Random

Today Kraft became a 4th degree Knight of Columbus.  This means that he can wear the hat with the plumes and the cape and the sword.  That is of course when we have the dinero to purchase all that.  Nonetheless, the idea of it is pretty exciting.

The more that I meet Knights, the more I think that the Knights of Columbus have a height requirement to become one of the higher ups.  Kraft’s boss is the general agent which means that he oversees all the field agents in Central Texas.  This guy is super nice but he is huge.  I was a bit taken aback the first time I opened the door to him.  He’s just really a tall man.  He played baseball in college so he has that build.  Then today at the 4th degree ceremony Mass, there were certain guys with different colored plumes and capes.  These guys either oversaw the districts of Knights councils or had other big important jobs.  All these higher ups definitely had the body type of a bouncer.  Tall, big, tough looking.

So I’ve come to the conclusion that to get a job in the Knights of Columbus up the ladder, you better be tall and intimidating.  Sorry Kraft, I guess you’re out of luck.

I’ve been a bit absent from blogging for a few days.  I’m working on some posts about my grandma which are proving to take longer to write than I anticipated.  So to the two of you, other than my husband, that read this, I’ll be back with some interesting stuff in a few days.  For now I leave you with this…

I watch the Food Network like it’s going out of style.  I was watching one of those competition shows where contestants are given ingredients and they have half an hour to make something.  Well, in this one, one of the ingredients was fresh pasta which all of them screwed up.  One of the judges said the following to the first guy:

“My biggest pet peeve is pasta that sticks together.  I feel a lot of anger toward that.”

I feel a lot of anger toward poorly cooked pasta?  This guy takes food way too seriously. 

This ranks up there with the time I was watching Iron Chef (the original) and a flaky actress who was a judge said, “The asparagus is like a beautiful woman coming out of the night.”  What?

I just thought this was funny and want to use that line all the time now.

Olivia always rubs rice cereal into her eyes.  I feel a lot of anger toward rice.

I had been to NYC once before this last week but this trip was different.  I had a baby.  This made all the difference in the world.  Getting around NY with a baby gives you a very unique peek into Yankee hospitality.  When we arrived in NY I had an instant dread of how rudely we were going to be treated since having the Squeaker with us meant that we were going to be moving around more slowly than most.  I could not have been more wrong.

We did a lot of bus/subway/tram rides around town.  Let’s say we rode an average of 6 rides on public transit per day and we were in NY for 6 days.  Every single time (except for one tram ride) someone gave up their seat for me since I was carrying O.  (If you want a visual, I was carrying her in a Moby)  I was floored.  These hardened New Yorkers were giving up their seats for me.  An obviously wide-eyed, naive tourist.  How nice.

This hospitality, though, definitely is different from the southern kind.  It’s not warm.  There’s no small talk.  They just do it and pretend nothing happened.  It’s just helpful.  As if everyone is secretly looking out for everyone else without letting down the icy, don’t-mess-with-me guard.  After being privy to this side of NY life, I really saw this attitude everywhere I went.  

Our friend, S, broke her foot a few years back and had to walk around with a boot for a while.  I think she described it perfectly with the following: “I would get on the subway with my boot and a big, tough guy would get up and offer his seat.  It’s not a ‘Oh, you poor thing.  Here, take my seat.’  It’s more a ‘Take the seat, bitch’ kind of thing.“

The first time we encountered this was when Kraft was trying to give me directions to Union Square where I was going to meet S.  He was going in the opposite direction to get to his conference.  The idea of me and O wandering around NY alone was scary but I didn’t want to be stuck at the apartment alone either.  We stood there in front of the escalators with Kraft giving me directions and me obviously in a semi-panic when this guy kinda yelled at us across the lobby and asked where we were going.  New Yorkers, I found out later, are really used to giving lost people directions.  I saw this happen countless times as we rode around the city.  Later, S told me that everyone will help you get on the right subway because everyone knows how much it sucks to be on the wrong train and lost.

Another thing I noticed was that the people that offered me their seats spanned all classes, ethnicities, ages, and English-speaking abilities.  I don’t remember every single person that offered me their seat but I do remember a middle-aged, nicely dressed white woman; a Hispanic teeny-bopper with a Bob Marley necklace and a crazy strong Brooklyn accent; and an older Indian man who barely spoke English.  Seriously, everyone was willing to give up their seat.  The second I got on a subway train, if there were people standing, they would start looking at the people sitting to see who was going to get up for me.  Kind of like if no one was going to get up right away, the people standing would stare them down until someone did. 

I got to see this happen to pregnant women, too.  Whenever a pregnant woman would get on the subway or bus I would watch to see how people reacted to her.  You could see a line of people trying to catch her eye to offer their seat.  They really had a keen eye.  I wouldn’t say that people seemed particularly happy or excited to give up their seat, but when duty called, they were ready.

It snowed a lot the last few days we were there and after a lot of snow, comes a lot of melting snow.  As the snow melted it would slip off roofs or awnings.  One time in particular we had just gotten off the tram and a mother and her young daughter were unlucky enough to have a lot of snow fall on them as they were walking along the street.  Immediately a group of people circled them and helped them brush the snow off.  It was amazing to see.  There really were about 4 or 5 people helping them.

I thought, OK, New Yorkers are just helpful when it comes to somewhat vulnerable women and children in the city.  Nope.  When we were walking around the Met (which was so freakin’ awesome, by the way), Kraft dropped his map and another guy walking by immediately picked it up for him.  No hesitation.

I know New York City isn’t perfect.  I know there are lots of problems.  But, man, after last week, I have a whole new respect for New Yorkers.  I really liked their hospitality.  It was a really humble kind.  A kind that did not expect any gratitude at all.

Thanks New York City, for having our backs.

Brandon and I have been trying to think of a good name and tagline for this blog.  Don’t be surprised if it changes often.  Currently the tagline – barefoot, babies, and breastfeeding – is a storefront that we remember and laugh about from time to time.  It’s located in Rice Village in Houston and I think the whole name of the place is A Woman’s Work: babies, breastfeeding, and something else that we can’t remember.  But we always joke that it was barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen.  That pretty much sums up my life right now.  Well, not the pregnant part but everything else.  So it will suffice for now. 

Other ones I’ve been thinking of is the “The Unhippy Hippy” or the “Unyoga Yoga Mom”.  We get organic veggies from a local farm but love fast food.  We make our own baby food but eat out a lot.  My old roommate told me that she was trying to describe me to a coworker once, “Well, she’s kinda hippy.  She even makes her own granola.”  And yet I would drink Snapple over Sweet Leaf any day.  Anyways, it is a work in progress.

I was recently talking to a friend about our mutual love for reading memoirs.  I love to read anecdotes about people’s lives and I also love to read stories that I wrote down about my own life but have since forgotten.  Since about 3rd grade I’ve had random journals and notebooks that I fill with quotes I’ve heard, ideas that I’ve had (Cinnamon Altoids – yeah, thought of that way before they came out – that’s really the only good product idea I’ve had that has come to fruition), and things that happen to me.  Especially now that we have the little squeaker, I really want to have a place where I can write stuff down so that I can look back and remember and have an outlet for all these things that run through my head, and hey, if you get a few laughs out of it, even better.  So, here goes nothing…