Befitting a Princess

On April 3rd, my niece Athena and her honey Spencer came face to face with their destiny. After nine long months, Dakota Lynn Sticker was finally born. My “baby” niece is a mommy, and I have a goddaughter. That kid makes me deliriously happy. I just can’t explain it. I mean, look at me. . . well, ignore the fact that I left straight from work to drive an hour across Lake Ponchatrain and am wearing no makeup, am still in my work clothes, and look like a hot mess.
She’s perfect, she’s beautiful, she’s gorgeous, she’s smart, and yes, I am completely and utterly biased. But I’m supposed to be. I’m her godmother. It’s my job. Really, it is. I read the manual. Unfortunately, the magic wand must have gotten lost in the mail, so I have no superpowers like princess Aurora’s fairy godmothers had. Guess we’ll just have to make do.

I'm engaged! Last week I went to Denver to see Jakob and we took a mini-vacation to Estes Park, Colorado. One night we went to dinner at Cascades, the restaurant at the Stanley Hotel (of Stephen King fame - it was the inspiration for "The Shining"), and he proposed. Obviously, I said yes. Since then, I've been reading bridal magazines and even subscribed to a blog called Weddingbee. I have no idea what kind of dress I want or what our colors will be or pretty much anything else yet. The only thing we have decided on is our china pattern, stemware, and flatware. . . oh, and that we really want a Dyson vacuum cleaner. For more, check out "our" blog.

The 37th annual Louisiana Strawberry Festival is just around the corner. The festivities are April 11-13 this year. I realize the thought may cross one's mind that it's a bit ridiculous to devote an entire festival to a fruit, but I grew up with this annual tradition so I understand it.
Call me a country bumpkin; call me a hick, I don't care. In my opinion, there is absolutely nothing better than strawberries fresh from the field with sugar and cream. At this very moment, there is a bowl of sliced strawberries in my refrigerator, marinating with sugar. In a few hours, they will be ready for me to pour cream over them and enjoy.
Like most small town festivals, the Strawberry Festival is more about re-connecting with old friends than celebrating a type of fruit or vegetable. Don't get me wrong - the food is incredible, and strawberry wine is delicious, but the real draw is never knowing who you may run into when you go... your favorite teacher, the first boy you ever loved, the girl you sat next to in chem class.
So before you write off our Strawberry Festival as unworthy of your time or hokey or just downright dumb, consider the old friends you can see or the new ones you may make.

Almost a year after Katrina, New Orleans Times-Picayune photographer John McCusker is so haunted by the devastation he photographed in the aftermath of the powerful hurricane that he attempted "suicide by cop" this past Tuesday. When the staff of the newspaper relocated to a remote newsroom in Baton Rouge after the New Orleans facility flooded last year, Mr. McCusker refused, instead swimming through debris while managing to keep his photography equipment out of the flood waters, and then took photos, some of which helped make the tragedy real for the rest of America. His heroic work has helped the people of New Orleans by putting faces with the stories for the rest of the country, but was the price too great? For months, he lived with the images of the misery he had photographed and with the reality of having lost all his possessions, his family home, and his neighborhood to the storm.
"In an episode that began as a traffic stop for erratic driving, the authorities say, Mr. McCusker was halted once, pinned a police officer between cars by backing up, then fled and drove into several cars and construction signs in the Uptown neighborhood before being stopped again and finally subdued with a Taser gun. In both stops, the police say, he begged officers to shoot him, telling them he did not have enough insurance money to rebuild his home in the Gentilly neighborhood and wanted to die." (Susan Saulny, NY Times)
Fortunately, officers recognized that desperation had driven him to what can only be described as a suicide attempt - by an admittedly unusual weapon, a NOPD issued pistol in the hands of an officer. Instead of killing him, officers took him into custody. As of Wednesday, he sits in a jail cell on suicide watch, under the supervision of a physician, charged with reckless operation of a vehicle and hit & run driving.
Louisiana's psychiatric professionals number less than half what they did before hurricane Katrina; less than 65 beds are available for adult psychiatric patients; no psychiatric crisis intervention unit was available to accept Mr. McCusker at the time of his arrest. His friends are just grateful he's somewhere safe where he can't hurt himself or anyone else instead of sitting in an overcrowded emergency room where the wait can last for days just to see a doctor.
I sincerely wish for John McCusker's recovery & perhaps even his return to the Times-Picayune news team. Even if he chooses not to return to news, he is a great asset to the city of New Orleans. We are all grateful to you, Mr. McCusker, for giving of yourself for us in the face of such monumental loss. We owe you a debt of gratitude which we can never repay.

