1 + 2 = 12

While searching for a specific pic of Elder Daughter to post on Facebook (Today's her birthday -- it's amazing how she continues to age while I have stopped!  Heh.), I ran across this post from 2011:

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2011

The Pre- Halloween Power of Twelve

Something just occurred to me that adds up to 2012 being a banner year for Moogie's family.  Something big must be coming.

Consider these addresses with connections to us:

#12 Sandstone Court -- where I lived when I met Pep

1912 Arrowhead Drive -- the address of our first house together

2613 Wentwood Valley -- our next house -- 2 + 6 + 1 + 3 = 12

4503 Moogie Lane -- the current site of Moogie's Mansion -- 4 + 5 + 0 + 3 = 12

1912 Landry -- the address of the New Orleans Military and Maritime Academy where Pep is a new member of the Board of Directors.

ADDITION -- Younger daughter pointed out that her wedding date, 06-04-11, also adds up to 12!  Elder daughter's only misses by 1 -- 04-24-10 = 11.  Curiouser and curiouser!

Or, if you take the more "typical" numerology route, 1 + 2 = 3; 3 stands for "fulfillment, social gathering, achievement," so, unless we plan to host a big, successful party to explore the mysteries of the Mayan calendar, I doubt that The Apocalypse will come into play.  I suppose we need  politely to decline any invitation to attend such a party, too, so please don't invite us to one.

Pretty weird, huh?  What do you think?

Ordinarily I wouldn't re-post something like that, but I have thought of some more big Twelves.

The Son was born on 12/2; his first son was born on 2/12.  

When Pepper moved to New Orleans, Younger Daughter and I moved to an apartment down the street until she graduated from high school, then we moved to NOLA full-time.  The address of the apartment was 2221 Wentwood Valley, #12.

Our new palace, Moogie's Manor, bears the address of 14212 Moogie Court.  And, yes, that Twelve did indeed factor into my evaluation that this house was meant for us.  (Along with several more coincidences).

So,there was no Mayan Apocalypse in 2012, but Obama was re-elected.   That's disaster enough.

I wonder where my next Twelve will come from?

Ramblings of an Ice Storm-addled Mind

Remember this picture taken last summer shortly after we moved into Moogie's Manor?

Our deck is sheltered, serene, and secluded.  Like being in a treehouse in the mountains.

At least it was until Fall.

This is what it looks like today:

There's nothing like a little freezing rain among friends.

The funny thing, though, is there are all kinds of houses back there that we didn't even know existed until the leaves fell!  I feel like we're on display now! And there have been coyotes trotting along the creek bed, searching for prey. Or a handout.  Seriously, coyotes in my backyard, smack in the middle of the city! Glad we don't have an outdoor cat.  Several have disappeared around the neighborhood as of late.

Remember the bird feeder that the squirrels loved to dump unceremoniously onto the ground?

Here it is today:

Covered in ice!  I secretly wish the little rodents would try it today.  There would be lots of squirrel carcasses out there!  They could be cleaned and join the others that Pepper put in the freezer after popping them with his pellet gun.

I know, I know.  Arkansans eating squirrels.  Granny Clampett's world-famous squirrel stew.  It ain't gonna happen though unless Pepper finds some way to take the fluffy-tailed squirrel image out of my head.

Chickens aren't cute.

Have I ever mentioned that we live at the bottom of a seriously steep hill?

That's Pepper walking down the hill early in December after the first snowfall.  He managed to get the truck up the hill where it remained parked so we could get out to go to the store or have heart surgery.  But that is another story, and Pepper just got a clean bill of health after a follow-up exam last week.  Two weeks after doing a half-marathon in Key West, where I didn't get to go because I had to give up my crown.

Don't ask.  The man's stubborn.

