family had left New Orleans in 1982, except for a brief visit some time during our early high school years that neither of us could remember much about. We had stayed in touch over the years mostly thanks to her persistence through annual Christmas cards and family photos. (My terrible history with correspondence should be explored in a future entry.) I was extremely excited to see her after so many years apart. I had "penciled it in" a few months in advance and wondered how our meeting would go--would we know each other, what would we talk about, would it be awkward?

As the weeks ticked by and her visit neared, I began to feel nervous about the reunion. Since I had a medical procedure done in June, I had been dealing with physical symptoms that made it difficult to exercise, or had at least given me an excuse not to. I think the real problem was a depression that I had sunk into when I learned about Alla's fatal illness in July. I hadn't felt much like doing anything since then, and I had gained back a lot of the weight that I lost last year. How could I let her see me like this? I had been a tall and skinny kid. Now I was tall and very far from skinny. I was nervous about being judged, uncomfortable in my own skin, and afraid of "messing up" the whole get-together with my negative mood. I almost hoped for something to come up that would make it impossible to meet up.

The day that my friend arrived in New York, she called me. She had already been to the top of the Empire State Building, and her excitement was audible. When she asked about me coming to the City to see her, I began my reply with something like, "We're gonna try." She snapped back at me, "Try?!" I instantly remembered her incredible tenacity and knew that I would be seeing her come Hell or high water. I also knew that it didn't matter what I looked like or how much I weighed. Something in her voice relaxed and reassured me. I was once again excited about spending time with an old friend.

The day in New York taught me something that I had forgotten, a lesson I had taken for granted in all of my years spent wondering where I fit in, where home was, where I belonged...a symptom, I believe, of moving too many times. I realized that there is a purity about friendships formed when you are very young...before you know what it means to be cool, before the cruel judgments of the outside world tell you who you should be and how you should act, and certainly before it matters how much money you have, how thin your are, or what you do for a living. She had known me during the years that I was most authentically myself, so she knew me on a level that others who had only known me as an adult may never know me. She already knew that I was a good person, goofy-yes, but sincere. And, she carried with her the ultimate token of our enduring friendship in the form of the handmade construction paper card that I made for her just before my family moved away. (Seriously! It was the funniest thing I'd ever seen!)

I had at one point thought about spending my 40th birthday in New York. I now realize that she's already given me a gift that I can carry into the next year of my life. I've made a conscious decision to end the depression that I've been in. I've begun exercising and following my diet again. I'm looking forward to redefining the word "home" and to continuing to create a home for myself with those who mean the most to me, regardless of geography. I remember who I was as a child and no longer feel alien from her. I am still that little girl. I will always be that little girl.

Thanks, New York. I owe you one!

who am i not to be?

I made my now annual trek to Florida over the last weekend of April to participate in Operation Freefall and to spend time with some of my closest & dearest friends, including a friend who drove from Chattanooga to watch me skydive and spent the entire day at the drop zone. I had an amazing time and wish we had more time together. We stayed up late talking and drinking wine. We ate Jamaican food and sinfully delicious garlic butter rolls. We spent the afternoon at the beach, floating in the gentle waves of the Gulf and digging our toes into the warm, white sand. We danced in an elevator, set high scores on a video game, skydived, and got tattoos (or a piercing). We laughed, hugged, and attempted to literally breathe in every moment that we had together, knowing that our memories would have to carry us until we could be together again.

During the weekend, despite all the good times and good vibes, I had the opportunity to confront several of my insecurities. Happily, though, what would have limited my ability to socialize and to enjoy myself in the past was mostly just an annoyance that I was able to quickly brush off. I have never felt as pretty as other girls/women, and, even when I was thin, I have always been self-conscious about my body. Most of my friends on this weekend are significantly younger that me, and they are all much prettier (in my opinion). My old, familiar, self-deprecating thoughts came to visit a time or two. "She's so beautiful. You look really ugly compared to her." "She has such a great figure. You look so fat next to her." Like buzzing pests, though, I noticed them, but them shooed them away. I put on a bathing suit and went to the beach! Hell, it was a big deal that I even packed the bathing suit and the outfit I wore as a cover-up. The whole look was way out of my comfort zone, but I actually felt good in it. And when one of my friends said that I looked like a tennis player, I felt complimented. I mean, when was the last time you saw a fat, ugly tennis player? Even if she meant it as a crack, I decided to accept it as something positive.

