With a Little Bit of Luck

Have you ever gone through a period of time where it felt as if your luck has run out? That’s where I’ve been recently. Not that I was winning the lottery before or winning anything really. But you can’t help but feel that you have a little luck until everything begins to go wrong. So on St. Patrick’s Day I decided to go find some luck. Not with the luck of the Irish however. I went in search of a JuJu doll instead.

This adventure comes with a bit of back story. In Vicksburg a few weeks ago a friend had purchased a JuJu doll in an art job. The doll is supposed to be the positive version of a Voodoo doll. It looked interesting, so it came home. Fast forward a month and I mention how I’m having a streak of bad luck. He responds by saying that he’s been having good luck and he must owe it to the JuJu doll.

Where can I get one of those now?

So my quest began to find my own JuJu doll without having to return to Vicksburg to claim a bit of good luck. What better place to find a good luck Voodoo doll than in New Orleans?

Apparently, Voodoo dolls have become a tourist commodity in New Orleans. Every gift shop appears to have a collection of dolls. These dolls apparently have the ability to bring success, attract a lover, and a whole host of things that would cause me to blush if I wrote them down. The lucky rabbit’s foot has nothing on these dolls.

JuJu, the good luck charm, must be popular for it was the most difficult to find (Of course it was. My luck hasn’t changed yet.) In the end, we found one at a New Orleans themed store in the Riverwalk. It is not as attractive as the one found in Vicksburg, but it is supposed to bring good luck.

I carried my own JuJu doll home and placed it in my room. I didn’t want to scare visitors away. And I’m not talking about having a Voodoo doll in my house either.  This doll will not be winning any beauty contests. It’s a good thing it’s supposed to be lucky.

It was an interesting adventure whether it changes my luck or not. I still lean in the direction that we make our own luck, but if the JuJu doll helps out, I won’t be complaining.

Star-Crossed Lovers

Even after four hundred years, Shakespeare’s play Romeo and Juliet can still be found on stage. This weekend I attended Nicholls State University’s production of Romeo and Juliet by the Nicholls Player’s Club.

Though the dialogue in the play was original to Shakespeare’s original lines (though shortened and adjusted to the two hour time frame), the play had a modern backdrop of a political campaign. The play begins with Montague and Capulet campaigning against each other in a campaign complete with a video camera carrying press. How relevant in this campaign year? The music soundtrack was also current music reminiscent of teenage television shows, and at times it felt like High School Musical meets Shakespeare.

Somewhere in the middle of the play, I realized why students love Romeo and Juliet much more than the Julius Caesar play I’m forced to teach as a tenth grade English teacher. It’s like the four hundred year old version of Twilight but in a language you can’t understand anymore. (I don’t understand teenage slang either. So that’s just one of the many similarities to begin the list.) Romeo and Juliet has the instant love at first sight storyline, the love triangle with Romeo-Juliet-Paris, teenagers getting married, and the violence similar to vampires trying to kill each other. Romeo and Juliet is not so different from the unrealistic love stories found in today’s teen books. After four hundred years, we’re still reading stories that give us the same storyline. Our tastes haven’t changed though the language has.

The NSU players delivered a great performance though. I can remember back in college when my college professor became enraged when the Leonardo Dicaprio movie came out because of its modern adaption and its use of guns. This version used campaign poster sticks as weapons and even had sword fights with hammers. Not to mention Juliet’s recording of a misbehaving, female Mercutio scene with her cellphone and no doubt posting it to Youtube. There was only one scene where a gun was used, and though it did feel out of place for me, it wasn’t done with the same intent as Dicaprio’s movie version.

In the end Romeo and Juliet died. This certainly requires no spoiler alert. The fate of those star-crossed lovers never changes even after four hundred years.  Though all those modern-day story adaptions appear to forget that when they describe the storyline as Romeo and Juliet like.

Future Meets the Past

What happens when your past and future collide? In the past few days I caught a glimpse into both my past and my future with interesting results.

Once again, for the second year, I visited the psychic. I know, I know. It’s beginning to sound like an obsession. This time was different though. Whereas last time I only experienced excitement at the thought of someone telling me what lay in store for me, I must admit to a large dose of anxiety mixed in with a tad bit of excitement this time around.

Last time I visited her with my life as an open canvas. I was unclear on what I wanted from life and willing to have someone paint the picture over the blankness. This time around, the picture on the canvas has been outlined and mostly filled in, but it isn’t quite complete. Anxiety surfaced at the thought that the psychic would tell me that I’d gone in the completely wrong direction.

