GIVING THANKS

I am not completely ignorant to the “re-interpretation” of Thanksgiving. I’ve read my history beyond my seventh-grade textbooks of pilgrims and Indians. I know the way we dress it up, cloak it, and smack an American stamp of approval on it. But to me, Thanksgiving has always been a time of, well… giving thanks. Plain and simple. Sharing with people you love and care about. And although, they aren’t sitting down to turkey in China, I can’t help but think of the Chinese proverb – Do not forget little kindnesses and do not remember small faults.

This time of the year (as it should be all year) is a time to remember what we have, not what we don’t have. With all the commercials screaming out for us to BUY, BUY, BUY as a way to show our love, and all the stores blaring their holiday music under the guise of goodwill toward all, it’s sometimes hard to focus. Here’s something I have always been thankful for – I don’t really give a shit about keeping up with The Jones. People’s value is not measured by their income or the price of their gift, it’s what they give of themselves. I would much rather have a gift filled with thought than will currency.


Enough of that.

First off, this Thanksgiving was special in many ways, but the most important one was that my mom was out visiting. Yay, mom! I hadn’t seen her in awhile and was struck by our similarities. I know we all struggle to define ourselves as unique, when in reality we are just recycled from numerous people. Watching my mom made me think about the true effect people have on each other. How much residue of other people (good and bad) do we carry over in our lives? These are some things that struck me.

A few months ago I was bemoaning to a friend that it was hard for people to respect when I wanted to be anti-social and left alone. She replied, “Well, that’s because you talk to everyone. And I mean. EVERYONE. It doesn’t matter who they are, you will go up and talk to anyone.” I hadn’t really thought about it before. Then I saw my mom. I have picked her up at the airport only to see the people she was sitting next to hug her good-bye (in one case, a really good-looking guy in his 20s). My mom talked to the woman we were standing next to at the baggage claim. The couple in the elevator. The woman in front of us and behind us at the grocery store. The woman in the fabric store. She talked to everyone. It’s hard to imagine her being quiet, but unknown to many, we both require a lot of solitude.

Another thing I noticed was her struggle with words - frequently mispronouncing them or her unique malapropisms. I have that in spades. I don’t know if this is genetic or learned. But we both have it.

And her selective quest for perfection in details. I noticed this when her hair wasn’t combed properly (she got a haircut and didn’t realize her bangs were six different lengths until she got home. “Oh, well”) and she was bent over the ironing board. As I stood in my flour-covered t-shirt and hair pulled back in a ponytail, fretting over the proper placement of the table settings, I told her that it wasn’t necessary for her to iron the napkins. The pot calling the kettle black.

So, a lot of my Thanksgiving had to do with being thankful for anytime I got to spend with my mom and noticing connections (despite how odd and frustrating they might be).

The next part of my “Thankful Thanksgiving” was going to the racetrack! A New Orleans tradition. This was especially important because the track was closed down last year due to Hurricane Katrina. About a dozen or so of my friends met at my house around noon (I insisted all the ladies wear hats) and we walked over to the track.





The weather was perfect, clear blue skies, 70s. Along the way I was treated to a rash of interesting bumper stickers on cars, which always makes me happy. Everyone called out holiday greetings and frequently complimented us on our outfits.






Inside the racetrack, the lines were long for beer and snacks, but the mood was festive.





Everyone seemed excited to be there and I had (and witnessed) various reunions. The general mood seemed to be one of “Aren’t we lucky to be in New Orleans?” Any time that mood hits I am thankful for it.









I left a little early with my friend’s son to set up for the big meal. I had 19 people, at three tables. It was a potluck, so everyone brought something. Most made the dishes at my house (with help from my friend’s stove four doors down) so it was a full and frantic kitchen. People hung out on the patio, in the yard, or piled around the cooking area. People who didn’t know each other met for the first time. Old friends got to catch up. Derby girls got to talk trash.






We had two turkeys (one baked, one deep-fried) mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, three pies, crawfish bread, oyster stuffing, bacon wrapped in water chestnuts, sweet bread, spinach salad, fruit salad, creamed onions, and a lot of alcohol.



At the table(s) the conversation never stopped and I was reminded how lucky I am to have such good friends and be surrounded by such fun, caring, intelligent and interesting people.





When you have people near you who have those qualities, it makes it easier to realize what you HAVE. There were people missing who I would have liked to be there, but the warmth I felt from other people was a reminder of their presence. But above all, it made me thankful.




Thank you!

