Last night was Mary Queen of Peace's 3rd annual Fleur de Fall, a fundraiser of food, music and auctioning. I have never, and I mean NEVER, seen that array of food anywhere else in my life. And I partook of most of it. From station to station, I noshed on pecan crusted fish; vegie spring rolls and mini chicken tenders with hot mustard sauce; an incredible (worth 2 servings) roasted sweet pepper and smoked chicken bisque with cilantro cream; fried catfish and garlic fries (decadent!); turtle soup, salad remoulade (3 servings worth -- amazing!); chicken and andouille gumbo; jambalaya; a variety of cheeses; some wonderful chocolate truffles; and several tastings of dry red wines. For a church function, this felt rather gluttonous, but all for a good cause, and I intend to work off those calories and concomitant sluggishness in a few minutes.
Despite a little gastronomic over-indulging, I can at least congratulate myself for not being tempted by all those odd-colored drinks I saw making their way about. Bright blue liquor -- especially with food -- just doesn't hold much appeal. I understand they fit in with the "sailing the high seas" theme, but those kinds of beverages would likely find their way into the high seas of my bathroom commode at some point in the wee hours of the morning. "Let's not and say we did," is my motto for such whimsical drinks.
The silent auction was every bit as impressive as the food in terms of quality and quantity. I was particularly impressed by some of the art that the school children turned out. In fact, my sole bid was on a wonderful seafood platter that depicted a large red crab in the shape of a fleur de lis with lots of tiny little crabs created by thumb prints (it was accompanied by a gift certificate for seafood), but I did not let the spirit of the evening let me lose all control of my senses and bank account.
Speaking of bank accounts, I feel like the poor relation of this entire city after sitting in awe, watching numerous high rollers bid thouands and thousands of dollars, with apparent abandon, at the live auction. Trips to sporting events, travel packages for Vegas, the French Quarter and so forth, all manner of items signed by the Saints coach or players ... even a meal for four prepared by Monsignor Bill and served at his home went for something like $5,500! The one thing I especially would have loved to have been sufficiently flush to buy ($4,000 was the winning bid) was a very large, antique icon Father Ronnie brought back from Greece. Having studied Russian architecture and icons while at Tulane, and possessing one small icon from my former ballet instructor (now retired in his homeland of Yugoslavia), I really felt the pull for this item, but it was not to be at this time.
I'll bet a lot of parishioners are sleeping in this morning ...
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
When a Treehouse Turns on You ...
Quel weekend! And it's not even over yet. Friday afternoon, I had just finished a stint at the keyboard, doing some legal writing, when I started experiencing what I not-so-nicely (but accurately) refer to as "butt death." Time to stretch, get out of the PJs, get cleaned up, go over to Franco's for a workout, and then resume some writing in the evening. After washing up, I gave my vanity mirror a typical quick wipedown when I heard and felt its mammoth weight descend upon me.
This is no ordinary vanity mirror. It's bigger than a door -- covers the entire wall. So when it started coming down, I knew, at once, one really good reason to be married. So I could shout, "Honey, the vanity mirror is falling on me!" But since there was no such person to shout that to, I mustered up all the brute force I could, one bicep supporting the mirror, while the other tended to clearing the counter below. Then, using both arms and not just a little bit of lumbar spine, I eased the mirror down to the cabinet to rest for the time being.
Since the mirror now was taking up the entire dressing room, which leads to the commode and shower, I needed to create an alternate path, through my home office. My office was all a'clutter, so this took well into the evening. A task I'd wanted to get to eventually, but was now necessitated. Meanwhile, I checked on line and in the yellow pages under headings like "rent a husband" or "save writer from losing her mind with one more way her house is betraying her" and left voice mail messages on a couple of home repair numbers.
I received one call back eventually from a guy who said he could be there no earlier than Monday. Meanwhile, my real estate agent/friend called me back -- I'd also left her a message asking if she knew of resources. She said that maybe her very capable husband could find some time over the weekend.
