Camping in the living room.

Unsurprisingly, Kakes and Deeds were ready for the storm this go-round. Having sheltered 17 different people and 10 animals during Hurricane Katrina, there are sleeping bags, extremely ugly afghans knitted by my dad's patients, hotdogs by the hundreds, and a virtual computer lab set up in the back hall.

But it's just H & L, Roux, Mesa, Mr. TT, and the Farmer Family here.

It's getting windy in Baton Rouge. The power goes out easily here, and my parents are at the end of a power grid or something, so they often get power back later than everyone else. This is prepatory blogging.

I'm going to fill you in on a few pertinent details and life changes:

1. I still work at the spa. I still work a minimum of 45 hours a week, which does not include my "lunch hour" in the total. I am very fond of the people I work with. That said, it does stress me out and take up a lot of my time, and my dollars-per-anxiety minute formula fails in that respect. But I have good insurance and someday I'll earn vacation time.

2. We recently (this past Thursday) moved to a new home. I am in the process of buying a house on Laurel Street from a friend. It is a great house--we really love it. It would have been awesome to spend more than one night in it before evacuating, but it appears we'll be back there fairly soon. We are able to pur chase this house because Stephan is buying me out of the Constance Street house. I hope he is satisfied with this arrangement, because it allows each of us to have a nice residence.

3. On that note, my divorce is almost settled. For real! It's been peaceable. Sometimes I have weird dreams that Stephan is dating a women named Josie and that I am trying to evacuate on a private plane and can't reach him via cell, but mostly we communicate and share the responsibility for Hannah and Lucy and try to be good parents.

4. This summer I learned many lessons.

a. Never take the fact that the internet is public for granted.

b. Trust is something that is easy to break and hard to repair between friends.

c. It takes men approximately 15 mpw to start regaining the physiological effects of running. It takes women 35 mpw.

d. Never trust a lab not to shit in the house.

e. Sometimes flouting convention is a worthwhile choice.

f. Nike shoes actually do deflate if you break the air pocket with your fat ass.

5. Hannah is now a middle schooler. She's in the 6th grade. Lucy is a second grader. They continue to swim.

6. Mr. TT and Clark (his hairdresser amour) have broken up.

7. We don't have a new guinea pig yet.

Okay. There's more to come but the power is starting to falter here on Pikes Lane.

I hope to run this evening. I'm now going to organize my magazine clippings. I'm sure the highlight of Stephan's evacuation is that he did not have to evacuate with me clippings or NOPSI bills from college.

Peace out...text if you want to run in the 225 with me.

Weiners for everyone!

It's been a long day. I am accustomed to being the "calm" person in a crisis. Not in everyday life, but in a crisis. Today I have been a total nutcase. Seriously, between my panic attacks that I had to disguise as talkative spells and my running it's been upheaval for the spirit.

On my first run of the day I was completely unable to calm down. It was depressing, because at any other time in my life, running has soothed me. This time I kept having to remind myself to slow the eff down because I was on the verge of hyperventilation. People were boarding up homes in Baton Rouge, and I was also stuck on the Austin 2006 marathon training mix, which was selected while evacuated for Katrina. It bothered me.

So, then I came home and had several heart-to-hearts with my mom, kids, dad, Roux and basically anyone who would consent to spend 15 minutes with me. I also conducted a lot of business via text, but later realized all I did was be crotchety.

I was astonished to find my mother has a Facebook account, and I promptly requested to be her friend. She reluctantly accepted.

Later I forced my children and Shelby to come to Highland Road Park with me, where I ran a fast first loop, during which I thought to myself "It sure is dry" for about 10 minutes and then stepped into the midline of sludge that runs across the bowl before you run up to the tennis courts. Lucy ran about a half-mile with me and totally destroyed her shoes. Mine are ok, but considering they are less than a week old, are now fairly mud-splattered. It started to rain during my second loop, which mainly consisted of me cursing myself for running at a toxic pace in my earlier run and also running out of my comfort zone during the first lap of this run. But I persevered and when finished headed for Target.

Target was closed. As I drove past the Microtel Suites of Baton Rouge, I felt something was amiss. It wasn't just that I was not checking in at the Microtel Suites, it was that the traffic on Seigen was spare. That should have been a harbinger, or something equally weirdly named.

Albertson's was closed. Walgreens was closed. We wound up at a shady Tom Thumbish place buying Icees with a bankcard. There were so many 40-ounces and marjuana joints fired up that I got a total contact high and all I could thing about was Oakland '87, second set, third night. That's for Sara, if she's out there.