Gratitude preserves old friendships, and procures new.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM



Seventy years ago today, my mom was born. Full of laughter, creativity, kindness, an inquisitive nature and a unique ability to always do her own thing, my mom has had an effect on everyone she met. Of course, I have only known her half of her life, and those who are fortunate to know her longer have their own stories to tell, but these are some of my favorites.



• Painting the entire house with an oyster shucker and 2.5 inch brush
• Always making sure I made/baked Christmas gifts every year for my bus driver, teacher and principal
• Calling the school so I could wear my ERA t-shirt to school at age seven, even though it had the word “sex” on it.
• Picking up me and my friend and our dates in the RV from the spring dance. We sat in the empty high school parking lot and feasted on pizza and gummy bears.
• Buying us Oreos when my dad went out of town, despite the ban that befell our household
• Braiding my hair with different colored yarn every day
• Always picking up the phone at 3AM (or whatever the time) so I can rattle on about World War 2, existentialism, or whatever it is that comes to my mind that early in the morning
• Trying to explain the facts of life to me curtsey of an obese cow
• Singing and playing the piano for all of my dates, just so I could gauge their mortification
• Teaching me words and pronunciations that don’t exist, to which I still struggle with today
• Making me two phenomenal Elvis quilts
• Letting me speak my mind in front of her friends, although she rarely agreed with me
• Singing like Marylyn Monroe at my wedding
• Not caring when we named her croqueted afghans “Monkey Puke” and “Rhino Shit.”
• Always finding a way to laugh about the situation
• Grinding the household to a complete stop whenever she works on a new puzzle
• Letting me read whatever I wanted, no matter what my age, except books that had Satan in them
• Lying to the principal of the all-girls Catholic boarding school I went to so I could wear moccasins instead of penny loafers
• Installing in me the value of thank-you cards
• Allowing my lamb, General MacArthur to sleep in the utility room
• Having a ring made for me out of my great-grandmother’s favorite opal earring
• Buying me my first book of poems for my first birthday
• Teaching me this: You get more bees with honey than you do with vinegar and Treat others the way you want to be treated



These are but a few of the special qualities that make up my mom.





Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you!

THE IMPORTANCE OF TOUCH



Sarcophagus from Cerveteri, Seventh to Sixth Century B.C.

I woke up this morning thinking of an old Asian fable I had read years ago.

A woman hates her mother-in-law. She can’t stand living with her anymore and goes to the local wise woman asking for a potion to kill her. The wise woman thinks for a moment and then gives her an ointment telling her to massage it into her mother-in-law every day, and in three months time she will be dead. Ecstatic, the woman returns home and does exactly what the wise woman tells her. Four weeks later, she returns to the wise woman sobbing and begging for the antidote. She doesn’t want her mother-in-law to die. The wise woman tells her she already has the antidote; the potion was harmless. Through touch and massage every day, the woman had grown to know and love her mother-in-law, and in return, she had grown to be grateful to her daughter-in-law. You can’t touch someone and continue to hate them.



Seated Man and Woman, Dogon Sculpture, Mali

I’ve worked in childcare for many years. It wasn’t until I worked with infants that I was astounded by the vast differences of personality and behaviors – even at two weeks old.

When I was living in New York, I worked as a nanny for a family from Thailand. They had recently moved to the United States and were working as accountants. They were saving up to buy a house, but until then they lived in a tiny, dark, walk-up apartment by the railroad tracks. It wasn’t the most pleasant place to be during a typical New York winter. Their son Jason was three months old. The parents had lots of requests, but one of them was to give Jason a daily massage. In the afternoon, I was to lay him out on the floor, play relaxing music for him and massage him with oils from head to foot. I thought it odd, but began to enjoy our daily ritual. I also became very close with Jason (or Jason-san as I called him). Jason-san was nothing but a pure delight as a baby. He constantly smiled, wasn’t fussy, always affectionate. When he yawned, I’d lay him down and he would relax quietly in his crib before drifting asleep. Likewise, he never woke up screaming. More often than not, I’d have to check on him and he would usually be awake in his crib just hanging out. He’d never scream or cry, he would just make noises to let me know he was up. I could sit him in his high chair with a pretzel for over an hour while I practiced my French homework on him. He was the easiest baby I ever (and have ever) seen. I can’t help but credit the massage to his disposition, and hope to one day try this theory on my own kids.