To read the New York Times coverage of this story, written by Susan Saulny, go to After Long Stress, Newsman in New Orleans Unravels - New York Times

George G. Vest once said "The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog. . . He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. . . .When all other friends desert, he remains."
My dog Max has been sick for a couple of days now, and under the instructions of the vet, we didn't feed him for 24 hours. He could have all the water he wanted, but no food, no treats. Although Max is without fail very subtle in telling me what he wants - when he wants to go outside, when he's hungry, when he's ready to leave the park - I've gotten used to his signals. It tore me up inside for him to want something to eat and not be able to give him anything. He just had dinner though - something the vet gave us for him.
I worry too much about him sometimes. One time I even took him to the afterhours vet clinic because he was acting like there was something wrong and his nose wasn't cold & wet. Needless to say, there was nothing wrong with him. I'd be a neurotic mother - guess it's a good thing I don't plan to have kids.

Check out EepyBird's Diet Coke & Mentos extravaganza. The dynamic duo, Fritz Grobe & Stephen Voltz, uses 100 two-liter bottles of the popular beverage & over 500 Mentos candies, creating their very own (Nutra)sweet version of the fountains at the world famous Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas.
EepyBird.com - Extreme Diet Coke and Mentos Experiment: ""

On December 7, 1978, the 126 foot Falstaff tower weather ball went dark. The lighted sign sat atop New Orleans' Falstaff brewery, serving as a weather beacon to the surrounding area as well as an advertising venue for the company. Atop the seven story building sits the tower, vertically proclaiming FALSTAFF on each side with a sphere atop. This unique addition to the building was first lit August 1, 1952 at exactly 8pm with U.S. Weather Bureau meteorologist, the renowned and highly beloved Dr. Isaac Monroe Cline and New Orleans Mayor deLesseps “Chep” Morrison on hand. The folks at Falstaff informed the public that the tower's lights would indicate the forecast for the following day.
The ball would light up green if fair, red if cloudy, red and white if raining, and flashing red and white if storms were approaching. The letters spelling out “Falstaff” signaled the temperature; they flashed on and off if the temperature was constant and lit from top to bottom if temperatures were falling, and from bottom to top if rising. The lights served the people of New Orleans for twenty-six years until the brewery closed.
In early 2003, the tower had a brief rebirth when then-owner Mickey Boes turned the lights on again in an attempt to draw attention to the building, hoping to lure a buyer to breathe new life into the long-abandoned building. Future unclear for old Falstaff brewery Modern Brewery Age - Find Articles
Perhaps someone took the bait so to speak. In June 2006, Theodore “Tad” Mondale, nephew of former U.S. Vice President Walter Mondale and his business partner, David Miller purchased the building for $1.1 million with plans to convert it into 150 affordable apartments.
Mondale was attracted to tower for the same reason I was - the tower & weatherball fascinate me. Nested atop the former brewery & massive sign, the ball sits 250 feet about street level, and with its simple lighting system informs thousands of people how to dress for the weather. Luckily for all of us, Mondale & Miller say they plan to give the people of New Orleans this historic icon back. The renovations are estimated to take 12 to 18 months, with the developers hoping to breakground in late 2006 or early 2007. I'll let you know when I see the light.

