Experience #26 Anybody for Some Football?

This past Friday I did something I never thought I’d do. I attended an LSU football game. I know. Doesn’t really seem like a big deal. But frankly even though this particular item had made it onto my original list of experiences, it was one I thought I’d never complete. I added backup items on my list just for this purpose

It’s not that I didn’t want to check this one off my list. Obviously I had willingly added it to my list. But the fact that I understand nothing about football did have plenty to do with my reluctance. I mean I know that the players make touchdowns and the team has a quarterback. I haven’t completely lived under a rock living in this area of big football fans. The simple truth is my attention span tends to wander when I don’t understand something... quite frequently I might add.

What I learned at the game though was sometimes people watching makes attending a football game worthwhile. (I’m sorry to all you football fans.)  I came away from the game believing that people are passionate about football in ways that I just may never understand.

While my friend extolled the complexities of the game to me, I occasionally (so maybe more than occasionally) stole glances around at nearby fans. Most watched the game quietly at the anxiety-filled moments or cheered at the exciting ones. The interesting fans yelled and cursed as if they had a direct connection to the coach’s earphones. One particular old man nearing 90, if not having already arrived, cursed in a manner that made me openly stare before I realized that my occasional glance had gone on too long.

Of course besides from people watching, I also noticed that nearly an entire stadium of over 93,000 people were wearing purple and gold. One lady’s sweater was mistaken for crimson and a nearby fan jumped all over that. I was glad I’d gone buy a purple shirt. For once, I didn’t mind dressing like everyone else. Don’t worry it won’t happen again.

The most surprising part of the day was that I actually enjoyed watching the game. I even found myself standing when not being told to do so to see. Typically when I’m put in a large group of people my attention span is like a child on a sugar high. I actually managed to pay attention to about 80 percent of the game and even more surprisingly with a little help from a friend to understand what was happening.

Who knew?

Up a Wall

Julius Caesar said, I came, I saw, I conquered. I returned to the rock walls at Slidell Rocks, I studied them closely, and the conquering part? Well that is where things get interesting.

I enlisted my sister as my spotter this time around. She promised she wouldn’t let me fall, though she also wouldn’t make promises to not laugh at me. So after we let the children run around a bit, it was time to take on the wall. The wall is a thirty-five foot straight climb. It doesn’t sound like a great distance, but when you’re staring up at it – or down – the distance feels much too far.

My sister and I clipped into the harness gear, and I was feeling a bit uneasy. (Okay, that is an understatement. Have I mentioned yet that I’m terrified of heights?)

My son rushed over and asked, “Mom, give me twenty bucks.”

“Why?” I asked, thinking this was a good stall tactic (on my part that is).

“So I can buy snacks in case you don’t make it.”

My sister chimed in with a smile. “Where are the car keys in case you don’t make it.”

At this point I’d already placed my hands on the rocks in starting position. This was not easing my tension.

My godchild Hayden chimed in. “Oohh, she’s not going to make it.”

At this point I made a comment about bringing the wrong cheerleaders with me today. Everyone laughed as I attempted to climb, teasing that I was going to fall or that I wasn’t going to make it.

I didn’t make it. I didn’t even reach my head above the yellow line on this first attempt. So I immediately tried again. This time my “cheerleaders” were distracted and were trying to tackle some rocks of their own. I made it higher, but I had trouble finding the rocks I could use to push myself further up that wall.

My sister’s job was to lower me so I could return to the floor. At this point she hadn’t quite got the hang of it, and she released me too fast. I slammed into the wall -  not even the one I was climbing.

I drew the attention of the owner, who walked over and said in a sarcastic, but the nicest way possible that it had been very graceful.

It had been plenty of things, but graceful was not one of them.

I took a break and watched others climb up the walls, amazed by how some made it look so easy. I hadn’t even made it high enough for my fear of heights to really kick in.

I decided to try again on a different wall. This wall still stood thirty-five feet tall, but it had larger rocks. (Large in rock climbing does not come anywhere near my definition of large however. It simply meant I could place my toe on the rock versus the tip of my shoe.)