Though I have changed much in the last year since I visited her last (name, hair color, etc.), she recognized me. Strangely, I’d hoped she wouldn’t. Part of me wanted to see if she’d remember what she’d told me last year. Would the new predictions be the same or completely different? If they were different, could I dismiss it all as fiction?

I’ll keep the details to myself, but she did not tell me I was going in the wrong direction. Again, she amazed me at how accurately she could describe people and things in my life without being prompted. But most importantly, I don’t feel the need to rush out and immediately make her predictions come true this time around. I’m much more willing to wait. Maybe I’ve also learned patience in the last year.

To put my obsession with the future in perspective, I’ve had surprise visits in the past week from two friends I haven’t seen or spoken to much in the last decade or so. It’s interesting that while catching up all the time you’ve missed from each other’s lives, you realize how far you’ve come from the past and how much further you would like to go.

It hasn’t been a bad journey, for I’ve experienced much on the way to my present point. Ten years ago I couldn’t have foreseen my current place in life, so whether the psychic’s predictions happen or not, I can only live and see.

So between the past and the future, I think I’ll continue to live in the present and allow the future to unravel as it slowly becomes my present. (Though I will also probably not resist going to a psychic again in the future just to see. It doesn’t hurt, and it certainly is interesting.)

Road Trip

Most of my traveling has been what I’d call destination oriented. I travel to get from point A to B and don’t make any stops at point C or D. Recently, my traveling plans included a road trip though. Specifically, a Blues road trip.  

Highway 61 is often called the Blues Highway because many famous musicians traveled the road between New Orleans and Memphis on their way to becoming great. I’d say Memphis is the city of blues and barbeque, and we had both in abundance our two days there. No trip to Memphis would be complete without a trek to Elvis Presley’s Graceland, and it was on our agenda. After our visit though, I couldn’t help but notice that from that moment on, every wall of every place had at least one Elvis photo. Is that what they mean by the king still being alive?

What I really enjoy is a good story, especially if it is told by a good storyteller. After Graceland, we visited Sun Studios, and there I found a storyteller that didn’t require me to wear ear phones. I enjoyed hearing stories that didn’t read like an encyclopedia entry. We also visited the Rock and Soul Museum and the Lorraine Hotel where Martin Luther King Jr. was shot. We listened to great blues music at Rum Boogie Café and B.B. King’s Blues Club, and we ate great barbeque at Charles Vergos’ Rendezvous and Pig on Beale. We even had fried strawberries at Johnny G’s Creole Kitchen (Tastes like beignets filled with a strawberry and drizzled with chocolate and powdered sugar).

Another one of those stories that I enjoyed during our visit was the Peabody hotel. Every day at 11:00 the ducks exit their roof top palace, walk around the roof twice, and enter the second elevator. They then take the elevator down to the lobby where they walk around the fountain twice before entering the water. They swim and play all day until 5:00 where they walk around the fountain twice and then return to their palace via the second elevator. I’d say these are some pretty spoiled (not to mention well-trained) ducks.

Shack Up Inn

Our road trip continued to Clarksdale, Mississippi to the crossroads where blues musician Robert Johnson supposedly sold his soul to the devil to play the guitar better. We visited the Delta Blues Museum there as well as the small downtown area (including Cat Head Delta Blue and Folk Art) before making our way to Hopson Plantation and the Shack Up Inn. We spent the night in an old sharecropper’s cabin just like the blue’s musicians sing about.

The Corner's Inn

Our trip continued to Vicksburg where we added a little civil war history to the mix along with several blues markers that dot highway 61. We stayed at The Corner’s Inn on the river (Yes, we went from the sharecropper’s cabin to inside the plantation within twenty-four hours. I wonder if there is a song about that?). Vicksburg is a beautiful town, and I highly recommend the great food at Rusty’s restaurant in town as well as The Attic for wonderful art and Lorelei books, because, well, I just can’t help myself.

We made one last stop in Crystal Springs at Louise’s BBQ (Because we hadn’t had enough already) and the Robert Johnson museum before heading home.

Not too bad for my first road trip. For me, it’s all about the story ideas, and I have a whole slew of ideas now as I sit back down and work on that next book.

