Thank You Mother Lucy

Thank You Mother Lucy

 

Diminutive ancestor

Mother of us all;

You stood up

So we could run;

Participate in co-creation.

 

We share the path

That you began.

Gratitude and respect;

Hope and no regrets.

Thank you Mother Lucy,

You could have said “No.”

Than where would we be?

 

Faltering on one leg and than the other

 

3/25/07

After viewing Lucy at NYC Natural History Museum

To Write Out our Journey

Blank pages to be filled/designed by us.

Open spaces awaiting the first stroke

BOLD, shaky, microscopic.

As long as it gets down on the page

Poured out, sprinkled sparcely or liberally across the spaces

Upheld notes heralding our presence

Recording the past, predicting the future

Get it down on the page.

PTSD and Teaching

I never realized how Pavlovian my teaching career has been. I had a whip-lash-flash-back experience this morning.

I heard this voice say, "Mrs. R would you see me before you leave." When a student gets this call over the intercom, the entire class gasps. It is like an air of relief that they were not the one CALLED.

It fells like a prisoner who has been under 24/7 observation. How much each word, facial expression, and quick response could get me into trouble. If I responded to an insult with a quick, funny answer there was hell to pay, either from a Principal or an irate parent.

Insults were to be taken, not challenged. I have been listening to the song, "Let It Go," the Disney version all morning, and feeling much like Robin Williams might have felt in a classroom when someone whipped out a cutting remark. The tongue rapping itself around the perfect response, yet, holding back out of fear of retaliation.

AM I just too old and now cantankerous, or waking up from PTSD? And let it rip Robin!

In the South we Parade CRAZY

A sign posted for Southern Decadence is the theme song and sound track for my life:
"In the South we don't hide CRAZY. We parade it on the front porch and give it a cocktail!"

From my early memories, I recall a mother who had a cocktail and sat on the porch for the world to see, and I was so embarrassed. That same beautiful woman went on to drink many more cocktails, but was often sedated because she was Crazy. Crazy like arrange clothing on the floor of our numerous rented houses as a form of communication.

She believed that the world was out to get her, and I guess that it did. Spending time in Mandeville, that was the name of the Crazy House where my mother was often sent to get her medication straight, only resulted in various labels, none of which were helpful.

For a long time, she was branded paranoid schizophrenic, or later manic-depressive, later still, bi-polar. None of these labels actually, nor adequately described Marie's day-to-day life. She went from hosting the parade to long stays at the hospital, where the medications, like thorazine made her shuffle alone in a stupor. We never knew how to RSVP to these events.

I met Chris Sizemore after my mother died. She is the woman about whom the Three Faces of Eve was written. After spending the night at my home, I felt a great sense of relief. She had 30 plus personalities and two healthy adult children. I felt a deep sense of peace after sharing our stories through the night.

I was President of the local Mental Health Society and she was our guest speaker. Listening to her amazing story certainly brings light to those of us who have relegated our crazies to the attic.
Hell, after all of those tries, we would have been better off just handing her a cocktail and letting her sit on the porch.

My father was forever telling her that she was crazy. Her mother spoke the same language, so I learned this talk as well. Hiding the family secret is so difficult for a child and the collective adult family. Such energy wasted, far better to take out the family crazies and place them on the porch for the world to see. God knows hiding them in the attic creates a fire hazard. It is crowded up there, and rather time consuming, and costly to have them psychologically removed.

Years of therapy is far too expensive. There is an island in the Pacific where one is allowed to run amuck once a year. What a far more sensible way to expose the attic secrets, and cleanse the collective unconscious.

Here in New Orleans we give our crazies several days a year to parade through the streets: Mardi Gras, Southern Decadence, and any other day of the week when the stress level rises to red alert.
One may get a drive up daiquiri, sit on the porch and drink up.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Running_amok

On the 94th anniversary of the 19th amendment... How long will it take????

On the 94th anniversary of the 19th amendment... How long will it take????


We do this to ourselves and to others. I work in a boutique in the French Quarter. Every time a woman goes behind the purple-curtained fitting room, I hear the same mantra. 

"If only my, fill in the blank body part weren't, fill in a complaint, than this would look good on me."

OMG, I have decided to answer all of these comments with: 
"You are Perfect, just the way you are."


The problem is, I need to repeat this mantra to myself, too. Where did we drift from a fabulous thought of The Creator, to "you are worthless, unless.."?



The link below does a wonderful job of explaining this topic.