On the bright side, the mirror was not broken. On the not so bright side, I was envisioning another unexpected hit to my bank account, just after, earlier in the week, I'd forked over nearly $700 for new eyeglasses -- and that's with a vision plan discount! On the even dimmer side, was the backache starting to manifest itself, after the initial adrenaline had enabled me to hoist that mirror while emptying the counter -- an awkward and cumbersome task.
My lower back is a cautionary area to begin with, by virtue of my having a hypermobile SI joint. Added to that, I'm not anywhere in the kind of shape I was when I retired from the dance company some 14 years ago. And, I took a brutal trip and fall in August. But -- having decided to give it a go this year for their 30 year anniversary, I was elated last Wednesday night at having a really great rehearsal. I hated to think that my behemoth vanity mirror could be my ultimate downfall.
The next day, I went into the city to teach my round of Saturday morning classes to preschool ballerinas who were in some kind of collective mood. Due to a major function going on in Audubon Park, traffic was crazy and I arrived with no time to catch my breath, cue all of my music, greet the children individually, and proceed calmly. Instead, I felt as out of sorts as they apparently were. It's true, I think, that children do mirror (no pun intended) our own moods. On this particular day, I was all too happy to get out of there, skip afternoon company rehearsal, and get back to Mandeville to see about home repairs. It was small consolation, as I left the studio, to have my arm grabbed by one of the mothers who told me, "Sophie just LOVES you! She thinks you're SO funny!" I mustered up some response about how desperation makes me a real riot by the third class of the day.
As it turned out, my friend's husband had a small window of opportunity, before an LSU game/party, to fix my mirror. He assessed the situation, made a 20-minute run to the hardware store to get what he needed, and then -- following some justifiable cursing about not finding the studs where they should be in the wall -- got the mirror back up there to stay with 35 minutes to spare before his. Turns out that the mirror had never been properly anchored in the first place and was an accident waiting to happen -- much like, I am sorry to say, other aspects of this often traitorous treehouse.
While Mark was re-affixing the errant mirror, I noticed something familiar happening outside my window. Once a year, in late autumn, dads and sons pitch tent out on the Cedarwood School lawn that abuts my back yard. It's a time for a little cross-generational male bonding under the stars. I watched as more and more multi-colored geodesic domes dotted the landscape, resembling a convention of hot air balloons that have made a happy landing. At this point, the boys were dashing about in happy delirium.
What I needed after all of that was some time at Franco's. Nothing like a workout, a long shower, and a sauna to set me right. I stopped home to change, noting that as nightfall loomed, the boys on the school yard were now bursting with excitement, shrieking and running barefoot about the lush green grounds. Minutes later, I headed over to the grand opening of Jose Balli's new gallery/store in Covington featuring his Louisiana-inspired art and jewelry http://www.joseballi.com/?show=Home. N'tini's http://www.ntinis.com/ was on hand with some crab meat dressing, turkey gumbo, jambalaya and bread pudding.
By the time I arrived home, the evening was well settled in. The din from the school yard had abated to just a few young voices in the moonlight calling out "hello,"to anyone within earshot. They couldn't see my responsive smile. I was not without memories of my own about such nights. I recognized their invitation to note, "hey, look at us, we're still up and we're sleeping outside, isn't it great?" Yes, it was. All was right with the world again.
This is no ordinary vanity mirror. It's bigger than a door -- covers the entire wall. So when it started coming down, I knew, at once, one really good reason to be married. So I could shout, "Honey, the vanity mirror is falling on me!" But since there was no such person to shout that to, I mustered up all the brute force I could, one bicep supporting the mirror, while the other tended to clearing the counter below. Then, using both arms and not just a little bit of lumbar spine, I eased the mirror down to the cabinet to rest for the time being.
