Week 15: an extra heaping helping of humility

 Good-byes are hard for me and this one stings. I hope it’s only a see-you-later.

To back up a bit: on Monday we breakfasted at Elizabeth’s with a trio of determined bees that we temporarily housed in upturned water glasses, then drove out to Whitney Plantation. This is the rare plantation that tells its story from the perspective of its enslaved inhabitants, which is powerful and grim. I can only imagine the futile loneliness of living in the middle of the swamps. Dinner was at the Sneaky Pickle, buffalo cauliflower wraps and delicious fries and lovingly-prepared cocktails.

Tuesday was predicted to be stormy, an unsettled day of tentative walks and random meet-ups, card games, charging up phones, and waiting. When the afternoon storms fizzled, we walked to Frenchmen Street but nearly every venue was preemptively closed. Overnight, around four a.m., thunderstorms raged, with lightning so bright I couldn’t sleep.

Wednesday saw the departure of the Christmas Day arrivals. They came by with wine, leftovers and a palpable air of relief. We cleaned, packed and worked, and headed out in the evening to the Blue Nile to hear the New Breed Brass Band, and a glimpse of Kid Merv across the street. I felt happy watching these talented young players tear it up on their brass, and also deeply sad to be leaving.

Thursday dawned hot and sunny, and we ate leftovers, went for farewell walks, and eventually hopped in a Lyft driven by a talkative Cajun and headed to the airport.

*

Arrival on the west coast has been complicated. Illness, bad feelings from a landlord, rain, confusion. I’m trying to remain calm and focused but my stomach is in an uproar. Today, laying low, a few errands, a distant hello at ETG, and now writing.

C’est tout.

ikons

Rest in power, you sexxy muthafuckas.

bittersweet

Bittersweet is great for chocolate but tough on the heart. Missing my momash today.
Eleven years since I kissed her goodbye for the last time.
At the coffee shop today I picked up a heart-n-hatchet cookie.
Seems appropriate for this conflicted kind of day.

how can this

A note in remembrance of a fine, fun, smart and charming young woman, who departed this planet on Friday, abruptly and unexpectedly. Left behind are her equally amazing partner, her baby daughter, and hosts of bewildered friends. I had the good fortune to get to know these women the past couple of years. It's been a tough summer. A friend's mom passed quite suddenly last week as well. I am weary of departures.

beyond

 A friend told me this week that they have been communicating with "the other side." Confused, I asked who exactly they meant--Republicans? People on the East coast?
This friend had consulted a pet communicator to say some things to a beloved dog about to undergo surgery. In addition to clearing some things up with both of the household's dogs, the communicator also had some messages from relatives of friend. Deceased relatives. And, from my friend's spirit guides.
The communication was part verbal and part experience and even as my friend kept saying "I know this sounds crazy" I couldn't help but notice that their demeanor was supercharged, glowing, ecstatic almost.
My friend asked if I wanted to talk to my momash and I'll be honest, it scared the shit out of me. I didn't sleep much that night.
My friend definitely heard some things that might make life easier. I'm not sure I can say the same for myself.
*

Then I dreamed of momash two nights ago. In the dream, I was lying on the floor of a bedroom, sobbing, "I miss her so much." I woke up in tears.
Yesterday, news that a friend's father suffered a fatal heart attack while hiking in Arizona. Two weeks ago, a bunch of us met up for dumplings and laughs with this friend and his parents. He was an active, smart, hilarious and generous man and I can scarcely believe he is gone. My heart aches.
*
Last night, the much-anticipated Lady Gaga show with good friends and a new one. I wore towering gold sandals just because, and I'm hungover and my feet are killing me. It was a glorious night.
*
photos are reflections in the window of the Union 76 on 45th.

life abbreviated

One of my colleagues killed themselves last week. Young--not yet 40--educated, well-off, and ostensibly happy. Up for a significant promotion at work, with a small child and a spouse and parents and a life. Someone I saw frequently but never felt I connected with. My boss, on a few projects. All this time, I thought it was me--that we just didn't click--but what I've been hearing from other co-workers is the same bewilderment, the sense that we didn't really connect with this person but now we realize, to our horror, there must have been hidden depths, a despair never even hinted at, that caused them to take the ultimate step.
Hey people what is this? We fight so hard to stay alive, we eat right and exercise and undergo medical interventions, we take all possible measures to elbow away the Grim Reaper. And yet this person chose to depart, planned it, I think, prepared and readied and then did it.
How do you walk the Earth one beautifully sunny late winter day, knowing you're about to commit an act that will remove you permanently from the planet, knowing that your act will make an indelible mark on your spouse and your kid and your parents, on all of us?
Who does this? A desperate person. A selfish one? A person with no other options. I can't help but think about it, to try and make sense of the unthinkable, and all I can come up with is sadness. Another human suffered and I had no idea.
*
A writing night, and DJ ShmeeJay is my soundtrack.