tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74860201678485645172024-03-14T12:28:35.226-06:00Doves Today.....................................Things to celebrateGlennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.comBlogger2669125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-13212901486027110322017-10-14T17:00:00.000-06:002017-10-14T17:00:25.823-06:00On the river<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a ship a couple days ago, heading out to the Gulf</td></tr>
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Mornings, my friend Carol and I try to go for a walk along the Mississippi River. We text each other, and meet at Crescent Park - New Orleans' downtown waterfront now re-purposed as a park. We walk about a mile upriver, just below the French Quarter, before turning back.<br />
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The Port of New Orleans is still a vital economic engine, and on our morning walk we see its activity.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This morning's ship</td></tr>
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This morning, a big red painted freighter came upriver. As we watched, it navigated the serpentine curves of the stream - the ox-bow loop around Algiers Point, giving way onto the smooth curve that gives New Orleans its name of Crescent City.<br />
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Someone I talked to once about ships on the river said navigating these curves is an art. The pilots let the Mississippi's current do the work, shifting the ship's ass-end around in a counterclockwise turn.<br />
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Check it out.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-4288842213664520372017-10-07T12:18:00.000-06:002017-10-07T12:18:06.911-06:00Hi, Nate!<br />
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Our weekend guest Nate just arrived.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-48216369474087881872017-09-04T09:19:00.000-06:002017-09-04T09:19:15.690-06:00Out in public!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You know how when you were a kid adults would act scandalized to think you might dress or behave a certain way when out in public?<br />
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Well, that's what Southern Decadence is all about!<br />
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This weekend-long festival has been taking place over Labor Day weekend in New Orleans for 46 years. It's said that even during Hurricane Katrina, the parade took place, attended by French Quarter hold-outs before evacuation.<br />
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Sunday was the parade that culminates the celebration. Friends and I went down to the Quarter to join in.<br />
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As might be expected, there were several organizations and people who didn't get the joke, didn't enjoy the spectacle. In face, certain religious figures even blamed Southern Decadence for the hurricanes that have hit the city over the years. <br />
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Party poopers. But no matter. The spirit of fun and revelry will always prevail.<br />
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If you can imagine it, there was a costume for it.<br />
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You're not going out in public like that, are you?<br />
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<br />Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-21522713700052633822017-09-02T16:07:00.000-06:002017-09-02T16:07:30.960-06:00Sordid decadence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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What happens when Southern Decadence + Sordid Lives + New Orleans + Vaughan's Lounge meet?<br />
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This.<br />
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El Chapo got into the act too!</div>
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<br />Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-8058516123548018842017-08-31T07:41:00.001-06:002017-08-31T07:41:21.198-06:00Good morning!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This morning's rainbow.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-19508324643158330512017-08-29T12:28:00.000-06:002017-08-29T12:28:12.154-06:00Weathering the storm.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here in New Orleans, we knew to expect heavy rain from the outer bands of Hurricane Harvey. Since the city's Sewarage and Water Board's incompetence has put our neighborhoods at risk of flooding, everyone has been nervous about the severity of the downpour.<br />
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Yesterday the rain started around 1:00 pm. I was at work on the University of New Orleans campus. My office window looks out into a courtyard, and we could see the pavement within pool up with water. As the wind dashed rain against the glass, we could hear a strange geyser sound, and I caught video here - it must be that as the downspouts reach capacity, they back up and burst up into the air.<br />
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The campus was closed and classes cancelled at around 2:05. I was watching the weather radar on my screen and could see a lull in the action, so I stayed to finish the task I was working on. I left about 2:30.<br />
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As I walked toward the parking lot and my car, I could see that the road between was flowing with water; cars were slowly navigating through it, raising little wakes. It looked about 6 - 8 inches high. I was wearing flipflops, and figured I could make my way across. I stepped into the water, and was fine for about four feet, and then in a depth up to the middle of my calves, the current lifted and turned my sandal and I lost my footing. I went down on one knee.<br />
