I found out recently that few people know what to do in the event of a stove fire. Even if your fire extinguisher is less than two feet away in a cupboard. So here an I am letting y'all know what to do. Here are some major don'ts:
Never walk away from your stove if you are cooking on the cook-top.
Never use water on a stove top fire.
Never use flour on a stove top fire (it can explode).
Never freak out and run next door when your stove is on fire to find out what you're supposed to do.
Do's:
Always stay calm.
Always have plenty of baking soda close at hand.
Always have a fire extinguisher close at hand.
Always have homeowner/rental insurance.
How to put out a stove-top fire:
If you have a lid for the pot and you can put it on without burning yourself, do so. Then turn off the burner.
If you cannot safely put the lid on the pot...pour baking soda on the fire.
If you do not have baking soda, use a fire extinguisher.
If you don't have either baking soda or a fire extinguisher, BUY THEM.
How to put out an oven fire:
Turn off the oven.
Do Not open the oven door (oxygen feeds fire) until fire is out.
How to put out an microwave oven fire:
Turn off the microwave oven (this turns the fan off and stops feeding oxygen to the flames).
Do Not open the microwave oven door until fire is out.
Haiku originated in a Japan, a language where much can be said in few syllables. Many people in the United States have adopted Haiku as their poetry form. Because English is much different language that Japanese (I personally took 2 years of Japanese lessons, when I worked for Electronic Data Systems (EDS, now part of Hewlett Packard), American Haiku generally cannot be held to the same syllable count. Enter Jack Kerouac...
“Then I’ll invent
the American Haiku type:
The simple rhyming triolet:–
Seventeen syllables?
No, as I say, American Pops:–
Simple 3-line poems”
-Jack Kerouac, Reading Notes 1965 "Experts on the subject have determined that a 17 onji (Japanese sound unit) haiku in Japanese should be about a 12 to 15 syllable poem in English."1 Two lines that lead you to a moment of awe. Possibly a moment of breathlessness... Does that mean you should not write Haiku in 5-7-5? No, many people are content to write in that format; however, I personally find it less stressful to write in the "one-breath" (Haiku, the length of one breath) style.
stealing
my breath--
his lips
-Amy Loewy 2004
Little gray squirrel
end of his season
Cat with a long gray tongue
-Amy Loewy 2004
David Ruiz
exhausted
long night in the city of New Orleans
street lamp leans against a palm tree
-Amy Loewy 2003
Happy sound of tap shoes
raindrops dancing
on the sidewalk
-Amy Loewy 2003
Arm outstretched
to take the lead
cat dancing with a butterfly
-Amy Loewy 2003
Spring in the South
Bicycling in the early morn
pedaling through fudge
-Amy Loewy 2003
In a tiny shard of mirror...
applying makeup,
one eye at a time.
-Amy Loewy 2012
Whether traditional Japanese Haiku or it's American sibling...give it a try, it's addicting
1Curtis Dunlap, An Introduction to Haiku &; Senryu for New Haiku &; Senryu Poets
I so wish I could say I'm an authority on the Mardi Gras Indians...but alas I am not. I do however know the community in which the Mardi Gras Indians live, is one steeped in an incredible history. One in which I know, just on the surface.
Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013
The Mardi Gras Indians hand bead (tiny seed beads) the incredible patches covering their suits, taking between 6-8 months to plan and create. The suits could cost thousands of dollars and may weigh as much as 100 pounds. Each Indian designs and creates his own suit; elaborate bead patches depict meaningful and symbolic scenes.[3] Beads, feathers, and sequins are integral parts of a Mardi Gras Indian suit. Uptown New Orleans tribes tend to have more sculptural and abstract African-inspired suits; downtown tribes have more pictorial suits with heavy Native American influences.[4] Their are approximately 38 tribes and are loosely organized as the Uptown Indians and the Downtown Indians.
In the early days of the Indians, Mardi Gras was a day of both partying and bloodshed. “Masking” and parading was a time to settle grudges.[5] This part of Mardi Gras Indian history is immortalized in James Sugar Boy Crawford's song, "Jock O Mo" (better known and often covered as "Iko Iko"), based on their taunting chants. However, in the late 1960s, Tootie Montana, "Chief of Chiefs", fought to end violence between the Mardi Gras Indian Tribes.[6] He said, “I was going to make them stop fighting with the gun and the knife and start fighting with the needle and thread.”[7] Today, the Mardi Gras Indians are largely unplagued by violence; instead they base their fights over the “prettiness” of their suits.[5]
Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013
In the 15 years I've lived in New Orleans, I've taken a couple thousand photographs, primarily on Super Sunday. Which is always the closest Sunday to March 19th, which is St. Joseph's Day.
Mardi Gras Indians have been parading in New Orleans at least since the mid-19th century and possibly before. The history of the Mardi Gras Indians is shrouded in mystery and folklore.
According to Wikipedia: In 1740, New Orleans’ Congo Square was a cultural center for African music and dance. New Orleans was more liberal than many southern cities, and on Sundays African slaves gathered to sing folk songs, play traditional music, and dance. [1] The lively parties were recounted by a Northern observer as being “indescribable... Never will you see gayer countenances, demonstrations of more forgetfulness of the past and the future, and more entire abandonment to the joyous existence to the present movement." [2] The idea of letting loose and embracing traditional African music and dance is a backbone of the Mardi Gras Indians practice.
Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013
It has been said, on Mardi Gras in 1885, fifty to sixty Plains Indians marched in native dress on the [1]
streets of New Orleans. Later that year, the first Mardi Gras Indian gang was formed; the tribe was named “The Creole Wild West” and was most likely composed of members of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show.
Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013
As usual, on Super Sunday I spent 5 hours in the amazing presence of the Mardi Gras Indians. As usual, I ran into my friend Ali and we discussed the fact that the Indians is one of our favorite Mardi Gras traditions. A sunburn and a couple hundred photographs later I went home exhausted.
Brian Harrison Nelson, Big Chief - Amy Loewy, 2013
This year on St. Joseph's Day, Brian Harrison Nelson, Big Chief of The Guardians of the Flame (who is one of my neighbors) "came out the door" for the residents of Blue Plate Artist Lofts. The Guardians of the Flame continue to mask in a tradition that rivals a spiritual utopia. As a performing group, the Guardians of the Flame have attended the biggest pow-wow in North American, the Gathering of Nations. In 1993, the group was the pow-wow's first Mardi Gras Indian guests. The Guardians have also traveled to Miami, New Mexico, and Texas. In 1993, fourteen performers, ages 5 to 60, graced the stage at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.
St. Joseph's Day - Amy Loewy, 2013
As far as the Mardi Gras Indians go...this my friend is the tip of the iceberg. Y'all need to be here to be amazed and awed by the incredible art, music, and tradition of the Mardi Gras Indians.
Compliments of Big Chief Brian Harrison Nelson
From Wikipedia: [1] Smith, Michael, and Alan Govenar. Mardi Gras Indians. Gretna: Pelican Pub. Co. 1994. Print. [2] Flint, Timothy. Recollections of the Last Ten Years. Boston: Cummings, Hilliard, and Company, 1826. [3] Bragg, Rick. "Another Battle of New Orleans: Mardi Gras,"New York Times (Feb. 19, 1995). [4] Moser, Margaret. "My Gang Don't Bow Down: Mardi Gras Indian Chief Kevin Goodman leads his tribe to Texas,"Austin Chronicle (May 5, 2006). [5] Gaudet, Marcia, and James McDonald. Mardi Gras, gumbo, and zydeco: Readings in Louisiana Culture. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. 2003. Print. [6] Salaam, Kalamu. “He’s the Prettiest”: A Tribute to Big Chief Allison “Tootie” Montana’s 50 years of Mardi Gras Indian Suiting. New Orleans: New Orleans Museum of Art. 1997. Print. [7] Baum, Dan. Nine Lives. Spiegal Paperbacks. New York: 2010. Print.
