To my dearest readers:

The new year is mere days away. What will 2018 hold for you? I can tell you what it will not hold for me--the past. To some degree, the past is always with us, informing our context for the major (and minor) decisions we make in our lives. But, we sometimes keep the past in our present, too. It's where we live, even if we don't always see it. 

I'm no different than anyone else. When a trauma occurs, it sticks with me. Usually, for years. That's pretty much how human psychology works. Some are just better at lying and/or pretending everything is fine when it's anything but. As we wrap up the "joys" of the holiday season and welcome 2018, it is a great time to mentally leave the past behind. You learn from the interactions recorded in your past; it's invaluable to your future survival. But it can hold us back. Keep us stuck. Mired in a swamp of our own creation.

It is frightening to let go of the familiar and face the unknown 2018 will bring without the comfort of our safety-net--or, our past. Our identities are built around our past--who we are, where we have been--so it's difficult to separate the self from what defines it. That's the crux of the issue right there--our pasts are not who we are. Nor does the past determine where we can (or, will) go in the future. The past is simply context or background. We are who we have always been. Past experience may make a person more open or closed, but ultimately, you are who you were your entire life. My lived experience has deepened my compassion, helped me to put fear aside and take responsibility for who I am and what I want. But, my basic temperament has not changed for as long as I can remember my own thoughts. As a writer, it's easier for me to see that. My diction may change. Hopefully, my grammar improves. But those are minor things. My content--the stuff that really matters--is eerily similar today to what I was writing seven or eight years ago. Even ten years ago. And, long before that as well....

For the record, let me just say that no one from my past is ever the focus of my work. I write creative nonfiction. It centers on not just me, but the world around me. That can sometimes be confusing to anyone who wants to see themselves in my essays. Good writing is relatable writing. My words resonate with lots of people, but most understand that just because a piece is relatable, it does not also mean it's related to a given individual.

We all have experiences with toxic or abusive types in our lives. If you're kind and compassionate, you have had more than those who aren't. That's why the moment a person betrays my trust, I'm done. It took me a long time to learn that lesson. "Done" doesn't mean I stop feeling the pain of betrayal or the grief from loss; it just means the person who caused both is barred from taking an active role in my life.

People who create problems can NEVER be the solution. Though I often write about second chances in love, those opportunities only exist between two mature, responsible adults who continue to love, respect and care for each other in the physical world, even after the initial relationship has ended. I'm talking about real love, real care--like making sure the person you supposedly loved is still alive and stays that way.

I am in no way accountable for the irresponsible, short-sighted behavior of others. None of us are. So, why should anyone feel the need to apologize for defending your own well-being? For me, the reasons are (mostly) related to gender. I'm a woman and men expect me to give and give and give, and let them take and take and take. If you're not in my life--man or woman--it is because you acted in a way that was ruthless, cruel and deceitful. I cannot afford to care about people who willfully put me in any position that compromises my home, my safety, my health, and/or my well-being. No one can. To expect me to do something no other human can do is perhaps a clue you have lost your perspective. 

Life is too short to waste time on (or with) those who have proven a consistent inability to show genuine love and care. That's the theme for my upcoming 2018 writings...leaving the past where it belongs so you can stop the self-sabotage and move on to the big, bright, beautiful future 2018 promises.

Part of how any of us move forward is by reflecting on our own lives. Look at who has really helped you move your life ahead. Be honest about it when you do. If the people you are currently with are not on that list, you need to find a new tribe. And, please be mindful that anyone who offers real-life financial support, love and care is a very RARE person indeed--that's not the kind of person you replace. It's the kind of person you need to move forward.   

I strongly encourage everyone reading this to live your best life in 2018. To stop letting your past dictate your future. I am on the same journey, if not the same path. I have allowed a situation from two-and-a-half years ago to a/effect certain decisions that subsequently hurt my life. No more. The remaining consequences connected to what can only be described as a nightmare will be addressed (and eliminated) in 2018. I have already removed most of the related negatives from my world--including negative people. But, it hasn't been easy. To make it easier for each of you, dear readers, here are five truths that I learned in the last 25-years about human-relationships--may they help you through whatever social maze you face and strengthen you for the year ahead:

