I'll try to skip over the details of the conference itself, since I know most of my audience could care less what rhetoricians and compositionists do with their professional lives. (Besides, Keith's blog--see link to "Available Means of Persuasion" at left--is sure to run a much more interesting [and funny] commentary on the conference). Suffice it to say that our panel actually did pretty well: usually at these kinds of things you have ten or fifteen people show up at any given panel; we had nearly fifty, including some relatively well known people in the field (although, since one of them was my advisor, I'm not sure I should count that!). Still, at least two of the attendees (both of them recognizeable names, one of whom I cited several times in my dissertation) made it a point of telling me afterward how much they enjoyed my paper and that they thought the topic was a good one--a nice bit of vindication (and ego stroking!) for me (especially since I went into the conference sort of convinced that I must have one of the least interesting topics on the planet). Anyway, enough about that.
Wednesday night I attended a cocktail party hosted by my advisor's publishing company--her latest textbook (the one I wrote the instructor's edition for) is coming out later this spring, so they hosted a nice little party and invited anyone connected with the book. The party itself, as I said, was nice, and it was also nice to finally put faces on editors with whom I corresponded extensively last summer and fall but never actually met. Unfortunately, I was starving and had assumed (perhaps erroneously) that there would be food. I should correct that: there was lots of free alcohol (none of which I could drink) and lots of little trays with shrimp, crab on crackers, mussells, and other sea food delicacies, none of which I could bring myself to eat. So by the time the party ran down around 9 p.m., I was ravenous. So were some of my fellow grad students, and we agreed to try something at the restaurant adjacent to our lounge. We had just talked the waiter into seating us (they usually stop seating at 9 p.m. on week nights) and had sat down when my advisor (who can be quite a character) came into the room. "What are you doing?! I'm taking you all to dinner! Get out of here!" We all felt a little silly then, especially since we'd just created some hassle for the waiter (who I'm sure thought we were all crazy), especially since Cheryl went on to say in a confiding tone to the waiter, "I'm their mother." Anyway, so we then proceeded to get in a taxi and go to a restaurant in the French Quarter (I'm still not sure where exactly we went). It was late by the time we all arrived and sat down (there were ten or so of us), even later by the time we placed drink orders, etc., so I and two other girls confined ourselves to ordering appetizers, and then excused ourselves early so we would get back to the hotel before midnight (although apparently the rest of the group made it back by then anyway, so our self-sacrifice was in vain). Lucky for me, my appetizer--linguini with some kind of truffle sauce--was actually reasonably substantial. One of my friends ordered a fancy sounding tuna dish, which turned out to be nothing more than four very small slices of tuna on a plate. At least, she said, we'd all been able to share bread and calamari beforehand.
Since we were in New Orleans, I felt I should at least make a little bit of an effort to get out and see the city and try some of the cuisine unique to the region--especially since Dan would be highly disappointed me if I didn't. And, since much of the most characteristic French Creole cuisine also involves seafood, this meant branching out a little beyond my comfort zone. On Friday, I talked a couple of my friends into joining me for our one big splurge of the weekend: lunch at Galatoires. For those of you who aren't familiar with the name (and I wasn't before my arrival), this is apparently one of the oldest and best-known restaurants in the French quarter (it's actually on Bourbon street); one of the local program hosts insisted that it had the best/most authentic French cuisine in the area. Apparently, they're also known for their Friday lunches--they were certainly quite busy. When we arrived (a few minutes before they started serving lunch at 11:30), the downstairs was already completely booked and the upstairs filled shortly after our arrival. They were also in no apparent hurry to move guests through: our meal, although lovely, took a good two hours. My friends ordered Oysters Rockafeller for an appetizer (oysters covered with some kind of spinach puree), which they both said was wonderful, but I was a bit too chicken to try. I did, however, try some seafood: I ordered a fabulous stuffed eggplant, filled with breading, shrimp, and crab. Amazingly enough, I actually enjoyed it (usually I can't stand crab)--the seasoning was exquisite. My friends ordered alternately some kind of seafood (I can't remember what it was now) covered with artichokes and hollandaise sauce (she said afterward that it was way too rich), and redfin (?) fish cooked in a traditional French manner--i.e. with lots of butter and some kind of crab dressing on top (you can see pictures below). It was all very good, if excessively rich.
Later that afternoon, I spent some time wandering around in the French quarter, collecting evidence that I actually *was* in New Orleans (you'd never be able to tell if I hadn't left the hotel). I found a lovely little store that sold handmade lace and bought a doily for my mother-in-law and a baby bonnet for the baby. The French Quarter, especially once you got into it, was a nice (if bizarre) change from the more downtown area where the conference hotel is located. As you can tell, there are some lovely old buildings in the region with gorgeous wrought-iron trellises and balconies. At the same time, there are also lots of rather cheap looking stores selling souvenirs or other fairly bawdy ware, which makes for a strange juxtaposition. And you can meet all sorts of people there.