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There were people and cars all around and I felt embarrassed. I remember that my bag slipped from my shoulder and went in the water; I hiked it back up and struggled to my feet. I was soaked to the waist, my skirt streaming with water. I finished crossing the road. The water was more shallow in the parking lot.<br />
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My bag was now a bucket full of water. I fumbled inside it for the smaller bag that held my cellphone. All I could think of was how I didn't want to lose it. Luckily, it was still dry. I kept it in my hand high on my body, under my ruined umbrella, and waded slowly to my car.<br />
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Here the water was just up to the rims of my wheels. I watched other cars slowly make their way, and finally went for it myself. Traffic choked the campus road, but fortunately the south-bound land was a little higher than the northbound. This turned out to be the most seriously flooded road on my route home. Elysian Fields beneath I-610 was not at all flooded, as I had feared. I made it home without further incident.<br />
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I worried about travelling to campus on Tuesday, which is my longest day of classes. But around 6:00 pm, we learned that schools, including UNO, would be closed Tuesday.<br />
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This morning around 2:30 am, the rain started falling. Lightly at first, and then hard. By the time I got out of bed, around 8:00, it was really coming down. I dressed. Cabin fever! Irrationally, I wanted to get out and explore.<br />
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I put on my rain boots and a hooded jacket. I felt irrationally excited. I got in the car and headed out for breakfast. I told myself I should stay close to home, but then I passed up Elizabeth's, which is only about five blocks from me, and continued on into the Marigny. I passed up Who Dat - my favorite tables are the outdoor ones, and now rain was really pounded. Was I crazy? Further into the triangle, and there was a parking place across from Horn's. I parked.<br />
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The hostess and three guys were seated outside, beneath the overhang. I furled my umbrella and said "Good morning!" I grabbed a table inside by the window, and ordered coffee and a bloody mary with my breakfast. It felt like a festive morning, oddly.<br />
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I was one of two customers inside a room that usually hums with activity. The darkness of the storm outside lent a gloom to the place. read a book and lingered over coffee, watching the rain pound fiercely outside and then slacken. By the time I'd finished my second cup of coffee, the skies had lightened and the rain had slowed to a drizzle.<br />
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Right now, around 1:00, it's dry. Although weather alerts have buzzed on my phone, as far as the local news goes, the city has not experienced bad flooding. The radar shows more coming, though.<br />
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We're bracing for it.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-10172599949462070912017-08-25T14:29:00.000-06:002017-08-25T14:29:26.463-06:00Heya Harvey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here's the New Orleans skyline this morning, with grey clouds to the west and over the Gulf.<br />
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The Texas coast is bracing for Hurricane Harvey. Here in New Orleans, we are bracing for rain, and hoping our city's pumps and drainage system won't fail us.<br />
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While I don't expect much flooding where I live, on the "sliver by the river," I'm still laying in supplies in case of power outages.<br />
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I also have a cute new pair of red rain boots, just in case!Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-50387542405629293062017-08-20T12:47:00.002-06:002017-08-20T12:47:20.288-06:00Too Darn Hot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
In tour guide school, they cautioned us to be careful giving walking tours in the heat of summer. Sunscreen. Plenty of water. A hat or a parasol to shield from the sun. Keep the guests in shade as much as you can.<br />
<br />
We were told to watch our guests for signs of heat exhaustion. To place a cool wet-nap on the back of their neck to cool someone down. To duck inside air-conditioned places if possible.<br />
<br />
During breakfast, Friday morning, WWNO announced the heat index would be 109 that day. I had a tour on Friday morning, and I kept all this in mind. I gave my opening speech inside the cool courtyard instead of out in Jackson Square. I cut short my stop at the Washington Artillery because there was no shade. I kept my six guests beneath the galleries and balconies on the street. I had a big bottle of water and carried a parasol.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, at about 12:15, standing on the corner of Royal and St. Louis streets, as I began to tell my guests about the old St. Louis Hotel and its infamous history as an antebellum market for enslaved people, I suddenly felt a strong urge to sit down.<br />
<br />
"Whooo," I said. "I think I'm a little light-headed." My vision began to grey out around the edges.<br />
<br />
My guests leaped to my side. "Let's go inside," they said, and supporting me, they guided me across the street and into the vestibule of the Omni Royal Hotel - the hotel built on the site of the old St. Louis Hotel.<br />
<br />
I felt immediate relief in the air conditioning, but I was still dizzy and lightheaded. "Hey," I said. "This is embarrassing. I'm supposed to take care of you guys, not the other way around."<br />
<br />
I ended up lying down on the cool marble floor with my feet elevated on someone's backpack. The hotel's concierge arrived with two cold bottles of water - I drank one and someone laid the other on the back of my neck.<br />
<br />
"I guess this is the end of the tour," I told them. "Sorry about that." I urged my guests to go have a pleasant lunch.<br />
<br />