Now I'm at home, blogging. Helping my mom with Facebook. Watching my dad move stuff around. This afternoon they prepared hotdogs. Which, it would be good if that were a hurricane preparation, but it is not. They enjoy eating hotdogs on weekends.

I'm reading a book called "Towelhead". It's good. I'm going to end this now.

We have a lot to catch up on, internet. And not all of it is inappropriate.

"Guess I picked the wrong day to give up glue sniffing..."

Above is one of my favorite quotes from the movie "Airplane". I love the movie Airplane. I love it so much I haven't watched it in like 10 years. I'm going to rent it and watch it today.

I'm avoiding the elephant in the room. No, not that elephant, THIS elephant. The one where I explain why I stopped blogging in May. We'll get to that later. More important is why I started blogging again in August.

Goddamn Gustav. I'm back in Baton Rouge with my children pre-enrolled in school and my cat, dog and turtle, Mr. TT. We just moved into our new home on Laurel Street in New Orleans two days ago. We spent one night at home and have now evacuated to a town likely to get just as much nonsense and BS from this weather system as New Orleans, but without the part about being below sea level and surrounded by water on three sides. I'm minus a husband this time, but our divorce is going fine, thanks. Stephan flew out of New Orleans to Florida this morning and will be staying with friends.

I'm not planning to drive to Destin to deliver the kids to him this weekend, but as soon as the dust settles we'll figure out what's going on. Ideally in New Orleans, where the levees will miraculously hold.

I'm kind-of pissy right now. If you've never read my blog before, this may not be the right day to start. Hopefully my tone will improve.

And yes, I plan to run at Highland Road Park today if anyone cares to join me.

No more motorboating.

I'm so sad. This morning when I woke up I noticed that Chippy had not eaten the carrots I left for her last night. This is unusual, as even if she doesn't EAT them, she will usually fling them all over her cage. I called her name and she remained rolled tightly in a ball inside her wooden house. When I reached into get her she just snuffled a little and once I picked her up I knew something was wrong.

My immediate thought was "she's dying." In an attempt to not be a hysteric, I tried to get her to drink some water. When she wouldn't, I started to get upset. Chapter 5 in my guinea log book talked about how because guinea pigs are prey animals, they usually hide signs of illness until it is too late. Lucy woke up, found me ministering to Chippy, and completely freaked out.

We spent several hours (and lots of money) at the emergency vet hospital out in Metairie, where they saw her and said she just seemed listless and dehydrated. She got some intravenous fluids and vitamin C and they sent us home.

Horrible feeling being sent home from the hospital when it winds up this way.

We cuddled her up in her cage and Lucy went over to Colleen's house. I was in a hobbity mood because I had been holding my little guinea pig all day and I felt something inevitable coming down the pipeline. Chippy started having seizures around 3:15 pm and died between 4:30-5:00.

I really loved my little guinea pig. I never knew I would, but I did.

Needless to say, so did my children.

She's in an Yves Delorme teatowel and a shoebox right now until I can bury her tomorrow.

Trite though it may be, I'm reminded that I've often been the recipient of special little souls that come to me unearned and mark me indelibly.

Sometimes things aren't so easy to explain...

My friend Christine just got a new puppy. His name is Max and he is a Golden Doodle. His mother is a Golden Retriever and his father is a...POODLE! As a general dismisser of all things poodle, I fully expected to have to feign affection for her dog whilst gritting my teeth against my prejudice. On Wednesday night we met on the Tulane soccer fields and played with Roux and Max while Hannah and Lucy had swim practice. And I have to admit...I'm smitten. He's seven weeks old and sweet and clumsy and HALF POODLE. He looks a little like a Chesapeake Bay retriever, but with longer hair. Which he won't shed. Because poodles don't.

It's like God took the only good thing about poodles and combined it with the very best things about golden retrievers.

I suspect this is not an isolated incident.

The Big Easy Bandanas

A photo of two of the Big Easy Bandanas before our first run of the day on Monday.

Everyone we saw running the streets of Baton Rouge thought we were European.

And I'm back to running...in the illustrious words of another charter member of the BEB's

"GIT SUM!"

Dang, dude.

My grandmother's birthday is on April 15th. I called her yesterday from work to wish her a happy birthday and make plans to go see her after work today. Every conversation with my grandmother is totally confusing for everyone involved these days, and it's not wholly due her age and comprehension. My dad's youngest sister cares for Alma 24/7 and serves as a gatekeeper. And my aunt, while probably qualifying for partial sainthood with her caregiving duties, has a long history of sort-of random and difficult communication. And that is a story for another blog another day. But the datemaking conversation went like this (with three people on the phones):

"Hey, it's Kristin...can I wish Grandma a happy birthday?"