Book Signing

The much anticipated first book signing took place this weekend. My close friends and family have read and evaluated the book, so it was time to get my book into the hands of people who don’t know me. Because of course, my family can’t really say, “No, I’m not really that interested in reading it.” Just like telling your squeaky voice niece that she can sing, reading your relative’s book is a requirement.

There is something unnerving about sitting and waiting for people to approach you so that you can convince them that your book is worth the purchase and read though. How does a person go about choosing a book?  And for that matter, does everyone you approach actually read books?

The book signing went well even with my nervousness. I went with a goal of how many books I wished to sell, and I left having sold exactly that number. It was a great day to have a book signing at LA Cajun with the singer Tete Deur playing music from his new CD on the inside of the store as well as another author signing books opposite me. The store attracted quite a crowd that day.

One of my students came out to have her book signed.

Many people I know came out to see me and I’m grateful for everyone who has bought my book, but for the first time I had the experience of trying to get strangers to read my book. I actually look forward to talking to more potential readers.

Now it is time to work on Muddy Grave. The sequel is still in the works, and hopefully soon I will be sitting down to sign and convince others to read both books.

Tete Deur playing inside LA Cajun.

BYOO

A week and a half ago, my mini-me made invitations to a tea party she was going to host in her bedroom. She consulted a calendar and printed neatly on construction paper the details of her party before delivering one to me and one to her brother.

At the top of the invitation she printed in marker BYOO. I knew she couldn’t possibly be asking for us to bring our own liquor. I’ve never printed this on any party invitation, so I immediately thought now what was she learning in school. After I questioned her, it turned out she was asking us to bring our own outfit. She began planning her outfit days in advance, and even tried on several to see what fit her best. She added that she didn’t want us coming naked for sure. I’m not sure where she gets this stuff.

Leading up the party, she verified every detail, making cookie and milk requests and reminding Andrew and I that we needed to be ready for her party. She dressed all of the dolls that would be in attendance and counted all the teacups and saucers. She retrieved the fancy teapot from the china cabinet and made cards as gifts.

When tea party time arrived, she had everyone sit in their places before requesting that I serve the milk and Andrew serve the cookies. I must add that though Andrew attended willingly, it came after several incidents. One of those incidents involved his punching his sister in the nose and being punished and only allowed out of his room to attend the tea party, which of course was also the only way he’d receive cookies and milk. He was a good sport though. He even at one point pulled out the largest cookie from the bowl and put it on his sister’s plate saying she could have it.

She began her party by singing happy birthday to her new Build-A-Bear named Princess. She received a gift certificate for Christmas and we journeyed to Build-A-Bear Saturday for her to pick out her new stuffed animal to add to the already plentiful stash in her room.

The lady showed her everything that she could do. The lady began by showing her the bears along the wall, indicating that they began at ten dollars and ran to thirty dollars. Cara immediately went toward the cheaper end and said, “It looks like ten dollars is the cheapest.” She knew she had a $25 gift card and she wanted the whole package: bear, outfit, and accessories. Somewhere in there when she realized that she wouldn’t have enough money, I told her that I would cover the few extra dollars. Somehow that translated to my doubling the gift card.

My lesson was that she’s cheap when it is her money, but not when it’s mine.

So the tea party ended up being a birthday party for the new addition to the million dolls and animals she has accumulated. She closed her party by dancing and cleaning up all of her mess, and then exclaimed that it was the best tea party ever.

She grows so fast. It shows in her creations, her thoughts, and her speaking. Every time I look at her, it is as if she’s grown more in size as well as maturity. The little person with the big personality amazes me. When she returns to me after only a few days, it’s as if she’s learned a million things in my absence.  I know this will not end, but I do wish it would slow down. For now she wants me at her tea parties, but I’m sure soon I will blink and all of this will end.  She will want me to stay out of her room, and I can forget about being invited to her parties.

So though I have a million things to do, and I don’t even like cookies, I will attend every party she hosts, enjoying each one because I don’t know when she will grow out of them.  At least next time I don’t have to ask what BYOO means.

Blues, Cards, and Margaritas

In early 1920’s Paris, Ernest Hemingway and other creative types all gathered at Gertrude Stein’s Salon to celebrate life, to exchange ideas, and to be inspired. Among the numerous ways I don’t match Hemingway, two of the important ones in that scenario are that I’ve never been to Paris or to a Salon, but I can certainly hold my own party in my hometown. And though I don’t have many writer friends, I do have an eclectic group of friends who supply plenty of inspiration, not to mention good times.