1. Anyone who says they're a friend but never really makes the time to be there isn't a  friend, and never will be. 

-My life took me far from people I cared about. Today, there are still those who expect me to be there for them even though they have yet to make ANY efforts to come and see me...in nearly a quarter of a century. I can't afford to fret over people like that anymore. My many efforts throughout the decades to stay connected mean absolutely nothing. I'm like a piece of furniture--I only matter at their convenience. Guess that means I'm only convenient when I visit you, organize celebrations for you, attend your events, send you expensive gifts, and spend money I don't have to recognize the fact that you aren't really in my life outside of my doing what you want when you want, and all while pretending not to be a human being with needs...because that just makes you uncomfortable. If I died tomorrow, I'm not even sure I'd be worth a sympathy card. If a person doesn't care enough to visit while you're alive, chances are slim they'll care more at your death. Never a happy thought, but a bit of a relief to understand that it's really not you...it's them.      

2. Anyone who sees another through jealousy or envy or desire isn't a friend, and never will be.

-My lack of real friendships with men who aren't old enough to be my father, or at least an older brother, comes to mind. I have a guy-pal from my teen years who is still my friend and always will be. We never dated and that might be part of the secret to our long-term success. Ours is more of a sibling-relationship. He once let me talk to him about my love-life for multiple hours on a drive from Atlanta to Tampa. I must have sounded insane, but he never judges me and is always there. We both have our own families and have been supportive of each other all the way through since we were 15. I was sad to have missed an important event for his oldest just a month or so before that long phone call, but he knew that if I could have made it there, I would have. Ironically, we were both born with the same last name yet we aren't related--though it certainly feels like we are, at least at the soul. Every other guy-friend has ultimately proven to be some form of stalker, or wanting to cheat with me, include me in a threesome, or foursome, or just use me in some way--usually for sex. One guy actually had the gall to tell me it might be worth it for me to help him cheat because I'd get some great conversations and lovely lunches. Dude, I'm not cheating with your old, married-ass for any reason. How dare you think yourself so high-and-mighty that lunch and conversation is all I need to agree to hurting myself and others. Let me just say, for the record, I have had a Fortune 500 CEO offer to fly me to his beach house on Kiawah Island, as well as offers of all kinds for other expensive, fun gifts from men who were better looking and more famous than you--including fucking movie stars--and I still said, "NO." I'm not for sale and never will be. It's a good thing to know about yourself. It's also good to know that you can see manipulative jerks for who they really are, regardless of the size of their *ahem* bank accounts. I don't care what you have or don't have--the moment any man asks more from me than he asks of himself is the moment that man reveals his true character. Or rather, lack thereof. You can't bully people into fucking you, or, loving you. And, trying to bully or buy a woman into doing either just makes you a scumbag. 

3. Anyone who says you cannot be the person you want to be, or live the life you're willing to work for, is not a friend, and never will be.

-There are plenty of people out there cheering for me to fail. Some come from within my own circle, too. I'm the friend, sister, aunt, and daughter who listens without judgment, who gently tries to get you to see things from a different perspective, who loves you unconditionally, even when you say or do hurtful things. I'm there for family, friends and strangers alike. When I have failures, it's typically connected to social disadvantages--like being handicapped. I actually had people in my family tell me it was my fault for being disabled--that I could have (and should have) done more to "fix it." Ugh. Blaming the victim--still alive and well in 21st century America. When you have a brain tumor located in your motor cortex, you will have irreparable motor-damage. There's no rewiring either. Because, it was not just damage to that area of the brain. Part of the motor cortex had to be removed with the tumor. It was a hardcore decision I hoped wasn't going to be necessary--but I kind of felt choosing life over death was the right choice. It wasn't easy to know I wouldn't be the same, but despite my "handicap," I still stood on stage with Hollywood icons, didn't I? I still performed my comedy in front of 75,000 people in a weekend. I can still ride a stationary bike for 20 miles a day. Still push and pull hundreds of pounds at the gym. And, I'm also sexy-as-fuck. My "disability" is only a problem for other people--not for me. Nothing can or will stop me from achieving personal and professional goals...sure, you can slow me down if you choose not to give me a chance because I walk with a bit of a limp, but again, that's not my disconnect. It's yours.  