Fifteen minutes later, I felt okay enough to sit up and call an Uber. The concierge went outside to flag the driver down for me.<br />
<br />
There are two morals to this story. 1) Be careful in the heat. It can happen even when you're prepared. and 2) People are kind. I am so grateful for the kindness of my guests, and that of the Omni Royal Hotel staff.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-40341881699651778282017-08-06T11:04:00.000-06:002017-08-06T11:43:53.486-06:00Here comes the rain again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It was close to two in the afternoon on Saturday, and John Boutte was playing under the tent at the Satchmo Festival. The lawn beneath the tent - the lawns everywhere at the Old U.S. Mint - was thickly mulched with pine straw, although it failed to completely staunch the oozing black mud that had been generated by a torrential downpour yesterday. New Orleanians have learned that tall rubber boots are <i>de rigueur</i> festival footwear.<br />
<br />
Still, the band was rocking. The canopied bar area was full of people drinking margaritas, bloody marys, and frozen daiquiris. You could smell the delicious aromas from the food tents - smoked sausage, meat pies, fried catfish.<br />
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There were grey clouds looming over the French Quarter, but no one seemed to mind. As the first faint drops of rain spattered down, I found the corner of a picnic table in a sheltered spot.<br />
<br />
I'd taken the bus to the festival, but I knew it would be impossible to catch the bus back home to the Bywater. It never seems to come on time, going downtown. Whenever I go to the French Quarter, I take an Uber or Lyft back home.<br />
<br />
The rain was coming down more steadily now, so I unfurled my umbrella and walked out of the festival grounds. I figured it would be easier to catch a ride downriver from Elysian Fields, so I started walking.<br />
<br />
On Frenchmen Street, the rain grew stronger. A stretch golf-cart full of young men careened around the corner. "Don't stop believing!" they sang at the top of their drunken lungs. I held my umbrella high and made for the shelter of the gallery in front of Bamboula's.<br />
<br />
The cart stopped right in front of the club and they all piled out, crowding the sidewalk I took inventory. Mardi Gras beads around their necks? Check. Backward baseball caps? Check. Plastic "hand grenade" vessels? Check. One of them flipped his cup end over end into a dumpster while his companions roared approval.<br />
<br />
"C'mon in, we'll buy you a drink," one of them beckoned me.<br />
<br />
"No, but thanks all the same," I said, and continued on, turning on Chartres. By the time I got to the neutral ground at Elysian Fields, the downpour was fierce, and I was wading in two inches of water.<br />
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I was soaked to the skin from my feet to halfway up my thighs. Two more blocks and I could see the green facade of The Friendly Bar. A couple of women sat at outdoor tables. I splashed across the street and went inside, took a barstool.<br />
<br />
"Damn, it's wet out there!" I said.<br />
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I was there for the next hour and a half.<br />
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There were about six people in the bar, plus others who came and went. One woman peeked out the door to see whether her car down the block was still out of the water. The bartender propped open the front door so we could see the rain pouring down. It poured, it gushed, it cascaded down from the edge of the overhang. It pooled by the storm sewer drain, spreading out into the street. Cars drove by raising frothy wakes of water. "Asshole!" someone said as the wave lapped up onto the sidewalk.<br />
<br />
We were later to learn that the city took on over 7 inches of rain in some areas, causing massive flooding in low-lying places. Here in the "sliver by the river" we were a bit luckier than most.<br />
<br />
I summoned an Uber. Six minutes, the app said, but I watched on the little screen as my ride sat in the same place for over five minutes, without moving. I cancelled it and called another. Monique, in a Honda Accord slowly drove down Elysian Fields. She was two blocks away from me, but I watched as she u-turned and headed back where she came from. Was she going to St. Claude? No. She drove away and cancelled my ride. I guess an Accord is too low to the ground to deal with the deep water now pooling curb to curb in the intersection.<br />
<br />
Overhead a bright flash and an almost instantaneous crash of thunder. "Jeez, that was close!" someone said.<br />
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A brief lull, and the sky brightened. As we stood out on the sidewalk, we watched a person in skull-face makeup and a white tulle gown picking their way through the puddles, walking up Mandeville Street.<br />
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<br />
Only in New Orleans. ( My friend Deja recognized her friend when I posted this on Facebook. I tagged the photo and told them that I thought they were beautiful.)<br />
<br />
A third try at Uber, also aborted. "I guess I could wait it out and walk," I said.<br />
<br />
"Hey," said a woman. "I'll give you a ride home."<br />
<br />
"Really?" I asked. "That's so kind of you. I hope it's not out of your way."<br />
<br />
"No problem. I'm just going to go get my car, it's parked on the neutral ground." She headed off.<br />
<br />
By the time she pulled up to the curb, the sky had darkened, and the rain was coming down again.<br />
<br />
Her name was Nicole, or "call me Cole," she said. "What do you think, should we go Chartres or St. Claude?"<br />
<br />
"There's always a big puddle on Chartres at Press Street when it rains," I said. "Maybe St. Claude is better."<br />
<br />
When we turned on St. Claude, we could see the train blocking the intersection. "Shit!" This was becoming a real adventure. Cole made a U-turn and we headed north on Franklin, then, skirting a huge pool of water in front of the Burger King, drove up the incline on Robertson, rising over the tracks.<br />
