Is that AM or PM?

New Orleans. The Big Easy. As in the Big Easter 2011. And along with it, the Crescent City Classic (10K). This is the third year we’ve gone to NOLA to run this race. It’s a family gathering of “runners”.  This year we had a group of 11 (Dan, myself, Carl & girlfriend Amanda, Hunter & fiancée Megan, sister Kris & husband Chris, niece Jess & boyfriend Bill, and nephew Eric). We all sign up for it months in advance. We buy new running shoes for ourselves and the boys. It’s a healthy plan for a family vacation. In New Orleans.

The race is on Saturday morning. The group arrives on Thursday. Plenty of time to get in a good rest, some healthy New Orleans food, New Orleans hydration and New Orleans stretching.

We check in to our interior rooms at the Place ‘d Arms, meaning no windows, because windows are $20 per night more, and I thought I should save some money. The mushrooms are free. And delicious. 

We have been here 20-25 times over the years and surprises are, well, New Orleans. For example, Dan losing a pair of underwear on the first night of our stay while a used condom “appeared” in the wastebasket of our bedroom would have—in any other city—been grounds for tears, recrimination and possible divorce court. In this case it was “Huh, how bout that?—can you get me some tea?”

On Thursday night we meet up with everyone and find some food. A lovely meal at Maspero’s followed by a stop at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop for the second best Hurricanes in the world (Dan’s, of course, are the best.) Some in our group prefer beer and those are reasonably priced at Fritzel’s. We end the night at Flanagan’s playing pool. Chris is really good at pool. OK, it was a late night, but we still had more than 24-hours before the race.

Up the next morning. A nice light continental breakfast in the courtyard, then off to Johnny White’s for Bloody Mary’s. At some point on Friday we needed to pick up our race numbers. And get the free beer. Abita sponsors the race and they want everyone to have lots of fluids. We get our shirts, a few beers, one high-protein bar, more beers, some free food, more beers, a t-shirt that says “Slow is the new fast”, more beers, topped off by more beers. Did I mention the free beer?

People split off and go their separate ways. I, of course, determined that I would not drink anything alcoholic that evening.  No toxins in the system as I did not want it slowing me down. We returned to the hotel and found our group had splintered. We now had runners and walkers. The “have more fun group” consisted of my sister Kris, her son Eric, my son Carl and Hunter’s fiancée Megan. They had a plan to carry drink mixers and take the route at a manageable and well hydrated pace. No problem. This now meant that Kris could indulge her desire for a “double-bacon” (that means one-pound) BLT. Well OK then!

Saturday morning. The group gathers. Carl was the first one in the courtyard and hoping others would be a no-show so that he could go back to bed. (His girlfriend Amanda had already decided that was only place to be on a Saturday morning. Smart girl.) No such luck. We downed water, coffee, Gatorade and granola bars. The runners left for the start. A record 22,000 plus were registered for the race. Hunter had bet both his Dad and Uncle Chris $100 that he would run the best time. By the time the gun went off that had devolved into a gentleman’s agreement, no money on the line.

The race itself was a slog. More of a swim through thick humid air than a run. Hunter ran too fast during the first mile and paid for that the rest of the way. He and Chris finished within 2 minutes of each other (Hunter was first). The rest of us runners did the best we could and were all happy to at least finish.  The “have more fun group” found the race passed them by as they waited in line for a port-a-potty – too much hydration did them in!

There were also some lessons learned.  By the end of the week I knew that $20 per night is worth every penny for a window in your hotel room.  There is something really unsettling when you look at a clock and you’re not sure if it is AM or PM. Lay down for a nap at 3 and at 5 you are wondering if you slept through until morning. A windowless room is incredibly dark and any light you leave on is overly bright. Add to that Dan’s inability to sleep in silence and the constant noise of WWOZ, the local New Orleans Jazz public radio station he tunes in to compensate, and you go just a little crazy. One night I was positive they were reading newspaper articles on air. Turns out they were, the tuner had gotten bumped to some newspaper station. Dan didn’t care as long as it wasn’t silence. It just kept me awake. Next time I must remember to pack the sound machine.

The kids left on Monday. The adults stayed until Wednesday, eating more rich food and enjoying the great weather. One thing we love to do—as adults who have been to NOLA multiple times—is to sit by the Mississippi and wait for the hustlers to approach. It must be somewhat disconcerting to have four middle aged white Mid-Westerners pick apart, correct and suggest new endings to your hustles. Yes, I know where I got my shoes. Yes, my age never goes down. Do I look like a f’ng tourist?

