10 Years Ago: Relocation: Living With Uncertainty

 

Uncertainty. 

 

A state of being that is so insidious that interrogators use it as a tool of torture. 

 

Some related posts: 

2023.07: 2023 Word of the Year: FEAR: Frustration, Ego, Anxiety, Resentment

2023.03: 2023 Word of the Year: FEAR: Forgetting Everything's All Right

2021.07: Word of the Year: Joy 7: Birdsong

2013.07: The Little Girl Who Rides the Train

2020.11: The Day After They Called the Election: A Subdued Jubilation

2020.05: Relocation: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 20: Where Am I Going?

2019.10: Tucson, AZ: A Bully's Ripple Effect

2016.11: Toronto: Airport: Livestock Management 

 

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

Relocation: Living With Uncertainty

Returning to South Louisiana for Year Two just two weeks before Mardi Gras may not have been the best idea. Based on my relocation experiences in the past - the speed at which I found wonderful permanent shelter, to be specific - it seemed rational to expect I'd be ensconsed somewhere cozy by the holiday.

But:

• The prices for temporary lodging right before a major holiday in these parts go way over my budget. 
•  I've learned that the demand for rental property in the Lafayette catchment area exceeds supply, especially at my price range. 
• Rental property is generally high around here, so there are significant compromises on condition, size, view, and ambiance

Based on the above realities, anxiety and discomfort have kicked in. There is a desire to stop this discomfort that has no time-certain end. This tempts me to retreat into what's comfortable, like staying in Lafayette in Year Two simply because it's a known entity, or snagging any place that is minimally acceptable solely to end the home hunt.

However, when I pause for a few minutes and take a breath, really, I've got to appreciate that I have exceptional freedom.

• For example, I don't even have to stay in South Louisiana! I could go anywhere! 
• The Mardi Gras holiday is only a few days - once I get past that economic hurdle, then prices settle down again and I have way more breathing space to find the right home. And if need be, I can visit another region during Mardi Gras.  A sunny beach, maybe.
• I could buy instead of rent, taking me into an entirely new adventure. 
• I can open myself up to a much broader range of South Louisiana location possibilities. 

Here's what a couple of folks say about living with uncertainty:

The Tiny Buddha: 7 Ways to Deal with Uncertainty

Psych Central: 5 Tips for Living with Uncertainty


Om.

 

 

 

Word of the Year 2025: Meditation

 

 

Dwan Light Sanctuary. Near Las Vegas, New Mexico. October 2007. Credit: Mzuriana.

In July 2023, I wrote: 

I do not have a daily practice of meditation, although I do have two books that - when I read them - create a meditative experience for me: Wherever You Go, There You Are (Jon Kabatt-Zinn) and Fear: Essential Wisdom For Getting Through the Storm (Thich Nhat Hanh). 

 

In fall 2024, I still didn't have a daily practice of meditation, and I set out to change that. 

So why did I want to? 

Because it goes back to my sturdy little boat, my "higher power:" 

In Vietnam, there are many people, called boat people, who leave the country in small boats. Often the boats are caught in rough seas or storms, the people may panic, and the boats can sink. But if even one person aboard can remain calm, lucid, knowing what to do and what not to do, he or she can help the boat survive.

Thich Nhat Hanh, Being Peace

It is so terribly hard to quiet my mind. My brain wants to churn, churn, churn - to create and then regurgitate, create and regurgitate. I listen to podcasts at night to distract a busy brain that otherwise keeps me wakeful, as it churns through what happened that day, yesterday, or last week or last month or last year or a decade ago, ever striving to rewrite conversations, rewrite entire life story arcs for different outcomes, to turn on my own internal misinformation generator. 

And we live in such dystopian times; how do I claim moments of calm, lucidity, and confidence in taking the next right step? 

It matters not that my physical location on a given day might be geographically rootless; what matters is that my inner location be constant, rooted with serenity and with confidence that my little boat, which I share with others, is a sturdy one. 

 

10 Years Ago: Relocation 2015

 

 

This still makes me chuckle.

 

 

 

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Relocation 2015

So here I am in Missouri for my usual interregnum between annual migrations.

You may have noticed that I haven't yet announced where I'll be living in 2015.