Friday evening I attended a party thrown by Penn State for friends and alumni who were attending the conference. It was nice to see several of my former colleagues, even if I didn't always know what to do with myself (I never do at those mix and mingle sorts of things). I did meet one of the women who'd been at our panel and was raving about it--she gave me her business card and told me to contact her if I was ever interested in writing a book review for her journal (she's the book review editor) and told me funny stories about trying to raise small children in graduate school and during the tenure process (apparently she finished the index to her first book while she was in labor with her third child--literally--she was in the hospital typing away on her laptop during contractions). The story was funny and she was a charming lady, but I hope I'm never that crazy.Afterward, several of us went to dinner at another well-known local joint, Mother's, on Poydras Street. This was probably the only meal I ate my entire time in the city that was reasonably priced--possibly because it's as much patronized by locals as by tourists. I had jambalaya (sp?); some of the others ordered gumbo and other examples of local cuisine. Because the restaurant is more cafeteria style than sit-down, we were in and out fairly quickly and decided to head back to the French Quarter, where we bought souvenirs (well, some did) and enjoyed the scenery. Before heading back to the hotel, we decided to stop at the Cafe du Monde, another apparently famous local eatery, known for its coffee and beignets (pronounced "been-yay"), a kind of French doughnut. I don't know about the coffee, which I didn't try, but the beignet, which I did, was wonderful--quite a bit like freshly cooked funnel cake, for those who are familiar with it.
And that pretty much wrapped up my trip. I flew back home on Saturday, tired but relatively pleased with my trip. Although I could have done without a couple of travel snafus--I made reservations to take the airport shuttle from the hotel, but it took me longer than anticipated to check out (doesn't it always) and I was worried I'd missed the shuttle. So I asked one of the hotel workers out front if the shuttle had already come. He assured me it hadn't, so I went back to wait for it and met two other women who were also waiting for the shuttle--both of whom had arrived on time for the shuttle. After nearly twenty-five minutes, I finally went and asked the concierge if the shuttle was typically so late--she looked at me blankly and said, "the eight o'clock shuttle? It came and left a long time ago--the driver came in and shouted and no one came." So all three of us missed the shuttle (which we'd paid for). On the positive side, at least we could split the cost of a taxi. And, of course, the airline lost my luggage on my connecting flight. (It showed up on our doorstep either sometime late last night or early this morning). These negatives were a little offset, however, by the discovery that an old friend from the ward at Penn State, Keith Gibson, was on my first flight, so we had a nice time catching up before flying to Dallas.
After arriving in Salt Lake, I picked up the car from the car lot where Dan and Aaron had thoughtfully left it for me that morning, and then drove to Sarah's house where my son waited for me. (Dan, Aaron, and Poppy were all attending the Priesthood Session and Trisha and Sarah were reluctant to brave the freeways to come get me--not to mention the hassle of trying to load four children into the car). Andrew was so excited to see me that, aside from opening the door for me, he virtually ignored me for my first ten or fifteen minutes in the house, being much more involved in running after Katie. Below, this somewhat blurry photo is of the boy playing his favorite game, ring around the rosy, with Katie and Lydia (who's mostly hidden behind Katie and definitely got the short end of the stick in this little run around, since she was usually tugged to the ground by Katie).
Since I was absent for much of the week, the account I give of Andrew and Dan is all necessarily second hand. Dan and my mom took turns watching Andrew while I was gone, which led my mom to tell me afterward that she was glad she wasn't Andrew's mother. Two anecdotes she related that are worth passing on: first, while she was out in the yard with him one day, Andrew discovered the dirt clods left behind by the young men's aeration project last weekend (primarily, he discovered that, unlike rocks, which he initially mistook them for, dirt could be squished). He announced delightedly: "I'm having fun squishing dirt clods!" On another occasion, Andrew wandered upstairs while my mom was downstairs answering emails from students (always an involved process). When she went up to check on him, she found him seated at one of her sewing machines with two spools of green thread and some green fabric. When she told him to get down at once (he knows he's not supposed to play with the sewing machines), he said stubbornly, "No! I have to make a blanket for my dolly. I have to sew!" She could only convince him to get down by stretching the truth a bit and telling him that only mommies were allowed to use sewing machines.Friday afternoon, Dan took Andrew to spend the night in Salt Lake with his cousins. Sarah put on a Princess Tea Party as a joint birthday party for Lydia (March 31) and Katie (April 5). Apparently I missed quite the show--there were three babies, eight kids, assorted adults, lots of food and gaiety. (For a more comprehensive report on the party, and pictures, see Bubby and Poppy's blog, "Ahoy Y'all Children," link at left). Saturday morning, the gang had mickey mouse pancakes and ran around some more; in the afternoon Bubby and Poppy went to the afternoon session of conference. And that's pretty much all I know until my arrival. Dan, because of a late arrival after the priesthood session, stayed in Salt Lake and came home this afternoon with his parents, enroute to Cedar City. And such brings an end to our expansive (and expensive!) wanderings for this week.
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