This afternoon, my boyfriend & I took our dog to the local dog park. After a while of playing with some of the neighborhood dogs, Flash arrived. To provide a bit of background, Flash is a basset hound "owned" by a man named Russell. In all honesty, it often seems like Russell is owned by Flash. I don't know if Flash is representative of his breed, but if so, apparently bassets are mean little devils. Now, the first time Max & Flash met, it was just before we had Max neutered and they didn't much care for each other but Russell assured us it was only because Max was un-neutered - Flash isn't neutered and only had a problem with other un-neutered dogs. Turns out he was wrong. Max had his surgery months ago and they still don't like each other and have actually gotten into a scuffle in the past.

Fortunately, both (human) parties involved had handled the situation maturely - if one of the dogs was inside the fence and the other arrived, they simply went elsewhere. Oftentimes, if we'd been there for a while, we would leave and let there other dog owner know we were leaving so they could come in, and Russell did the same. There were even a few times when both dogs were there and the second to arrive would just keep the dog on leash until the other left.

Today, however, was a different story. As my mother would say, Russell got something in his craw and without the usual pleasantries brought Flash in, at first off leash then putting him back on and walking him around the perimeter before settling down on the other side of the park.

After a while, Max followed Stitch (who he was playing with) close to them and a fight ensued.

Although I by no means claim to be an expert on canine behavior, I feel I've researched the subject enough to have a decent grasp of the subject and realize that dogs will be dogs. I also believe that we as humans have a moral and legal obligation to rise above our primitive roots and behave in a civilized manner. Before Max had gotten anywhere near Flash, I'd left my seat and started across the field to retrieve Max, so I was closer than Jakob when the fight started, but when he heard the commotion, he quickly followed.

Once I was able to see around the shrub blocking my view of Russell and Flash, I saw something that made my blood boil. That ignorant violent excuse for a human being was assaulting my dog. I'm sure some people believe my statement to be over-dramatic until they heard it was not his hand he was using to beat him or even his fist. It was a f*(king billy club.

When Russell came into the park, he wasn't carrying anything other than the leash but as he walked Flash around the fence line, Jakob had noticed he had the leash in one hand and a billy club in the other and we'd even joked with some of the other dog owners, speculating why anyone would walk their dog with a billy club and coming to the conclusion that if our dogs were as ill-mannered and badly behaved as that one, maybe a billy club wasn't such a far fetched idea. I honestly do not believe anyone there does or would ever hit their pets and although I admit Max does sometimes test my patience, neither Jakob nor I have ever raised a hand to him. At the sight of that arrogant @$$hole swinging a weapon like a professional baseball player and striking my precious pet across the back and rear legs, my blood boiled. I have been that angry very few times in my life, and it's a good thing.

Because I was closer to the altercation, I reached Max first, and the owner of three retired greyhounds who was near Russell from the beginning of it all had in the meantime grabbed Max and gotten him away from the fracas. (He seemed to think Max was the problem and told me to "get that dog out of there" but regardless, I am thankful he removed him from the blows of Russell's weapon. So I was checking Max out and out of the corner of my eye I see Jakob running over and I just knew that if I didn't stop him, at the speed he was going, he could have tackled Russell, thrown the club over the fence and probably beaten him senseless in a matter of seconds. Not that he didn't deserve it, but I didn't want to see Jakob go to jail.

Before I had a dog, I couldn't have understood his anger at this man, but now it's entirely logical. That precious creature is like our child. No matter how angry we get with one another, all it takes is that worried look in those big puppy eyes for it to be over. Max is the only one in my life who, no matter what, always looks at me with unconditional love. He never gets angry because I didn't wash the dishes or hurts my feelings because he needs a night out away from me. He's always so happy to see me when I get home and greets me at the door. He doesn't whine or beg for candy at the store or throws a temper tantrum at the grocery. He acts like I'm the most generous person in the world just for fixing his dinner. Our relationship is uncomplicated and I adore him as much as he adores me.

Honestly, Russell is lucky Jakob got to him before I did. All Jakob did was knock his beer out of his hand. I would have done much worse and there's not a person on the face of the earth who could have stopped me. My father could have, but he died nine years ago. I mean, really? What kind of person hits a dog? I think people should be locked up for beating dogs.