spring is coming, I can smell it

What passes for winter is slowly letting go of New Orleans and spring is coming earlier here than it does in the northern state that I grew up in. It's warm today, so I went for a walk in short sleeves and still managed to work a bead of sweat on by brow. I walk fast, wearing headphones, listening to music (lately I've been stuck on Saltillo, particularly A hair on the head of John the Baptist ) looking around at the world without lingering on the faces in it. Sometimes people will tell me after the fact that they've seen me blur past them, unable to get my attention while I've been on these afternoon walks and in my excitement for this fair weather I'm sure that I'll give good cause for these comments today.

I can smell the spring in the air. I can smell the difference in the scent of the rain, smell the old wood swelling in my old apartment, smell the earth renewing it's offerings of annuals & perennials. I can smell the plaster and paint relax after the brief period of cold.

I opened the floor to ceiling windows in my office and saw a tiny green lizard wander inside a few steps before retreating. He took a fly that hadn't fared the winter so well on his way back into the sun and soaked up the last few remaining rays before it started raining.

Today I'm that little green lizard, taking the spring before it's time, soaking up the warmth and the sun, because that's what we are meant to do after the winter passes.

the miles between you and I

"You should go, if not for anyone but yourself", Frederic said in his thick Montréal accent. We were sitting at an empty blackjack table at the Palms, out of the smoke and away from the noise of the bar where everyone was gathered. We'd been talking first about my meeting with the owner of his company, about the fact that he and his girlfriend were expecting and then the conversation shifted to discussions of where we were, if I'd seen her, if I planned to. He's smart, successful, kind and I have the utmost respect for his opinion and his advice. I'd already been leaning toward going regardless of the outcome, but he gave me the final push that I needed to make up my mind, see it through.

I travelled to San Francisco unsure if I would or should visit with her; it was an uncertainty compounded by the fact that when I'd mentioned the idea to her in the past she'd responded favorably but always got skittish and became suddenly unavailable when it came time to actually plan things (she's since admitted that nervousness has often been a huge factor in this).

Frederic had suggested I see her because at very least I'll have been able to say that I tried to bridge the cavernous gap between us, whether it actually happened or not. I'd sort of felt like as a matter of principal I should try too, so I went but made alternate plans for the free time that I'd have while I was there, just in case.

She texted me with the address of a bar; someplace between where she lived and where I was staying. I went outside and found the street but with no cabs available in the first few blocks, I just decided to walk. It was just brisk enough that I was thankful for the velvet coat, but not cold enough for the leather gloves. I walked at a fast pace, feeling like I was cutting through the night on a collision course with something big but unknown. We exchanged messages back and forth while I made my way there and I saw her standing outside when I was half a block away. She walked to the corner and met me; we hugged for a long time. It been the first we'd seen of each other in half a year, parting just after the divorce.

She looked good. For a while after the divorce I'd worried awfully about her because I knew she wasn't taking very good care of herself, but she looked good when I saw her, like herself again. We walked inside and ordered drinks, taking a seat in the window while complimenting each other on how we looked.

We spent hours together, talking about our lives as they are now, the relationships we've had since, trying to right a few wrongs and close some of the distance that had grown between us. She admitted that being frightened that things would be worse had caused her to sabotage some of my previous efforts to see her this way. We promised each other we'd try harder.

The next day I was booked out on a late flight and when it was cancelled, it caused me to have to spend another day in San Francisco. We went out to dinner and for a drink again that night and it was lovely; spending time together that wasn't overwrought as the last few times we saw each other were.

I'm happy I made the trip, took the time, saw her again. I'm happy that we could look each other in the eye and part ways better than the way we had the last time. I'm glad that we are on good terms for the first time in ages. I really, really hope that it stays this way.

bright lights

I thought it would be strange, difficult going back to Las Vegas after the way I left it, the time that's passed, who I am now. I thought perhaps I'd have a moment that was like vertigo when I realized I'd lived another life there, but that was a lifetime ago and it wasn't like revisiting your old high school, but rather more like moving through a room that you were made to wait.

