Indian summer

Yesterday was a series of adventures, moments leading from one to the next. They were all different, all significant (to me) in one way or another.

I was up early, planning on meeting my friend Paul so that we could walk to the Superdome for my first Saint's game. I'd never seen them play live and I'd never set foot in the infamous Superdome, so it was a day for firsts. It was Paul's first game as well (he's from England, where they play football with their feet).

"So this is what Sunday morning in New Orleans looks like, eh?" he said as we walked through the quite morning streets. It made me think instantly of Johnny Cash's "Sunday Morning Coming Down".

We waited for Leo and another friend (also called Paul) at Cafe Adelaide, where I ordered a mimosa and Paul had a bloody mary with so many vegetables in it that it required pruning before he could drink it. We considered the fact that New Orleans has to be a great destination for away team fans, as opposed to, say; the appeal of New Orleanians going to Cleveland to see a game.

Leo and the other Paul arrived and we wandered to the Superdome, which was only a few blocks away. We talked excitedly about the differences in attendance from pre-Katrina until now and how Leo's been a season ticket holder for ages. While we climbed the stairs to go tot he terrace where we'd be sitting, people sang "When the Saints go marching in" and chanted "who dat" in a way that made me excited to be there. I considered that New Orleans has a beautiful ability to celebrate, even in a place that could have been tainted by tragedy. When I caught a glimpse of the field, I smiled brightly, happy to be there with the company I was keeping, having another unique New Orleans experience.

The game itself was a bit of a tragedy, but it was still fun to watch. Afterwards we walked home int he rain, stopping at an Irish pub to get a drink and then wandering on after the rain had ended so that we could get something to eat. We picked up and lost people along the way, but it was all good fun.

The entire night would turn out to be a changing cast of faces, with Paul being the one constant. We'd see our way from one place to the next and others would come and go, each of them leaving something memorable of themselves behind in the story of where we'd been all day. When Paul finally made his way home with his girlfriend, I wandered home myself.

I was enjoying the Indian summer, which allowed me to wear short sleeves into the evening for perhaps the last time this year. I could smell the little bit of dampness that the day of rain had left behind and it was nice. My footsteps were the only noise I could hear, which I noticed because such quiet is rare anywhere near the French Quarter. I thought about how it was time to carve a pumpkin and that I hadn't done that in years. I thought about how I wanted to dress up for Halloween, because it'd been a while since I'd really done that too. I thought about the places, the faces, the day that I'd seen, tasted, smelled and touched and I smiled, because this is my life and right now I can't imagine wanting any other.

"If I could write out my own dream, for the next time that I sleep.."

Summer is coming to an end; I can finally feel it. Fall is around the corner and I'm waiting for it as patiently as I can. Fall is, after all, my favorite season.

I've committed to stay here in New Orleans for another year and that, coupled with the change of season, makes me a little restless to travel. The fall in particular always finds me wanting to go back to where I came from. I want to see the leaves explode in brilliant colors, watch them rain from the trees and walk over them, feel them crunch beneath my feet.

I want to go back to the Paint Creek Cider Mill and look at the cigar-store Indian like statue of chief Pontiac as I eat fresh, warm donuts and drink cider. I want to watch the wheel of the mill turn with fall of the water.

I want to see the family that I've been removed from for too long and make up for lost time. I want to see the friends that I've grown apart from in both lifestyle and geography. I want to drive past the places where we all used to live and look at them, appreciate them, in a way that is entirely different after all the things that I've seen, all the things I've done.

I'll never live in Michigan again, this I know. I don't visit it often enough, I'm sure of that too. I do however miss it from time to time, but even more so, I miss the people that I've left behind there.

The summer comes to an end here in the south and I know that fall has already begun in the north. I'll always be a wanderer, leaving little pieces of my heart in every place I've ever called home, giving big pieces of it to the people that I've loved along the way.

La pluie

I've had a bit of insomnia again lately. Lot's of endless nights and punctuated sleep, all caused by my ceaseless mind. I wake to the slightest sounds; my phone vibrating in the same room will wake me so I've taken to leaving it in the next. I'm tired and can see it in my face right now.

I try and nap here and there, but I'm terrible at it. The closest I come Is laying still when the afternoon rain comes. When I see the dark clouds start rolling in, I feel drawn to my bed the way a normal person would when the lights go out over the city at night.

