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New Orleans is not third world nor is it first world, it is comfortably second world, and here I sit in this place with second world problems. I am cashing out most of my 401K to buy a house with cash because I can’t get a mortgage having been in my business less than two years. Everyone and their mother has warned me against doing this and as one savvy friend said to me, “Maybe because everyone is telling you not to, you should” and so I am.

But when I took the money out of the account this morning, I had heart palpitations. And all I could think of was my mother sitting in that slum apartment in Metairie in her dying days, waiting for her garden, waiting for what was not to be. She realized this subconsciously and therefore accelerated her departure from this reality to find the beauty she longed for in her heart. Read: she drank herself to death.

I got a text message from my architect about a great deal on a lot – it’s huge, it’s Uptown, it’s cheap – where was this lot just before Friday when I found my dream house? So I drove by there anyway to look at it and it was a great lot – across from a cemetery and running along an old Entergy building but large and expansive and around the corner from good friends of mine.

A friend of mine keeps telling me, “God doesn’t do confusion.” And so I’m trying to keep to that mantra – if it is confusing, it is not worth plowing through, and yet, I don’t feel confused as much as, okay so if you want to know what you really want, have choices – it changes your perspective on a dime. I drove by the Cleveland Avenue house on the way home and it still looked like home, it still called to me, but maybe with less illusions than it did before.

I had the privilege of interviewing two incredible men today – and you will read more about that at my race and parenting blog tonight or tomorrow. I’ve not been posting because as I mentioned in my earlier post, I’ve started back in overdrive and am juggling too many things to think straight or at least to focus well.

I did take some time to notice the angel’s trumpets blooming in abundance in front of a dilapidated house near Broad Street. I watched the mourning doves this morning perching in the tree in the backyard. I digest the reality that my flood insurance will cost more than my homeowners because the house I’m about to buy is in a flood zone – what does that mean? It means it partially flooded during the 2005 Federal Flood – would it happen again?

The insurance agent kept forecasting all the disasters that could take place, and I just finally took a deep breath and said, “You know, we don’t know the future, I only know right now” and signed on the dotted line. The truth is that there are people going hungry today, there are people afraid for their lives today, there are parents dealing with special needs children, there is a war being waged somewhere right at this moment, a child is hungry and going to bed without food, a woman being raped, a diagnosis of cancer being reported to its victim.

My #secondworldproblems are trivial and trite in comparison – I live in abundance – now what might I do for you who are less fortunate than Rachel?

Today is New Orleans’ 295th birthday – she’s a Taurus – I just knew it. May 7, 1718 the City of New Orleans was born.

I doubt I will live that long, but if I did, I hope I look as beguiling as she does at that age.

May you live another 295 years!

I’m about to enter overdrive – I have a gal’s trip, a silent retreat, a conference to cover, a conference to attend, a huge report to do, and let’s not even get started on moving into my new home. All of this will happen in the next six weeks – brace yourself is all I can say (to no one there).

So what has been neglected is my mom and her gravesite. I haven’t been there to change her flowers since her December birthday and the holidays and I was thinking that her white peonies were going to be looking pretty shabby. Luckily, they weren’t but she sure needed a little color and so I brought a purple and citrine splash of color. And of course, a picnic. I also found a terrific Mother’s Day card that said aside from being a loving mother, you are an amazing woman. And she was. I take after her in many ways that I never cared to admit until now. Tin drew several trains and cars on her card and signed his name – backwards – which has been his usual lately.

It was so nice to get out to the country and refresh our souls – Tin napped on the way but still was awake to see cows, horses, and birds of prey along with trees and green and big blue sky. It’s interesting to belong to a place so much and yet be there so infrequently – a young girl was pulled on the side of the road with a flat tire and so I went by my Uncle’s to see if he was there or if my cousin was, and then I pulled into the driveway of the people who bought my cousin’s house and got him to come help her. Here I was steeped in my family’s land, geography, past and present.

Tin was happy to see my aunt and uncle and his cousins. Here is some big cousin hug-a-thon going on here:

I can’t tell you the feeling of being out there with my aunt – it feels as if she is channeling both my grandmother and mother when I watch her talk and listen to her laugh. To see so much land after living in this urban density and to watch Tin run around the yard with no fear of danger zones or borders was just sheer delight.

We all need to get out to the countryside to renew our faith in nature and all things un-urban. It’s good for the body and good for the soul.

I smile a lot – it is the reason why I have smile lines deep set into my cheeks. My son however smiles mostly when there is not a camera aimed at him, so when someone captures a smile on his face I am delighted. So thanks Katherine Cecil for this one with his godfather, Evan Christopher.

