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.

Exquisite distractions

I had no expectations for the day, which I find is often for the best. In having nothing in particular to accomplish, I managed to fill my day with exquisite distractions.

Autumn

I've moved into a new apartment, something smaller, quieter, more to my liking. I had a wonderful space over a very loud bar that got louder as the year crept on and finally I relented and had to move. I lived there for fifteen months, which is the longest I've lived under any one roof since I was three years old. It was the first place that was my own after my divorce. I didn't really want to go, but I'm happier with where I am now; it's better for me.

The moving process was challenging as is often the case, but I'm sort of a professional at this now. I have sort of decided though that this is a profession I want to retire from; the moving of all of one's possessions from one place to the next. I've decided that my next move will only happen when I'm ready to sell all my possessions and live the gypsy life.

I haven't been back to the doctors office because of the move, but it's something I know that I need to do soon. I've been making excuses about monetary and time constraints, but the real reason I haven't been back is because I didn't want any bad news until I'd at least settled the move. Not that I have any particular reason to believe the news will be bad on the follow up, but, you know; one thing at a time.

I've been back on a Nina Simone kick the last few days. She's the soundtrack of autumn in my mind. At some point in my life she became the music that accompanies the transition of summer into fall and as we've gotten our first cold front she's been creeping into the corners of my mind. Last night was the first chilly evening and today I turned off the air conditioning, opened the windows and played "Black is the color of my true loves hair".

thank you for the lovely dream

I’m moving soon, but I’m not going far. It’s time for a new apartment, one that’s a little quieter (I live above a bar), has different walls to shoot against, will inspire something new. I’ve been rushing to finish all the editing that needs to be done before I start unplugging things, packing them away.

Thoughts of moving have seeped into my dreams. Last night I dreamt that the only thing left in my apartment was my bed, which is massive and has been described as a ‘trap’, because of its opulence. In my dream, I opened the door to my bedroom and the hazy light of early morning creeped into the room. The absence of objects that have their usual place made the room seem even larger than it does when filled with all the familiar things that I possess.

In this dream; amidst the impossible number of pillows, tangled in the sheets, you smiled at me over your shoulder. You slid one bare leg across the other slowly, bringing your foot to rest at the back of the knee you’d uncovered in your movement. You were otherwise nearly perfectly still and there was a calmness about you that I wanted to appreciate nearly as much as I wanted to disturb it. I could see the well defined line of your back and I wanted to place my lips there, softly…

"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.

I don't mind getting caught in the rain

It's the last day of treatment for me and I'm thrilled about that. It wasn't as bad in some ways as I might have thought and in others it was worse. I have a mantra though, inked into my arm in a place that I see and am reminded of it all the time. "Everything is beautiful".

The treatment broke down the bad cells and today my body starts mending itself. It'll knit itself back together neatly and in a few years time the little scars will fade and it'll be a distant memory. Today I'll go back to exercising like I did before and feeding my body everything it needs to be stronger. I'd taken a moment away from all of that so i wouldn't over-exert myself, but today is my green light and I intend to run.

I took a trip to Las Vegas last week to take care of a few things and get some work done. I've finally figured out how to take the next step in transitioning my career and that's what I'm working on now. I've been inspired and the models that I've chosen to work with on this project are only furthering my inspiration.

I went and looked at an apartment here in New Orleans the other day. I know that I've been saying that I'm leaving for a while now, but the doctor I see is here and frankly, so is most of what I appreciate in life. I met someone recently who is thinking of moving here and she's the one final incentive that I needed to just stay, at least a little while longer. Goodbye California dreaming; I'm staying here for now.

The apartment I went to see is on Esplanade Avenue, which is someplace I've dreamed of living. It's got wood floors and a chandelier as well as a balcony and a fireplace. It's much smaller than the apartment I live in now, but I don't have a need for so much space.

I got caught in the rain on my way to see it and had left my umbrella at home. I raced beneath balconies, smiling like a child as I attempted to dodge the fat drops that fell on my face, in my hair, cooling me off from the sweltering afternoon heat. I didn't mind getting caught in the summer rain; I rarely do.

The little old man who owns the building showed me the garden as we dodged big puddles and wiped the last of the rain from our faces. He told me about the parties he throws when the Night Blooming Cereus open up twice a year.

I've been torn for a while about where I should be right now, mostly for professional reasons. Standing in the rain listening to the little old man talk about the flowers, I looked around the garden and felt for the first time in months that I already am where I belong.

warm welcomes

One of the greatest things about New Orleans is that if you leave for a few days or for a few years, when you come back people say "welcome home". Everybody is from someplace else, but that's what New Orleans is to them and that's what it will always feel like to me.

circles

I'm on my way back to Las Vegas for a few days for business. I have some things I need to sort out, some work I need to catch up on and I've put it off for as long as I could. I'm photographing familiar models for a project that I've had in mind for a while now and working on transitioning into the next stage of my career, which is something I feel is important for me right now.

I was in a holding pattern for a while before all of my recent concerns made me change course. It was one of those moments in life where you can't make a decision because none of the options were more desirable than the others, nothing seemed like a step forward, more like a lateral move or a move away from what I wanted, but toward what I thought I should be doing.

Then something desirable came along and changed everything...

I've had several discussions with people lately about signs, particularly how I don't believe in them and think they are reserved for people with a faith in fate or divine forces that I don't possess. However, even I have to say that there's been enough doors opening at just the right moment lately to make me at least reluctant to look a gift horse in the mouth if there are such things as 'signs'.

If you asked me to paint my night last night, this is what I'd paint