This time my “cheerleaders” stood quietly around. My son had designated himself as photographer, and he stood by waiting.

This time as I climbed I had to think about what rocks I could use to push myself further to the top since the rocks were spread further apart. When I reached the half way mark, my sister started helping with the path, and Andrew began snapping pictures. Cara also shouted out “Go Mommy” during this. About three  quarters up, with my heart pounding and blood pumping, my son called up for a picture. I looked down and the distance between myself and the ground hit me. (Insert a few choice words that I hope Andrew wasn’t able to read on my lips.) The fear of heights had kicked in AND I realized that I’d also have to go down.

After returning my eyes back to the wall ahead of me instead of below where the people looked much too small, I took several deep breaths. I decided that I was going to make it to the top just because I’d said I was going to do it, and I did not want to have to repeat this again.

With hands shaking, I pulled myself up to the top, my sister calling for me to touch the bar at the top.

I looked down again, my heart pounding harder. My sister called and asked if I was ready to come down. Hmmm…. No. She laughed and asked if I was going to stay up there. Hmmm… maybe. She had after all let me slam into a wall at only ten feet up. Thirty-five feet was a long way down.

Maybe I’d climb down a bit first. Of course, that’s not how it’s done. You have to let yourself go, hold onto the rope, and trust that they will lower you down slowly as you kick yourself away from the wall.

My daughter took off running, yelling that she couldn’t watch this. Truthfully, I didn’t want to watch this either. After struggling down the wall a bit, I finally let go of the wall and kicked myself off. (I’m not saying this was graceful either.) She did bring me down without incident though.

Though I probably took three times as long as everyone else to climb to the top, I did it. And though my entire body was shaking as I reached the ground, I still made it to the top. I also have the video to prove it. Andrew figured out how to use the video feature on my camera and thought it would be funny to record me coming down. I suppose he thought I’d slam into the wall, too.

Experience #25 Be Careful What You Wish For

This weekend I wanted adventure. I wanted a distraction from all the work I’ve been doing. I just wanted an escape before I had to get back to the school schedule and final that’s due in a week. Next time I will be more specific with my request for adventure.

On Friday I had to go to New Orleans for my appointment at the American Laser Center. It was the last appointment of the day so it was dark and everything had closed when I exited the building.

The first sign of trouble was when I couldn’t get my key to open my door. I thought the battery might be weak inside of the key, but it turned out to be the other battery, the one in my car.

So there I was in the middle of an empty parking lot, doors locked, waiting on my sister and her husband to come rescue me.

For an hour and a half I was paranoid for every cat that crept across the parking lot or piece of paper that flipped across in the wind.

When someone pulled up and switched out their vehicle for an empty car across the parking lot, my imagination streamed scenarios of CSI quality with a story spinning in my head of a body dump and facing danger as a witness. (Did I mention that my imagination is crazier than most?)

It all turned out okay in the end, but I was determined that Saturday I would have an adventure of a different variety.

I actually went out the first time as a single woman… in my entire life. Every other time I’ve gone out it has been with the ex-husband or a boyfriend. My friend Paula and I had a nice girl’s day/night out, with others joining in of course.

I also answered the question that Donna and I discussed a few weeks ago when we’d gone watch her son’s band play. How many drinks does it take to be the first one on the dance floor? Apparently for me the number is six, which of course leads to the fact that I can’t recall the last time I’ve been on a dance floor. Add another one to that list for the year. Paula was quite helpful this weekend. She’s even agreed to future experiences.

Saturday definitely made up for Friday’s unexpected nerve-wracking experience. Saturday night’s ending was ten times better and much more promising.

I did learn something this weekend that caught me by surprise. Apparently everyone is learning that if they do something with me, I will write about it later. That’s probably true. Might be why I’m having trouble finding people to join in anymore. It is true in most cases, but I only ever make fun of myself, I promise. So no need to worry (So Paula all those things that you told me not to write about, you’re safe… for now).