My negative thoughts and feelings about myself sometimes run very deep. A recurring sentiment is that for whatever reason people don't really like me--they're just putting up with me. I once heard someone say that every group of friends has that one girl that no one really likes, but they just deal with it, because it would be too hard to "break up" with her. She then said that if you don't know who that person is in your group of friends, then it's probably you. I am often convinced that I am that person, and that thought entered my mind once during the weekend. I mean, all of my friends are so interesting, dynamic, funny, intelligent, and attractive. Clearly, I am the wannabe of the group, right? No! I decided not to let my suspicions and self-doubt carry more weight than what my friends said about me. If they said that I was funny, that I looked younger than my age, that they wished they could see me more, that they loved me, then why couldn't those things be true?

I used to attend a women's personal growth group. I really credit that group, its members, and its facilitator, Lynne Forrest, with helping me to recognize and to challenge my core beliefs, particularly those which were hindering my growth and limiting my experiences. One of the group members once gave everyone a small, plastic card with a quotation on it. It took a while for the real meaning of the words to impact me, but they now resonate with me. They help me to realize that when I am doubting myself, my looks, my abilities, my worthiness, when I am comparing myself to others, when I am projecting judgmental attitudes onto others, that I am assigning myself the label of "victim." I might as well be throwing myself a pity party, wallowing in a self-proscribed state of powerlessness, woundedness, and incompetency. No thanks! Been there, done that!

I keep the card on a mirror above the table where I get ready everyday. The quotation is from Marianne Williamson, and it reads:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate,
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small doesn't serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
We are born to manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we consciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

Thank you to all of my friends, who remind me of my shining light and so beautifully shine themselves.

grateful for the path

"I'm grateful that the path I have traveled, however twisted it may have seemed, brought me to where I am: right here, right now."

The above quotation was borrowed from a Facebook status posted by The Attitude of Gratitude Project some time back. I absolutely love the status messages that the page's creator posts. They remind me of the many things that I have to be grateful for, even (and especially) the little, seemingly unimportant things.

As a Reiki Master, I recite the Reiki Gokai, or principles, daily:

Just for today, I will live the attitude of gratitude.
Just for today, I will not worry.
Just for today, I will not anger.
Just for today, I will do my work honestly.
Just for today, I will show love and respect for every living being.

My practice keeps me grounded and in the moment. It allows me to approach each day as a new opportunity to do my best, regardless of the past day's happenings or what lies in the future. It helps me to remember that I can only control what is at hand and that it is, therefore, unproductive to get upset or angry about what I cannot control. And it aids me in my seemingly constant struggle against worry and fear.

Back to gratitude, now. It's not always easy to be grateful, especially for things that are unpleasant, sad, or painful. In my life, though, these are the very things that teach the most poignant lessons, bring the most fulfilling experiences, and supply the contrast needed to feel the positive emotions. Without them, the ups wouldn't be as high, I wouldn't know my true strength, and my friendships would be more shallow. Because of them, I am who I am and I am where I am.

I will be going to Florida at the end of this week for my Operation Freefall skydive and my now annual reunion with as many as my SOAR friends as possible. In preparation for the trip, I've spent hours on the phone and online with several of them, trying to figure out where we will be staying and what we will be doing. These friends are friends who know, accept, and love me in a special way. I feel alive when we are together. We don't speak enough. (Who really does?) I wish we lived closer. I wish we had more time together. I am truly grateful for these friends, and I realize that I wouldn't know them if it weren't for each of our negative past experiences.

It's a strange thing for some people to hear me say that I am grateful for the experience of being a sexual assault survivor. But, I am. The healing process was a difficult one, with many dark and scary times along the way. I didn't always think that I would make it through the darkness to the other side. In fact, I usually didn't. I wasn't even sure that I deserved to. I wallowed for a long time in self-abuse and neglect. I existed from day to day, seeing each not as an opportunity, but as an obstacle. I felt excruciating alone. I had no idea that this very "alone-ness" would someday be replaced by an equally intense feeling of belonging.

Because of what I survived, I now have a career that I am passionate about. I advocate for victims of sexual violence. I am their voice in the treatment and supervision of their offenders. I answer their questions and make sure that their concerns are addressed. I will not allow them to be forgotten, ignored, or dismissed. I understand their feelings and know their struggles. I accept their anger and disappointment without judgment. I believe in their potential and encourage their growth. I learn from them everyday.