This afternoon Elly moved her things into her new apartment and I went to help her put together her furniture so she could sleep there tonight. The afternoon rain hung over head as I walked back to my own apartment, which was empty and quiet and all mine once again. I climbed the stairs and opened the french doors in my bedroom as I pulled my damp shirt overhead and used it to mop my face.

I climbed into my bed, the sheets having been freshly washed earlier that morning (clean sheets are one of my favorite things) and laid across it diagonally. I closed my eyes until i heard the rain hitting the iron that laces all the buildings around me and then I opened them again. I didn't sleep, but I got as close as I might come, thanks to the rain.

I'm standing here outside your door

I arrived in Montreal after a long, sleepless night. I'd had every intention of getting on a flight early and sleeping through most of it. I'd stayed out the night before, saying some goodbye's that were very important to me to have said. There were just a few people too many and my attention was divided. I wanted my night to be like any other night, but I knew better.

I said the goodbye's that other people needed to hear or the occasional "I'll be back one day" that some people wanted. I had at least a small moment with everyone, but I'd have liked to have had more, to have the moment I had in mind for each of them, said the goodbye I'd imagined and sent them away with the hope and love I had for them.

I knew better though, so I took what I could. A hug that lingered, a kiss on the forehead, a handshake with the bartender, a wave from across the bar, passing words as I headed out the door, walked down the street for the last time that I'd really belong to New Orleans (at least for a while). I said "I love you" as often a I could and meant it each time.

Eleanor could have stayed. She could have kept playing her game and let me go back to finish my packing, have my last few moments alone. She didn't though; she followed me home. She cracked jokes between telling me that I wasn't allowed to really be leaving for good and threatened to cry while insulting me for deserting.

I got home to find that my flight had been canceled and they'd booked me on a slightly later one. I knew it wasn't enough time to really go back out, so I said I'd stay, told Eleanor go, but she didn't. We sat on the couch and I put a pillow in her lap and laid my head on her as she warned me it was my own fault if her bony hips cut me. I dozed on and off while we watched television together and talked about the many possibilities of the future. She fell asleep, perfectly still, sitting upright.

I woke to my alarm, showered, packed my bags and went into the early morning light. I called her name softly and she woke. I said I was leaving and I slid my arms around her, beneath her, lifting her just a little before kissing her on the forehead and telling her I'd miss her.

I called a cab and got up to leave and she came and gave me another hug. I looked around the house at things I'd have to do when I returned and it seemed a little overwhelming, but that's part of the excitement of a new adventure, isn't it? Feeling a little overwhelmed. I don't know about you, but if I don't have that little moment of doubt, I'd feel more like it was travel and not like adventure...

I stood outside in the balmy morning, waiting for my cab. My bags stacked on the curb and the lack of sleep making everything even more surreal than it already was. I sent a message to the one person I'd felt like I'd said less of a goodbye to than I should have (I held back a little for her own good). I climbed into the cab when it arrived and tried to listen to the cab driver talk about the state of affairs of New Orleans, but I couldn't concentrate or contribute past a polite mumble because my mind was elsewhere, many other places and that's where it wanted to be.

It was a long day of traveling, but I finally made it to Montreal at just after dusk. It was cold and so I grinned stupidly as I opened my suitcase and took out something a little warmer to wear. Frederic was there to meet me just after and he pointed out landmarks to me which I stared at through glassy eyes. He listened to the hockey game being broadcast in French as we rode to the studio to watch the rest of it with friends.

We went out to eat when the game was over we went out for a while and it was good to have friends welcoming me to this new city. It seemed more colorful, less cold and filled with adventure thanks to them. Having them welcome me to Montreal made saying goodbye to New Orleans just a little less heartbreaking and I was grateful for that, grateful for them.

It's a rainy afternoon in New Orleans and I'm laying in bed with the french doors open that lead out to the balcony. I'm listening to Yann Tiersen and watching the breeze that blows into the room make the curtains dance just a little.

I'm taking an inventory off all the packing, prepping, work that needs to be done and I'll do it, but I think that I'm going to lay here and enjoy this, for just a little while longer.

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.

Christmas Future

The ghost of Christmas Future is the most frightening in the Dickens tale and it's not hard to understand why. You can't change the past; you can regret it, learn from it, make changes because of it, but you can't change what's already happened. People don't fear the present, because it's easy to forgive yourself during the moment or feel that you have time to change. The future we fear is the one where we've failed to avoid repeating the past and correct the present and have at the end of our lives been made to suffer the consequences of our own actions.

