some kind of normal: week three

Last Monday was a day of airport goodbyes, or at least see you later’s. Feeling wistful, I decided I’d try to figure out public transportation back to town, from the airport. I couldn’t find any public bus signs in baggage claim so I asked at the information desk, where a shrugging man pointed me out where the rental car buses pick up. I stood out there for awhile, not seeing any signs, so I consulted google again and it pointed me upstairs to departures. Finally I saw the familiar RTA sign, with 2 different stops marked. Hooray! I boarded 10 minutes later and quickly realized I was on the bus a lot of hospitality workers take into the city. This bus didn’t have accurate sign notifications so I looked as best I could out the window, trying to determine where we were. Finally I saw Canal Street, googled a passing address, and realized we were at my stop! I made a quick stop for organic produce (a waste of time but oh well), stopped for a fresh-baked sesame bagel at Flour Moon Bagels and started the hour walk home.
It was a quiet night, of acclimating myself to a mostly-empty space.

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Tuesday was a tough work day and also my first day at the co-working space. I don’t love being near a kitchen and chatty people but the wifi is fast and there’s coffee and I can jump into a private pod if I need to. So, it will have to do. Work has been stressful and unforgiving so I spent most of the day revamping a struggling project. The walk home is pleasant and I chef’ed up dinner, listening to a podcast and feeling a little less haggard.

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Wednesday: today was double shot day (covid + flu) so I tried to hydrate, did some work, and then headed out to Walgreen’s. Nothing happens fast here and this was no exception, but the technician was friendly and I grabbed Rosalita’s tostadas and an elote on the way home, in case I needed comfort food. I dialed into a super friends happy hour Zoom later on, to catch up on what my PNW pals have been up to.

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Finally, on Thursday, my legs agreed it was time for a run. It was in the 50’s so I pulled on leggings and headed out to Rouse’s. A very drunk guy was proclaiming his love of Halloween and pumpkins (PUNKINS!), so I grabbed salad stuff and acknowledged that they were pretty great punkins, and headed back out, stopping at Ayu Bake House on my way home for a vegetarian muffaletta stick (major YUM) and an Ayu Bun for later. 

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The weekend! With a Cox internet outage looming, I got coffee and a pillowy, cinnamony apple fritter at St. Coffee and sat on the pleasant patio enjoying the birds and the succulents. The owner came out to wipe tables and lamented how hot and dry summer had been; she’d watered and watered. It looked beautiful, I said, and walked myself to the co-working space. I spent hours pulling documentation together, tried to tune out the pizza party (ugh), figured out how to use the fancy coffee maker, then went home, changed shirts and hustled to my volunteer gig, with a pit stop at Louisiana Music Factory to pick up a fake book. The evening show was not well attended, despite a guest artist from Argentina (the attendees barely outnumbered the band), but I chatted with employees and a bitchy bartender, got a free whiskey drink, and made it home in time for a friendy-friend Zoom with pals.
This was my first museum weekend so I got up early, spent an hour at the very quiet co-working space doing some writing, grabbed iced coffee--strong and not acidic: win!--from Baldwin & Co, then walked up Esplanade to the New Orleans Museum of Art. I lingered a moment crossing Bayou St. John--I haven’t seen much water other than the Mississippi of course. I spent 90 happy minutes wandering the galleries, especially pleased by the exhibits showcasing Black photographers, and up-and-coming artists. The 91 bus did not materialize so I walked back down Esplanade in the heat, took a detour through Treme Fest, then, wilting a little, I trekked down to the Spotted Cat for Saturday afternoon jazz. I had thought the band Doro Wat might be Ethiopian but it was of course four white guys (le sigh). They were solid and good though, playing and singing the classics with panache, despite the lurchings of drunk tourists (five tipsy tanned girls in pink “NOLA 2022” ball caps, the usual bleating oldsters). I ordered a Miller Lite and grabbed a seat, only dropping in a tip and leaving when the old guy next to me wouldn’t quit humming. Then it was back to the co-working space, the soundtrack a band warming up for a wedding reception next door, then home for a hot shower and date night on Zoom, bittersweet but nice.

