Sunday, November 20,2016.
Continued From Yesterday's Diary.
When I drive away from Manresa Retreat House, my mind doesn't return immediately to the real world. I don't turn the radio on, either. If the weather is nice--as it was today--I roll the window down and let the breezes come through, something I almost never do otherwise.
But today I have a minor challenge to work around. The word is that the I-10 over the spillway is closed for some reason. I don't usually head that way to get home. But today I am to meet the Marys downtown and have dinner with them. Specifically, they're interested in Fogo De Chao, a habit they picked up during the months after Katrina in Atlanta and Washington D.C. But I can't come out of a fried chicken dinner and go straight to an immense all-you-can-eat dining experience. We'll put that off for awhile.
Then we enter the usual decision-making process, in which everybody claims that any restaurant will do, but shoot down any specific suggestion. We finally decide on Johnny Sanchez. I haven't been there since shortly after they opened, and I haven't noted anything like a major buzz lately, either.
We're all surprised a little that the menu seems to have been abbreviated since back then. If there was molé poblano on the menu, for example, I couldn't find it. A couple of dishes that sounded good were out, too.
We manage to fall back on a couple of standards. Guacamole for the table, of course. Mary Leigh has a carne asado taco. My entree is a bit unusual, at least as regards the name: Tlayuda. I asked the waitress to run that word back again a few times, and I still don't quite have the pronunciation down exactly. It's basically a pizza with duck meat, black beans, goat cheese and a few other things. The crust was difficult to eat--one shouldn't require a knife to cut it into bite-size pieces. I finally start using the crust as a plate, with the ingredients on top good enough to remain interesting.
The best part of this meal was what is described as a doberge. It had the thin layers of that dessert, but it was served in a glass (the better to see the layers) with a mango sauce over the top. Even Mary Ann liked, it, and she's not a lover of sweets.
My novel route from Manresa into town started with a crossing of the river on the Sunshine Bridge, which I have not had need to cross in a long time. I drive on the River Road through all the little towns downstream. I passed the alarmingly beautiful Oak Alley Plantation, whose facilities get more extensive every time I time I see them. When I get to Vacherie, which I hear is the American town with the least degree of population turnover. If you are living there now, you stand an unusually high chance that you were living there twenty or more years ago.
Monday, November 21, 2016.
Shake Us Up And We're On A Roll
The three of us spend much of the week trying to figure out how to fly out of New Orleans to Los Angeles while leaving the smallest number of cars at the airport. The first to leave is Mary Ann, who is also trying to build a camp at the home of Jude and his wife Suzanne, parents of our beloved one-year-old grandson. It seems that we will probably leave no fewer than three cars behind, with myself being the worst offender.
My day is normal. Catfish with pecans again at New Orleans Food and Spirits, although I came close to getting a plate of red beans. I probably would have, if only the restaurant served about half the amount of beans and sausage that they do. I hate leaving lots of food behind, even when the food involved is something as elementary an inexpensive as beans.
And then I am off to chorus rehearsal. The complex Christmas music at which we have been toiling at work is slow going for me, for some reason.
Tuesday, November 22, 2061.
Suicide Avoidance.
The Thanksgiving festival begins. I take Mary Ann to the airport at four in the morning, leaving no vehicle in the airport's lots.
Then I see my doctor about an unusual problem for me. I am feeling minor bouts of anxiety verging at times on panic. I don't know why. I feel jolly enough with a great life. But certain things get under my skin. The worst of these all time was the aftermath of 911. On the other hand, Katrina never shook me up much (my disaster wan't much of one).
But I do seem to have an issue lately. It showed up during the recent halcyon days at Manresa, whose peace is near perfect. The doctor--who I like and trust thoroughly--recommends a medication whose possible side effects include suicide. I am reluctant to try the drug, perhaps because I will be at home alone for a few days with nobody to stop me. They say the stuff is widely used with few problems. But the cause of my upset has something to do with my imagination.
I am given a different medication for the moment. It relaxes me so well that I miss me flight to L.A. this morning. Mary Ann jumps into the breach and gets me booked on another flight. All I can think of are the side effects, which doesn't help things.
This is two days before Thanksgiving, and the airport is jammed. I leave my car on the top level at the airport. It will cost me.
Meanwhile, Jackson Fitzmorris is ready for his first birthday anniversary tomorrow. He is getting close to walking, while his appetite for food seems limitless. I have not seem him reject any spoonful of anything. He's looking healthy and has a marvelous personality.
Tonight the five of us go to a Mexican restaurant. It's a rainy evening and a touch on the chilly side, but Jackson puts up with it with aplomb. I enjoy a platter of chicken and cheese molé poblano. The staff is clever.