The Cats and Experience #24

I learned the hard way that I’m not an inside animal person. At the same time I moved into my new house, I gave in to my children’s repeated requests for a pet and agreed that they could bring two kittens into a house that I’d painstakingly painted and decorated.

I believe that I’ve exhibited more patience than I ever have in my entire life during the past few months of sharing my living area with these cats, affectionately called Scooter and Milkshake. They remained inside even as they ripped holes in Cara’s new comforter and scratched the paint off the freshly painted door frames. I tolerated the rearranging of doll furniture in the dollhouse I’d spent months building and carefully gluing each shingle on its Victorian frame. I did lose my cool when they shattered an expensive vase by pulling everything off my dining room table. In the middle of the night while picking shards of glass from the floor, Andrew begged with chocked up voice, providing ideas to prevent it from ever happening again.

I watched as they began to destroy my house as my children became more creative in their excuses and their solutions to the problems. Looking at their longing faces, I couldn’t bring myself to remove the cats from my house though they ripped through every material surface I’d redecorated with.

That is until this past weekend when I finally put them out. So what finally made me decide that our inside pets would become outside pets? That would be the decision of our pets that they were too delicate for the litter box and the bath tub would be much nicer.

This was the final straw. After several days of this, I gave fair warning to my children that I was moving the cats to our patio. The days leading up to that move was filled with more begging and guilt trips than I care to mention.

The day of the move was tear filled, and I may have given in to stop the water show if the cats had not reminded me that morning with the bath tub. I moved them outside. They didn’t appreciate it however. The cats continually tried to sneak back in every time the door opened, and several times Saturday, Andrew chased one or the other through the house. His concern means that every twenty or thirty minutes he checks to make sure they are still there (side effect being that he gets out from in front the television more).

Cara broke down into sobs when Andrew told her that her cat had run away. (It had not.) So though I did not change my mind with the waterworks, I was feeling pretty guilty.

I decided to take them to the skating rink for the first time. My daughter had recently gone for a birthday party, and she’d been asking daily to go back. My son had never been on skates and had slipped and said he wouldn’t mind trying (This is my code to move ahead at full speed and get him to do it since he never tries anything).

I had not worn skates for over ten years, but I found myself promising Andrew that I would do it with him. The whole time I was convincing him it would be okay, I was also thinking that the floor would be much further down than it was the last time I’d skated.

I did it though just to get Andrew to put the skates on.

I didn’t fall, but I also didn’t remember how to skate so it made for a very anxiety- filled and unnerving experience. I also learned that though I’m looking for adventure this year, my son is not. It seems that though my daughter leaps into adventure, my son needs to be given more time to decide on his own to try something… or not. There is no leading him into adventure.

So I’m not sure how many of my experiences he will be participating in the future. It’s best that I stop pushing so he doesn’t drive me mad. I did get him to put on the skates, but he quit as soon as he fell, which was before he even made it to the rink.

I did succeed in getting their minds off of the cats for a few hours though. Of course, when we returned after dark they were crawling around outside searching for their hiding and sleeping cats.

The cats remain outside. The only one thanking me is the house though.

Experience #23 Finding a Picture that doesn't Evoke the Delete Button

There’s something to be said about feeling beautiful. When I imagine beauty, I recall the glossy pictures of the fashion magazines that I’d comb through as a teenager, hoping that their secrets would be hidden somewhere in the beautiful and flawless faces.

All vanity aside, feeling beautiful doesn’t really happen often. Most of the time we judge ourselves in comparison to our ideal beauty standards and usually we fail miserably. I know I will never match the models I used to know by name and all their vital statistics.

I hate photographs of myself. I view them with a critical eye and see fault in each one. I’ve deleted more pictures of myself than I’ve ever saved. I joke that if I take one hundred pictures, I might get lucky and like one, maybe.

When I decided to take pictures for my website and book cover, I knew that I wasn’t going to be taking them myself for they’d never survive my harsh opinion. So I enlisted the help of Paula who is beginning what I’d call a long, prosperous career in photography. Even after seeing her beautiful pictures, I was still leery. It would still be me in front of the camera.