Since the mirror now was taking up the entire dressing room, which leads to the commode and shower, I needed to create an alternate path, through my home office. My office was all a'clutter, so this took well into the evening. A task I'd wanted to get to eventually, but was now necessitated. Meanwhile, I checked on line and in the yellow pages under headings like "rent a husband" or "save writer from losing her mind with one more way her house is betraying her" and left voice mail messages on a couple of home repair numbers.
I received one call back eventually from a guy who said he could be there no earlier than Monday. Meanwhile, my real estate agent/friend called me back -- I'd also left her a message asking if she knew of resources. She said that maybe her very capable husband could find some time over the weekend.
On the bright side, the mirror was not broken. On the not so bright side, I was envisioning another unexpected hit to my bank account, just after, earlier in the week, I'd forked over nearly $700 for new eyeglasses -- and that's with a vision plan discount! On the even dimmer side, was the backache starting to manifest itself, after the initial adrenaline had enabled me to hoist that mirror while emptying the counter -- an awkward and cumbersome task.
My lower back is a cautionary area to begin with, by virtue of my having a hypermobile SI joint. Added to that, I'm not anywhere in the kind of shape I was when I retired from the dance company some 14 years ago. And, I took a brutal trip and fall in August. But -- having decided to give it a go this year for their 30 year anniversary, I was elated last Wednesday night at having a really great rehearsal. I hated to think that my behemoth vanity mirror could be my ultimate downfall.
The next day, I went into the city to teach my round of Saturday morning classes to preschool ballerinas who were in some kind of collective mood. Due to a major function going on in Audubon Park, traffic was crazy and I arrived with no time to catch my breath, cue all of my music, greet the children individually, and proceed calmly. Instead, I felt as out of sorts as they apparently were. It's true, I think, that children do mirror (no pun intended) our own moods. On this particular day, I was all too happy to get out of there, skip afternoon company rehearsal, and get back to Mandeville to see about home repairs. It was small consolation, as I left the studio, to have my arm grabbed by one of the mothers who told me, "Sophie just LOVES you! She thinks you're SO funny!" I mustered up some response about how desperation makes me a real riot by the third class of the day.
As it turned out, my friend's husband had a small window of opportunity, before an LSU game/party, to fix my mirror. He assessed the situation, made a 20-minute run to the hardware store to get what he needed, and then -- following some justifiable cursing about not finding the studs where they should be in the wall -- got the mirror back up there to stay with 35 minutes to spare before his. Turns out that the mirror had never been properly anchored in the first place and was an accident waiting to happen -- much like, I am sorry to say, other aspects of this often traitorous treehouse.
While Mark was re-affixing the errant mirror, I noticed something familiar happening outside my window. Once a year, in late autumn, dads and sons pitch tent out on the Cedarwood School lawn that abuts my back yard. It's a time for a little cross-generational male bonding under the stars. I watched as more and more multi-colored geodesic domes dotted the landscape, resembling a convention of hot air balloons that have made a happy landing. At this point, the boys were dashing about in happy delirium.
What I needed after all of that was some time at Franco's. Nothing like a workout, a long shower, and a sauna to set me right. I stopped home to change, noting that as nightfall loomed, the boys on the school yard were now bursting with excitement, shrieking and running barefoot about the lush green grounds. Minutes later, I headed over to the grand opening of Jose Balli's new gallery/store in Covington featuring his Louisiana-inspired art and jewelry http://www.joseballi.com/?show=Home. N'tini's http://www.ntinis.com/ was on hand with some crab meat dressing, turkey gumbo, jambalaya and bread pudding.
By the time I arrived home, the evening was well settled in. The din from the school yard had abated to just a few young voices in the moonlight calling out "hello,"to anyone within earshot. They couldn't see my responsive smile. I was not without memories of my own about such nights. I recognized their invitation to note, "hey, look at us, we're still up and we're sleeping outside, isn't it great?" Yes, it was. All was right with the world again.
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