Sweet Home, New Orleans

HOME: the place in which one's domestic affections are centered.

I'm sure at some point in everyone's life a significant other has broached the subject of having “the conversation.” It can be a conversation about just about anything, but when you hear, “We need to talk” - you know it's going to be a tough conversation.

Our conversation was to take place while Rich, my long distance boyfriend was home from Seattle for Christmas. But Rich's conversation was foiled when a very dear friend of mine, Joey Bonhage, became very ill prior to Rich returning home. My holiday was spent in the hospital, culminating with my dear friend passing on Christmas day and me doing a second line in my kitchen to “I'll Fly Away.” Needless to say, when Rich got on the plane to Seattle he tagged me with, “You need to think about moving to Seattle.” When we finally had “the conversation,” I told him, bottom line, “I do not need to move to Seattle, since New Orleans is my home and will be for the rest of my life.”

I then reminded him of ALL our previous conversations...I grew up moving from place to place due to lack of money and then due to a father with relationship issues with not only his children, but his many wives. I have moved roughly 33 times in my life...and when I moved to New Orleans, I knew this was home.

Rich, however, is a serial mover - Detroit to San Jose, to New Orleans, to New York , back to New Orleans for six months, to Los Angeles, to San Francisco, to San Jose, to Seattle - 9 times in 15 or so years. He'll dump everything he owns (except clothes and computer) and leave. He doesn't like to be “known” in his place of residence? Therefore, no place is home. But for me nothing makes me happier than running into friends, customers and acquaintances at any given moment. It's the most happy and lovely experience to see the smiling face of someone you know.

When I moved here - my entire family thought I was crazy. I had been working in the high tech industry in Michigan and California for over 20 years. I was leaving a $70,000 a year job to move to a city I had visited once on vacation...to become a bookseller and to write. I sent my resume' to every book store in the city, every one giving me the same comment...”You're really over qualified.” I knew this, but working in a book store was a dream I've had since I was 8-years-old. And I could no longer fathom driving over an hour to work on a two-lane curved mountain highway bumper-to-bumper at 70 miles-per- hour, for remainder of my life, doing a job that seemed meaningless. Ultimately I was hired by, I think, the best book store in the city, Garden District Book Shop. My family didn't think I'd be able to live on the money I was making, and quite honestly, it has been a struggle.

But, nowhere I've ever been celebrates life and community like New Orleans. Nowhere have I met people, that no matter their circumstances will do whatever they can to help you. There are more musicians, artists, chefs, and writers that call this city home, than is imaginable. I read once: “Stay away from stingy people, they have small souls.” With New Orleanians, there's not a small soul among them. For instance, my friend, Lucy – a lovely woman who could be my mother, became my friend in the usual way – in my line of work. I'm a bookseller and she, my customer. Over the many years that I've known her she took notice that I loved vintage jewelry and clothing. One day she invited me to visit, she told me she had some vintage clothing her aunt had made in New York in the 40s. Lucy thought they might fit me. So I spent some time visiting and then she brought out a couple stunning pieces of clothing and presented them to me. One of them being a black wool crepe sequined jacket with scalloped sleeves and front. The sequins are so intricate and beautiful it looks as if the flowers are painted on the jacket. Various colors of rose, pink, taupe, and green are gently sewn to the front and sleeves of the jacket, making it look as if a garden was gently laid upon your shoulder. When I think of the jacket I smile. When I wear the jacket, Lucy's face and incredible thoughtfulness are never far from my thoughts.

With never a lack of things to do, you can live here and be happy at home, but just in case there are: farmers markets, the Saints, art festivals, art markets, galleries, numerous literary events, innumerable book fairs, jazz funerals, second lines, Mardi Gras, Jazz Fest, and many more music festivals, etc. I know that I've left out many events ...that could easily be an essay in itself. But, you name it and we celebrate it, and with more heart and soul than any place I've ever been.

And apparently I'm not completely off my rocker in making this my home and my muse...this is evidenced by the incredible amount of people I've met - that after volunteering in the city after Hurricane Katrina, packed up and moved here. Changing their lives immeasurably for the good in ways people living elsewhere could never imagine.