We chose typical Louisiana settings for the photos because my book is set in a fictional South Louisiana town. The locations were places I knew and had visited before. I thought this might bring comfort to an anxiety filled experience. Paula clicked away as I wondered what I was supposed to do with her lens pointed at me. I trusted that she knew what she was doing, because I didn’t.

In the end, the pictures came out amazing. It fascinates me how a photographer sees something through the lens that the normal critical eye will miss. I suppose she sees the world through her own special lens in the same way I see a story- in a way only I can see it.

This experience puts me one step closer to publishing my book, which was the whole goal of this experience- to lead me closer to what I’ve always wanted since I wrote my first story in sixth grade. She even snapped a picture that I’m going to use for the cover.

Do check out Paula’s website. She does wonders with a camera. Everyone should feel beautiful at some point in life and a photograph can make it possible to remember that moment.

Paula’s website: www.infocusforalloccassions.com

Birthday Wishes

Saturday night I had the perfect moment under the stars. Sitting around a bonfire with my daughter laying across my lap, I managed to feel how insignificant all my latest worries really are compared to the vastness of the dark. Not a small feat considering that I could make worrying a sport. As she and I gazed up at the stars with her tiny voice telling me to look at how beautiful they were, I released a deep breath into the open sky and decided that it was okay that yet again I didn’t have all of the answers.

This perfect moment came at the end of a horrible week where the tension had been building slowly each day. I’d had a terrible birthday. Not that birthdays are typically all that great. Who wants to celebrate getting older after 21? I have the added bonus of teaching teenagers who believe anything over twenty is old. They certainly have a way to make a person feel ancient even at my age.

Normally, I don’t think much about aging. I’m sure there will be a number I reach that it will begin to bother me, but it hasn’t happened yet, so I’m not going to dwell on it and create a problem before it arises.

What does bother me is the sense of failure that comes as each birthday ticks by. The sense that I haven’t achieved all that I wish to achieve hits home every birthday. And this year was no different.

Before sitting out under the stars Saturday night, I was feeling lost once again. A feeling I thought I’d left behind after I’d made first one decision than another to take in the direction I believed I needed to go.

That was until this birthday week hit. Added to the normal failure I experience at this time of the year, my final divorce papers had arrived by mail Saturday morning. The sense of failure had enveloped me in a dark cloud, and I began to question once again what I was doing.

I’d made all these decisions to get to this place in my life where I felt I should be, but nothing ever went exactly as planned. Had I simply made more of a mess of things?

Some of the frustration and disappointment is impatience, but some of it is that I still have so much to learn. One of those lessons I still struggle with is to live in the moment and know with certainty that everything will work out as it was meant to. I’m still working on Faith. I’d say It’s more like a math problem that every time I work it out, I get a different answer. I’m still trying to find the correct answer.

The 33 experiences were supposed to help with that, and it has some. But now it has become a race to finish them before the end of the year. I intended the experiences to be about learning to live in the moment. But those moments come like my moment under the stars, surrounded by the family who are always there me.

Apparently, my life is a work in progress and not for those who scare easily. I do believe that it will be a great ride, and hopefully, one I don’t have to enjoy alone forever. It makes me appreciate those who are there for me even more though.

Experience #22 The Myrtles

Though I refuse to watch horror movies, I love a good ghost story. How’s that for contradictions. I’ve wanted to go to the Myrtles Plantation ever since a student brought in a picture of him and his sister with ghosts standing near them in the background. Unlike most people, I wanted to see a ghost.

So this experience wasn’t difficult to add to my list, but it is one of those things that you always say you want to do, but it’s easy to put off. Unless you have this handy list you’re making your way through.

I arrived at the Myrtles in time to check in and have dinner at The Carriage House. The Carriage House is a restaurant located on the grounds of the Myrtles. It’ a very nice place, and I’d recommend the Feliciana Eggplant Stacker. It was two breaded and fried slices of eggplant with stuffed crab between them and shrimp etouffee sauce poured over the top. It was delicious.