 OK, no ice bucket challenge for this, but perhaps a ice bucket on the heads of those commercials on TV and media that perpetuate this???!!!!
No more beer, sex commercials....etc

I have a beautiful daughter and FOUR precious granddaughters, this is for you. 

http://www.upworthy.com/sexual-objectification-what-it-is-why-its-damaging-and-how-we-change?g=2

Suicide and Hope

If we could all see ourselves as our Creator does, we would bloom wherever we are. Robin Williams' death, and the others who become consumed by depression, demonstrate how they are unable to see their own beauty. Would that we could be the mirrors for others....
The video by Bruno Bramcho demonstrates how we unfold and illuminate. Knowing others who have committed suicide touches a special place within the heart.
I once acted as the suicide interventionist for a Louisiana High School. So many broken and damaged souls seeking attention...
Little did I know that the lessons learned would have to apply to my own husband. Try as we might, there are some depressed beings who do not allow the intervention to take place. The damage is so deeply entrenched, the wound so deep, that they see no other recourse.
Robin Williams stared in a movie about suicide and depression,
 http://observationdeck.io9.com/for-in-that-sleep-of-death-what-dreams-may-come-1619905634
This film uses art to help identify the sadness and oppressiveness of loss. In the film, Robin's character goes into hell to recover his wife who committed suicide. Other films have been a variation on this theme; he leaves us a great body of work to ponder and appreciate.


https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10201496540688138
The time lapse sequence of  a blooming rose.

Seeing myself on the front page of Eat, Play, Live this morning

Imagine my surprise upon opening this morning's paper and seeing a picture of myself from last years Satchmo Fest nestled under two photographs of Pops Armstrong? This is last year's photo that was reprinted in this Morning's Daily Advocate.

The woman with the crown of colors on her head swinging a white dress, is moi. My" Daily Word" recommends honoring"my ageless nature by living with enthusiasm and gratitude." So do I need to go out to the Satchom Fest or do I sit here knowing that my spirit is already there?

Bye, I am off to play with the Spirit. Another name for the Spirit is the Advocate.

3D Printer Clothes

O.K. This may be the solution to all of your swim wear fitting problems and the future of fashion, perhaps!

The New Orleans Museum of Art has a display of 3 D Printer Design Award Winners. This is the top winner.

Imagine going into a fitting room, having a body scan, and volia, an outfit designed to fit every curve of your body.  Considering how almost every woman who comes into the Hoi Polloi Boutique has some complaint about her body, this may frighten many.  Imagine a design inspired to flatter your nuances?

What a sensational program that would be. I have often wished I had a computer that I could program to make the size just right for a client. I believe that Jane Jetson would approve and wonder why it took us so long to catch up.

Kings, Mayors, Chiefs

Kings, Mayors, and Chiefs:

You meet all of these in the French Quarters of New Orleans.  I am delighted to report that I can now add a Chief to my list of local royalty.

Sunday's monsoon brought down the roof on the three stores adjacent to the Hoi Polloi. As we all share the same roof, I still ponder how our store was spared the indoor downpour?  One of the men sent to repair the damage was Chief Black Bear of the Golden Eagles. While waiting for the supervisor to give directions, Big Chief shared his costume designs via his cell phone.

Now I have another name for the plaque that I imagine on the wall of our building. Rather than those famous "George Washington Slept Here" articles, I want to identify those local celebrities who visit here. I imagine that like the very long list on the plaque near the Famous Door Jazz Club on the corner of Conti and Bourbon, the list will grow to be more intriguing and colorful.

So here is a toast to my ongoing list of interesting and colorful people that I meet on Conti and Royal Streets!

Open the link and you will see Chief Black Bear of the Golden Eagles.













http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&docid=Y0UxX9I_sygyDM&tbnid=1CkO14F08hOomM:&ved=0CAUQjRw&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.pinterest.com%2Fsharonstokes798%2Fafrican-native-americans%2F&ei=SWHOU6HANIPs8AGWiYGQDA&bvm=bv.71198958,d.b2U&psig=AFQjCNFBiNrxQS-uL7HpNJx2FKlgPsXuAw&ust=1406120637800483

Meeting Mayor Landrieu Yeaterday

Yesterday, after working a half-day at the Hoi Polloi, I decided that I wanted to get more mileage from my $15 per day parking spot, so I choose to have a splendid lunch. This New Orleans afternoon thunder storm began around 8 A.M. and seemed to have no end.  As I headed for a place that had advertised a "Tales of the Cocktail" special lunch,  I observed that the chef for another Cocktail luncheon event was operating under a tent.

There had been much clambering of  metal tent pipes when I arrived at 330 Chartres street at 8:45 A.M. The noise accompanied the last minute and much needed cover.  This emergency tent became the command post for the Exchange Alley dining experience.

I walked down Exchange Alley, which runs only two blocks between Chartres and Royal. It reminds me of a Harry Potter view of Diagon Alley. I watched from under my umbrella, as the chef placed the mismatched antique plates on the fold-able table and the rain-hooded server transported the meal into the back door of the venue. I am certain that the diners were unaware of this MASH setup. Just another of the magical experiences of New Orleans!

