I’ve been away for a long time. I know. I don’t even know what I’ve been writing about (or not writing about). Partially it is because I’ve moved on to more private writings, but mainly I don’t know what I’d write here anymore. I think it’s safe to say that this blog is pretty dead.

I’ve never been good at writing thank you letters. Although I’ve done them for as long as I can remember… because my Mom made me and then because I could hear her telling me to. I generally like the idea because so many people have been so generous to me and I know that I really enjoy receiving snail mail (but never do). They’re not really that hard to write and the thought really means something to so many people.

I happen to be fairly late at writing thank you letters this year.  It is especially sad for me right now that I am suddenly writing half as many letters as I have always written.  Who knew that this practice that I always dreaded would make me sad because I have two less of them to write.  I’ve been so lucky for so long.  I know what the future brings, but it won’t make it any easier to accept.

My grandmother passed away today.  It’s the first grandparent that has died while I’ve been alive.  It was quite a good streak and I know it’s gone for good.  That’s how life goes.

To be honest, I’m kind of happy that it happened.  She was miserable.  She used all of her energy to let you know that she hated living in her nursing home.  It’s not that the nursing home didn’t treat her well, but she just wasn’t the kind of person who was content in such a situation.

As I travel up to Rochester, I know I will remember her not from the conversation I had this week on the phone or from the visit during the summer.  I will always remember her from a year ago and six years ago and fifteen years ago — the woman that I had conversations with and who could walk and was so smart.

The thing is, I know that I already said goodbye.  I’m not a super sentimental person who is caught up in such things, but I’m glad that I had that opportunity.

Today was a pretty magical day.  I woke up to snow.  It was an amazing snow storm.  It wasn’t cold enough for it to really stick, but the trees and roofs were starting to turn white.  I sent an email to work that I was going to be in late and I went for a walk in Audubon park with my mom.  I’ve never seen so much snow fall in New Orleans.  I often say that one of the things I miss the most about the north is the feeling when you’re walking on a really snowy day when sound is dampened and everything is quiet and peaceful.  I never thought that I would get that in New Orleans.

It was truly a marriage of snow and New Orleans precipitation.  I think it was as much snow as I’d ever seen falling in Vermont or Wisconsin.  The difference is it only lasted about an hour and a half and then switched to hail and rain.  It also feels weird that there is no sign of any of it now.  Perhaps it’s because our city was designed (well… maybe retrofitted… hopefully) to pump out water as efficiently as possible.  I don’t think we would ever have a mud season.  And thank goodness the streets don’t have a salt residue; they’re bad enough already.

I’ve got a lot of thoughts swirling in my head, so I thought I’d get the most simplistic ones out.

I made a pie yesterday. I’ve always been a baker… I’d even say that I’m a pretty good baker.  Although, never before this weekend had I baked a pie.  I guess I never wanted to.  I grew up in a family that didn’t eat pies.  We made cakes and cookies.  Occasionally something like lemon squares.

After seeing enough Thanksgiving images, I decided that I wanted a pumpkin pie.  I guess I was most amazed by how easy the process was.  I followed Meg’s recipe and made an excellent pie with no problem.  There are some things that I would do to improve it on a second try, but I’m quite happy. The only problem is that I’m the only one who wants to eat it.  I told my mom that I made it and asked if she wanted to try a piece.  Her response was, “Nope… Oh good! Now I won’t have to buy you a pumkin pie for Thanksgiving dinner.”

So I met the biggest asshole ever tonight.  I met my friends at Columns for a couple drinks and a girl came up and talked to us.  Honestly, she was a little cute, but not too much.  Although she was the youngest cute person in the bar on a Wedsday night — whatever that means.  We were just hanging out and being nice.  This guy sat next to her and grabbed her and we didn’t really even notice.  A few minutes later she started talking to us and he said “don’t talk to them” and pulled her away from us.  At this point, I shared with my friends that I know a lot of assholes, but he has amazingly moved towards the top of the list.  Note that never during this night did I ever meet him, as he wasn’t interested in such things.

My friends and I had our own conversation for a while and didn’t really notice them.  Then they got up and started moving away from the bar.  She stuck around for a little bit and we said goodbye, nice to meet you, etc.  I guess they only moved away from the bar because he was threatened by other guys.  He then came back and singled me out saying, “Let me give you some advice as a guy.  Don’t try to pick up a girl who’s making out with another guy.”  I started laughing.  Everyone around me was trying to contain themselves, including the waitress who stopped serving drinks.  Then Pete, who I had just met that night, started quizzing the guy about his ‘relationship’.  He asked if he was dating her – no.  If he came here with her – no. If he knew her – yes, he was protecting her for her boyfriend.  Rockstar! The girl behind the bar lost it. Apparently the guy on the other side of them from before had overheard some of his conversation which consisted of him telling her that she had small tits so she should flaunt them more.  He was a winner.

I’ve had a lot of memorable nights at columns.  In fact, too many.  I love New Orleans, but who invited {insert suburb name} to the columns?

Thank you Time.  I HATE this commercial so much.

http://www.time.com/time/business/article/0,8599,1860403,00.html

I hardly slept last night and I’m pretty sure that I know why.  Saturday night I met my friends at Pete’s bar before going out because there was a shooting there a couple hours before.  I saw my first dead body with bullets in him.  It wasn’t terribly gruesome as he was 100 feet away and obscured by police and coroners.  It was completely a drug related killing, so it didn’t seem extremely scary.  I think I fell asleep Saturday night without even one thought of what I had seen.  I guess last night was a little different.  The part that scares me is how everyone in that neighborhood wasn’t outraged and surprised.  No one likes a killing in their neighborhood, but I know that not a single person woke up the next day determined to do anything to change that.

I guess it makes me happy and lucky that I live in the neighborhood where I live.  Clearly it was a conscious choice, but not everyone is given such choices. Â I love that my neighborhood doesn’t have that kind of crime.  I love that if a killing occurred, all of my neighbors (including me) would be out making sure that it never happened again the very next day.  I’m extremely lucky.

Is it just me, or is it really tacky for a 60+ year old woman to wear a rhinestone pin that says “#1 bitch”?  She was really dressed up and the pin suddenly transformed her into white trash.  I’m mean and I harshly judge people, but come on.