Because of what I survived, I have exercised a lot of self-reflection. I have had therapy. I have participated in groups. I have attended healing retreats. I know more about myself and what makes me tick than I ever would have otherwise. I'm more self-aware than the average person and, arguably, more intuitive. I can read other people well, and I have a deep capacity for empathy. My knowledge and skills have helped me in my work and personal life.

Because of what I survived, I have an appreciation for what makes a man a "real" man. I know that "macho" has no value, that the traditionally "feminine" qualities take on a deeply attractive nature when displayed by a man, that love is more about mutual respect than about sexual tension, and that a healthy relationship isn't all that much work. I dated my fair share of "bad boys" and jerks. I tried to be married to a "nice guy." I had given up hope of finding "the one" when I left Ft. Wayne and moved to Chattanooga. Life once again surprised me when that very move brought me exactly what I thought was impossible. He had to patiently wade through the flotsam and jetsam of my past, but he must have seem something that I didn't even know existed. I am inexplicably grateful that he did.

the price of beauty

After making a decision to stop coloring my gray hairs, undergoing the primping process for filming in high def twice in 5 weeks, and reading a friend's blog on her decision not to color her hair, I have been thinking about my own relationship with the world of beauty. I've always kind of marched to the beat of my own drummer when it comes to my appearance, but I've still suffered from insecurities about both my appearance and my inability to "fit in" with other women. I've wavered between being comfortable just being me and wishing that I could look more like .... (fill in the blank). I'm alternately repulsed by the extremes to which so many will go to achieve a certain look and jealous that I don't belong to their secret society. I have recently found an unexpected ally in my journey--Jessica Simpson.

Jessica Simpson has a new TV venture, a reality show airing on VH1 called "The Price of Beauty." The premise behind the show is that she, along with her friends CaCee Cobb and Ken Paves (celebrity hairstylist), travels the world to examine how various cultures perceive beauty and what the women of that culture undergo in the pursuit of ideal beauty. Apparently, Jessica became interested in the subject after her well-publicized and greatly exaggerated weight gain over the past year. While Jessica says that she is currently a size 6/8 (up from her previous size 4), she has been called "fat," "tubby," and "disgusting." She has been nicknamed "Chestica" and has been the target of repeated barbs after performing in what many described as "Mom jeans," a simultaneous insult to Jessica's fashion sense and a slap in the face to mothers (an all women over a certain age) worldwide. An undeniably beautiful woman at any weight, Jessica has been quoted as saying that she felt like a "public embarrassment" when her weight became the subject of ridicule and scrutiny. “I had to get up on stage every night and know people were looking to see whether I was fat,” she told the UK's Daily Star.

So, I saw the first episode last week. Jessica et al. traveled to Thailand where Jessica insisted on wearing the most impractical platform heels everywhere she went. (I guess she's insecure about her height or attempting to look thinner by way of looking taller.) While in Bangkok, the crew learned that the Thai standard of beauty favors light skin over dark skin. They met a woman named Panya whose use of bleaching cremes had led to a permanent blotchy, disfiguring appearance to the skin on her face and neck. She described how her husband left her due to her appearance and how she could no longer participate in social activities, like singing, because of her embarrassment, shame, and self-loathing. Later, they visit the Karen Hill tribe, where girls begin wrapping their necks with coils of brass as early as 4 or 5 year old, increasing the length of the brass over time, weighing their shoulders down and giving their necks an elongated appearance. Each visitor tries on a mock set of neck rings to experience the weight and feel of the metal on their necks and shoulders.

Future episodes have Jessica and friends learning about the fashionable world of Paris and the pursuit of extreme thinness by models as well as the fattening huts of Uganda, where young women spend weeks putting on weight prior to their weddings in order to be a more beautiful (and, yes, more fat) bride. Of course, the show glosses over each lesson pretty quickly and intersperses scenes of Jessica acting goofy (this is the "is this chicken or fish?" Jessica, after all), but at least it exposes the VH1 viewer to something a bit more though-provoking than the exploits of "The Entertainer" or "New York."