New Orleans is my muse. The food is my sustenance. I have experienced great authors, great people, great book shop, a great community. I dream of galleries covered in kudzu and I see this dream daily. I imagine trumpets and trombones playing music that lifts the soul and walk down the street or go to the park to hear this with my own ears. I write stories of people dancing down the street and jump outside at the sound of music to dance along with them in a second line. To celebrate life while, being my unadulterated self, is I believe the purpose of life.

New Orleans is not just a city, it's a community of wonderful people who will do whatever it takes to support their community and one another. So the people you see on the streetcar, driving down the road, walking their dogs, jogging in the neutral ground are not just people that live here, they are more than that – they're family. For instance, Claudia and Jim – family that invites you into their home for Thanksgiving and Sue – family that invites you over for Christmas dinner. And yet another that invites you to share their table at brunch. Sunday, I walked down St. Charles and decided I'd treat myself to brunch at the Columns Hotel on their wonderful porch. I asked the Maitre d' if I needed a reservation and his answer was, “You look like an angel, you would never need a reservation.” He asked if I was alone, and I said, “yes.” Immediately the three people at the table near us said, “Oh join us!” So I did! A beautiful golden-haired woman, name Kaylee and two handsome gentleman, Scott and Adam – offshore divers, all three and relatively new to the city. I spent a lovely morning with them at brunch and then wine tasting until early afternoon.

So yes, I've become a crazy cat lady of New Orleans and this is where I want to be. If my soul ever starts shrinking and I stop smiling at everyone I meet, I want the ghost of Mardi Gras past to smite me in my bed.

Be Your Own Trophy...

In mid July, my friend Winter posted the following comment on FaceBook and it has been stuck in my head since.


"...thinks it's sad that there are some women who would rather be somebody else's trophy than their own."

My comment to this was that this was seriously sad, but that being your own trophy can be very lonely.

Especially in this city that I love, New Orleans. Most of the available men are just looking for a one night stand and the thought of actually having a woman as a friend is absurd to them. Let alone a woman who has a mind of her own, that's totally frightening to them.

I once asked a lovely man who came into the bookshop regularly to see me, if we could have coffee next time he was in the area. Sadly, I have not heard from him or seen him since. Apparently in "man language" having coffee means having his children...

I have pondered why believing in yourself frightens people, and this what I came up with:

• Most people need to be in control of everything



• Most people believe they are right about everything

Well, "Most People" I'm here to tell you to get over yourself. I took a class many years ago and it taught me two important things:

1. The only person or thing you have control of is yourself.


2. The power of the 3. In life, you only have 3 options for everything that happens: you can accept it, change it, or leave it.
   

Notice that "control everything" is not listed. Since the only person or thing you do control - is yourself, the change option is changing something in yourself. Nobody knows everything, that would be far too exhausting. But 3 options for everthing, how simple is that.

You can apply them to everything...believe me I've tried. If you stick to this, life is pretty good. Of course sometimes your memory fades and you forget the power of 3, but you'll be back. This is part of being your own trophy, showing people that you don't fall apart at adversity. You use the one thing you can control (yourself) to resolve your issues.

Who knows what may happen from day to day. But I will always be happy knowing I control my life, I am in charge of how I act in a relationship or not, and I will not stifle my beliefs and ideas for anyone. And I will treat people as I want to be treated.

Most importantly, I will always be My Own Trophy!

Singing to the Furkids

Yesterday a friend posted a sweet video on FaceBook of a man singing a pile of puppies to sleep. I commented on it that I've always sung to my cats, especially when it time to go to sleep or go to the vet. I guess this truly makes me the crazy cat lady. Or, does this exemplify the sweetness of life. Where nothing is more important at that moment, than having a sweet loving connection with with a being who is part of your family.

There are the people in the camp that would argue that these are just animals...these people don't have pets and never have. These people don't understand how someone could spend hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars on vet bills for an animal... So sad.

But to us, the animal lovers – these beings are our children, our family. Or as my niece is wont to say, our furkids. These furkids are there for us no matter what may happen in our day, with love and caring.

It's funny, even I can get short with my cats, when they meow at me constantly. But when it comes right down to it - they are telling me, “Get over here, you need to get some attention and relax.” It's not the opposite as most people think, that they want attention. They know when you need to take your mind off something and they're providing this outlet.