<br />
We zig-zaged through the narrow streets of the Bywater. "This is what I had to do yesterday," she said, "coming home in <i>yesterday's</i> rainstorm!"<br />
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"Be careful of the pothole," I told her as we neared my block. "It's a real lake, today."<br />
<br />
She let me off at my house. "Maybe I'll catch you another time," I said. "At the Friendly Bar."<br />
<br />
Here's to the kindness of so many people, when the harsh rains fall.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-72629921405641404902017-07-25T19:39:00.002-06:002017-07-25T19:39:38.641-06:00Another hundred people just got off of the train<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
"Another hundred people just got off of the train<br />
And came up through the ground,<br />
While another hundred people just got off of the bus<br />
And are looking around<br />
<br />
At another hundred people who got off of the plane<br />
And are looking at us<br />
Who got off of the train<br />
And the plane and the bus<br />
Maybe yesterday.<br />
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<br />
It's a city of strangers,<br />
Some come to work, some to play.<br />
A city of strangers,<br />
Some come to stare, some to stay.<br />
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<br />
And every day<br />
The ones who stay<br />
Can find each other in the crowded streets and the guarded parks,<br />
By the rusty fountains and the dusty trees with the battered barks,<br />
And they walk together past the postered walls with the crude remarks.<br />
And they meet at parties through the friends of friends who they never<br />
know.<br />
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<br />
"Do I pick you up or do I meet you there or shall we let it go?"<br />
"Did you get my message? 'Cause I looked in vain."<br />
"Can we see each other Tuesday if it doesn't rain?"<br />
"Look, I'll call you in the morning or my service will explain.<br />
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And another hundred people just got off of the train."<br />
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Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-90746622274656387992017-07-24T08:03:00.003-06:002017-07-24T08:03:43.758-06:00Nothing like the city<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">8th Avenue in Hell's Kitchen</td></tr>
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<br />
A visit to New York always inspires nostalgia for me, remembering when I used to live here.<br />
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The city has changed so, with new construction, sleek new buildings. Old neighborhoods have become gentrified and tourist-focused. Yet some of the old feel remains.<br />
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My friend and I went on a Sunday excursion. We visited an ailing friend, and we also took in exhibits at three small museums - little hidden treasures.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stairwell in the Nicholas Roerich Museum </td></tr>
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The museums and institutions were housed in old mansions on the Upper East and West sides, giving us a rare glimpse not only of the artwork, but also the way of life back in the Gilded Age.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the Ukranian Institute </td></tr>
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We strolled around the Upper West side, looking at streetscapes.<br />
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Stone faces and fantasies.<br />
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This is what I love about New York.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-78064367348559787432017-07-11T10:37:00.004-06:002017-07-11T10:37:59.314-06:00Conversation starter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One of my favorite things about living here is that there are so many outdoor cafes and coffee shops. I like to treat myself to breakfast, sitting outside at a rickety metal table, watching the traffic go by and maybe reading a book while sipping coffee.<br />
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Yesterday I grabbed up a novel I'm reading and headed to my regular cafe. When I got there, I was surprised and delighted to see a friend sitting there. "May I join you?" I said.<br />
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"Sure."<br />
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I put down my book and went inside to order my coffee. When I came out, he was looking quizzically at my book.<br />
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"Sex and Rage?" he asked.<br />
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Later, a friend of his walked by. They greeted one another, and he introduced me to her. Her eye fell upon the closed book on the table and she did a double take. "Sex and Rage?" she asked.<br />
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Today, I met another friend for coffee at another cafe. While I was waiting, I chatted with the waitress. She glanced at my book. "Sex and Rage?" she asked.<br />
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Eve Babitz is an author born in Los Angeles who became somewhat notorious during the '60s for her semi-autobiographical writings about LA's rock and roll and arts scene, and the culture of Southern California itself. She played the role of groupie/muse for several artists, including Jim Morrison of the Doors, Ed Ruscha, Steve Martin, and others. Her work is now being reissued, and I'm fascinated by her crazy, kaleidoscopic take on Los Angeles in the '60s. "Sex and Rage" is the third book of hers I've read. The book - so far, anyway - is not really about sex, and not really full of rage.<br />