Motherhood by Margeurite Gerard

Consider this:

• Touch is the first sense to develop inside the womb.
• A fetus’s skin can sense touch at just nine weeks.
• Until the 1930s, the death rate for babies under one-year old in American foundling hospitals was nearly 100%. They died from “marasmus” which is Greek for wasting away. Then a Dr. Talbot visited a children’s clinic in Germany. There he saw an elderly fat lady shuffling around with babies clinging to her. The doctors there told Talbot that when the babies didn’t improve from their medical efforts, they handed them over to Old Ana who simply carried them around with her. The babies always thrived. Talbot returned to the U.S. and introduced the concept of mothering into foundling institutions. The infant rate decreased.
• In Mexico, Zinacanteco shamans hug patients to help them recover the lost part of the soul, “to get in touch with it.”
• In Northwestern Nepal, an entire community will take turns regularly massaging an expectant mother. They do this because they believe an anxious mother is bad health of the village as a whole.
• A1950s study revealed that touch is a more important factor to a baby primate in forming attachment. Monkeys were taken away from their mothers and given two wire-frame surrogate mothers. One “mother” provided milk, the other was covered in blankets and provided touch. The monkeys bonded with the touching mother, not the feeding mother.
• Dolores Krieger pioneered Therapeutic Touch. This is a development of laying hands on people to direct healing energy. Tests have shown that is has a positive effect on hemoglobin (which deliver oxygen to tissues) and on brain waves.
• Greeks prescribed massage as a cure for melancholia (depression), asthma, digestive problems and sterility.
• In Nigeria, the moment a Burno baby is born, it’s held by all the birth attendants, who have heated their hands over hot coals. Much better than a slap on the ass.



The Throne of Tutankhamen, Egypt, Late XVIII Dynasty



Loving Couple, Pre-Columbian Terra-cotta Sculpture, Mexico



King Mycerinus and Queen Kha Merer Nebty 11, Circa 2570 B.C.

Touch revives our senses. The nurturing aspects of touch are as important a part of the physical therapy aspect of working the muscles and energizing circulation. It is a powerful tool, which helps us discover non-sexual bodily intimacy. Touch is way to calm. It’s acknowledgement of the inherent need of interconnection.



Self-Portrait with Isabella Brandt in the Honeysuckle Bower by Peter Paul Rubens, 1609

Now, I am not talking about the grope on the Subway, but sometimes a hand on top of another is the greatest form of communication.



Spring in Central Park by William Zorach, 1914

Kiss your child
Pat your friend
Hug your partner



Romance by Thomas Hart Benton, 1931-1932

“Touch is a language that can communicate more love in five seconds than five minutes of carefully chosen words.” Phyllis Davis



Lovers with Flowers by Marc Chagall, 1927

P.S. I mistakenly picked up the book “The Tao of Health, Sex & Longevity,” by Daniel Reid thinking it had the fable in it. I’m now rereading it for the third (fourth?) time in fifteen years. Excellent book. I highly recommend it.

For me, there is no better reward in life than the ability to find joy, especially when times are taxing. While, I write this, and cringe at the greeting-card sentimentality of it all, it’s how I feel. I seek joy.

The smell of babies after a bath.
The unexpected laugh in unusual places.
Eating outside.
Making someone in a bad mood laugh
Watching fireworks on a big blanket
Forgotten money in pockets
The lights going down in the movie theater
Good food and better conversation
Deserving people getting rewarded
High school marching bands that “get down”
Small gifts out of the blue
Elderly people holding hands
Symbolism in ordinary places
Warming your hands on your lover’s chest
Fields of flowers (I’m not too picky)
Standing close to paintings in art museums
Refrigerators covered in children’s drawings
Outdoor naps
Midday Naps
Warm towels out of the dryer
Waking up and realizing you have nothing to do that day except what you want
Leisurely strolls holding hands with someone you care about
Children who spontaneously dance, stand on their head, or sing
Wriggly puppies
Getting stamps in my passport book
Sincere compliments
Marching in the St. Ann’s parade
Lying in soft green grass and having animals congregate around you.
Sitting in patches of sun when it’s cold outside
Singing loudly on road trips
Getting clean sheets dirty.
Good story telling
Small-town parades
Dozing in hammocks
Being read to (bonus if the reader has a real nice voice)
Handmade gifts
Bright, crisp weather that only requires a heavy sweater or a light coat
The intellect that doesn’t take himself/herself too seriously
Well-deserved stains on clothes
Unpacking Christmas ornaments
Finishing a long, laborious job
Telling secrets around campfires
Eating waffles with my hands
Forts in the living room
Breakfast in bed
Giving the perfect gift
When the weather calls for hot apple cider
A child’s hug (they are always earnest)
Seafood buffets
Catching your desired throw at Mardi Gras parade
Sleeping under Christmas lights
Making someone’s day
Creating something new
Claddagh rings
Swimming out to a dock on a lake and just relaxing
Taking a deep breath and feeling the bliss

HOORAY FOR DEMOCRACY!