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Today’s agenda: writing and resting, and plotting a road trip north.

so much music: week two

Tuesday, I did a volunteer shift and met some very bored college students. It was a HOT (85 degrees F plus 90% humidity) day so I walked in the shade as much as I could. Later on, had a video chat with family and a sweltering dinner in.

 

On Wednesday I found a cheaper grocery store (hooray), worked some, then toured a co-working space hoping to find a backup to this unstable wifi at my rental; the co-working space is amply furnished with beefy internet, luscious a/c and all you can drink coffee. Um, yes please. After a friend Zoom hh, we walked to Bacchanal to check out the Wednesday night wine situation. http://www.bacchanalwine.com/ 3 youngish white dudes were playing the most atonal jazz, so aggressively unmelodic that I’m pretty sure they were having a laugh on all of us. The courtyard is magical though, lit with solar fairy lights under the fragrant sky. To refresh ourselves, we stopped afterward at https://www.parleauxbeerlab.com/ Parleaux Beer Lab for a tasty drink on a nearly empty patio.

 

Thursday was horrendous work-wise, and also a day to go back to the pharmacy (no joy, they wouldn't refill my prescription for another day), then wander down Frenchmen to check out The Three Muses We perched at a bar table and enjoyed rootsy jazz played by a clarinetist and pianist, older gentlemen whom you might have taken for accountants. Also made a pit stop at Louisiana Music Factory to peruse the incredible collection of New Orleans and Louisiana music, as well as the instructional books. 

Friday. The weekend! I staggered through two stressful meetings amid bad moods and crashing wifi, went back to the pharmacy and this time successfully got my stuff, dropped by St. Roch Market for roti canai and a beer at Laksa NOLA — St. Roch Market (strochmarket.com), then down to Congo Square in the balmy evening to check out the Reggae Festival. Nola Reggae Fest (neworleans.com). While the music wasn't stellar--the sound guy spent at least 2 hours jumping on and off the stage, to the consternation of the very good local band--the passing scene was amazing, the crowd dressed to impress, vendors selling African-inspired goods, delicious food, cold beer, and a pleasant vibe all around.

Saturday we were determined, despite heavy heat and humidity, to get to the Crescent City BBQ and Blues Festival at Lafayette Square. Crescent City Blues & BBQ Festival - The New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival and Foundation, Inc. (jazzandheritage.org) We pre-gamed with coffee and avocado sandwiches from Satsuma (both surprisingly meh), made a quick stop at the Pepper Palace to stock up on hot sauce, Pepper Palace - From Wild to Mild!, then made our way, already hot and tired, to a very crowded square, sipping on a vegan Vietnamese iced coffee from the Orange Couch.  The Orange Couch (theorangecouchcoffee.com) We spread out a blanket and waited as a fairly whiny white girl finished up a set (why did she say she was from California), then enjoyed Mem Shannon and the Membership. The food lines were too long to get barbecue, so we abandoned ship and walked toward home, stopping by the reggae festival (sound still not good), then by Loretta's for a praline and a warm bag of praline-stuffed beignets (OMG)Loretta's Authentic Pralines – Loretta's Authentic Pralines (lorettaspralines.com). At home I laid on an ice pack for awhile, feeling achy and overheated, facilitated a call for a conference, then summoned all my energy to go back to Lafayette Square for the evening. It was not my best night; tired, hot, cranky. I apologize again to my very patient partner. We got ourselves happy with beers and other libations and settled in to enjoy the confident, rich delta blues of harmonica-master Charlie Musselwhite.