I went out with friends last night and we talked about the future. I made mention of the move, of trying to split my time between here and there and these friends started suggesting ways to make it possible to stay. This is the way that the conversation has gone with most of the people that I've brought it up to. They told me that I belong here, that they want me here, but they are understanding of my situation, my circumstances and have told me that they want what's best for me.

We drank and laughed, we had fun at our own expense and each others in the way that only people that love each other can get away with. When everyone else left Molly's and headed toward the Marigny, I called it a night. I live in the opposite direction and decided it was best to head home. The last of my friends to say goodnight leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. "I love you, you know", she said before heading off. I waved to the rest of them, said goodbye one more time and walked into the night, feeling very fortunate that I have the sort of friends that take the time to let you know. I love the people in my life fiercely.

This Christmas has been hard on me, just like the first of every occasion usually is for anyone after the end of a long relationship. More than once I've felt that I wanted to forget about it, but every time I start to feel that way I've had someone here say just the right thing to bring me out of my funk, make me love this place, my life, the people in it.

I am keenly aware of my Christmas past, I see clearly my Christmas present and I know that my Christmas future is up to me.

Baby it's cold outside

"I really can't stay - (Baby it's cold outside)....I've got to go away (Baby it's cold outside)"

I'm on my way to visit friends and I've got a million things on my mind. Where i'm going, how I've spent the last few days, and you. Yes, you.

Every night I've had the best intentions of staying in, having a quiet night, taking it easy, but my good intentions were laid to waste by the allure of tempting offers made by my friends. Dancing, playing with Noisician Coalition, late night food at greasy spoons; all of these things lured me away from the comfort of my own bed, kept me out late and made me happy that I went out, stayed out, went to bed at sunrise.

Saturday night was a good night. Scratch that; it was a great night. I went out with L & M as well as two of their friends and we danced ridiculously, drank like it was our last chance and had the sort of fun that had people we didnt know wanting to join in all night. We laughed until our faces hurt, danced until our feet were sore and then went to get late night food well after I'd planned on being in bed, being asleep, and of course, I wasn't sorry.

Sunday saw me waking with friends in my typically empty house. We laughed and joked, relived the night before. I went out to dinner for another friends birthday and then to a burlesque show. It was much more low-key than the days leading up to it, but wonderful none-the-less.

Sitting on the plane now, I'm listening to christmas music through my headphones, thinking about the weekend I've had and the next few days coming up. I feel that despite all the trials and tribulations that I've had this year, all the ups and downs, I've led a charmed life.

will you still?

We sat at the bar after the burlesque show, all of us lined up and then wrapping around the corner. We made suggestive comments and did shots as we waited for the sort of greasy food that you use to celebrate the end of something. We laughed and joked, drank and were happy. When we finished eating and got up to leave, I thought to myself "i'm going to miss this" and I stopped to consider what that meant.

I'd been struggling with the idea of if I should stay or if I should go and had considered myself on the fence in regard to the matter. Earlier in the evening I'd been to a birthday party and the birthday girl was reveling in the fact that she and I were in New Orleans again (we'd both left and come back) and the points she was making made me want to stay. She told me 'this is the place that loves you, even if you go and then come back; they love you here, they welcome you back'. She was speaking of both of us and she didn't have any idea that I was considering moving away. She told me that what she loved about New Orleans was the fact that any time, any place, there would be someone here wanting you to be with them and missing you if you weren't. She'd thought no one would show up for her birthday when the day had gotten late and guests hadn't really started arriving. As the evening wore on, more people than she'd expected showed for the celebration, to wish her well, to love her.

Eating at the bar after the show with all of the people that I've gotten to know, become close to recently I had the sort of moment you want to stretch past the night, into the next day and carry pieces of it with you everywhere you go. You laugh and at the end of the night your cheeks are sore from all the smiling, but that makes you happy too.

But that's sometimes the way life is, isn't it? It waits until you have a moment of happiness to let you come to a decision that is going to be difficult. It wraps a hard choice in a pretty moment so that it'll be easier to swallow. That's what last night felt like; like I'd enjoyed New Orleans so much that I didn't really have a right to object to the fact that I just might have to go, say goodbye and hope that the birthday girl was right; that it would love me still, when I return.