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I got a sunburn on my bald head and now it’s peeling as if to add insult to injury. But my hairlessness is a constant reminder that I must change my life. Only how?

I’m a doer – and I have prided myself on accomplishing the heroic – so now what?

What’s good enough?
What needs to be must should be done?

Isn’t there a problem with idle hands? Idle minds? Isn’t this where Unabombers come from? Or bad poets?

Every time I turn the corner I find myself, an overachiever, an overdoer, and overscheduler, and so I keep turning until I don’t recognize myself. I’ve read two books in the past week and a half. Impossible!

Every time I turn around, here I am, with the same compulsions, same archaic notions of being, the same unease that caused my mother to live on the precipice of anxiety – waiting for an explosion – no sure footing in the now – and always dreaming of the day when it would change.

I must will learn. I must will learn. I must will learn.

Faced with the daunting task of learning how to relax, this morning after Tatjana and Tin had left for school, I heated up my now cold tea and sat on the screened porch attempting it. I fidgeted, I got up and cleaned, I went and replaced all the tea candles in their holders, I decided to wash all the dog and cat dishes, I changed the clothes from the washer to the dryer.

Then I sat again and I said, “Mom, I am going to learn how to relax.” Not that she ever did, she paced her apartment till she wore a circular path around her kitchen so appropriately equipped with a bar that she could not have to sit down, but instead lean on, to smoke her cigarettes, write in her notebook, and dream her dreams.

I’m entering the class called Relax 101, and I have no previous experience. Studying is harder than it seems.

When I was cuddling with Tin last night, he asked me what day it was and I said Sunday, tomorrow is Monday and back to school. He said, Again? I said, Again, you have been off all week, we went to the zoo, the beach, slip n slide, French Quarter Fest, your friend’s house, Evan’s Jazz Brunch – whew, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for school again!

This morning the look on everyone’s faces said it all – back to school.

I took the dogs for a walk this morning and it feels like months since I’ve actually walked the dogs. First thing that greeted me as I entered the park was a yellow crowned night heron, and then another and then another, and then a Great Blue Heron was tippy tapping on Goldfish Island, and a crew of ducklings startled it away.

I was getting into the fowl play when an older woman came up to me and asked if I would help her.

The problem – a group of young teenage black boys playing by the bridge. She was scared to walk by them because she said they looked like they were up to no good.

I glanced up and saw about ten boys that looked like they belonged in a J Crew ad messing around with a skateboard and terrorizing only the ducks, no people that I could see. The woman walked with me and when one of the boys made noises at Loca, she barked fiercely (or crazily but you can’t tell the difference). I asked them why they weren’t in school and turns out they were on a field trip and their teacher was sitting off to the side on the other bridge.

None of them had a hoodie on – their crime, walking in the park while black.

Today, Tin and I walked down to Clever with his pocket trumpet and a strong desire to see his godfather, Evan Christopher. This morning in his latest Tinism, he had said “Louis Armstrong doesn’t know me,” but I responded, au contraire mon petite, I believe he does indeed know you, Tin Dangermond.

He had been watching his Louis and the All Stars DVD and I could tell he was really thinking about Louis this morning and his relationship.

Evan was playing with Joe Ashlar, Don Vappie and Ocie Davis and this was definitely the antidote to French Quarter Festival – air conditioning, clean bathrooms, good food and cocktails, blocks from the house. Yes, indeed. Since I had been to the zen center to meditate and then walked home along the bayou passing the folks streaming out of the Baptist Church on Orleans, I felt like this was my worship time, indeed better than church.

I was reading an obit about Lester Breslow who died at 97 and claimed longevity was based on seven recommended behaviors:

Do not smoke
Drink in moderation
Sleep seven to eight hours
Exercise at least moderately
Eat regular meals
Maintain a moderate weight
Eat breakfast

So I admittedly have been sneaking cigarettes, faced with the loss of my hair and my self enforced new and more chilled lifestyle, I’ve found myself in a pickle – my zen practice is telling me not to dwell or ruminate, my health practice is telling me to lose weight and exercise more, my life practice is telling me to quit pushing too hard, and so I find refuge in that one cig smoked like an outlaw in the bright light of day.