I stood on the fifty-seventh floor looking out at the lights and I thought they were beautiful and was happy to see them again, but I didn't have the feeling that they belonged to me like I do when I look out a place that I really love. I didn't feel like the mountains were mine or that I possessed the stars. I didn't feel like it was my city, just a city that I admired somehow, faintly.

When I look out of the tall windows in my own New Orleans bedroom, I feel that the city owns me. I feel like it's laid a claim on me that I've taken comfort in, that I've allowed, encouraged, appreciated. I feel like New Orleans is standing just behind me with an arm draped around my neck gently, whispering in my ear softly that I should stay, that even if I go, I'll just want to come back and that no place will love me quite the same.

I'd thought when I was in Las Vegas I might slip into feeling that I'd gone home but I passed by the place that I used to live and hadn't even considered that I had until it was already behind me and out of sight. I've never come to New Orleans and neglected to look.

Even though I see the contrast, plain as day, it makes too much sense at the moment for me not to go and there are only selfish (maybe even irresponsible) reasons to stay. I won't go back to Las Vegas; I've had that life once before, but I'm on my way west, soon.

Do you need winter to enjoy summer?

We walked briskly down Bourbon Street, convincing ourselves that the cold wasn't nearly as bad once you started moving, generating heat. We are both northern people, grew up in the same state and are accustomed to a cold that's actually much colder, but somehow it seemed worse in New Orleans than it had in Detroit.

We charge past tourists, around the metal barricades that prevent cars from crawling down the street at night through the crowds. We fly by policemen on horses and through traffic on cross streets. We suffer the cold as people try to lure us inside bars, restaurants, strip clubs with a promise of heat that makes me think of the summer when they promise the cold and everyday when they promise cheap booze and dancing.

She's wearing her grandfathers green wool military issue coat which is large enough to accommodate two of her inside of. Her knitted cap is pulled down to just above her eyebrows, which are also knitted (from the cold). We stop in front of the club that she works in and I hug her goodbye. The light inside is pink and it glows on her cheeks, which are red. She turns quickly and walks inside and I shove my gloved hands in my pockets and retrace my steps.

Optimism (chin up)

A year ago. In my last days with my ex wife, I would go outside on the balcony and lament not using it more often. We'd go out when there were people around, but I'd had the notion when we moved in that I'd sit outside and read at night, looking at the view, which from the twentieth floor gave me both the strip and the mountains. Life gets in the way sometimes though.

I can look at these photos now and see me slowly getting myself back. My hair is longer than it was then, I'm twenty pounds lighter. I wasn't sure what was happening next. I'm more comfortable now in my skin, in my life.

I'm going back next week for the first time since the divorce. I'll only be there a week or so, but it'll be strange, driving past this place, looking up and remembering where I was then in contrast to where I am now.

That's life though; sometimes you are at the top looking down and sometimes you are at the bottom looking up. Just keep in mind where that puts your chin.

Mixed signals in a digital age

I'm quickly beginning to hate facebook, twitter and the likes for it's ability to allow people to passive-aggressively communicate with people in the form of status updates and such. The same thing with text messages; I hate having a conversation about anything important if it's not done in person or at very least, over the phone. I think in particular; breaking up, making up, disagreeing or anything of the likes is almost cowardly and somehow insincere (or at very least lazy) when conducted in 140 character or less comments, status updates and text messages that allow people to not look others in the face when they deliver them.

Royal Street

a new year

I'd walked up to One Eye's Jacks thinking I'd count down until the New Year there, but meet two friends as they were coming out the door on their way to see the fireworks. I checked my phone to see if the person I was looking for had responded to my question about whether they were inside or not, but there was no reception so instead of counting down the new year waiting to get inside I walked with these friends, down to the river.

We'd just counted down the new year and I stood taking their photo with her camera as they kissed. I tilted the lens forward, looking into the little screen on the back to see if I'd gotten the photo in the low light when I felt a pair of lips pressed to each cheek and heard a "Happy New Year" whispered into each ear.