After dinner, we visited the gift shop before our mystery tour began. The mystery tour runs only on Friday and Saturday night, and our 8:30 tour was packed with 47 people. The mystery tour involves a little history mixed in with the tales of the hauntings that tour guides and guests have experienced.

During this tour, I learned that William Winters, whose room we would be occupying that night, had been shot outside the house and had managed to make it to the seventeenth step before dying in his wife’s arms. On the positive side, no one has really reported any haunting incidents in our room. By this time in the tour, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to wake up to a ghost in my room. See one, yes, but not one staring at me while I slept.

After our tour, we explored the grounds in the dark. Contrary to when we drove up and the grounds were warmed by the sun and appeared serene and majestic, the dark created shadows and eeriness. It was easier to believe at night that ghosts haunted the house and grounds.

We spoke to several other guests sitting out in rockers. They’d stayed once before and had rented the entire house. Two men had showed up in the middle of the night with ghost hunting equipment, and they’d let them in to test their rooms. The stairs where William Winters had died had registered as well as the bed in a room that has been nicknamed the doll’s room after a doll that makes her way around the house, on her own.

I didn’t wake up to the party sounds at three in the morning that we were told to listen for. I was so tired from working all week that I ended up sleeping straight through the night. I didn’t even wake up for the normal creaks and noises of a house over two hundred years old.

So I still didn’t get to see a ghost. I do think that some people tend to scare themselves more than any ghosts can do. I’m content with not being scared with the whole experience.

The next morning we did the historical tour which runs during the day. I’d definitely recommend that tour. We also walked around the grounds in the daylight where things didn’t feel creepy. It was definitely an experience I’ll remember.

The William Winter's room where we stayed.

My blog was awarded the Versatile Blogger Award on October 9, 2011 by My Life, One Story at a Time. Thank you Donna. Her blog can be found at http://mylife-in-stories.blogspot.com/ She's a great friend. I do hope you stop by to visit to read about her "Lucy" adventures.

So, in receiving this award, I was given two things to do.
1) admit seven random things about myself, and 2) nominate five other versatile bloggers for this award.

I found neither very easy to do, but here goes.
1. I love reading horoscopes… sometimes just to see if they will be wrong that day.


2. I have an obsession with lipstick. At one time I had forty different shades. I’ve downgraded since due to lack of space.

3. If you want to know what mood I’m in, pay attention to what song or songs I listen to over and over. Right now Adele plays in my ipod on a continuous basis.

4. I visited a physic this year as the beginning of my list of 33 experiences for 2011. I’m still recovering.

5. I bought my first home as a single woman, and though there were comments all along the process about doing it on my own, I wouldn’t have done it any other way. I’ve completely redone the inside in terms of décor. This was an item on my list of life, not just the 33 experiences of the year.

6. I’m publishing my first book, Muddy Bayou, this year. I’ve decided to do it like everything else this year, and just take charge of the project and do it myself.

7. I love the paranormal. From Charmed, to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, to Harry Potter, I tend to enjoy the unbelievable.


These are the five blogs I finally decided upon. The process was extremely long and difficult.


http://alicepyne.blogspot.com/ Alice is a teenager with terminal cancer. She is an inspiration.

http://tere-tere.blogspot.com/ I love Tere’s funny take on everything.

http://letsmosey.wordpress.com/ Lee is someone else with a list for the year.

http://www.ahthepossibilities.com/ I love to read Sarah’s blog for her positive take on life.

http://www.karilife.com Kari writes a little bit about everything.

Experience #21 The Experience that Wasn't

I’ve always wanted to go rock wall climbing. I’d pass in front of the walls at amusement parks and wonder if I would be able to make it to the top. Of course, I never tried because I didn’t want anyone laughing if I couldn’t make it two feet off the ground. That, of course, made it the perfect item to add to my list for the year.