I dreamed last night that I had moved into my new house, and put everything away and all my paintings up on the wall and everything was just so when I realized that I had not even had the inspections yet and what would I tell the current owner as we hadn’t even gone through the act of sale? I woke up foggy, disoriented, still on my day bed in my three room apartment.

I haven’t moved in yet physically, but I have mentally. I’m not by the hater neighbor, I’m not squeezing past Tin trying to get his breakfast made in the tiny kitchen, I’m not sitting in the back yard looking at the possum climbing over the fence, instead I’m daydreaming in my own back yard.

I can’t wait.

And yet, I have a month to go and miles to travel before that begins to happen. And so I need to refocus and be here now because I don’t want to miss a day being there, while I’m here.

HOME
BY EDGAR ALBERT GUEST

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home,
A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam
Afore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind,
An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind.
It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get t’ be,
How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything.

Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;
Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it;
Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies born, and then
Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men;
And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t part
With anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumbmarks on the door.

Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sigh
An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;
An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come,
An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’ when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;
An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories
O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these.

Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,
An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day;
Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they ’come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear
Who used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em jes’ t’ run
The way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun;
Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.

The other day at Fortier Fest, I met this guy who lives in DC but who is from here and we connected over real estate and Tibetan flags. So yesterday, when it was the last day of Jazz Fest, and the most gorgeous day except for some chilly blusters of wind, I sat here thinking I would love to go to the Fest and Mr. DC pinged me and asked if I was going and asked if I wanted a free ticket. “Why yes, don’t mind if I do.”

I have been floating on air for the past few days because on Friday, I went to see four houses with my real estate agent and the first one I looked at, which is one I happened to come across driving down that street accidentally, turned out to be MY house. Although I’ve been leaning more and more towards building my own house, I had just learned on Thursday that the big park like lot I had put an offer in for had fallen through, and so I went out Friday morning curious but not expecting anything.

When I entered the house, I got chill bumps and immediately asked my agent what was wrong with it because from what I was seeing, I didn’t see anything wrong with it at all. So we wrote an offer, and they countered, and we accepted and I BOUGHT A HOUSE! I’m so psyched that I could just spit. It has everything I was looking for and more (read: it needs nothing but some external things that I can do on my own time), and on the big lot on the next block is where Morris Jeff is building their permanent school – this is a school that we had looked at for Tin and so it is an exciting possibility.

I’m a block from the streetcar, seven blocks from the bayou, and tickled pink that by the end of June I will once again be able to sleep in my bed again (this day bed has turned me into a corpse).

But back to the Fest – I went in and bought a ball gown, and two works of art – not because I have a nickel to my name – but because I was riding on some positive crazy energy from the house and just felt on top of the world. Mr. DC later text me: “Guess you put a positive vibe into the universe and the universe responded.”

Guess I did.

I watched a funny video about what people say to Transracially Adopted families, and could have added a lot more quotes to the list. But no one knows the joy of welcoming another person into your life, particularly a baby who starts becoming their own person very shortly after you meet.

Yesterday, Tin and I slopped our way through the thick of mud soup to get up close and personal with Frank Ocean and to say that having this (heavy) boy on my shoulders as he and I grooved to the music is to say that yesterday was nirvana all over again. A few people did say, “Is that your boy?” but mostly people were doing the usual – snapping photographs of him – although one guy did look into my eyes and say, “Is he your son? He’s beautiful” and I could tell he was having a moment of joy.

When Frank sang Pyramids, we rocked the house, and after that I could no longer keep this growing boy on my tired shoulders but there was no where to put him down in the mud soup, so we slogged out of the group and made our way back to our chairs.

People would laugh when I told them that I had to take Tin out to see Frank Ocean because he’s our favorite. They think it’s odd that a 4 year old has a favorite singer, but Tin has already staked his independence and now it’s no longer about whether I’m blessed for having Tin, or Tin blessed for having us, it’s that we are a family and for the rest of my life, my heart now walks around independent of me.

Throwdown
by Jena Strong

give me the drag queens, dolled up and delicious
the two moms bickering over the dishes
the orphans, adopted, the chosen, the trannies
the witches, the protestors, tattooed laughing grannies
the boys wearing tutus and all the shirtless
daughters of the revolution playing basketball
on the broken courts of lost fathers
the failures, the forgotten, the throwdown, the freak show
the hurts and the heartbreaks, the hassles and headaches
the beggar, the baron, the shelter, the clambake
trade in the cynical, the stubborn, the splintering showdown
because it’s time to unite now, yes it’s time to ignite now
it’s time to pick up the phone to say, It’s me and I love you

The Dalai Lama is going to be here in two weeks and the city is going wild with prayer flags. I hung mine out by standing on the top of the cab of my truck to reach the tree branch.

Yay Dalai Lama, yay prayer flags, yay New Orleans healing: