Smack That Sugar Like You Mean It

We just got back from a week-long adventure to New Orleans, Louisiana.  We crossed 7 state lines, drove thousands of miles and ate SO. MUCH. FOOD.

Most excitingly, we ate beignets.  They are like a fluffy funnel cake.  Or a doughy, honey-less sopapilla.  And they are delicious.  Cafe Du Monde does it best - though Morning Call was not shabby.  It's a New Orleans treat that must be experienced if you ever find yourself in New Orleans.

Is it the best food ever? Of course not.  But it's awesome.  And it requires you to beat canisters of powdered sugar like a disobedient child.  You have to really smack it.  Hard.  And watching the inexperienced figure out the right amount of force turned out to be wildly comical.

After 15 beignets total (that's 5 orders spread out over 2 meals) my travel companions and I have come to the conclusion that there needs to be an addendum to our marital vows - one that includes a spousal responsibility to smack powdered sugar canisters for one another.

You really have to smack it hard.

Reaction

If I'm given a shot of penicillin I have an almost immediate reaction.  My throat closes up.  Hives appear all over my body.  And if I'm not treated in a timely manner, I will die.  That wasn't always the case - but long about puberty I developed a dangerous allergy to the very common medicine.  It was not a fun discovery.

That's one of many reactions I have to outside stimuli.

If someone says something stupid, almost without thought I will throw down a zinger to evoke laughter, generally at their expense. That's another reaction.

If my daughter falls down and scrapes her knee, I will swoop her up in my arms and brace my ears for the loud wail that is about to be heard three blocks away.  Reaction.

Some reactions are physical; some emotional, mental and spiritual.  Some were learned and others are hardwired in from conception.  Some I'm proud of - like the practiced reaction of catching a baseball or the silent-full-body laughter at an episode of Arrested Development.  Other reactions, I'm not so pleased with.

My reactions to politics, terrorism, slavery, famine, poverty, depression...

Jesus reacted with Love.  Often I don't.  I didn't want to love those two misguided young men who bombed Boston.  I haven't reacted with Love to the abortionist on trial for killing dozens of newborns in Philadelphia. I don't react with Love all too often.

But with practice...

Homegoing & Timidity

It's been nearly three years since I've been in New Orleans.  While I wasn't born there, I spent most of my formative years in the Crescent City and consider it to be where I'm from.  It's the most culturally affluent city in North America - even if the vast majority of its residents are the exact opposite of affluent.

The city is rich in every way that matters; in diversity, architecture, food (there is no richer food), History and jubilance.

New Orleans is known for its partying ways - but it's not the mega-party of Mardi Gras that distinguishes the people and culture of my hometown.  New Orleanians have a tremendous sense of hospitality.  Have you ever had dinner with some friends and everyone is having such a good time that you don't notice the time fly by?  That's every night in New Orleans.  There's always an excuse to sit down (usually over amazing food) and share time with one another.

There is, interwoven into the very fabric of the culture, a value of time together.  That is far more intoxicating than one of Bourbon Street's signature concoctions.  It's that allure that keeps many families in the same neighborhoods generation after generation (a rarity in the US).  Who would want to leave such a loving home?

I did.

Do I miss New Orleans? Of course!  The relationships, the ambiance, the food - I still dream of it all.  But it was the right decision for my family.  And now after three years of trying to enforce New Orleans hospitality upon the denizens of Delmarva, we get to take some new best friends down to meet some old best friends and experience the city that shaped us.

Will the old friends still like us?  Will the new friends be disappointed?  Will there be resentment levied upon us for leaving?  Will we pick up where we left off or will it be like meeting someone for the first time?

It's sort of like taking your wife out on a double date with someone you were once engaged to.
Awkward...

But any awkwardness will, I hope, melt like a classic New Orleans snoball on a hot Spring afternoon.

See you soon,
Josh

Spinning Circles in an RV

This past weekend Elena, Kaylee and I joined my parents for a jaunt into the foothills of Western Maryland in order to test drive a thirty-foot RV.  Well, they were test driving it.  We were along for the ride as they tried to dissuade our aversion to a two-year-long journey of selling their house and living life on the road.

It's a weird feeling to sit on a couch in a living room while barreling along the interstate. On the way back from the test drive I hear, "Can we pull over into that parking lot so Josh can give it a spin?"

Say what?

I've driven several large vehicles before (like moving trucks and passenger vans), still this intimidated me a little bit.  But I refused to back down from the challenge so I hopped into the Captain's chair.  And proceeded to drive about 13 miles per hour around a parking lot.

It wasn't that big of a deal, so I was then told to take it down the street and around to the dealer's lot.  Sure, I thought.  I can do that.  So down the little two lane road I cruised, never mind the untrimmed pine trees scraping the paint off the side...

The lesson from this experience: Pity RV salespeople.  They have an impossible, horrifying job.

Millwood Marital Sports Magic

Like many men in this great land we call 'Merica - I like to watch sports.  Well, at least the Big 3.  I couldn't care less about hockey or soccer.  And that's not from lack of trying.  I loved the Mighty Ducks movies - and I have tried so very hard to like soccer for the sake of friends and family - but no dice.  It just bores me.

However, when it comes to baseball and football (And to a lesser degree, basketball)... 
I can dig it.

I'm a very fortunate man.  I have a wife who also loves sports.  She thinks it's fun to go to a baseball game on date night.  She'll whoop and holler at the TV while watching football on Sunday.  She'll swoon over Chris Paul knocking down a 3-pointer.

These are great qualities in a woman.  Take note, single ladies.  Be like that.

After lots of speculation and scientific quantification, I have uncovered a surprising, yet accurate fact about the power of my marriage.  You see, the love that Elena and I share somehow creates a cosmic vortex of sports magic...

Our first Fall as a married couple was the year the Red Sox overcame an 0-3 start in the American League Championship series to defeat the Evil Empire (NY Yankees) and then went on to sweep the World Series.  We stayed up late cheering them on.  I tried to grow a Johnny Damon beard. It was a magical time.

The week after our daughter was born, the New Orleans Saints won their first Superbowl.

Again - major life event heralds sports wonderment.

This October our second child is due. We don't know what it will be yet, but I'm hoping for a Baltimore Orioles World Series.