Sunday was my partner's last day to party for awhile, so we fortified ourselves with bloody Marys at J & J's, went home to hydrate, waited out a blistering rainstorm, then headed out in the hot wet afternoon, up St. Claude to grab an umbrella, then bean and avocado tacos and a Mexican beer at Rosalita's Backyard Tacos (rosalitas-nola.com). It was a three band night and each one was a pleasure. (The Bourbon Street crowds, including a lot of drunk and happy Bengals fans, were not great.) First up, the Marla Dixon Band at Live jazz - Fritzel's Jazz Bar | Nightly live jazz performances (fritzelsjazz.com). Marla Dixon plays trumpet and belts out classic jazz songs like a pro, pausing and vibing when the Sunday night crowd of street-racer cars roll by outside on Bourbon Street.  After that was a quick hot slice of cheese pizza from Mango Mango (surprisingly tasty) and then Marty Peters and the Party Meters at 21^st Amendment, a tiny space which the 4-piece band good-naturedly filled with well-played jazz classics. Last stop of the night was d.b.a. for our beloved Treme Brass Band. Treme Brass Band | New Orleans LA | Facebook. As the first time I saw them years ago, founder and drummer Benny sat on a pew outside the bathrooms, patiently waiting for the set to start. I wished him a good evening and kept going. The band started quietly and patiently and built to full-throated jazz celebration, with a Sousaphone, a piano, and at least two guest horns sitting in. When the singer came to the barroom floor to pass the bucket and sing Basin Street Blues I felt teary and happy. 

My third week begins somewhat quietly and sadly. More to say in the days to come.

one time in New Orleans: week one

After a 10pm Saturday arrival and restless sleep in a new place, we put on shorts and walked in the balmy morning to Bywater Bakery | Breakfast, Lunch, Cakes, Coffee & More! | Restaurant for coffee and a heavenly apple fritter. This was stock-up day, so we trudged to the Dollar Store for soap and supplies, and to Robert’s for fairly expensive groceries. The Saints game was on the TV over the liquor department, and when Minnesota scored in the 4^th quarter, the entire store seemed to erupt in yells.

On our way back we again walked past the Bywater Bakery where a jazz duo was playing and singing, so we lingered on the corner to listen.

Later in the day we walked through the French Quarter and Bourbon Street. Even though it was barely four p.m. the day was festive, with a few day drinkers already overcome, and lots of tour groups and looky-lous.

Monday was also a shop and stock day, with another trip to the dollar store and one to Walgreen’s so I could buy calamine lotion for my legs which had broken out in an ugly red rash. Heat? I wondered. No more pants or shaving my legs for now. I talked to the volunteer coordinator at a local museum about volunteering there once a week. Around 4.30pm we wandered over to the Bywater Brew Pub - Brewery, Restaurant & Bar | New Orleans for happy hour at a pleasant sidewalk table, enjoying locally brewed pilsener and Marzen, fried pickles, cheesy fries and a tofu banh mi. The waiter said the cook had been in Portland for awhile but she was back to cook Vietnamese food.

Tuesday: back to work for me, unfortunately. A quiet day of cooking at home, getting to know the neighborhood and working. And, buying a fan, because: heat.

Wednesday: after I finished work we hotfooted it across the FQ to Home - The Bombay Club - The Bombay Club (bombayclubneworleans.com); I had a Manhattan and my partner had a martini, along with Bombay chips. A jazz pianist and a vocalist entertained at 8pm. Then we tried to go to Café Istanbul to see Kid Merv but like squares we got there too early and walked home.

Thursday: a jaunt to Rouse’s Grocery for coffee and vegetables, then a pit stop at the Spotted Cat to sit on the patio with overpriced Dos Equis beers and listen to a vigorous jazz quartet and chat with some retired folks and pet one man’s dog.

Friday: I took the day off, fed up with the bad Wi-Fi. After coffee and a sitdown at the park with my partner’s guitar, we walked ourselves to Magazine Street to stock up on a few thrift store items. It was a hot hot day and around 2.30pm we made a pit stop at San Antonio for 2-for-1 margaritas, chips and salsa and black beans, and bean nachos for me (including a luscious queso). We managed to squeeze aboard a very crowded street car to get back to the FQ, and slowly trudged our way to Port of Call - New Orleans' Best Hamburger (portofcallnola.com) for a beverage.