Fortunately, we're not directly at the bottom.  I'd have nightmares about vehicles joining us in the bedroom. We learned shortly after moving here that ours is the street where LRFD candidates are taken to see how they manage fire trucks on steep hills.  Yep.  Nightmares about fire trucks joining us in the bedroom.  No casualties, however.  Yet.  Yep, I'm glad we're up a hill on the right side of the cul-de-sac and not directly in the line of fire of fire trucks.

Anyway.  I doubt we'll be going anywhere today.

Perching Upon the Throne is Fleeting

You may recall that Moogie reigned during 2013 as the Queen of the Krewe of CAMAN.  It was a glorious season as I was able to "crown up" several times.  I even "tiara-ed up" once or twice.

Alas, the reign has come to an end.

I made my farewell promenade around the CAMAN Ballroom floor in New Orleans two weeks ago amid thunderous applause.  I even high-fived a few folks.  These are the farewell roses bestowed upon me before they put me to work helping my successor get mantled- and crowned-up.

It's a good thing I like my successor.  Treachery has been known to occur among Royals.

But, fear not for the fate of The Crown.  It has been put to good use as the feature of the first Mardi Gras decor scheme at Moogie's Manor in Little Rock!

And from another angle.

The sideboard is dolled up, too, with treasures old and new.  I did the fleur de lis painting on the right.  (Don't look, Lou.)

The kitchen table is home to a treasure I "won" in a silent auction several years ago -- much to Pepper's delight.  Heh.  It is a favor from the Rex Ball held in 1917.  I caught the beads at some point during the past 14 years.

There are wreaths and trinkets all over the house, as usual.  Makes me not miss Carnival quite so much -- not a lot of folks decorate for Mardi Gras up here.  I hear they even deliver the mail here on Fat Tuesday!   We will go down in late February for the second week of parades, but I don't know how many more times I can talk Pepper into doing that.  But The Queen needs to have her spirit fed!  And to acquire more worthless trinkets tossed from a piece of moving art.  Ah, the trials of royalty!

You'll have to excuse the Queen now.  She needs to go vacuum and dust for the upcoming Super Bowl Gala she is hosting along with her Consort on Sunday, featuring a -- you guessed it -- Mardi Gras theme! Speaking of thrones, I probably need to scrub the toilets, too.

*sigh*

Happy 2014! (A little belatedly)

Yes.  It is 2014 and I am still alive.  Pepper is, too, but that's a story for another day.  We are adjusting to being back among family and old friends.  We are trying to adapt to the climate.

This is my new tee shirt.

It speaks the truth.

Regularly Scheduled Maintenance

So, here's a teaser of that Alaska trip post (or posts!) to come, taken with my phone, no less:



Mendenhall Glacier, near Juneau.  Indescribable.

In the meanwhile, until I get enough discipline corralled to do the 50th state justice, I'd like to engage in a little too much TMI so you realize that this is "Semi-Old Folks' Maintenance Week" around Moogie's Manor. 

Today I'm on a strictly liquid diet and a fun, fun, fun (not) chugging beverage in preparation for tomorrow morning's routine groggy GI procedure.  I expect tomorrow afternoon will revolve around multiple naps and solid food.

Then, Thursday morning I can't apply deodorant or lotion so I can wear that interesting high-fashion gown and get The Girls smashed between those cold radiological plates.  You guys who think prostate exams are humiliating ain't got a clue.  Going through childbirth seems to take the edge off of the humiliation factor, though.  There's just something about the goods being exposed to a roomful of strangers that shatters a timid attitude.

Finally, Thursday afternoon the Roots get a thorough touching up, thus shaving years and many pounds off of the Moogie chassis. Trust me, it'll do the trick!  Just go along with me on this, okay?

Then, there's more football in the air for the weekend as SO-F Maintenance Week winds down.  Are you ready for a little Woooo Pig Soooieee and Who Dat!!

I love Fall.

Go get your maintenance done.