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Yet - the title on the cover is so bold it really stands out! For a single woman sitting in a public place, I seem to have found myself an unintended conversation starter. What an interesting experiment!Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-11616930500344009272017-07-10T13:38:00.000-06:002017-07-10T13:38:30.560-06:00River colors<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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A colorful sight on the river - a container ship comes downriver, past the Central Business District<br />
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Then turns<br />
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And heads toward the Gulf of Mexico, 106 miles away.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-49799149059692580562017-07-07T07:57:00.003-06:002017-07-07T07:57:31.229-06:00Riverwalk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This morning's view from my river walk. It's already in the mid 80s! Looks like those clouds will bring a thunderstorm later on, but right now it's beautiful.<br />
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New Orleans in the summer!!<br />
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Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-17587390787770247802017-07-02T10:58:00.003-06:002017-07-02T10:58:41.837-06:00What's at our feet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Spotted in the Mairgny, New Orleans.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-48687530935096940962017-07-01T15:33:00.000-06:002017-07-01T15:33:09.713-06:00Train Graffiti<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I walk in the mornings for about a mile down Crescent Park, which parallels the train trains downriver from the French Quarter in New Orleans. The cars are colorful with graffiti of all kinds. But sometimes there's one I like. Like this one.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-54028638017602903242017-05-27T09:02:00.000-06:002017-05-27T09:02:03.288-06:00Wildflower walk<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tradescantia ohiensis - spiderwort</td></tr>
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Some sights from the Wildflower Sanctuary along the Riverwalk in Batavia, Illinois.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trillium recurvatum - "Wake Robin" trillium</td></tr>
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This volunteer-built sanctuary was begun in 1991, showcasing the native woodland plants growing along the Fox River in Northern Illinois.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aquilegia canadensis - wild columbine</td></tr>
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When I lived here as a child, I explored the woods, prairies, and creeksides of this landscape. My mother helped me identify flowers I found.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anemone canadensis - meadow anemone</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild iris</td></tr>
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Walk through the cool shade to find small treasures.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phlox divartica</td></tr>
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Bright flashes of color in the green.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Challenge Windmill Factory building</td></tr>
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The walk follows the river, which powered mills and factories beginning in the 19th century. The factories are built of limestone quarried nearby.<br />
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Batavia's factories built windmills, as intricately styled as flowers themselves. Some of these antique windmills are on display at the park.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-32563186350510344262017-05-20T14:34:00.001-06:002017-05-20T14:34:24.445-06:00Crabby hands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My mouth is tingly and my hands are stained reddish brown. There's a pasty, spicy mixture caked under my fingernails. <div>
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It's crab boil time. At Vaughan's Lounge.</div>
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Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-44490867903773725912017-05-15T12:06:00.000-06:002017-05-15T12:06:13.140-06:00Mother's Day parade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yesterday was Mother's Day, and also the annual celebratory parade for the Social and Pleasure Club Original Big Seven. As I stood on St. Bernard Avenue waiting for the parade to cross Claiborne, the crowd was full of mothers and children, holding hands. Many mothers were wearing corsages, and the children were wearing hair-bows. Everyone was wishing one another "Happy Mother's Day!"<br />
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The sound of revved motors split the air, and around the corner came a fleet of women on sleek and fancy motorcycles. They wore helmets adorned with bright pink mohawks. They made a pass up the Avenue, made a U-turn through the neutral ground, and circled back, parking their bikes in formation at the curb.<br />
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It was the<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Caramelcurves/"> Caramel Curves</a>, New Orleans' all-female motorcycle club. "Awesome boots!" I told one lady, admiring her five-inch stiletto heeled blue suede thigh-high boots.<br />
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But then came the parade! Led first by the kids - the Junior Steppers - the crowd surged up the Avenue. The kids danced to the band accompaniment.<br />
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Kings and Queens rode in open convertibles.<br />
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Then a float came by, conveying more royalty.<br />
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Bringing up the rear, another group of steppers, decked in bright orange and yellow, followed by a band.<br />