I decided to take the kids to Slidell Rocks, a rock climbing gym, this weekend. I’d mentioned this experience to the children, and Cara insisted that she wanted to do this one with me. Her brother, on the other hand, insisted that it was something that he only wanted to watch. I couldn’t convince anyone else to come with us, so unfortunately the experience ended up being a kids only experience. Each climber needs a spotter, and I did not have one of those.


Cara on one of her five trips to the top.





  Being the spotter for my children was an experience in itself though. Cara took to it like everything else she attempts. She pushed herself until she made it to the top, and she now proudly brags to everyone that she made it to the top five times. Andrew did it as he does everything… hesitantly. We were in the gym nearly an hour before he’d try a harness line climb, and the only way to get him above the yellow line (the line you have to wear a harness above) was to bribe him with ice cream. He never made it to the top, a fact his sister has reminded him of in visual graph form, but I’m proud of him for even trying with his intense fear of heights.


Andrew about to reach the yellow line
that he will only push his head right over.



They have both decided they want to return to the gym, so we are planning a second visit. This next time though I want to be a climber as well as the spotter. So I’ve decided I need to look early for that person who thinks they can keep up with this list as I hurry to the finish line. The qualifications are simple. 1) Positive support 2) No laughing, even if I only get two feet in the air 3) No backing out.

I also have a few other things on my list for the year that we can talk about. Leave a message if you’re interested.

Andrew hanging upside down like Spiderman.



Cara not wanting to be outdone by big brother.

Experience #20 Dinner Experiment

When throwing a dinner party, one should probably experiment with the recipes before the night of the party. One should also remember that you don’t need to have the wine because guests usually bring wine to the party. And of course, dinner party will be successful with all that wine flowing anyway, so it turns out, one may not need to worry about the food all that much.

This weekend I hosted my first ever couple’s dinner party. I always imagined having good friends who’d show up and have a good time over my extravagantly set table that utilizes all my dishes. It seems I’ve finally reached that point.

I’ve had many parties before. When it comes to the cooking though, I wouldn’t advise anyone to try my method. It requires more luck than skill, and luckily that seems to be what I have. I choose random recipes on the internet that sound appealing to me, but then when I don’t like the ingredients, I don’t add them. I do improvise and add in whatever I think I’d like though.

I ended up serving my guests seafood fondue as an appetizer. It was my favorite dish of the night, and the recipe did have a fair amount of tweaking involved. I also served Jack Daniels chicken, pineapple rice, salad, and dinner rolls. I couldn’t find a recipe for the pineapple rice that I liked, so I just made the whole thing up.

Luckily, no one got hurt (i.e. food poisoning) in the process.

Each couple arrived with a bottle of wine, and we opened three bottles for the seven guests. The conversation flowed as freely as the wine, and everyone had a great time. It was a unique blend of friends. People from all different backgrounds and different points in their lives laughing and conversating. This variety is what makes my life so rich. I do not have to search far for someone to have a similar experience I can draw from or for someone to seek out my advice on my own experiences.

I truly have the greatest friends. (And it doesn’t hurt that they’ll eat my food experiments and tell me they are delicious.)

After doing all those dishes from my table where I’d spared no dish, I did regret not having a dish washer, but I’m already looking forward to hosting another dinner party. Dishes be damned.



My version of Cheesy Shrimp Fondue

1 can tiny shrimp- drained
1 can crab meat (or the real Southern version I was lucky enough to have a brother-in-law peeled
2 packages cream cheese
1 can condensed cream of shrimp soup
1 cup sour cream (I put half of the large container- I didn’t feel like measuring)
½ tsp. salt ( I also added a bit of pepper here)
1/8 tsp. garlic powder
Dash (or several... Who am I kidding? Everyone knows I like hot stuff) of hot sauce
½ tsp. of Worcestershire sauce
A bit of Louisiana seasoning

Combine cream cheese, sour cream, and can of shrimp soup; warm. Add all the seasonings. Heat over low heat until smooth; stir occasionally. Add shrimp and crab; heat thoroughly. Serve with Tostitos.