I can announce that my original plan was to move to Oaxaca (city), Mexico. That was my plan all the way up to, maybe, September, and then I surprised the hell out of myself and decided instead to

 

Word of the Year 2025

 

 

Shirt on a fence. Mobile, Alabama. August 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.

Below is what I wrote last year at this time about the word of the year thing. I'm still on the fence about it, but here I am again, nevertheless.

Some years back, I instituted a Word of the Year thing. 

Not sure I will continue. 

Maybe I'm just over it. Maybe it feels is too contrived. Maybe it was just a way to add content in a lazy-ass way, albeit with sincerity.

While I think about whether to continue the pattern, below are past words of the year: 

2018: Courage

• January 2018: Courage 1: Malala
  
• February 2018: Courage 2: Audre Lorde

2019: Action

• January: Action
• February: Action: Legal Observers
• March: Action: Penpal
• July: Action: Escaping Despair
• August: Action: Lipstick and Salvation
• September: Action: A Refugee Shelter

 2020: Build

1. Build 1: After the Floods
2. Build 2: Fronterista
3. Build 3: "House"
4. Build 4: Chosens
5. Build 5: It Takes a Village
6. Build 6: Elevation
7. Build 7: Trail Building
8. Build 8: Money
9. Build 9: Health 
10. Build 10: Service and Activism
11. Build 11: Relationships
12. Build 12: Creative Life
13. Lagniappe 13: My Rootless Goals
    

2021: Joy

• November 2020: Reserving My Word for 2021: Joy
  
• Joy 1: Word of the Year: Joy
  
• Joy 2: Music
• Joy 3: Surprise Vista
  
• Joy 4: Happy, Joyous, and Free
  
• Joy 5: The Science of Joy, Interrupted
  
• Joy 6: Color
• Joy 7: Birdsong
• Joy 8: Here and Now, Boys
  
• Joy 9: A Tomato and Onion Sandwich
• Joy 10: Let in Light
  
• Joy 11: Scentsuality
• Joy 12: Remembrances

2022: Disciplines

• January: Introduction
• February: Showers
• June: Daily Walks
• July: A Work Schedule
• August: Gone Dark

 2023: Fear

• January: Looking Into the Abyss Without Falling In
• February: Fuck Everything And Run
• March: Forgetting Everything's All Right
• April: "Take More Risks"
• May: Feelings Expressed Allow Relief
• June: Face Everything And ... Rise
• July: Frustration, Ego, Anxiety, Resentment
• August: Face Everything And Recover
• September: Freedom and Imprisonment

2024: Migration

• February: Migration
• March: The Devil's Highway
• April: The Warmth of Other Suns

 

10 Years Ago: The Creative Life: Brain Space

 

 

Coffee, a book, a notebook, and phone. Lalileba, Ethiopia. January 2011. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Ten years later, my struggle is no less.

I enjoy bursts of output, and then sink again into the pillowy softness of input from other people's creativity, to the exclusion of my own. 

Available time is not the problem. My available time is no less than it has ever been, but the acquisition of my very first smart phone back in Lafayette, Louisiana, and subsequent off-and-on-again subscriptions to streaming services, opened my door to that thief of time: screen stupor. 

I've come to believe that another variable is that somewhere along the way I forgot how much time it takes to write a piece and to process photos, something I did not begrudge, or even think about, in the past, but for some reason - unrealistically - I seemed to have come to believe was too much; that somehow I was too slow. Or something. 

So recently I've re-learned this: Writing takes time. The time it takes is intrinsic to the process.

Another recent development: I've subscribed to a couple of podcasts on how writers write, for inspiration. (Yeah, I know. Ironic.)

When out in public, I've also begun to mindfully practice the old art of just sitting in a place and looking around me instead of reaching for my phone. I used to be a good observer. I always liked the title of Peter Drucker's memoir: Adventures of a Bystander.

I have hope. 

P.S. After years of boycotting The Atlantic for its intellectual pretensions during the Christopher Hitchens era, while it simultaneously juggled Vanity Fair-like fluffery, I re-upped a few months ago.

 

Friday, January 2, 2015

The Creative Life: Brain Space

 

Mmmm, brains a-sizzlin'. Kutaisi, Caucasus Georgia. Credit: Mzuriana

Years ago, the Atlantic Monthly (before it devolved into the pseudo-intellectual organ it is now) ran a riveting article about how religious faith and ethics are two entirely different biological operations. An individual might have both in spades, or neither, or be rich in one and poor in the other.

I bring this up because the same idea is probably apt for the creative process. That is, a person's vision is separate from the discipline one needs to give light to the vision - to give birth to it.

There is a lot of raw creative material in my head or, in the case of photos, in my hard drive awaiting distillation. I'm not at all happy that 2014, especially the second half, saw so little creative output, notwithstanding tremendous amounts of input. 

It seems that my brain can focus on only so many things at once. My year in South Louisiana was filled with new things - both good and not-so-good - that sucked great swaths of brain energy. Learning to dance! Starting a new job! Car troubles! A wretched bout with backache. And more, some of which is none of your beeswax.

If I now know that I can only barely chew gum and walk at the same time, what does this mean to me and my creative life?

What it means is that if I want to push stuff out, then I have to set up the physical time and the brain space to produce. To effect the latter, I've got to divert my brain-energy flow to creative thinking from distracted thinking. Otherwise my creativity is just the snap and crackle without the pop. 

Loose Ends: Mexico City 2018: Dreams and Nightmares

In winter 2018, I spent a month in Mexico City. My accommodations, originally a Friends (Quaker) guesthouse, gave its third floor over to some refugees from the second caravan coming north from Central America. 

In the sala, I talked with Patricio (a pseudonym) from El Salvador. He had received troubling news: the government had informed his family that it would take their land unless they built a house on it by a certain date. There is an issue with documents and a signature that I don't understand. 

How does one take care of such family business when one is a refugee? Patricio and his wife have a four-year old son. With luck, they will join Patricio in February. 

Patricio shared with me a photo of his son, along with phone recordings from conversations between him and his little one. 

Nightmares awaken Patricio. 

~~~~~~~~

My Spanish isn't good enough to understand the specifics of Patricio's situation, but below are relevant issues, any one of which could touch on his family's predicament: 

• August 2024, Tico Times: The Battle for Land: Coastal Salvadorans Fight Eviction as Tourism Rises
• June 2021, Waging Nonviolence: Unable to claim title to homes they paid to own, Salvadorans unite to fight developers for land rights

Loose Ends: Mexico City 2018: Deportees

In winter 2018, I spent a month in Mexico City. My accommodations, originally a Friends (Quaker) guesthouse, gave its third floor over to some refugees from the second caravan coming north from Central America.

Some women and men deported from the US also passed through the guesthouse. I've given them pseudonyms. 

Some new folks arrived today. 

A married couple came up with the first caravan from Guatemala. They'd been deported from Austin, Texas. They believed it best for their two young children, ages three and five, to leave them in safe hands in Austin. 

Another man, Juan, originally from Chiapas, arrived. He'd been living in Chicago for a number of years, working for a landscaping company. Deported just last week. Instead of returning to Chiapas, he plans to stay in Mexico City for now, as there are more opportunities here. 

A third man, Guillermo, who'd lived in Nevada for more than 20 years, was visiting New York when tapped. He's lived in Mexico City for almost a year now, and plans to move to his own place here in January. Originally from Jalapa in Vera Cruz, he says, smiling: "Yo soy jalapeño." Chuckles. 

Loose Ends: Creative Life: Dance and Clothespins

 An ad hoc poem I wrote in some time in some where? An exercise with the Tumblewords Project? No idea. But here it is, about a real-life experience at some dance function, in which I was trying to learn how to dance something. My guess is that it was a contra dance thing. 

Two clothespins in his hair. 

What am I to make of this? 

An eccentricity?

A clever hack?

A genius' forgivable befuddlement? 

I can't concentrate on the dance instructions

Which are befuddling enough, like a confounding algebraic word problem about orbiting, colliding bodies on a wooden floor. 

I burst into laughter ...

... at the clothespins in that man's hair ... or the Alice-in-Wonderland instructions for the dance? 

I don't know. 

I wonder ... Can I escape? 

Just leave the floor? 

Abandon my dance partner? (What's his name again?)

Those clothespins. 

Loose Ends: Mexico City 2018: Emergency Health

In winter 2018, I spent a month in Mexico City. My accommodations, originally a Friends (Quaker) guesthouse, gave its third floor over to some refugees from the second caravan coming north from Central America. 

One of the asylum-seekers became ill, and I wrote this:

So when you are vomiting blood and have no money, what do you do? 

In the case of one of my housemates, you go to a pharmacy for a consult - in some pharmacies free and in others, for a nominal fee (but even this is inaccessible if you have no money, so one of your housemates pays the consulting fee for you - about 35 pesos). 

The pharmacist takes your vitals (blood pressure, pulse, temperature, and throat check), but no blood, stool, or urine tests. 

The pharmacist takes a history from you, considers the possibilities, rules some out, and recommends an endoscopy. Which, of course, is outside your financial reach. 

The pharmacist suggests there is an irritation in your esophagus or at another milepost along the gastrointestinal boulevard, and to eat fruits and vegetables, and avoid spicy foods. If still producing blood in two days, do what you can to get that endoscopy. 

What could be the cause? 

The violent blows to your torso, delivered 10 days ago by fellow caravanners from a different country than  yours, who maybe took umbrage at your membership in the caravan's LGBTQI group? Or the cocaine you ingested yesterday evening, even though you've never had such a reaction before? Or stress? Or malnutrition? Or an ulcer? Or a pulmonary issue? Deadly? Or a passing health incident, self-repairing? 

Does an affliction care if you are kind and amiable, that you sometimes engage in risky behaviors, are poor, have left all that is familiar to you, and your access to food, shelter, and employment is insecure? No, it does not; it is impersonal. 

Maybe there's a biological tipping-point algorithm at play: stress+malnutrition+uncertainty+a beating+cocaine+compromised immune system from the cold virus that's been visiting the house = a crocodile crack on a corporeal byway = vomiting blood. 

A truism: Time will tell.   

10 Years Ago: Louisiana: Opelousas: A Holy Ghost Party

 

Given the bendiness of the word ghost, it pleases me that the Holy Ghost Catholic Church in Opelousas, Louisiana, hosts the Holy Ghost Creole Festival around Halloween. 

 

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Louisiana: Opelousas: A Holy Ghost Party

 

Men of Vision, 2014 Holy Ghost Catholic Church Creole Festival, Opelousas, Louisiana

So. Halloween. Not being a trick-or-treater or wear-a-costume sort of gal, my annual strategy is to get out of the house on Halloween and hide out til the littles have completed their rounds.

In Lafayette, it being a party kind of place and Halloween being on a Friday this year, you would surmise correctly if you thought that most getaways included dressing up.

But then I saw the perfect place to go - the 22nd Annual Holy Ghost Catholic Church Creole Festival. The festival is the first weekend in November, beginning on Friday. Gospel music on Friday night.

Here's a video from St. Landry's Parish, focusing on Holy Ghost women making potato pies for the 2011 festival:

I got to hear different styles of gospel music at the church: 

• Rap
• Jazz
• Blues
• and I guess what I'd call the traditional gospel style

Here's a gospel rap song called "Having a Holy Ghost Party," performed at the concert Friday night:

 

And one of the songs from the Mount Olive Baptist Church Men's Chorus:

And from three women whose group name I forget:

       

There was even a performance of liturgical dance by the youth, and at first, I thought, aha, this is a new idea for me, but wait .... liturgical dance is just a fancy way of talking about sacred dance, which has been practiced in many cultures for eons.

2014 Holy Ghost Catholic Church Creole Festival, Opelousas, Louisiana

Sheesh, didn't I just spend a year in New Mexico, where traditions of sacred dance are carefully protected and handed down through the present generations?
 

2014 Holy Ghost Catholic Church Creole Festival, Opelousas, Louisiana

 
It was a perfect way to spend All Saints Eve.

Men of Vision, 2014 Holy Ghost Catholic Church Creole Festival, Opelousas, Louisiana

10 Years Ago: Opelousas: Market and Music: A Pretty Girl

 

In preparing this post, I came upon the sad news that "Lil Kenny," the namesake of Lil Kenny and the Heartbreakers died in 2021. 

 

Saturday, October 4, 2014

Opelousas: Market and Music: A Pretty Girl

There are a number of reasons why the regularity of my blog posts has faltered, and one of them is that even though I may have gone to a kick-ass musical event, there's only so much one can say about music events. Ditto for photos of musicians. Even the sublime becomes mundane with too much talk about it.

So it is that instead of a photo or description of the eminently entertaining Lil Kenny and the Heartbreakers at the October 3rd Market and Music event in Opelousas, I present to you a picture of a pretty girl at that event, Lorena.

Lorena, Opelousas, Louisiana. October 2014.

I saw Lorena and did a double-take - something about her reminded me of a beautiful Vermeer painting. Lorena makes me smile just to look at her.

So thanks to Lorena and her mother - a fellow life adventuress, as I subsequently learned - for permission to share this photo.

Word of the Year: Migration: Vietnam

 

Vietnamese refugees on boat, circa 1985. Credit: US Navy via wikipedia.

 

I'm visiting Hanoi in November. I'll be there for a month.

Both boats and Vietnam are on my mind in recent days.

As an agnostic member of a couple of 12-step programs, I've had to fashion a higher power that works for me.

Many years ago, before I walked into the 12-step life, a quote by Thich Nhat Hanh spoke to me:

In Vietnam, there are many people, called boat people, who leave the country in small boats. Often the boats are caught in rough seas or storms, the people may panic, and the boats can sink. But if even one person aboard can remain calm, lucid, knowing what to do and what not to do, he or she can help the boat survive.

Thich Nhat Hanh, Being Peace

 

I envision my higher power as a sturdy little boat. (I aspire to being calm, lucid, and capable.) My sturdy little boat can't prevent, lessen the strength, or shorten the duration of inevitable storms, but its sturdiness imparts calm, confidence, and courage to me - as long as I trust in its seaworthiness. 

For much of my life I looked to birds as inspiration - and even now, their song, beauty of flight, nest-building skills, and yes, their "bird's eye view" of things - speak to me. 

But it's in the sturdy little boat where I can find calm and courage as family members, country, and the world convulse in painful spasms of confusion, helplessness, mistrust, horror, fear, loss, and grief.

I do not reduce Vietnam to static tropes of "boat people," the Vietnam War (aka the American War, as viewed by Vietnamese), or pho.  

No, it's the juxtaposition of my series on migration this year, and my distress (and on some days, despair) over the shameful lashes of verbal and mental abuse on the backs of women, men, and children who are only doing what rational, courageous people do to rescue themselves from untenable circumstances in their homes. 

Mere days ago, folks in the path of Hurricane Helene left their homes, household items held dear, neighborhoods, schools, houses of worship, vegetable gardens - not because of any frivolous reasons - but because they felt they had to leave. For their security. They were/are migrants themselves, even if only for a short time. If they are among the fortunate.

10 Years Ago: Louisiana: Are You a Teacher?

 In re-visiting my original post, I reconfirmed the librarian thing in the American folklore, and then found this SNL piece, The Librarian, which plunged into hellfire. [Consider yourself warned].

 

 

 

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Louisiana: Are You a Teacher?

 

Oh, how many times have I been asked that since I've lived in South Louisiana!

Strangers ask me this question, and it happened again just last night.

I respect teachers. And because South Louisiana must have more teachers per square inch than perhaps anywhere else in the world, I've had the pleasure of meeting many lovely representatives of the teaching profession here.

I have discussed this "are you a teacher?" question at some length with a local buddy, also a transplant from Not Around Here. He is of the opinion that he can identify a teacher from afar. His claim has some credibility because he used to be a teacher and had ample time to study many females of the species in their natural habitat. Last night I asked him to define exactly how one profiles a (woman) teacher, and here's what he said --> A woman is possibly a teacher if she wears a:

• Jean skirt;
• Flow-y skirt; 
• Skirt that falls below the knees; 
• Sandals with wide straps; 
• Gabardine shirt;
• Blouse that is worn over a skirt (i.e. not tucked in); 
• Blouse or dress with a bold print; or
• Shirt that covers her ass.  

He suggested I could probably go online and find websites devoted to what teachers wear. I said I would definitely do this, because based on my experience in South Louisiana, maybe my very own photo is on those websites as a Sample Teacher.

Here are the results of my search on what teachers wear. You be the judge of my buddy's analysis:

Teachers Have Lives, Too

Chioma's Evolution of Style

Pencil Lead and Lace 

 
Again, I love teachers. But it's got to be said that teachers don't have the same panache as, say, librarians.With librarians you never know what they're going to do, like pull off their glasses, let down their hair from that tight bun, and you know, become very un-librarianlike while maintaining their presumed intellect. Librarians are unpredictable, thus a little dangerous. But not teachers. Nope, teachers go to prison for doing what librarians do.

This morning I shared my experience with several women, all of whom are native South Louisianans. I wondered if such queries might even be a local culture thing - maybe other people are approached with conjectures about their profession. Maybe it's just a conversation starter.

The jury's still out on all that, but we considered a couple of new responses to the question:

"Yes! I teach pole dancing! How could you tell?"

Flash a fake badge and say, "No, I'm with the FBI on an undercover operation, and things are about to pop. Move away or you might get hurt."

One of the woman said, "Well, what profession do you want people to think you have?"

Good question. I don't want them to have an assumption about my profession. If anyone is going to say anything, I'd like them to say to me what a stranger said to me in Bernalillo, New Mexico: "You are really having fun, aren't you?" and the answer would be yes.


Note: The fact that I am a teacher is beside the point. 

10 Years Ago: Louisiana: We Still Stop for Carcasses

 

 ... and still do.

 

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Louisiana: We Still Stop for Carcasses

 

Dead bluejay, Franklin, Louisiana. August 2014.

In December 2012, when I was in New Mexico, my mother came to visit. I wrote this post: We Stop for Carcasses.

Still do, and the number of photos has increased to the point of warranting a slide show:

Not sure why I mark these remains of what used to be life. Perhaps it's that taking a photo and sharing that photo is a conscious noticing of them.

The original post: 

"We Stop for Carcasses."

My mother, Carol, who is visiting me from Missouri, and I were driving at a speedy clip down Highway 117, I think, when I saw chicken-sized ravens making merry on the remains of a large mammal. I wondered if I should stop to take a look, but passed on.

I commented to Carol, "Did you see that animal the ravens were eating"?
"No," she said. 
I asked, "Do you want me to turn around"? 
"Yes. We stop for carcasses," she replied.

So I turned around.

Dead elk, Highway 117, New Mexico. December 2012.

Earlier in Carol's visit, we'd stopped for this fallen elk on Highway 70 between Tularosa and Mescalero.

Dead elk, Highway 70, New Mexico. December 2012.

As Carol was framing her shot, a car pulled up behind us. A man emerged and walked toward us. What? Ah, he was a tourist from Nebraska. He had his camera out, too.

A few years ago, on another trip to New Mexico with my mother, I stopped for a wilderpee along Highway 152, only to almost stumble on this dead dog.

Dead dog, Highway 152, New Mexico. March 2003.

Speaking of almost stumbling on carrion while finding a good place to relieve oneself, here's a shot of a dead deer in Carson National Forest, also in New Mexico, on yet another past trip.  I got all artistic on this shot.  

Dead deer, Carson National Forest, New Mexico. November 2008.

 There has been no lack of carrion in Missouri, either:

Dead armadillo, Highway 21, Missouri. October 2009.

Dead frog, Missouri

Dead snake, Missouri

Dead something, Highway 21, Missouri

Then there was the horse in Nazret, Ethiopia:

Dead horse, Nazret, Ethiopia

... and the one in Monument Valley:

Dead horse, Monument Valley

This poor bird got caught in some branches in Arkansas:

Dead duck, Arkansas

Remains of dove killed by hawk, which later return for leftovers. Alamogordo, NM

 We stop for carcasses.

10 Years Ago: On Getting a Puppy

 

 I've had several so-called smart phones (do we still need to call them that?) since my original adoption in 2014. All androids. I've liked all of them except my current, which I bought in 2023. It's my first Samsung. I actually kind of hate it. Samsung's purported superior camera tore me away from going with a Google Pixel. 

I mightily regret:

• The indecent amount of bloatware on the Samsung
• Saving money by going with only one port (for charging and for wired earbuds), which I've paid plenty for in annoyance
  
• Its larger size - and with the added investment for a phone case - heavier mass

 Fortunately, in just a few short years, I'll be able to move on.

Here's a throwback phone to the one issued to me in Caucasus Georgia. It wasn't all that smart, but it was smart enough. 

My Caucasus Georgia Nokia phone. June 2012.

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Rootless: On Getting a Puppy

It's not really a puppy, but kind of like a puppy

No, I haven't got a real puppy. But I have acquired something like a puppy. I've got to learn its ways, train it, and be trained by it.

I've got to keep track of it, so it doesn't get lost or stolen. I can handle it playfully, but not roughly.


It's not really a phone, but it's called a phone

It's a smart phone, my first. Only to call it a smartphone is a misnomer. It is a mini computer with a phone application.

This is not just semantics. How I view my new puppy affects how I socialize it with the world.

With my soon-to-be-old "dumb phone" - let's say my pet "turtle" - I could:

• Make and receive phone calls;
• Laboriously write texts and check email; and
• Make limited forays onto the internet. 

I had little concern about privacy boundaries or theft or malware because the dumb phone itself was like a turtle. A built-in shell for protection, by dint of its limited features, and thus easily monitored or caught if it meandered off, too humble to attract unwanted attention from strangers.

It's an entirely different story with my mini-computer.


Why did I get this puppy?

Being rootless, why would I want to be tied down with a puppy? Sheesh, now I've got to worry about dropping the damn thing or the glass will crack. It's cute and sweet and thereby attractive to strangers who might like to adopt it for themselves, so I've got to always have my radar on to make sure I know where it is. And it requires so much training - for the little one and me - to become true pals.

There are several reasons why I went this route: 

1. My turtle phone was on its last legs - that reliable, albeit limited, $30 phone I've had for years, with the cute little teeth marks on the top left-hand corner.  
2. My laptop is getting on in years and it could go belly up at any time, and I need a sophisticated, on-the-spot back-up to turn to for my work. 
3. I'll be headed out of the country again soon and I want an unlocked mini-computer that can run by wifi or a data plan. 

An invisible fence

When I bought my little puppy, I was still thinking of it as a phone. A phone with a lot of very cool enhancements. Consequently, I was startled by the decisions I had to make right away. Such as:

• What personal bits about myself - my data exhaust - did I want to have on this device? 
• What apps did I want to download - and what information was I willing to share in order to get these apps? 
• How could I enjoy all the benefits of a mini-computer without leaving a trail of personal me everywhere I went? 
• How many ads - if any - can I tolerate in exchange for a "free" app? 
• What data am I willing to lose if my mini-computer falls into the hands of strangers? 
• Like a puppy, I'm not willing to let my little device sit in a hot car for hours while I'm off canoeing or swimming or doing something else that puts it at risk. So do I change my habits and just leave it at home for such activities? 

Some decisions I've made (and it might make sense here to note that I've bought an Android device): 

1. Thank God, I have more than one email address (hehehe), so I chose one of my little-used accounts to be the email account on my device. I can put some distance between this account and me-central.
2. Do I really need to download a free game that requires access to my contact list? Hell, no! No games for you, little puppy! 
3. Do I need to download Kindle to my mini-computer? No, I've got a kindle e-reader, and I don't want to connect my Amazon account to my device. If I want to read, that's what my e-reader is for. Or an actual book. 
4. Do I want to stay signed in to my Skype account on my device? No; I've only got it on there as a back-up, and I don't ever want to make another mistake call to a work-related client.Whoops. (The lil' puppy is so eager to please, it tries to anticipate what you want by going to fetch somebody else's paper. Bad girl.) 

I'm trying to find the right balance between security and maximum fun + utility.

Again, it's all about safe sex.


What'd I buy? 

Short answer: Moto G 4LTE.

Longer answer: It was all about: 