4. Anyone who says and does things designed to manipulate is not a friend, and never will be.

-Don't you just love it when you bend over backwards for people, yet it's somehow never good enough? "Thanks for that ridiculously expensive gift...did you know you have some really unattractive feature you can't change? Not that it matters." Riiiggghhhttt. I'm old enough now not to let side-swipes throw me off balance, but it's still aggravating to have to navigate around something like that. It sticks to you, like an old piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe. Of course, it's meant to. Meant to create feelings of insecurity. Meant to create trouble. Cause a fight. Emotional click-bait. Yay! Aren't people wonderful??? So wonderful. About as wonderful as going above-and-beyond to support a kid who needed it through college, graduate school and beyond, then, have him discard you because it was more convenient to do so. Or, treat a younger friend like a sister--going on shopping sprees, fancy lunches, even letting her inherit pieces of your jewelry--only to have her ignore you and every kind thing you ever did, again, for no real reason outside of the fact it was somehow easier for her. What a waste. But trash will always throw you away. Count it as a blessing. Even though it hurts. You may not have completely dodged their bullet, but at least you no longer fruitlessly toil for the benefit of ingrates. You can now choose to spend your time, energy and money on people who deserve it. 

5. Anyone who actively sabotages efforts to move your life forward--even if it's with a smile--is not a friend. And, sadly, never will be.

-Maybe it's an acquaintance, a relative, or a romantic partner. Perhaps a boss, a colleague, or someone you don't even know stalking you on social media. No matter what you do to move your life forward, someone is always there to tear you down--one way or another. Your savings gets drained by a thief. Your credit is destroyed by a con-man. Your chances of happiness, murdered by a criminal. You recover from two major bouts of high-grade cancer, going on to help everyone you meet, give massive amounts of love and affection and light to the world, only to have the people you care for most make your life more difficult than it needs to be. Instead of helping you, you get roadblocks. Usually financial. Demands on your time, your energy and your limited resources--which you must give or risk being discarded. But, you'll find that even when you give, you can still be discarded. People who want to sabotage you also sabotage themselves. Being a social saboteur is a passive-aggressive move typically engineered by narcissists. Any time you are able to identify a narcissist in your life--it's an opportunity to do some discarding yourself. Dump the toxic waste posing as a human being and hope the river of life carries it out to sea, far away from you and all you care about. Be grateful to be free of a negative person and never, ever look back.

You have to choose you first. One step at a time, one day at a time. Bad things can and will happen, but when they do, you can approach it with gratitude instead of attitude and find the solution in any problem. I've been more discerning in the people I choose to spend my time with. And, I'm much, much happier as a result. Instead of worrying about a person who doesn't, won't and can't appreciate me, I just use the silence left by their absence to listen for a heartbeat that is steady and true. That means I get opportunities to live and love in ways that would never have been possible otherwise. And, despite the difficulty, despite the pain, I'd call that a win. 

The year 2018 is an "11" year. I am an "11." The number means Awakening. Unconditional Love. How those things will manifest in your life is up to you--not me. But I will be bringing all of the above to EVERYONE who reads my words. Words have power beyond this physical existence. Words can remind you of your wings, or, lack thereof. Words help you travel through time, reach beyond the stars, and into that place that has yet to even happen.

My words are my Light...and my Light is infinite. It reaches out to millions of people around the globe in more than 119 countries, all speaking different languages but wanting the same thing:

Love. Life. And the courage to live both.

You shall have it. If you need to leave your country, your city, your region to do so, you will find the opportunities you need and work hard to make them manifest in your life. This is YOUR year. For, it is my year, and I wish to use it to make yours better. Feel my hand reach through your screen to your chest. Take a deep breath. Heal. The Light within you is as infinite as mine.

You can have faith in any god, live in any country, be any ethnicity or gender, love whoever you want to love--I do not require you to change yourselves at all. I only require that you believe. Believe in yourself. You have the ability to completely change your world. To shape it anyway you want. No matter what others do to stop you. No matter what obstacles are pushed into your path. It is within you as it is within me. 

Let Kindness be your guide. Compassion, your constant companion. Unconditional Love will protect you. Even in the darkest, deepest hole, you will feel my Light pull you up and out--something we can only do because that same Light is also inside of you.

Happy, healthy 2018 to every good soul connected to mine on this planet. The bad ones don't matter. Only we matter.

It's time you let yourself shine....

Sending positive energy--

RAH

"Experience a connection beyond words."

That's the tagline for the latest cinematic (and artistic) triumph from Guillermo del Toro. The Shape of Water makes every other commercial release this holiday season look like fecal matter. Everything from the impassioned performances to the cinematography, to the soundtrack, to the writing and character development were, in a word, perfection. As was the way the "connection beyond words" was portrayed.