Nothing stops a New Orleans Event! My intention was to have lunch at the Green Goddess Restaurant, but the monsoon dislodged the outdoor tables and forced the customers into a very crowded and smoky indoor dining area. I redirected my umbrella to Royal Street and elected to treat myself to a salad at the Royal Orleans Rib Room.

I spent many Saturday afternoon in this fine hotel as a teenager. Its always had a very clean and available ladies room, and a stunning view of the Quarter from its rooftop. My friend, Linda Fauchaux, sketched me on that very rooftop and used the same view for our senior prom backdrop! This place has special ties for me.

Yesterday presented yet another reason to love this space. As I sat at my little table for two enjoying the Asian pear and pecan salad, Mayor Landrieu and another gentleman came into the dinning room without much fanfare. They were seated behind me at a table next to the famous Royal Street window. I had wanted to sit there, but choose not to ask to be reseated.  I was glad that I had not garnered the window table, for I would have missed the opportunity to thank the mayor.

I asked Timothy, the young server who graduated from Carver High School, to "please bring me a pen and paper," which he did. The paper was a copy of the day's menu. Not my usual stationary selection, but.... I remember when I always had a notebook with me. Now that I have a call phone, my notebooks remain at home.

I wrote:

Dear Mr. Mayor,

Congratulations!

The Thursday before Katrina, I attended a conference you sponsored while you were Lt. Governor.

At that conference, you pledged to help spread Louisiana's Culture throughout the country.

You succeeded. Well done.

Peace,

Rosalynn Moore

He read the note delivered by our server and came over to my table to thank me. There I stood, eye to eye, with the Mayor accepting his appreciation for my note.

When Timothy returned to my table I reminded him, "to always thank the people in your life."

Two Birthday Gifts fom Mother Nature

Two birthday gifts from Mother Nature

The rose is from a bush that I lovingly call Mama Dee after my dear departed friend. This bush has been bloom-less since May when it treated us to a specular display of fragrant, yellow flowers. This is the only cane on the bush to offer blossoms this month and there are a dozen buds on this new extension!

The water lily is yesterday's bloom which is rising up to the occasion even though its stem has weakened.  This new variety that Bobby selected even blooms under the water.

I see metaphors for this new year as I approach the other side of 60.  You are never too old to bloom and flourish, and even weakened supports do not prohibit beauty.  Thank you Mother for the reminder."Gravity + 50" is a reminder to keep smiling.

 

Gravity + 50 Years  = a sonic boom

“Who rules? Class.”

“Mother Nature rules, teacher.”

Synapses widening

Connect-ors   e-LONG- gating

Almost dis-connected, but

Not quite.

You tug at your parts, “Remember when….”

What was I thinking about?

Where are my glasses?

Why did I open the refrigerator?

Oh, to find spare parts..

They’re in here somewhere…

After listening to George Lopez

What the bleep is Normal?

So many different sights  in the French Quarter. I am so lucky to have lunch in the Quarter at least twice a week; even if I bring my own lunch and just observe the daily scene through the front doors.

Crawling out of the cosmic dust:

We all come forth.

The struggle for normal;

Whatever that is!

Do we really want all

To look in the same direction?

No St. Francis;

No Mother Theresa;

No  Einstein.

I fear the normals;

If they rule:

Run for cover.

An Anomaly in New Orleans: Shoe Pantry in the Kitchen

Here is a photo of the pantry of the sweet woman who visits us on Chartres Street.  Look closely, you will see no pots, pans, nor bags of Camellia Red Beans in her pantry, just shoes.

One rather slow afternoon, I asked Miss L if she cooked.
 "No. My oven is filled with shoes," she said with a perfectly straight face.

I waited, thinking perhaps she was joking.  After recovering, I asked her to supply me with a photo.  She brought me this one this morning.

So I have a direct connection to someone who has exchanged cooking for shoe collecting. Imelda Marcos  would be proud!  Perhaps Imelda's collection rivals Miss L's, but Imelda had the budget of the Philippines at her fingertips.  I have read that Imelda's 3,000 pairs of shoes have been eaten by termites.  I shall warn my new friend about the possibility. God knows the termites love our city.  At night during mating season they swarm around lamp post, like our local characters who drink too much.

I wonder if the termites have concocted a recipe for filet of sole? Or perhaps in-step á la King? Marinated tongues?  Stringy almondine?  This might be the title of a non-cook book.  How to feast on the soles of our past purchases?  There are some Wall Street sharks who do just that!
  
Is there no surprise that our Imelda of Chartres Street, works in a shoe store? 

I once had some dear friends help me move, I was accused of being an Imelda on a teacher's salary.  My poor shoe collection did not have designer labels like the "Sex and the City" characters.  Just a modest collection from various shoe sales.

"The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize." Olympia Dukakis', who plays Clairee Belcher, in Steel Magnolias announced to her hair salon companions.  Maybe, we are just trying to step away from the crowd.

There certainly could be worst things in our closets!