By the time we got to the airport we were ready to head home, and reality. As we sat in the airport terminal we became aware of a large (and by large I mean that if they had to pay by the pound, and flew naked with no luggage, they would still pay way more than me for each NOLA to Milwaukee ticket) family group sitting behind us. The adults seemed a bit too loud and the kids were quite young. Now, (and I’m sorry for this) Dan finds the Tourette Syndrome voice volcano as funny as the shirt on the T-shirt Hell site that shows a line at sternum height and reads “I’ve had it up to here with midgets.” One of the ladies in this group, after slowly working up to it through tremors or twitches, would suddenly yell out “Fah!” or “CORRR!” or  “PLACE!!” or “BITCH!!!” at full volume. This was while her sister was beating the child who was screaming. Yeah, no wonder Dan thinks driving is soooooooo much better that flying. Corrrrr! Place!! Bitch!!!

One week post race we have great memories of a wonderful family trip. We spent some great quality time with our kids, their delightful significant others and my sister and her family. Yes, most of us ran the 10k. All of us ate too much, drank too much and spent too much money. Oh, and Dan? He gained 6 pounds and never found the missing underwear. And I am grateful he has stopped asking about the condom. 

Spring Cleaning

The path to my first trip to Key West was an unexpected fluke--a surprise monetary bonus for Dan and some spare frequent flyer miles for me and--poof!--we were there. The unexpected surprises continued at our first and second  trips to Fantasy Fest, including last year’s clothing optional cruise. Like most of my gender, I have been programmed since childhood on what a woman should look like, and anything outside of that narrow Hollywood interpretation either needed to get to a gym or a good plastic surgeon. Instead I saw a rainbow of women, and for the first time realized that I looked just fine. That I was actually attractive. And that (gulp, BIG gulp here) Dan wasn’t the only person who might put up with me.

This blog has become more than a fun way to spend some time or communicate with friends. It has become a way to help me think through issues. To reread my own thoughts, and to ask myself why I thought them. This “body” realization made me wonder why I’d always thought that Dan was the only person who would ever love me. Would ever kiss me. Would ever lay with me. But as my horizons expanded with diving and exercise, and as I enjoyed the freedom of public near-nakedness in Key West, I had to acknowledge...her.

For many years she has been a friend and confidant. I have cried on her shoulder when work things went sour. I have whispered naughty secrets after an especially good weekend. Dan has teased me that she checks out my cleavage when I’ve worn low-cut party tops, and I laughed it off. But now I saw everything from a new perspective. How she’d reach out and hold my hand when I’d cried. How she reached up and touched my face when we laughed. Those deep hazel eyes.

I know, no, I knew that she had been attracted to me for a long time, but I only understood it last fall. I wanted to talk to her, to explain that this wasn’t right, and--more deeply--why me?

Dan had an all day meeting in Iron Mountain, followed by a social event with his peers. He’d be gone Friday night, would stop at the cottage on the way home and work on the pontoon boat, and be back late Saturday afternoon. I invited her over for dinner.

Over a glass of wine we talked about the boys. She’s a dog person. Ripley and Otto cleaned out the toy box trying to impress her. In hindsight, I realize I’d done the same. I’d worn my black mesh party bra that Dan loves, and a somewhat sheer cream silk blouse Dan bought me a year ago. I’d made Dan’s Caesar salad, and we ate and talked. After dinner we went back to the living room with another glass of wine. Gradually the small talk seemed to run out. I laughed too long at the end of her little funny story. For a second there was silence. Thunderous silence. And then she kissed me.

Dan shaves and showers every night before bed--he’s a fanatic about it. But I have never felt lips so smooth. Her perfume, always enjoyed from a distance, now pressed to my face. Hands without calluses touching my skin. I get a shiver just thinking about it.

I had never even considered how the passion of a woman might be expressed. While he has become better over the years, sex with Dan depends on how long the foreplay lasts. While lately that can go on for a wonderfully long time, once love making starts it’s 12 minutes--give or take. This was completely different--like comparing a controlled explosion and a long, sustained rolling flame. To be touched exactly as I wanted to be touched. To be kissed exactly where I wanted to be kissed. Our hands, mouths and bodies were as if in a mirror--each doing what the other was doing at the same moment. To have lived this long without knowing how something so slow and gentle could leave me so warm and breathless. And to know that I could give that same pleasure, over and over, left me trembling.

I awoke to the sound of pouring rain, dogs barking, and the whine of Dan’s car backing into the driveway. It took a moment for the events of last night to sink in, and a moment to smell--coffee? I threw on a nightgown and my robe, and picked up my clothes, looking around quickly for hers--they were gone. As I headed down the stairs I heard the back door open--and her voice saying good morning. My heart froze. I walked into the kitchen to see her fully dressed with a cup of coffee in her hand. The mess we’d left in the kitchen was gone, and I heard her say to Dan that after the second bottle of wine she’d decided to just sleep on the couch. “Good plan” Dan said, and he commented that with the rain there had been no point to stopping at the cottage.

As he poured himself a cup of coffee I walked past him and lit the stove for tea. Dan patted my butt and said he was glad I wasn’t alone last night. I will never forget the way she glanced at me as she said “Me too.”

So, what do you think? Publish a little soft porn to supplement our income and speed up our move to the Keys? Happy April first everyone!


Music that resonates:
I kissed a girl - Katy Perry