My cats hate the car, when they get in the car they know they're going to the vet and they talk and yowl until you think you'll go mad. So I sing to them and they're quiet. But when I evacuated for Hurricane Katrina, they went in their cages and never made a sound in the car. They knew that we had to go and they were okay with that fact.

I was the crazy cat lady, with four great kitties...Hissy, Maurie, Gino, and Smudge'. These cats were my family since 1998. From the same litter, siblings. Born of the parents, crazy Celeste and raucous Clancy, two strays that I fed regularly. The kittens were born under the house I lived in on Jefferson Avenue, right before Hurricane Georges.

Then last July the ex...made the permanent move to Seattle and took two. The female, Smudge', was a daddy's girl, no surprise...she really had no use for me. But not wanting her to be alone, Gino went with her. It is heart breaking, since the three boys were like the three amigos, the three musketeers... They always slept in a big pile. My pile o' kitties.

Smudge', the lone girl was almost always on her own. If anyone was with her, it was Gino. We called them the bookends, their coloring is so similar. I miss Gino and the other two boys do as well. The first night Gino was gone, Hissy and Maurie were up ALL night, searching the place and meowing constantly. They look less and less as days go by. I didn't say his name in front of them for a few months. I still don't really say his name aloud, it just makes me sad.

Still singing though...

The Golden Road - Word Painting

Oh, that I could paint a picture of peace and tranquility, it would be here. But instead I will paint with the tools I have. With my pen, imagination, and paper I will weave a story of incredible peace and tranquility and life.

Basking in the warm golden glow of the day, I slowly amble along a road of immense beauty and serenity. I’ve never been here before, but I know I want to live here. In a house tucked in the trees, surrounded by a beautifully wild and vibrant flower garden. A garden that helps we fill every room with the color, beauty and fragrance of nature. In the quiet of the morning I hear the sounds of nature waking up to a new and wonderful day. Blue Jays raucously calling to each other a warning that hawks are about. Squirrels hissing as any creature nears their stores of food. The crunch of oak leaves beneath your feet. And the musty smell of nature doing what comes naturally.

Sometimes, as I stroll down this road I can smell the ocean that is in the not too far distance. The fresh smell of cool moisture stirred into the sky. It calls me with the crash of the waves on the sand. Urging me to feel the cold wetness rushing over my feet and watch the sea birds looking for lunch. I’ll spend hours watching the children chasing the waves in and out, back and forth, wet and dry. Laughing as they build sandcastles, monuments to their youth. Monuments they hope will last forever, but are erased by the incoming waves. Leaving the beach strewn with the feathers used as flags and the driftwood used for the drawbridge, but the laughter continues. The sweet and joyful ring of laughter over the next new experience to come their way, chasing seagulls, digging for sand crabs, playing jump rope with seaweed.

Basking in the warm golden glow of the day, I slowly amble along a road of immense beauty and serenity. I find the cozy little home in my minds eye and stroll the slate stepping stones through my garden. Bending and appreciating each and every flower, it’s shape, color and incredible fragrance. The sound of the Hummingbirds whizzing from flower to flower and the buzzing bees in hasty pursuit of pollen enough for they’re queen. In the dampness of the garden, the small green tree frogs serenade in their low croak. A serenade of distinct beauty, calling the she-frogs from hiding to join in the dance of life and love.

Inside this cozy home the gleaming hardwood floors are covered with rugs in the deep colors of nature, the deep green of ancient trees, the intense blue of the ocean, the deep velvety maroon of a rose in full bloom. The sweet and exotic smell of fresh flowers fills the air, along with the warm comforting sound and smell of a wood fire. The overstuffed couch between the floor to ceiling bookshelves is so inviting, but the rocking chair in front of the fire has the loudest plea for attendance. The most vocal of your pet felines calls to you in his scratchy catcall, sounding like a disc jockey spinning discs, is filling its seat. So I sit there with the cat in my lap and become mesmerized by the sounds around me, the cat purring, the wood of the rocking chair creaking, the snap and hiss of the fire.

Oh, that I could paint a picture of peace and tranquility…

Can you hear the beauty of it all? Someday I may only have memories of these beautiful sounds of nature. Will these short paragraphs bring it all back to me?