Have you ever experienced it? A connection so intense, you don't even have to be in the same room--perhaps not even on the same planet--to feel the soul on the other end. To be linked so deeply, there is absolutely nothing that can or will deter it. Not time. Not distance. Not difference. Nothing.

I've felt it. Or rather, feel it.  And, perhaps because of that connection, del Toro's ability to capture real love made a real impact.

I grew up watching old black-and-white "monster" movies, where the true monsters were the humans, and the soul who appeared to be "different" had more humanity than any of our sad lot. The Shape of Water took those early film-explorations of the human condition and expanded it times one-thousand. I sat in the theatre, floored by how what is essentially a modern fairy-tale (set during the 20th century space-race between the States and Russia), gently coerced me to reflect on my life today, now perilously perched on the edge of 2018. When the film ended, as all the best things must in our physical existence, I realized something about myself that few movies have the ability to show their audience:

The truth.

Circumstances beyond our control happen. But how we think and feel--regardless of what's going on--is the one thing we can control. The exception is the human heart. We never control it. We love who we love, and when we truly love, it never ends. Most people just lie about that--"that" being the heartbreak that seems to fade but it's not actually gone. We just get better at burying it. Ego and pride are often to blame. More's the shame. Because ego and pride can't satisfy your heart or your soul, or, your body. Nor can either sever the invisible thread that connects two hearts. Although, sometimes that "thread" feels more like galvanized cable. Unyielding. Unbending. Unbreakable.

My grandmother had this saying she would try to translate into English from German, "ein Herz fuhlt ein Herz," or, "a heart feels a heart." It sounds similar in Yiddish. The biggest difference is that Yiddish is spelled with Hebrew letters and German isn't. My grandmother's words seemed to echo in the theatre as I experienced The Shape of Water in the same way I experienced the shape of love. A shape I miss. A shape that leaks out of my eyes and into my dreams when I'm no longer in control of my thoughts, or apparently, my feelings.

Love is the only thing worth shedding a tear over. There is no greater pain, outside of losing a child. When you give real love, you give a piece of yourself--a piece you can never get back. It's like walking around with a gaping hole in your chest. If you've never felt that, then you have never really been in love. You may feel love for many people. Deep care, respect, and general gratitude in finding another who can make you smile and laugh and dream. Those elements are part of being in love, too, but it also includes something more as well. Something beyond words. For, when you truly fall in love, there is no undoing it--try as we might.

What do you do when the monster you love disappears below the surface without you? We all can't be as "lucky" as Elisa Esposito, del Toro's protagonist. Elisa is portrayed in a stunning  display of performance-art by British-born actress (of Irish descent), Sally Hawkins--who has been previously nominated for Academy, BAFTA and Oscar awards. Hawkins actually won the Golden Globe for Best Actress for her role in Happy-Go-Lucky (2008), written and directed by Mike Leigh. Her portrayal of Elisa Esposito has already earned Hawkins another Golden Globe nomination as Best Actress. As award-season unfolds, Hawkins will likely earn even more accolades.

In The Shape of Water, Hawkins plays a woman who can hear but cannot speak. She uses sign language throughout the film to communicate. I speak ASL, or American Sign Language, and taught college students at the National Technical Institute for the Deaf (NTID). One of the biggest complaints was the lack of representation of Deaf-culture in American pop culture. Television series like "Switched at Birth," and "America's Next Top Model," have made small strides in that area. And, while Elisa Esposito is not Deaf, having the star of a film of this caliber communicate primarily through sign language  was a wonder to both see and experience, as was Octavia Spencer's supporting role.

Spencer's talent for conveying strong yet vulnerable characters with big personalities knows no bounds. Also nominated for a Golden Globe for her role as Zelda Fuller in The Shape of Water, this Academy Award, Golden Globe, SAG, and BAFTA-winning actress brings a sense of realness to women's lives. Every girl needs a friend like Octavia Spencer plays on screen.

Richard Jenkins, who many recognize from HBO's "Six Feet Under" (2001-2005), but who I loved in films like Burn After Reading (2008) and Let Me In (2010), plays Giles, a struggling artist from the LGBTQIA community, and Elisa's well-meaning next door neighbor. One of the tastier story highlights for his character creates art out of the difference between what we see, and what lies beneath.

