notes from a nola walk

st. francis and the virgin mary (painted brown) disscuss world affairs in a brokedown eden of a garden. an unattended stack of brand new lumber makes me feel oddly protective. the lovely man beset by perhaps a stroke who asked me to button the cuff on his starched yellow dress shirt. this tiny act of community reduced me to tears. theme for today: vulnerability.

she’s all rocket

i often say crazy people love me. by crazy i mean the spectrum from actual mental illness to eccentrics. they seem to gravitate towards me and i can’t stop looking. a few months ago my friend penelope was in town and we were having a coffee at my neighborhood spot when a very wobbly, very drunk woman stumbled down the sidewalk singing. her hair was red and there was something otherworldly about her. i kept trying to catch the lyrics to the song. her voice was just so insistent, so urgent i couldn’t look away. she locked in on me and promptly fell over into the street taking a cafe table with her. she made it up again, only to fall–still singing in that eerie, insistent voice. the second time she rose on her knees and looked right into my eyes. the song was something about having one foot on a star and one foot in the grave. she needed me to hear it, and i did. her friend came to collect her and they disappeared down the street (mind you it was broad daylight).

later, the friend returned. he stopped and apologized for his friend. and said this:

some people are like matches. they flame. they burn out quickly. but, this one, she’s all rocket.

he went on to say that she spoke several languages and had many degrees. since then, she’s all rocket has become a kind of touchstone for me. the highest compliment. the need to go all the way there.

here’s to all the rocket women (and men)!

notes from a nola walk

a cascade of black leaves, the barely perceptible shift in light that whispers fall (even if the temperature says otherwise), a pole now rusted and folded into an angle that suggests a giant bendy-straw rising from a creamy hunk of stone–all that remains of a World War 2 monument. the flag that must have flown there only a memory, much like the people it was supposed to honor.

visitor, read more!

i agree, i agree. (outside the coffee shop window)

home…

*whew* i have been caught up in a vortex. whirlwind events in rapid succession. evacuation. bridal shower. home for a week. gone again to memphis for a wedding. back again. my life has not been my own. i’ve been standing up and standing in, doing what is necessary. being a love warrior. but no time for writing. although i am back in my proper zipcode, i’m still not quite at home in my own life yet. i guess i should cut myself some slack since i’ve only been home a single day. autumn has arrived and i am restless, unsettled, but trying to find center.

what am i doing?

with gustav breathing his hot breath down my neck? drinking wine, putting some meat on the grill, cleaning my house like crazy, making lists, getting prepared and hoping, hoping that it will be much ado about nothing. but preparing to throw my life into the trunk of my car and head north. the strangest thing is that the locals, at least in my neighborhood are not mentioning the storm past. we are talking about this one but stepping lightly around that other one. it is enough to hear her name on the news, on the weather channel, but mostly we are not speaking it. it is too much to join this gustav with that storm. with the anniversary just two days away there is so much pain unhealed we dare not speak it. on this anniversary i know i’m keeping her name out my mouth.

so tomorrow i will gas up my car. buy the necessary supplies (including another bottle of this lovely south african pinotage) and wait and see what the universe has in store. today my novel caught aholt. that sweet space where the fog clears and i know exactly where to go and what to do with this chunk. but still, still my mind is on the weather–which looks like it should be fall, but instead is balmy and breezy.

preparing…

rainy days in new orleans…

tis the season…

why i live in new orleans…

a girl walking her goat. his name is chauncey. i thought the boy with the pet rabbit was something until they walked by.

this couple…and their beautiful baby

out looking for a disco ball & spinners for their pimped out stroller.

i need this kind of wackiness in my life and babee, new orleans never disappoints.

sparkly cupcakes…

make me happy…thanks sucre