Happy new year...

I heard on NPR this morning that in certain cultures, there is a belief that whatever you do on New Year's day, you will do for the rest of the year as well. Evidently, being forearmed with this information, the Japanese put a great deal of thought into how, and how not, to spend their day.

It got me thinking. It also made me I wish that I'd had more time to plan my day, and hence, my year. I decided that I would follow most of their guidelines. No bill paying obviously, as you don't want to be anteing up for the rest of the year. That was easy, I can always put off paying bills, and who does that on New Years day anyway? Dress well. I changed my jeans. I even put on make up. No cooking they said. Not unless you want to cook all year. I guess I do. As this indictment did not seem to bother me in the slightest, I decided to sentence myself to long year of plenty of it, and cooked away.

But cooking or not cooking, you, do of course, want to eat very well. Also healthfully. Here I was both prudent and extravagant. For breakfast, an apple- a perfect Fiji. Full of pectin. Followed by fresh goat yogurt with a small taste of honey. How healthy I will be in 2010. Full of pro-biotics and living enzymes. How thin also.

Lunch was a perfectly made miso soup, with white miso, this time, with thin slivers of green onion. Dessert, two perfect large Black cherries in a perfect dark chocolate coat. Loaded with anti-oxidants, anti-inflamitories, and uric acid busting powers. Two only. The perfect restrained amount, can't hurt anything.

But then, just to insure a happy year and to amp up on the resveratrol, I opened and drank a bottle of Margaux, a 2003 Chauteau Desmerail. Sorry Mike and Cathy, I couldn't wait, as I had to insure that I would drink plenty of good wine this year. I'm sure you understand.
I was amused by the odd feeling that I had somehow secured this feast for myself for the rest of the year. Irrational, yes, but doggedly comforting.
Now what?...I think that the wine was talking.

What should I create for the rest of my year? Exercise and adventure, of course. I got those nailed down in one impetuous activity. I rushed over to Cabrillo beach. I parked above and hiked down to meet my fellow San Pedrans thronging towards the waves, for their annual Polar Bear swim. Although, until recently, I'd lived here in San Pedro for 23 years, and had attended a few of these New Year's days festivities, I'd never felt compelled to join in the freezing frolicking fun. Hundred's of people were now paused at the shore. Happily, I knew about half of them; such are the joys of small town living. The day was practically balmy, the water a cold 58 degrees and the comradely delirium of the crowd contagious. In I went with my fellow Polar Bears! I have the photos and a certificate to prove it.

Later that day I suffered a mysterious stomach ache that sent me to bed for five hours. I'm thinking that the cosmic police didn't notice this little part of my New Year's day, as I did spend the whole time most conspicuously writing.

What a wonderful year this should be.

Livin' In New Orleans-Bicycles

June in New Orleans, living in the Hands On bunk house.

Yesterday I got my third bike. Third time is the charm, I hope. It’s a big pink Schwinn, so it’s got to be good. The first one was stolen and the second one fell apart the first day I rode it. Bicycles are essential means of transportation when you are volunteering here and some work to acquire and keep. There is a very respected bicycle culture in New Orleans and as the city is completely flat, it's a joy to become a member. Just like everything else in NOLA though, they do bicycles their way and their wheels often wind up looking like little Mardi Gras floats.

Our neighbor, David, whom I bought this bike from, shared with me that he needed some guidance in lining up the front wheel with the frame. Turns out that David is blind in one eye. His explanation of this limitation led to the unfolding of a long surprising story, complete with a visual tour. David has been shot twelve times. No, correction: eleven times and chopped with machete once. He insisted on taking me on a body tour of all of his various wounds. The guy is not kidding. He has the scars. the wounds, the missing flesh and even some residual pellets in his body to support his story.

David was eager to explain that most of the war wounds, eleven of the twelve in fact, were received between the ages of fifteen and nineteen. I suppose that this was the apex of his adolescent acting out. The last and most devastating wound is from the gun shot that entered his eye and exited out the top of his head. According to David, he was the victim of a random gun battle at a bar that was blocks away. He was an innocent bystander. Honestly, he swears. When he was shot, unfortunately, he fell over backwards, landed in the street, was run over by a taxi which then broke his pelvis and put him in a coma for several months.

In his old age David seems to have mellowed quite bit, he has acquired that rich patina of southern charm and graciousness that allows him to flow with life. I enjoy our time together. David says that he has nine lives. More likely, David has at least thirteen.
And thanks to David, the big Schwinn is an easy ride.

Cookin with Miss Ann Mae

In May we volunteers worked on Miss Ann Mae's house in the Mid City. Miss Ann is a retired chef from the French Quarter. Like many New Orleanians her contractor had done more damage than repair to the home that she has lived in for the last forty years. In gratitude for the help that the non-profit organization, Hands On was providing, Miss Ann offered to make us hungry volunteers a real home cooked, southern supper. She agreed to let me assist her in the kitchen.
We worked all day on pork chops in red-eye gravy, B-B-Q chicken legs, collard greens with fat back and andouille sausage, green beans and ham hocks, potato salad, red beans and rice, jambalaya, corn bread and pineapple upside-down cake. Health food hell for some but, who cares, it's New Orleans and you only live once.

Miss Ann didn't quite trust my skills in the kitchen and would only let me peel potatoes, wash dishes and clean the floors. "Uhm uhm Darlin, don't you touch that", she kept telling me when I would attempt to step in. I never told her that in my former life I had been a professional chef for over thirty years, but I had a feeling that that information wouldn't have impressed her much. As we worked together I did get to learn some of her techniques and marvel at what she could accomplish with no sharp knives, no Cuisinart (OMG!), and not more than a modicum of work space. I was feeling very spoiled as I thought longingly of my german knives and my Cuisinart back in storage in Los Angeles.

While we worked the electricity blew, thanks to another shoddy electrical repair and the kitchen itself became an oven. She remarked casually that it was getting a little hot while I ran with sweat. Just another day of post Katrina life here. I marvel at her fortitude. Fortitude seems to be a common virtue in these parts. Again I get a whisper of feeling that I have much to learn.

In the end Miss Ann Mae decided that I was "a pretty good worker" and that I could come and help her anytime. Whew.

Dinner that night was fabulous.