• Excellent reviews;
• Budget; 
• Long battery life; 
• Unlocked and GSM for international use; and
• Android operating system. 

 

10 Years Ago: Louisiana: Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014

 

Since my original post in 2014, these gentlemen have passed away: 

• Ray Abshire (full name Emerson Ray Abshire), 2023
• D.L. Menard

 

This throwback post offers a good excuse to serve up my Crawfish slide show: 

 

 

Saturday, June 21, 2014

Louisiana: Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014

Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

The Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival!

Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

It's always the first weekend of May, and in 2014, the town celebrated its 54th festival.

Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

Bags checked at gate - not even a bottle of water allowed in.

Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

Fabulous music. Fabulous.  Six months ago, I didn't know these people existed, but today, I can tell you it is very satisfying to see venerable musicians such as Ray Abshire and D.L. Menard in person.

Ray Abshire and company, Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

I filmed Mr. Menard's performance (with the band Jambalaya) of his famous song, Back Door, here. How I love this song! I'm not wild about the quality of my video, though, so I invite you to watch the superior video below, which someone filmed at the 2009 Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival:

It was also fun to see people I "knew" from having watched videos before I went to the festival.

Like this good-lookin', good-dancin' couple below:

Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

I first "met" them in the much-viewed video below from the 2009 festival:

Now look at that still photo again (above the video). See the slender guy on the right? In the flappy-eared hat? Well, that's Leon of Cafe des Amis renown, and you can watch him dance in the video here, taken by a visitor to that cafe:

Note: Leon's dance partner is doing a damn fine job herself.

It's pretty hot and sunny in BB, Louisiana, and as I have learned from watching southern Louisianans with parades, they know how to attend a festival. It's first come-first serve at the Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival, but you can bring your own shade tent and set it up in permissible areas. This is a life-saver when you're at the festival for the long haul. 

Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

Of course, everyone has a chair.

Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

If I were staying longer, I'd definitely invest in one of those folding chairs with its own awning.  Below, you can see one or two of these awning-chairs, but otherwise, you'll see a variety of umbrellas:

Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

I never tire of watching people dance, especially zydeco. It's fun to see the same people at the different venues. You get to know their styles, their signature moves.

Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

(Between you and me, though, I've learned that a lot of people dance whatever the hell they want to zydeco music, especially the jitterbug, the two-step, some form of swing, or just whatever the spirit moves them to do.)  

As my dance teacher said, as long as you're moving to the beat, it really doesn't matter.

DL Menard with Jambalaya, Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival 2014, Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

 

Revisiting the Subject of Coffee

 

Nescafe Gold Espresso. Jefferson City, Missouri. Photo: Mzuriana.

 

I have a new instant coffee love. Its tagline is velvety crema. And it is velvety, in flavor, mouthfeel, and visual presentation in the jar.  Nescafe Gold Espresso. Subtitle: Intense. 

I typically only drink instant coffee when I'm on the road, especially camping. But my coffee maker expired one day, and while I dithered over whether and how to replace it, I pulled out my instant coffee cache pending my eventual decision.

As it happened, a friend was moving, and he didn't intend to take his coffee maker with him. I asked if I might adopt it, and he generously agreed.

So I'm back with my usual brew routine, but with summer here, I've also taken a liking to iced coffee made with instant.

These recent developments have me reminiscing on past coffee-related posts: 

• 2011 March: Ethiopia: A Sweet Coffee Goodbye in Nazret
• 2011 July: Rustavi: In the Society of Women
• 2011 September: Keshalo: A Tiny Adventure
• 2012 January: Dubai: The Creek: Bur Dubai Side
  
• 2012 February: Travel Blasphemy #1: Turkish Coffee
• 2016 April: Coffee and Salt: The Essences of Life
• 2016 August: Colorado: Big Coffee
  
• 2016 September: Colorado: Coffee Trials
  
• 2016 November: Louisiana: Where I Found My True Love
  
• 2016 December: El Paso: Coffee, Design, and Geography
  
• 2017 February: El Paso: Coffee Box
  
• 2018 May: Arrow Rock Camping, Part 1: Cold Coffee and Some Walks
  
• 2019 February: Las Cruces, New Mexico: You Look Lovely in the Morning
  
• 2021 November: Gulf Shores, Alabama: Thanksgiving 2021
  

 

A coffee slide show below: 

 

#30