As I work on my next book, I search through my daily life for inspiration, so I decided to celebrate everything that is going right at the moment with a little blues music and card games (Learning how to play a Card game was on my list this year since I have to admit that I haven’t played cards since I was about twelve.) And what’s better than blues music playing in the background as you discuss and laugh at each other’s attempt to play cards?

The first card game of the night was pass or stick. Since we didn’t start playing until well into the party and margaritas and wine had been flowing for a while, the easiness of this simple game was necessary. The analogy to explain the game was "Pass and Stick is like life, you don't have to be first, you just can't be last." We all found this to be true, but maybe that was the wine speaking. I actually ended up winning that game, but not much skill was involved so I won’t be bragging about the win.

We decided to attempt Blackjack when pass and stick wore out its thrill. Apparently, counting to 21 is difficult. We had a table full of educators but none of us were the math people. Lara said at the beginning of the game that you can’t expect English teachers to do math.

That may be true, but we certainly tried. Billy suggested Trivial Pursuit instead. So after figuring out that we would be the ones losing all our money at the card tables in the casino, we decided to try our luck at trivia, a game that made us feel as if our IQs were double digits lower than they actually were. Not to mention the game was the 1984 edition. (We’ll just say that‘s the reason we couldn’t answer any of the questions.) Thankfully, we ended that misery and moved onto Catch Phrase.

Since Catch Phrase came after several empty bottles of wine and margaritas, the music changed to 80s upbeat music, and the room filled with shouts and cheers, and my dining room table took a beating, literally. It was girls against guys, and I’m just going to give Danielle credit for being an awesome team member.

The night ended with Tom strumming Pink Floyd on my guitar as a few sang along. Everyone left reluctantly, and only because it was nearly three in the morning. The one request was that we start earlier next time.

The conversation was lively and ranged from traveling to Hemingway to personal experiences. Dare I say it, but it was an inspiring evening to propel me through the time I sit in front of a computer typing up line after line that I will only delete later.  I think Hemingway would have been a happy guest, even if it wasn’t 1920s Paris.

Guitar Lessons

In the infinite wisdom of family, my children each received a guitar for Christmas. Not from me, of course. I did of course subtly hint about one of my presents needing to be earplugs. No such present under my Christmas tree though.

Though he received an acoustic guitar for Christmas, my son wants an electric guitar. He’s even searched online to find exactly which one he wants. I can’t say he hasn’t been persistent. He has always been the child that is only pleased with exactly what he wants. Since the only thing that seems to be a permanent form of entertainment in his life has been video games, it’s understandable that I’m not rushing out to buy this electric guitar and that big box of ear plugs they should throw in as a gift with purchase.

Under duress, I did make the agreement with him that if he learned how to play the acoustic guitar that was his present (i.e. free) before his birthday in July, I would buy the electric guitar as his birthday present. He’s taken to strumming the guitar at any time of the day it catches his attention.

So of course, wanting to be the good mother, I decided he’d probably need some lessons if he were to learn to play. (The bad side’s first thought was that the ear plugs would be unnecessary if I just sat by quietly and let July pass by.)

At this point in the story, I should probably confess to having purchased my own guitar last year as it was supposed to be one of my experiences. I never had the time to learn though so it sat in its case. I figured if my son was going to learn, I might as well pull my guitar out and try and see if I have any musical ability since my brief stint in middle school band.

My friend Donna’s husband plays the guitar and is in a band so I figured we’d start there to see how serious Andrew was. We were in luck though because Donna’s stepson, who teaches music, was at the guitar lesson and ended up giving Andrew his beginning instructions.

As I watched Andrew attempt to follow their instructions, I was struck with the quietness he approached it. I actually expected him to say he didn’t want to do it anymore at any moment during the lesson. He doesn’t like people, especially people he doesn’t know, telling him what to do. Like every other kid, he thinks he already knows everything. From his expression I could tell he wasn’t happy about any of it, but he remained quiet, attempting whatever note they taught him to strum.
I helped my daughter attempt the chords, but once she’d strummed it once she was content to go back to strumming whatever chord she felt like. As far as my learning the guitar, what I learned is that it’s another one of those tasks that swallows chunks of time I don’t have right now. There’s a book to write, Spanish to learn, and a copyeditor’s certification to complete. I wanted it as something I could do just to relax from all the things I’m trying to accomplish. The relaxation would probably come after the learning part. My lesson was pacing. I need to learn to pace myself this year.