The Sunday prior to Mardi Gras Day is known as Bacchus Sunday, for some. As you might guess, this is the day the Bacchus Parade rolls. It is also however, the day the Krewe of Drunken Whores don their chemise, bloomer and corsets and does what we lovingly call the Commanders Strut. This is our third year in existence and also the third year we've second lined through all of Commander's Palaces dining rooms, courtyard and kitchen following the jazz band. Here's a picture of us in the courtyard afterward, courtesy of Kimberly Edwards.
Krewe of DrunkenWhores 2013 by Kimberly Edwards
Mardi Gras Day began...early and then became a series of wardrobe malfunctions until I was out the door at about 6:10AM. That's right folks, my beloved Pete Fountain has been leaving earlier and earlier these last few years, so disregard the online listing that says he leaves at 7:45AM.
I had my alternate costume for the day ready...my original costume involved a large amount of cardboard and with impending rain, I would have been clearly close to dressing as Lady Godiva.
90% dressed and hooking a silk corset that is yet to be worn...one of the stainless steel hooks sliced my finger and there was blood all over the corset and my white chemise. I began ripping clothes off and grabbing everything gold I could find to go with my gold cape.
I rushed out the door to find a parking spot on the "home" side or lake side of St. Charles Avenue. I found one on 6th and Baronne and proceeded to fast walk to Washington Avenue and Commanders Palace Restaurant. On the way I ran into four frat boys all of which had clearly been out all night. They applauded me for costuming and proceeded to follow me down St. Charles Avenue singing American Pie"...I sang along. My fast walk had me arriving at Washington Avenue right around 6:30AM. I could hear the pastor giving the blessing as I raced the two blocks down Washington. No pictures, no hanging and waiting for Pete, no music to tease my sister in Michigan with, they were starting the parade.
Pete Fountain and the Half-Fast Walking Club have been parading starting from Commanders Palace Restaurant for 52 years, since 1961 (he missed 2006 due to illness). Most of those years Pete and his friends in the Half-Fast Walking Club march into town, playing as they went and scattering doubloons. Yesterday they were scattering more than doubloons, and I ended up with so many beads I could hardly walk. I acquired the most incredible throw that I ever gotten...a metal enamelled medallion from Pete Fountain and the Half-Fast Walking Club.
Roberta (my cohort) and I met at St. Charles Avenue and Washington Avenue...she had made a sign that read "Fast Women Heart Half-Fast Men." Believe me when I tell you every man in the walking club wanted his picture made with one or both of us and this sign.
After wandering with Pete and the guys for awhile we headed back Uptown to fill our belly's and meet up with my neighbors Rick and Jamie. We hung out with them watching Rex at St. Charles (lake side) and Sixth Street. There were lovely people there that kept giving Rick and Jamie bags of beads since the are Mardi Gras virgins. Some sweet children with their parents AND some unusually rude women.
A few times the Rex Parade was stopped with a float directly in front of us (because the parade before it had broken down, yet again). The rude women kept jumping and grabbing throws meant for the kids and when the guys on the float stopped throwing in that direction one woman flipped them the bird. Seriously, parades are for the kids...there is nothing they are throwing that any adult needs. The guys on the float had the kids come to the side of the float and they handed them treasures.
Then the weirdest incident involving these women occurred...one of the women had her daschund in a baby stroller and walked off. Her friend then denied she knew her and was looking to me to tell her what to do with the dog. I just told her "Y'all are hanging out together...I have no idea who either of you are." About five minutes later the first woman showed up and rummaged around the basket under the stroller containing her dog and pulled out a glass doornob and stated "This is the key to my house!" and walked off again. People if this isn't weird enough, it was just the doornob itself, no connecting rod - which means that the connecting rod is hanging out her front door for anyone who cares to twist it and enter her domain.
Not long after that the parade stopped it began to rain...and I was on my way to my car. Not before getting pretty wet and cold. But it was a great Mardi Gras and I love this city, unusual people and all.