But I’m quitting.

Yesterday, I was chatting with neighbors, one who admitted she knows not one single person who has not been affected by the economic downturn and wasn’t it funny that what happened next was the rest of the day seemed to be an admission of everyone’s fantasies about winning the lotto and what they would do if they won.

What I didn’t say was that I have seen my neighbor (spied her) on her back deck (she works at home too) sneaking cigs.

As I was sitting on another neighbor’s front porch chatting about the reality of the times, I thought about Facebook and what’s lost in the exchange of people posting to the common billboard their fears, joys, and innermost ramblings and what’s gained by some real face time.

On Friday, when Tin and I took the streetcar to the Quarter to hear some jazz, an extended family got on, and I listened as one recounted their grandfather’s existence in this city many years ago – memories imbedded in what’s there and what’s not “dere” no mo. Any or all of what they said could have been Facebook posts, but seemed more weighty and real life crowded onto a streetcar possibly named Desire as we ambled down Canal Street.

We’ve sworn off of French Quarter Fest. I gave it a good college try two days in a row and for the umpteenth year in a row, I can’t get my groove on, so blech. Meanwhile, our neighbors put out a slip n slide and asked Tin over and pretty soon it was an entire day of slip n slide and bayou hanging with all the neighborhood children. Luckily, I had the opportunity to walk over to the garden show at City Park to get basil and mint for the garden.

Let’s see, a day where the sun is limitless, a breeze is blowing, no humidity, and so many options that the best one was close to home – no crowds, no music you don’t want to hear, nothing but hanging out. My kind of day.

I stopped in at the NOMA cafe and had a sip of wine as I watched the ducks and geese. A wedding party showed up impromptu with some guys in uniform – they almost looked like Yankee uniforms and the groom was wearing a Confederate officer. Hard to say, I was enjoying my wine from the vantage point of the cafe – but the whole scene struck me as very odd, not the least of which it was a wedding, and god knows I’ve seen my share of those.

Afterwards, I strolled down Exposition Lane and made my way over to Moss, but first stopped by friends’ house who had just moved to Carrollton – they were on the porch and so I sat a spell and had a porch sit.

When I returned home, Tin was getting up from his nap and it was time for more slip n slide fun – my favorite Tinism today was, “Mommy, where you going?” Zumba. “I want to go.” You’re going to slip n slide with the neighbors. “Yay, slip and slide!” Pause “Mommy, what is a slip and slide?”

And so goes today – the meds are evening out and alas I didn’t spend the day on my own version of slip n slide, the weather was delightful, and everyone passed a good time.

It is almost a week of taking a thyroid replacement and right now I could climb through this screen – apparently you may experience heart palpitations, you may take a week or months to regulate. In the meantime, they hope they get the dosage right.

But just in case you are wondering what happens next – first you lose your hair and find out your thyroid is inoperative and now you take a thyroid replacement and at first you are on the ascend – energy returning – then back down to jitters and crawling out of your skin.

When it’s not right, it’t not right.

Today was gorgeous, breezy and warm, but I can tell what waits for us – SUMMER. Already just trying to make it through the day after having had the sun on my head makes me wish for cooler days. Throw on my shoes and take a walk – no problem. But soon this too shall pass – 6am will be the only time that feels natural, after that, bam, blotto, boing.

I went to the French Quarter Fest with Tin today and let me say, after a half hour I had my fill. So let me just say this about that – I sort of (hate to say) miss 2006, when everyone had given up on New Orleans and it was just the people who truly love New Orleans with all their soul who would be out there listening to the music, making and eating the food, and hanging tough.

Now I feel like I could be in Atlanta or something with all the stages and food and tourists.

Blech.