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I followed the parade to where I'd parked my car. I bought an ice-cold beer from a lady pulling a cooler on a wagon. She popped the cap for me and wished me a "Happy Mother's Day!"Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-73623244641887656212017-05-10T10:17:00.001-06:002017-05-10T10:17:28.592-06:00Reminders everywhere<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Walking through the Bywater, warm summer afternoon. Faced again with a reminder to BE.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-9845872710414883382017-05-08T11:58:00.001-06:002017-05-08T11:58:32.838-06:00His Master's Voice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X8QdRXfTIN4/WRCxumKBTRI/AAAAAAAAggQ/e36nFgd7RewtuXF6v4TfZGndnM2IEiGRwCLcB/s1600/IMG_7995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X8QdRXfTIN4/WRCxumKBTRI/AAAAAAAAggQ/e36nFgd7RewtuXF6v4TfZGndnM2IEiGRwCLcB/s400/IMG_7995.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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El Chapo is a little white puppy beloved of many people at Vaughan's Lounge, but the person who loves him the best is Big Chris.<br />
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And El Chapo loves him back. Here's El Chapo at the door, recognizing the sound of Big Chris's van pulling up outside.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-25174463303891463832017-05-04T09:16:00.002-06:002017-05-04T09:16:50.951-06:00Messages<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When the world sends you a message, take it to heart.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-22847948647538264592017-05-03T11:16:00.001-06:002017-05-03T11:16:08.447-06:00Returning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've abandoned you. I'm sorry. But I'm back.<br />
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It's been a long time - since Mardi Gras. I have completed my spring semester. I've also embarked on a new path.<br />
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In March, I undertook a training program to be a licensed tour guide in the city of New Orleans, through the Friends of the Cabildo, a local historic preservation group. I will be part of their team of guides giving walking tours of the French Quarter. It's fun and it's also challenging.<br />
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Right now it is the weekday interim between the two weekends of Jazz Fest - officially called the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. This is a huge music and cultural blow-out; major national bands alongside local bands and players, food tents and vendors and booths for cultural groups, all arrayed out at the fairgrounds. I'm not a big festival fan, but what I like is how the rest of the city's cultural life is enriched by the presence of so many musicians and music fans during this time.<br />
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Yesterday afternoon I was treated to a performance by one of my favorite musicians, singer and songwriter Dayna Kurtz, at Euclid Records, with Robert Mache.<br />
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Last night at Vaughan's Lounge, a couple of bands rocked the house - Jamaican Me Breakfast and the Fortifiers.<br />
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Tonight is Blood Jet Poetry reading at BJ's Bar, and tomorrow Corey Henry kills it at Vaughan's.<br />
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Who knows what Friday will bring?<br />
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Having this much fun is exhausting!Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-23685214564898973792017-05-03T10:44:00.004-06:002017-05-03T10:44:41.577-06:00Mornings<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">February 16, 2017</td></tr>
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For the last couple months, I've been walking in the mornings with my friend Carol. A morning walk with a friend, talking and sharing, is a good thing.<br />
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We walk through Crescent Park, which follows the curve of the Mississippi River downtown from the French Quarter. We walk from the Mazant Street Wharf down to Mandeville, where a footbridge takes you over the railroad tracks. That's where we stop and turn around.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">February 23</td></tr>
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When we get there, we always walk right to the rail over the river itself, and look out at the city-scape. Almost every day, I pull out my phone and take a photo. Here are some views of the city of New Orleans, the Mississippi River, and the view.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">March 21</td></tr>
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We can see the Crescent City Connection - the bridge from New Orleans to the West Bank. We watch the traffic on the river, barges and freighters and cruise ships. Some morning are crystal clear and sunny; others are foggy and blurred with clouds. Some days the river is placid, other days it is turbulent, murky and thick with debris. The sky and the light vary so much.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today - storm clouds brewing.</td></tr>
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I love living in this city. I'm so lucky to be here.Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7486020167848564517.post-82348799572087862512017-03-04T13:30:00.000-06:002017-03-04T13:30:06.622-06:00Everywhere else it's just another Tuesday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Before memory fades, here are some views of Mardi Gras day, 2017.<br />
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Mardi Gras morning started with a gathering at a local residence, followed by a parade through the streets of the Marigny headed to the French Quarter.</div>
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Lots of people came out. Several smaller marching parades met one another, merged, or split and diverged. By the time it was at Jackson Square, it had become disorganized. But isn't that the fun of it?</div>
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Happy Mardi Gras!</div>
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<br />Glennishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03681336164718681936noreply@blogger.com5