In celebration of the democrats reclaiming the house, I would like to pay tribute to another fighter for democracy. A dauntless leader. A courageous heroine. A salty babe. A pugnacious princess. A woman who knows when to reason and when to take out her blaster. An inspiration to us all... Princess Leia Organa!!!!


























Princess Leia in 5th Grade



Princess Leia in her trusty go-kart "Charlie's Angels"

FINGERS CROSSED.

I am a sooner than later type of gal.

On Election Day, it's roll out of bed and vote. This year was no different, but imagine my surprise to find the parking lot at my voting precinct packed! I always tend to vote early in the morning and have never experienced this before: people parking blocks away, on sidewalks, behind other cars. It gives me hope.
Of course, aside from making a difference with a vote, it's always great to run into people in the neighborhood, which I always do and always forget I do. This year was no different with my greasy hair, unbrushed teeth and swollen eyes from an unexplainable allergic reaction. But, alas, there's no vanity in voting! And there is no excuse not to. A minute behind those maroon curtains makes all the difference.

Please, everyone get out and vote!

THE BALLOT IS STRONGER THAN THE BULLET - ABE LINCOLN

AMENDMENT #5

Please support local artists!

If Amendment #5 doesn't pass this Tuesday, all artists who show in galleries must pay inventory tax on their unsold work at the end of every year.

This not only effects struggling artists, who will now have to bear the tax burden of their unsold works, but also the galleries contending with the lack of tourism in Post-Katrina society. This amendment would be a nail in the coffin of the already fledging art community. Once again, it would be an attempt to "Mc Manufacture" our diverse and culturally expressive city. The only artists who could afford to show in our city would be internationally-known "name" artists, and even then why would they? Why pay the extra tax when they can show somewhere else? As an unknown artist, why take a chance to show your work in a city where you will be punished for it not selling.

I keep thinking back to those wonderful exhibits all over the city dealing with Katrina. Professional and amateur alike. They allowed such a wide variety of expression and interpretation. A majority of these artists who showed their Katrina-specific art were not concerned with compensation; they only wanted a chance convey their experience. The art was not only healing but also bonding. But would any of these occurred under the threat of taxation for merely hanging unsold in a gallery? I doubt it.

It's difficult enough to be an artist. Let's not make it more difficult.




ART IS NOT A MIRROR TO REFLECT THE WORLD, BUT A HAMMER WITH WHICH TO SHAPE IT - Vladmir Mayakovsky

This is a message from Steve Martin, President of the New Orleans Arts Association

AMENDMENT # 5
Vote Yes for the Artist Consignment Tax Exemption

We strongly endorse Amendment # 5 to exempt consignment art from the inventory tax. The Louisiana constitution states that only those items specifically enumerated are exempt from what has suddenly become a somewhat onerous inventory tax on artists. Consignment art is not among the enumerated items and this tax is now being unevenly and arbitrarily applied by only two assessors in the city of New Orleans and is applied nowhere else in the state of Louisiana or for that matter anywhere else in the United States. One of the assessors that is applying the tax, Darren Mire, has endorsed amendment #5, as he does not want to impose this tax to the detriment of the industry.

This tax if evenly applied to all businesses that consign art across Louisiana it would turn our wonderful State into a pariah of the art world rather than an incubator of creative talent. As we seek to grow the Cultural Economy, it is important for Louisiana to both encourage local artists and to continue to provide a welcome for international artists to exhibit their works in Louisiana galleries. The sales taxes from these works benefit state and local governments much more than the vague and uncertain application of an inventory tax which would be nearly impossible to ascertain.

The Artist Consignment Tax deters the growth of the Cultural Economy


The Artist Consignment Tax conflicts with the IRS's value of unsold art

The Artist Consignment Tax discourages both Louisiana artists and those from outside of the state to exhibit here.

It is proven that the Artist Consignment Tax is less profitable than the tax collected when a work of art sells; therefore counterproductive

Louisiana is the only state that has an Artist Consignment Tax and only two assessors currently enforce it.

Let's stop killing the Goose that Laid the Golden Egg, Vote YES for the Artist Consignment Tax Exemption.


Steve Martin


The object of art is to give life a shape - Jean Anouilh

Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known - Oscar Wilde

Art is the only thing that can go on mattering once it has stopped hurting - Elizabeth Bowen

All art deals with the absurd and aims at the simple. Good art speaks truth, indeed is truth, perhaps the only truth - Iris Murdoch.

Art is not a special sauce applied to ordinary cooking; it is the cooking itself if it is good - W.R. Lethaby

Life without industry is guilt, and industry without art is brutality - John Ruskin