Still Remembering

I'll get to happier things another day -- such as our recent trip to ALASKA!!! -- but today is September 11th.  It's September 11th, the day after our president commandeered the airwaves and thoroughly confused the nation with his irreconcilable position(s) on a strike against Syria. (An "unbelievably small,  limited kind of effort" according to alleged Secretary of State, John Kerry.)

[Telegraphed by Kerry, the Young President drops back and quick kicks to Russia . . . ]

 Anyway, being dreadfully confused, and needing to focus on more pleasant things, I believe I'll re-post 2010's 9/11  entry.  It's about how the 9/11 attacks changed my life for the better:

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Remembrance and Reflection

September 11th.  9/11.  9 - 1 - 1.

The repercussions from that day are many and diverse, aside from the obvious holes in the ground and in our hearts. 

The wound -- the pandemic pain and suffering that we all shared with one another and the families of the fallen -- is still here even though it's scabbed over now.  I suspect, however, that it wouldn't take much to knock the scab off and start the blood flowing all over again.  I think the kerfuffles over Koran-burning and mosque-building the last couple of weeks are proof positive of that suspicion.

For the last 8 years, I've gotten pretty contemplative during the days leading up to this date, as have most Americans, I imagine.

My younger cousin posted on Facebook this morning that she had just dropped off her young children at school when the first plane hit.  She firmly believes her oldest is now a Cadet at West Point as a direct consequence of that day's events.

Pepper was on one of the first civilian flights cleared to take off on September 14th.  He was headed to a meeting originally scheduled to take place at the Pentagon, but re-located after al-Qaeda crashed a plane into it.  There had been friends in the Pentagon that September morning.  It was hard to watch him get on that plane.

We all recall where we were, what we were doing, how life changed after the towers fell.  My own life changed dramatically but, oddly, for the better after that day.

Having moved down to New Orleans full-time only a couple of months beforehand, I knew but a few souls in the whole city and those few were still just passing acquaintances.  My father was in Little Rock.  All the kids were out of the house, married or in college towns in Arkansas and Louisiana.  On the 11th, the girls badly wanted to ditch classes and run to mama's and daddy's arms for comfort as they did when they were little, but we encouraged them to stick it out where they were.  That sounds like "tough love" but, truth be told, we were scared to put them on the highways, not knowing what was next and conjuring up Armageddon.  It was a very, very lonely time.

The week following the attacks, I saw a newspaper article about a service designed to support local military families that had been affected.  I called the telephone number in the article, and when the voice at the other end of the line asked how she could help me, I replied that I wasn't seeking help, I wanted to volunteer with the program.  She handed the phone to a man who has since become a close friend, and that conversation led me to eventual membership in the Mayor's Military Advisory Committee, The Military Officers' Wives' Club, and ESGR (Employer Support of the Guard and Reserve).  September 11th molded my life in New Orleans and blessed me with new friends and volunteer opportunities.

I'm not sure why, but I never really appreciated that blessing until this year: out of disaster came a fresh start; out of reflection came recognition.

Would that it could be that way for the world. 

Now.  If we could just get a little satisfaction on Benghazi . . .  .

Some Things Obviously Never Change

I was going to do a post on Obama versus the rodeo clown, but the whole darn tempest-in-a-teapot is in itself so darn absurd I figured I couldn't come close to making it appear a lttle sillier.  I mean, the guy's a clown, y'all!



Instead, this being the eve of Bouie's 7th birthday, I felt he deserved a little attention.

Not that it's positive attention or anything.

Yep.  Bouie's in the metaphorical doghouse.

Remember waaaay back in the summer of 2010 when I documented Bouie's boy-dog warfare against the plants at Moogie's Mansion?  How he was nefariously and systematically "watering" them to death?

Guess what.



Yep.  I waited a little too long to get the rosemary topiary transplanted to the flowerbed and he got it.  Poor little rosemary.  Plus, just what in the heck does he think he's doing, "watering" on the deck?!?!  It doesn't make for a very pleasant aroma, I can tell ya.

*sigh*  What are you gonna do . . . .