I hope that the show is successful in finding an audience, and that it sparks conversation about the cultural pressure on women to look (and act) a certain way in order to be accepted, loved, hired, promoted, etc. I hope it will make others question why they are waxing, dyeing, bleaching, injecting, scrubbing, slathering, douching, powdering, perfuming, plucking, polishing, and primping themselves away from their natural beauty and into a false standard of beauty as it's currently defined by a society that values women less for their internal qualities than for their looks. I hope that it will cause people to pause before insulting someone who isn't as pretty, or thin, or tall, or fashionable as they. I hope that it will expand people's ideas of what is beautiful and what is "normal." I hope that it will remind us all that true beauty comes from within and that we are all more alike than we are different. And, lastly, I hope that it helps Jessica Simpson feel secure in her beauty--no matter what her weight, her age, or her hair color--and even when she wears "Mom jeans."

diving into the deep end

I'm hardly known as particularly outdoorsy or athletic, but deep in my heart I dream of a life full of nature and adventure. I imagine myself being skilled at rock climbing, mountain biking, kayaking, hiking, fly fishing, canoeing, snow shoeing, camping, and other such activities. I fantasize about being one of those women who can pull her hair back into a loose ponytail, throw on a tank top, river pants, and a pair of sandals, and look beautiful and confident in her own skin. I want the freckles and tiny lines that come from summers spent playing in the sun and water. I long to experience the wonders of the earth, the sea, and the sky. I dream of traveling to exotic and remote locales where I can commune with nature and the locals. In short, I want to live my life more fully, with less fear and doubt and with more of a sense of wonderment and awe.

To this end, I have decided to challenge myself to experience more, to face my fears, and to expand my ideas of what I can do. In August, I am hoping to attend a women's wilderness retreat in Colorado. If my financial situation will allow, I will spend four days in the outdoors, connecting with others, hiking, journaling, climbing and rappelling, taking in the vistas and enjoying a little quiet introspection. I may even decide to spend a night alone in the wilderness to assure myself that I can stand on my own when needed.

I am also going to pursue a SCUBA certification. Three years ago, I won an introductory class in scuba from a silent auction. I never redeemed it. Of course, I intend to find out if the dive center will still honor the certificate, but even if they won't, I am going to take the classes. I have always wanted to scuba, but have allowed my claustrophobia, poor self-image, and doubt to get in the way. A snorkeling excursion in the Bahamas in the mid-1990's reignited my wonder at the world below the water, and my experiences in Tahiti in 1999 solidified it. I've scratched the surface, so to speak, and I'm ready to go deeper.

While scuba diving in a quarry in Connecticut has its draws, I have bigger hopes for myself. I want to dive the wrecks off the coast of the Carolinas. I want to go far below the surface of the Great Lakes. I want to dive in the warm waters of the Florida Keys. I want to swim in the Blue Hole of Belize, visit the Great Barrier Reef off Australia, and explore the waters of Thailand, Fiji, Micronesia, Vanuatu, Indonesia, and the Maldives.

I don't know if I'll ever have the money to experience the world in the way that I want to, but I'm hoping that it won't be too much of an obstacle. For now, though, I've submitted an entry into a contest that would make a trip to one dream diving destination a reality. I'm hoping like hell that I'll be chosen, but even if I'm not, I'll do what I can to visit that destination as soon as possible. Step one on that journey comes without financial cost. It involves simply opening my mind to possibilities and changing my perspective on myself.

From now on, I will allow myself to be the adventurer that I dream of being. I will learn what I need to (what I want to) and I will seek out opportunities to put my learning into practice. I will re-frame how I see myself. I will no longer define myself by what I cannot do. I will not allow fears, excuses, or uncertainty to get in my way of doing what I want to do. I will appreciate the beauty that is around me every day. I will play as much as possible. I will laugh more, smile more, see more, taste more, climb, jump, run, and skip more. I will live my life more.

ham & beads

I was born in New Orleans. My family moved away when I was 11, and I have lived in six different states since then, but I will always consider New Orleans to be my hometown. It's a unique city, unlike any other, anywhere in the world. When I think of New Orleans and what sets it apart, I think of two words--character and flavor. The food, the music, the people, the traditions, the architecture, the accent, the vernacular, even the weather are unique to the region, and they all play a part in making New Orleans what it is.

