Main category.
I am approaching this year as one where I am not looking for the usual bandaids to get me through the stress of every day life and worry. As a matter of fact by practicing nonattachment I’m trying to let go of worry all together as a pass time. Examples of progress: I had decided to tear out the grass in the backyard to plant a vegetable garden – estimate $1000. Vegetable garden cancelled –…
Wendell said we are aiming for progress not perfection. Process not goals. Journey not destination. Nonattachment. See I’m still working on that same theme. It’s getting better. I closed my eyes to little devils trying to show me which way to go and what to think over the last few days and it brought me here.
It’s curious to me how the man I admired yesterday is now someone I sneer at having learned of his indiscretion, and the woman I saw as the underling is rising up like a Phoenix and getting hand, and not too long ago, the woman I thought I was crumbled into a person I wouldn’t even be friends with only to return changed but the same and yet curiously different. And oddly enough last year…
Splitting Ice Like standing on splitting ice one foot on one one on the other piece. Distressed like the family of man at the divorce of the plates: some cast into a suddenly new world as though having sinned; those kept behind trapped and bereft. But in a person, one foot will lift and the split resolve. So why do the self-saved feel half left? KAY RYAN The Threepenny Review Winter 2011
I had a relative in law who called me a “personality” one time – and she did not mean it in a nice way, but that was then and this is now. I just found out this morning I’m a character in yet another book on New Orleans – strange to me who started off wanting to write fiction and create character – now I’ve moved to blogging my reality show 24/7 (aka Rachel’s World)…
We were trying to figure out what to do today so that T could work on her book, so Tin and I opted to head to the Quarter and get lunch and then catch Barkus. BUT… On the way from the truck to the restaurant we had to stop at every doorstep and try it out – we had to sit on it, we had to stand on it, we had to try to jump…
In the early evening after Tin had decided to give up totally on a nap, we got the parade gear together and raced over to the Bywater to catch the Krewe of ‘tit Rex, possibly the best parade during Mardi Gras. The floats are no bigger than a shoe box and they are decorated to the hilt, like Towering Inferno with the flames and dolls jumping out of tall buildings, while the miniature police car…
I spent five years having Saturday lunches with my mom and I missed those days a lot. It was on these Saturdays that the peculiarity of my mother’s sense of humor would shine adjunct to the reality of her physical decline. Yesterday, we loaded up old blue (my grandpa had a truck called Old Blue that my mother loved to talk about) and went to see Mimi as Tin knows her at her final resting…
I realized later when I was looking at the It’sNewOrleans website that they were looking for a gay mom or dad to fill out the guest list for their podcast on gay in New Orleans. Perhaps the best thing about being labelled gay is that it has really no bounds as to what it means – sexuality – please that is a small part of it. For me it means I’m fluid, or not defined.…
So today I’m wearing my glass beads that I caught in Krewe de Vieux and earlier on my way to the gym when I was at Orleans & Claiborne Avenue, I was listening to Trombone Shorty playing Orleans & Claiborne, and then later in the parking lot an elderly man ambled by and winked and said, “Happy Mardi Gras” and it’s 80 something degrees outside and we have decided to do NOTHING tonight but hang…