We have all loved "monsters," or at least, I hope that's the case. I hope there are many more than not who see the beauty in a person others see as "ugly" or "scary" or "strange." What's on the surface is often deceiving. As is how we see ourselves. I once knew a man who saw an "obese ogre" when he looked in the mirror. But anyone else who looked at him easily saw a variation of Thor. That was the big difference in my experience with loving a monster--because my monster believed himself to be monstrous, he became monstrous. In all the other fairytales about loving monsters, it is the outside that creates unfounded fear; the inside is far more humane than any human can possibly muster.

I think this movie will have me shedding more than one tear over more than one day. Some mirrors can't be ignored. Because, what is reflected back at us is so surprisingly real, shocked, we simply can't look away.

I can't look away. Complacency is a coping strategy for survival. The problem with complacency is that we get used to feeling comfortable, safe--when, in truth, we are neither. And, for every day we spend pretending to be something we're not, we die a little more...on the inside. You may not even be aware of it. You may even think yourself happy. Until you find a mirror you can't ignore, like I did in The Shape of Water. Then, you will be forced to remember why you hide beneath the soft, warm blankets of what is familiar--still shivering, but not from being cold. Or, wet.

When you have a connection beyond words, there are no words to describe the feelings of loss, of betrayal, of grief, when the physical aspect disappears beneath the surface of murky social waters that are deep and dark and dangerous. Both Elisa and her "monster" had to literally die and be reborn again in order to be together. I think it's like that in real life, too. Though, I am sorry to think it. To feel it. And most especially, to know it.  

"Unable to perceive the shape of you, I find you all around me. Your presence fills my eyes with your love. It humbles my heart. For, you are everywhere...."

Everywhere, yet nowhere. Beneath the perfect glass-like reflection of water, there is truth. 

Truth does not hide...it is we who choose not to seek it. 

#Surface

I had her in my arms. This beautiful newborn baby girl. We were  living in an old Victorian. Her bedroom was lovely, the bassinette draped in satin and lace. Glorious days upon days of my putting her in and taking her out of that bassinette passed. My family loved me. We were surrounded by supportive, caring people. Then, the haze ended and things were suddenly clear.

I went upstairs to the little bassinette, noticing the detailed pattern on the red oriental rug runner going up the middle of the creaking, oaken-steps. I didn't remember seeing red on the floor before. The walls were also a deep burgundy color. And, no lights were on. Everything was dark. Or, covered by shadow. The sunshine was streaming into the house during the "haze." Blue skies dotted with cotton-like cumulous clouds danced above green tree tops. But Emma suddenly got quiet on the monitor. And, I figured she needed a change at this point anyway. 

When I opened the door to Emma's room, it was a relief to see my baby breathing softly beneath her blanket. Emma needed to be changed. Caring for her was all that mattered. It was a bad one, too. The diaper. Very messy. So I just cooed and smiled and hummed a lullaby while cleaning her up and changing not just her diaper, but her clothes, too. She smiled and cooed back--a happy baby who followed my every movement. Emma may have been tiny, but she was so alert and engaged. So beautiful. Not just her face, but her spirit as well. Her bright eyes were blue and she had these impossibly long lashes. When she smiled, she shined...and so did her eyes. Her nose was like a doll's nose, turning up with her smile. She had my smile, too. Not a lot of hair, but what was there was light. I loved the feeling of holding her in my arms. Hearing her little sounds. Smelling her baby-smell. And, the warmth and weight of her in my arms...pure heaven.

After we spent time with family in the kitchen, Emma's beautiful blues were getting heavy; she was ready for another nap. I carefully carried her back up the stairs. It was odd to be so at home in a home I'd never seen before, yet,  it was somehow my house. Having just changed her, Emma was dry and comfortable, and after nursing, was fast asleep. I laid her sweet head  in that gorgeous bassinette. Touched her soft cheek, then turned to leave her room. But as I closed the door to her bedroom, two men who had hidden themselves somewhere in the house, made themselves known.

One might imagine fear being my response. But you would have to have lived my life to understand why finding criminals in my home was not exactly a surprise, nor was it something that even made me flinch. I simply started walking down the stairs and called over my shoulder, "I've made some home-made mac-n-cheese if you want to come down and join me."

Needless to say, the two strangers followed me down and whatever their plan was, it seemed  to have been forgotten. They left and I went up to check on Emma. She was still sleeping. I moved her blanket but, this time, it wasn't Emma. It was a doll.