I had a strange experience recently.... The Wednesday before Thanksgiving I went to Speedee Oil Change, to of course, get my oil changed. While I was there they were going to do a few other things as well, so I was waiting inside with a book. A man came in and we had a nice 20 minute conversation. Before he left he asked for my number and I gave it to him. After this conversation, I knew his first name, approximately where he lived, he works in the hospitality industry, works two jobs and was working both jobs on Thanksgiving. He knows my first name, that I live at Blue Plate Artist Lofts, and that I work at Garden District Book Shop.
Later Wednesday he texted me and thanked me for the pleasant conversation. Thursday he texted, Happy Thanksgiving, Then I didn't hear from him again until Sunday at 1:30PM, when he left me a message:
Apologizing for not calling me sooner.
Inviting me an party at 4PM, Sunday.
His MOTHER'S birthday party at a hotel!
My first reaction was, NO freakin way am I going anywhere on 31/2 hours notice. And there is no way in hell I'm going to your mothers birthday party, we haven't even been on a date or even spoken for more than 20 minutes. Oh and go to a hotel? Not in this lifetime.
He was at work when he left the message, so I politely texted him: "Thank you for the invitation, but I'm busy today." His response, "OK."
As I explained this to my coworkers: Ted and Susie, I elucidated, that I didn't even know his last name, so he is listed in my phone as Mike Speedee. Yet, he wanted me to meet his mother. They both agreed, that what I should be calling him is Speedee Mike. A number of friends have theories about what his issue may be...so y'all pick the alternate ending.
He wants to poison me and taxidermy me to sit on the couch next to him forever and ever.
He wants to introduce me to his mother as his future wife...
He wants to lure me to a hotel and have his way with me...
Needless to say, I haven't heard from him since.
Further proving that every man I've met in this city is either: married, gay, or crazy (of the religious zealotry kind), and sometimes, all three. The first two traits: married and gay are not bad traits in a man, if he's just looking for friendship. The third and all three together, can be kicked to the curb.
Finally finishing up the boxes in the apartment. I found a few short things I wrote which I really like. So I'm sharing:
#1
A lonely woman walked quietly along the road. Holding her thoughts, wishes, and experiences in a beautiful bowl upon her head. Careful not to spill them along the way.
Changes occurring daily to her body and soul... Always carefully securing them into the bowl.
Along her road, she meets someone, they raise their hands in friendship. She tips her bowl, a rainbow spills forth.
#2
Often in the pool of life,
The beauty of flowers goes unnoticed.
Natures can be unforgiving,
Allow beauty to escape your lips.
My friend, Sara Roahen's mom passed recently and the remembrance that Sara posted online was a heartfelt, tear-inducing tribute to a wonderful person. So incredibly sad that another wonderful soul has been taken in their prime. Adding to my list, my mother at 38, my brother at 19, my friend at 24, and a multitude of others.
Sara's amazing mother, made me start questioning my life. Recently, I watched a program on television and it has stuck in my brain. If you begin questioning where your life is going...write your obituary.
Write the obituary you want to have lived, what you want to be remembered for, what you want people to think of when they think of you: a fabulous mother, an incredible friend, a helper of the needy, always smiling and positive, a great writer, a great photographer, a lover of music, nature, history, a lover of life.
When you have written this incredible remembrance of you...work backward and write an action plan to get to this place.
Nothing gets you living faster that an checklist. Live your legacy.
Have Lived in Michigan, San Jose Bay Area, Kelseyville, Sacramento, Santa Cruz Area and am now living in New Orleans, Louisiana. Worked with computers most of my life (20+ years)...but quit the high tech industry in 1998. Now working in an incredible book shop, meeting some fabulous writers, and writing myself. Hobbies: Reading...of course, taking care of my two cats, writing, photography, etc. Redhead by choice.
I survived Hurricane Katrina with minimal physical damage and have been back in New Orleans since the beginning of October 2005 (exiled for just over a month).