"Well, she's sleeping."

"Oh, ok. Don't wake her up. Can we come bring some cake tomorrow after work?"

"Well, you already woke her up with the phone so let me see if she wants to talk."

"MOTHER! Wake up. It's Kristin."

"Hellloooooooo?"

"Happy Birthday, Grandma!"

"Who is this?"

"Kristin. Are you having a good day?"

"Well! When did you start using the telephone?"

"MOTHER! It's David's daughter...Kristin!"
"Oh, yes...ha ha ha."

"Grandma...did you eat anything good today?"

"I love ice cream."

"Who is this?"

"She can't hear you, Kristin. Lemme call you back."

"That's fine. Just call the work number and ask to speak to me."

"Where do you work?"

"I work at the Spa now..."

"When did you start to work?"

"Hey Grandma! The place I work at reminds me of H2O where you get your hair cut."

"Helloooooo?"

"Well, who do I ask for?"

"Ask for Kristin Depp."

"That's your name now?"

"Yes."

"Oh, alright."

"Who is this?"

Anyway. After work Hannah, Lucy and I went out to Metairie, woke Grandma up and hung out for a while. She sometimes thinks that Hannah and Lucy are me and Nanny, but this time she didn't. But she thought I was a very nice stranger who brought her petit fours and freesia unexpectedly.

And Grandma's House has gotten weirder and weirder as she has become more infirm. Because Johnny Depp is actually related to us there is a Pirates of the Carribean shrine in the living room, which used to be very formal (the living room, not the shrine) and cause my cousins and I anxiety when she was in the old house. It was only used for Christmas and when strangers came over. Now it is some of the same furniture but accessorized with gigantic pirate ships and movie posters and stuff. Lucy loves it. She ignores everything else and plays with the pirate figures the whole time. Hannah tends to chat with Grandma and my aunt about Newman because my dad and his siblings all went to Newman at some time or another during their schooling.

Here was part of our vital conversation:

"So, have you had any crawfish yet this year?"

"Mother won't eat crawfish...so no."

"Who won't eat crawfish?"

"You don't care for crawfish."

"I don't?"

"Mother...do you want to have some crawfish?"

"No, I don't believe so. I don't care for crawfish."

"Right."

"We bought some crawfish already boiled from Langensteins the other night. I'm too lazy to peel it and just eat the potatoes, but the kids ate it up."

"People mother's age don't like crawfish--they think it's dirty."

"Oh...I never knew that."

"Grandma, what are you going to eat today for your birthday?"

"Well, I expect we'll have some ice cream. And I like bacon and eggs."

"That sounds good to me. What about cake?"

"I don't know about all that."

"Hannah...do you know anyone with the last name Hart at Newman?"

"Ummmmm...it sounds kinda familiar."

"There was a Max Hart in her class but he moved to Atlanta after the storm."

"I know him! I grew up with him--they were on Northline."

"Well, it is probably his son...the Max Hart you grew up with would be too old to be in the 5th grade."

"True. He was a nice kid."

"How do you feel about the Saints this year?"

[My grandmother was an avid Saints fan for years, though they had a brief break-up after the whole "Hoot there it is/Cha-Ching" season back in the 1990's. Now she is back.]

"WHAT? Is it time for that?"

"No, not yet...but they'll start practicing soon."

"I hope they practice a lot."

Shortly thereafter we gathered our stuff to go and Lucy went to hug Grandma. And suddenly everything clicked and she said "Lucy! I need another hug!"

My grandmother has 6 kids, 19 grandkids, and 15 great grandkids right now (I think...there always seem to be more incubating.) When I was young, she made the world's best fried chicken and sweet potatoes. She lived in a big ole house on Nassau Drive in Old Metairie and the backyard was so big (in our young eyes) that I was always convinced that gorillas lived in the way back, behind the dog runs. There was also a playroom on the second floor that I was terrified of being locked in. It had such awesome toys to play with, but my cousin Anne was always slamming the door and holding me in there. Alma always wears beautiful shoes and a pin on her sweater or jacket when she dresses up. She used to take us to Burger King and McDonalds and let us get the glasses that had Grimace or some Disney character printed on it. She babysat my cousins every weekend for probably like the first 12 years of their existence. When I told her I was pregnant in college she told me babies are always good news, one way or another. And when Josh died she said she felt better about her tomb knowing someone sweet like him was waiting for her.

She totally rocks the party and I know she won't be here much longer. So here's to being 93 and knowing that you like ice cream and bacon and being too polite to ask who the strangers in your bedroom are.

Alma Cates has got some good genes.