Panicked, I went all over the house, searching for my baby. My family was helping me. We managed to find the two vagrants who had threatened me and my child. Southerners, both of them. Neither were familiar to me. One was short with dark hair. The other, big, blonde and bearded, wearing a baseball cap. The two led me on a wild goose chase for my daughter. False leads, children who weren't mine, and finally, I very calmly, and with total precision, choked the big one after disabling the little one. The larger of the two laughed at first, until my knee began crushing his larynx. No more sound after that. He was only able to get out one last, whispered thought, "She's with my great-grandmother."

From the way he said it, I knew his great-grandmother was dead. That meant my daughter was, too.



All of the above was part of the dream I had before waking this morning. It made no sense that the two men I had diverted from committing a crime somehow still managed to rip away everything that mattered. I didn't understand how or when they did what they did; my family and I were there the whole time. We never left the house. Emma was safe. She was in her bassinette--I put her there myself. I protected her. How was it that she could still be taken away??? It all happened so fast, I couldn't seem to wrap my brain around how any of it was possible, let alone probable.  

My dreams have been post-apocalyptic lately, and rarely in English. I'm often helping children and families get to safety or find  shelter. The other day, I was dreaming in French. The night before last, in Latin. The mind of a polyglot, I suppose. I've dreamt in German, Hebrew and Aramaic, too. And, languages beyond memory. But my dream this morning is not hard to translate. I lost the real Emma in 2014 and it wasn't from natural causes. If I had supportive people around me at the time, I may have been able to have achieved a modicum of closure. Maybe. But since that wasn't the case, my brain continues to work on the problem.

In the dream, I wasn't angry, surprised or scared. It felt "normal" to have to deal with what would otherwise be considered terrifying circumstances. By the way, my dream-family was the cast from Gilmore Girls. Kind of sad, actually. I woke when I realized my daughter was dead, but not before seeing the man responsible pay for his crime.

Patience, consistency and a calm demeanor always leads to victory over your oppressors, even if that victory is not the way you imagined it to be. We have but one month remaining in 2017. One month. That's not enough time to make up for the pitfalls we've experienced before today. But it is enough time to decide that, no matter what pitfalls come before us in the future, we will not be victims--even if victimized. We will not be reactive. We will be proactive. 

Let no one minimize who you are. You are more powerful than you may want to believe. It is frightening to acknowledge the divine being within...I know. But once you do, those who are enemies will fall. Not at your hand either. The Universe has a way of taking care of the obstacles when you allow your connection to manifest  in your every day life. Self-awareness is how that connection happens. Meaning, one must avoid violence and abuse by choosing compassion over judgment, kindness over cruelty and solutions over problems--not just most of the time, ALL of the time. Mindfulness maintains your connection through diligent practice of honor-based ethics informing how you live each moment of each day for the rest of yours on the planet. It's not easy, and can be extremely frustrating, until you remember who you really are; outside of the linear existence forced by your physicality, you are light. Light is love. It is warmth. Hope. New beginnings. Growth. Strength. Sustenance. Renewal. Grace. And, most important of all...heart. 

Your momentum (or lack thereof) is 100% up to you--and I'm speaking directly to the good people in this world. To those of you who are destined to find your wings, you must never give up on yourselves, or, the world. Even when our nightmares come true. In order to move forward after trauma, it helps to know that the "bad guys" will not have the opportunity to hurt us again. Unfortunately, human-justice is woefully inadequate. That is why karma exists. Not to punish, but to repair the inequities. I can tell you with complete certainty that the people who deserve it, eventually find the wrong side of the wrong knee. Every. Single. One.

That's the real meaning of my dream. Even after unfathomable loss, we can reclaim agency over our lives. We have to. For, if we do not resist the social resistance, speak out against the silence, and fight for our very lives--who will show the next generation what winning truly looks like? Who will lead the new-born angels-on-earth to heal the world??? There is no one but us, so we must step up, stand up, and move our physical bodies forward...no matter what.

#Baby

New Orleans...is  there anywhere better? It's a rhetorical question. Because, "Nawlins" is absolutely the most unique city in the United States. The culture, the people, the music, the architecture...and, oh my, the food!!!. I was lucky enough to visit the-city-with-a-soul during New Orleans' 300th birthday bash, but the trip wasn't just about helping the city blow out her candles.

New Orleans has always felt like home to me. Other cities have made me feel at home--no question--like my beloved Hotlanta. Just being in Atlanta gives me such a charge of positive energy (and it's not just the excess of sugar in the sweet tea!). Home of Hip-Hop, the Dirty South is probably the place where I have spent the happiest moments of my life. But Nawlins...she just keeps finding ways of bringing me back again and again and again, and, oh yes, again.