The verdict is still out on Andrew. I did find him practicing today. I may have to buy an electric guitar after all. I won’t forget to buy those ear plugs.

Hablar Espanol?

Learning another language is difficult. Every company that makes learning software wants to cash in on this difficulty, and each has its own method it believes will leave you speaking the language fluently.

I should know. I’ve tried a multitude of different methods in the past week to find one that will work. This year I’ve decided to learn Spanish. So that this new skill has an incentive, I’ve also decided to visit a Spanish speaking country this year (details will come later, naturally).

In the past week, I’ve exposed myself to Spanish through CDs, DVDs, books, flashcards on my phone, and even dictionaries. The problem with all of these methods is that when we first learn to speak our own language, everyone around us speaks that language. We hear it every waking moment, and if we don’t learn it, we are unable to communicate. I don’t come into contact with Spanish speaking people during the course of my day. I do have a Spanish speaking television station that I plan on checking out this week. That will have to suffice at this time.

I have learned what doesn’t work though. I can repeat nouns and verbs all I want, but I will not recall but maybe one word out of a hundred when the repetition is done. What is working so far is the Pimsleur method which teaches conversational Spanish. So now when I arrive in the Spanish speaking country, I can tell them non hablar espanol (I don’t speak Spanish), or hopefully by the time of the trip I can say hablar un poco espanol ( I speak a little Spanish). The drawback to this method is that I’ve learned how to speak a little Spanish, but I can’t read or write the words. I’ve had to look them up to add them to this writing.

I don’t know what the solution is, but I do know I will learn the language this year. I’ve always wanted to be able to speak a different language and in keeping with my list of discoveries for the year, I am going to jump right in and be at least somewhat bilingual.

Endings and Beginnings

It is that time of the year where we say goodbye to the old and make new resolutions for the New Year. This past year has certainly been a good year for me. I spent the entire year working my way slowly through my thirty-three list of experiences all the way until the last few days of 2011 where I accomplished something I never thought I’d be able to. I installed ceramic tile on my kitchen wall. This kind of task was the kind of job two years ago I would have hired someone or convinced someone else to do it for me. Two thousand eleven meant many changes though, so I found myself ending my year by grouting tile (translation: making a huge mess that I then had to clean up), and  in this task I also found myself reflecting on what I have learned this year.

The year has had its highlights. My list of experiences, including the tattoo, the psychic, my trip to New York City, and all the great entertainment I experienced this year certainly made the year a memorable one. Every one of my experiences has taught me about myself, whether it has been my strengths or my limitations. When I talked about my experiences with people, they immediately referenced a bucket list. I always referred to it as my divorce list, but why should we wait until we are near death or divorced to do all the things in life that make it truly worth living?

My list, after all, didn’t really ever pertain to my divorce. I always came back to that moment sitting in the police van where it sank completely through my conscious that my life could have and maybe should have ended that day. I have difficulty putting that moment into words even though I deal with words all the time. Not that I couldn’t do it I suppose if I sat and thought about it long enough. How to explain the feeling that I’d experienced knowing that if my life would have ended that moment when the bullet projected upward instead of into me that I would have wasted the time given me. I had put off doing anything worthy of living because I was too busy dwelling on everything that made me unhappy, and someone came along and nearly took any chance I had of changing that away from me.

As any true optimist though, I prefer to view it as an epiphany. A clicking of fate telling me that life is not about waiting around, it is about living in the moments you are given. So living in the moment was the lesson of the year. I’ve learned that happiness is stringing those moments together, and the string of those moments is the story of a person’s life. I enjoyed each of my experiences, most of which taught me that sometimes the only person holding us back is ourselves, whether it is our fears or our inability to change or just by letting day to day life itself get in the way.

I would be remiss if I didn’t say that I still feel like something is missing though. I feel as though I would not have survived that day if there wasn’t something else I was supposed to do. I suppose it feels as if I’m not supposed to be selfish with a second chance to change things. I’m not saying that I believe I need to change the world now, but I do feel as if I’m supposed to help others in some kind of way.

It’s something that I’ve thought about often, but I don’t know the answer to those questions I ask myself. I do believe I will know it when it comes to me. I learned this year though that nothing in life comes to you if you wait around for it; you must seek out life and pay attention to what it is telling you. So for 2012 I’ve created a list with a theme of discovery, a discovery of purpose. It’s not a year where I will forget the lessons of 2011, but rather a year to deepen my understanding of my journey.