I was lucky enough to be in New Orleans this past weekend, the first weekend of the Mardi Gras parades and the weekend of the Super Bowl. It was a trip I almost didn't take after learning that my sister (with whom I would be staying in New Orleans) was going to Miami for the game and getting sick just days before my flight would be leaving Connecticut. I knew the trip would be fruitful, however, when I saw local celebrity and former Saints quarterback Bobby Hebert standing in line waiting to board my plane. Bobby ended up directly across the aisle from me! For a lifelong Saints fan, this was a positive omen for the game. (Also on the plane, but much less exciting, was Louisiana State Senator Mary Landrieu.)
This wasn't the end of my celebrity sightings or auspicious signs. I walked off the plane behind Bobby, hoping to stay right behind him through the airport where I could soak in his aura and witness the looks of those he passed. Instead, he was walking too slowly, and I had to use the restroom, so I broke formation. As luck would have it, though, this allowed me just enough time to be present when New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin walked through the concourse with his entourage. Now, I am no fan of Ray Nagin, his politics, or his now infamous ability to say all the wrong things at all the wrong times, but still...he's the mayor of New Orleans! I wanted very badly to say something crazy to him, like "Gimme some chocolate!" or "Hey! It's Willy Nagin!" Instead, visions of bodyguards taking me down flashed through my head, and I opted for a calm and respectful, "Hey, Mr. Nagin" to which I received a suave and somewhat smarmy, "Hey, darlin'." I was pleased with the interaction overall.

I walked on, catching back up to Bobby. (I mentioned that he was walking really slowly, right?) On the other side of the security check-in point, I saw my sister waiting for us. I was brimming with excitement from my multiple celebrity encounters and motioned to her with my head at Bobby. In her hands, she held a sign she had made which read, "The Who Dat Nation welcomes Bloomfield, CT!" She presented us with black and gold beads and gave me a black and gold boa, which I wrapped around my neck...not an uncommon look in New Orleans. A woman walked up to us and said, "I don't know you, but I'm from Bloomfield." Another omen! "Well, the Who Dat Nation welcomes you, too," said my sister.

My first night in town was spent at two Mardi Gras parades, one on the West Bank and one in Metairie. I also got to see a childhood friend whom I had not seen since moving. After 28 years, I recognized her right away. I hadn't been to a Mardi Gras parade since moving away from New Orleans, so it was fun to experience them again. Of course, Mardi Gras is when all of the characters come out of hiding. Men are unashamed to dress in tights or tunics. People beg for beads, plastic cups, doubloons, stuffed animals, spears, hatchets, and coconuts. Anyone with a hint of fame can become a Grand Marshall or even a King. Mardi Gras is an excuse to let your freak flag fly at full mast!Another thing that Mardi Gras brings out is garbage. The streets are lined with discarded beads, broken cups, empty boxes that once contained throws, plastic bags, and a sundry of other objects--both odd and mundane. At one point, I watched as two groups of parade watchers played kickball across the street with an empty beer carton. The game would pause briefly while marching bands and floats passed, resuming again once the opportunity arose. Not long after that, I noticed a stray plastic sandwich bag which had been blown by the wind from its place of origin to my little stake of property. It briefly danced around at my feet before continuing on its way down the street. It was a simple plastic baggie with a simple, three-letter word written on its side, but somehow it represented both every piece of garbage and every weird character on the streets of New Orleans at any given moment and particularly during the Mardi Gras season. Yet another omen? Why not?
Sunday was the Super Bowl. Like an athlete preparing for the big game, I spent the day resting, performing my rituals, praying, and anxiously waiting. After 60 minutes of football, the New Orleans Saints had defeated the Indianapolis Colts, winning the Super Bowl in their first ever appearance. It's now a part of history. The Saints won the Super Bowl! Unless you're a Saints fan, I don't think you can truly appreciate what that means. Being in New Orleans, I got to experience the energy of the city and all of the Saints fans as we witnessed this miracle. I ran out into the street, screaming at the top of my lungs, while my sister's neighborhood erupted with the sounds of fireworks, car alarms, cow bells, and screams. Strangers shared in a magical moment of disbelieve, looking at each other through teary eyes, and hoping that we weren't experiencing some sort of mass hysteria. All over the city, people flooded out of their homes, bars, restaurants, and hotels. The streets of the French Quarter were clogged with people. The bridges and roads were packed with cars. No one wanted to be alone. We needed one another.We celebrated through the night and into the following day. We walked around like zombies, hungover from a night of unprecedented joy. While many retreated into their homes, some of us continued to seek out each other. We ran out early to buy the morning paper by the armful. We cleaned up the garbage of the night before. We replenished ourselves with food and rich chicory coffee. And all over again, we recognized and appreciated the character and the flavor of the city of New Orleans--my hometown and the greatest city on Earth.