Anyone else need a cigarette???

Walking the streets of "Vieux Carre," literally, "Old Square" in French, is as familiar as the back of my hand. I really can't explain it. I just know where I am. I can walk from the lower Garden District all the way to Jackson Square in the same way a lost dog finds its way home. The French Quarter is infamous for Bourbon Street, of course, but it has amazing architecture and a truly unique history that goes well beyond Mardi Gras beads being thrown down from its balconies. My picture was taken a few days ago in Vieux Carre at the first "Reveillon" of the season. A smattering of restaurants in Nawlins still serve this traditional four-course Creole Christmas meal during the month of December. And, it is truly awesome!

The word "reveillon" means "awakening." A Reveillon was typically served after midnight-mass on Christmas Eve. I always serve one--though I'm neither French  nor Creole, nor did I grow up anywhere near Nawlins. This year, my menu includes grilled pear on field greens topped with caramelized pecans and a maple-balsamic vinaigrette for the first course; second course is my home-made mac-n-cheese topped with herbed sourdough croutons; third is fresh buttermilk waffles and chicken fritters served with spicy red-jambalaya; the fourth and final course is Bouche de Noel, a chocolate cake shaped like a log from a Christmas tree decorated with marzipan mushrooms, flowers and chocolate ganache bark. I'll also have a "tree" of multi-colored Parisian-macarons--a common fixture of many a Reveillon. I'm really excited to create the feast in a few weeks. Especially after having had a traditional Reveillon in the city where it all began....

Whenever Nawlins brings me back, the first thing I do is head to my favorite spot for Zydeco. More Creole-tradition! It's a unique music-style that incorporates instruments like a fiddle, guitar, drums, accordion, even a "vest frottoir," a kind of washboard made of corrugated steel, worn over the shoulders and chest of the musician. This lovely older couple is always there, dancing a two-step and getting everyone out of their seats to join in. Every year I go, the band leader never fails to ask me the same question, "Hey 'der, you doin' good! Wha' happen t'you?"

He's referring to my leg. I can't exactly float around the dance floor but I do love to dance, especially to live Zydeco, and I usually catch the eye of the band leader and, of course, the man behind the fiddle (we've had a thing for years and years and he always smiles big when I unexpectedly show up at my usual table). 

George Rodrigue's "Blue Dog" looks on approvingly as I explain why I walk with a limp:

"Why, y'all know I'm the loup garou who chewed off her own paw to be free...."

That always gets a laugh. I throw some money in the tip jar and the music starts back up. In the meantime, brioche bread pudding absolutely drowning in vanilla-maple sauce is brought to my table. I never can fit more than three bites in, but man, is it a delectable three bites.   

This year was a particularly fun time because I was there along with the Carolina Panthers. The guys are all so nice, many of whom brought their families. The kids loved to "help" me with the elevator and getting to my room while at our hotel, and yes, there was even a little pre-game chat with the head coach on Sunday morning--not that it helped. Saints still took the day with their home-field advantage.   

#WhoDat!

New Orleans is so much more than a city...she actually breathes. I feel her in the rows of the ancient cemeteries lined with lichen-dotted mausoleums. Hear her in the rustling of dried magnolia leaves along her brick-laden sidewalks. See her in the street art that abounds on buildings in the vibrant Garden District, where a shotgun is a house, not a weapon. Smell her as I stroll beneath thousand-year old oaks in City Park with outstretched branches hanging low with Spanish moss. Touch her in a secret courtyard hidden behind tall gates in the French Quarter, the fountain of youth tucked amidst lemon trees and flowering vines of all varieties. Christ's shadow rises up on St. Louis Basilica at night amidst the revelry of Bourbon Street, as jazz from Fritzel's floats in and around my eardrum like a lullaby, and tourists walk with cups spilling over with alcohol, their gaudy Mardi Gras beads in metallic purples, golds and greens catching the light as they avoid the homeless man singing for a few coins near the market on the corner of Dauphine and Toulouse.

Laissez les bon temps rouler....

Helping New Orleans celebrate her 300th birthday was a  real honor and true pleasure. As always, I am humbled and grateful to have had the opportunity and look forward to returning again. I never know when the-city-with-a-soul will call me back home, but she always does.

And, I shall always answer.

#300

*All photos are Copyright Rebecca Housel 2017