Saturday: my legs were worse so I got up early to make an urgent care appointment. The PA thinks it’s dermatitis (probably not scabies or ringworm, he said, comfortingly). ☹ A pal was in town so after I did some writing and a few errands we met the pal and his girlfriend at J&J’s nearby, for Abita beers and some good old west coast catch up time. Then we parted ways so I could pick up my prescriptions and then my partner and I could hop the 55 or 57 bus up Elysian Fields to Gentilly Fest (neworleans.com), where Big Sam's Funky Nation (bigsamsfunkynation.com was to play at 7pm. A man at the bus stop saw us running to make the bus and gave us a day pass; we rode in air conditioned luxury about 30 minutes north of the Bywater, to find ourselves at a bustling festival with vendor tents, a host of food options and excellent music. One man, Michael, stopped us near a booth selling bejeweled sunglasses. How did you find this? He asked, after we said we were from Seattle. He shook our hands and wished us well. The Big Sam show was amazing, so confident and soul pleasing. We nearly missed our bus back, confused by a road closed sign and absolutely no sidewalk. A merciful bus driver waited a few seconds so we could climb aboard and ride a nearly empty coach back to EF and St. Claude.

Sunday: up and out to see a klezmer band that was part of NOLAxNOLA (neworleans.com) at Bywater Bakery. A crush of people who left when they figured out what klezmer music is. We had coffee and an oatmeal cookie and enjoyed the weirdness. Then at 2pm I had reservations at StudioBE to see Brandan "BMIKE" Odums art, which was enormous in scale and ambition and impact. Then a jaywalk across town to try and buy bus passes (fail: the machine was broken), a pit stop for fresh hot beignets, a meltdown on my part when we missed the street car, then realization dawning as the streets immediately clogged with fans exiting the Super Dome post-Saints/Seahawks game. We started to walk towards our final Nola x Nola event at The Jazz Market — The New Orleans Jazz Orchestra / NOJO (thenojo.com), dodging cars stuck in traffic, passing the also-stuck street car, huge tailgate parties with smokers and grills and loudspeakers, one heckling the slowly moving cars; and then we were there, 30 minutes late but also right on time, as the band started about 10 minutes after we arrived. We were 2 of 5 attendees and it was intellectual, precise, heady jazz, in a deeply chilled perfect-acoustics auditorium. I sipped ice water and enjoyed. Afterward we still couldn’t find the street car and the neighborhood went from ok to burned-out-car very quickly, so we hurried back under the overpass and into the FQ. For dinner we wanted po boys, but Daisy Dukes was closed and Siberia no longer serves food; so SNEAKY PICKLE + BAR BRINE (yousneakypickle.com) it was, for a delightful dinner: martinis with garnish adventure, fried green tomatoes, okra seared and tossed in gochujang, fries in a tangy vegan ranch sauce, the most amazing pillowy gnocchi in a peanut sauce, and then a Snickers pie for dessert. AMAZING. 

Monday: Another week is already starting and neither of us slept well, so we took ourselves the six blocks to Home - Elizabeths Restaurant Nola for an 8am breakfast outside. As we sipped our first coffees, two men rolled up, bleary and laughing, just off work at a karaoke bar. They ordered breakfast-rita’s and full breakfasts and laughed it up with us for a bit. My partner enjoyed a duck hash/sweet potato waffle, while I had a classic eggs and hash brown brekkie, with a fluffy buttery biscuit and a bowl of the creamiest grits. The servers were kind and friendly. It was the only way to start the week.

apple-mania

Recent travels took bsp to the Northeast and I was excited about finding apple cider donuts. It took a couple of days, including a creepy Airbnb with a copy of The Amityville Horror prominently featured on a bookshelf, and a detour to the local airport to fetch lost luggage, but finally we made it to Shelburne Farms and its apple-centric farm stand. I bought Macintosh apples, which have a tart, winy taste that reminded me of being a kid, hot apple cider, also tart and crisp, and a half-dozen apple cider donuts, crisply fried, creamily apple-y and dusted with cinnamon sugar. It was one of those times when reality and memory happily coincide.

mine and only mine

I've dreaded writing about this because I've treasured this refuge for so long.
But: I'm giving up my writing space, for now.
Why?
Reasons. Money. Travel. Not wanting to become stale.
I'll find a new one in 2023 but for now I've been consolidating, moving things, making Goodwill runs.
Last weekend I painted, covered up some garish decor from the previous tenant, took down my ideas cork board, and painted over pencil sketches made by a friend and collaborator a few years ago.
It is satisfying work. But I'm sad. I've spent many hours at my desk here, thinking, writing, sleeping, stalling, drinking coffee, making lists and above all yes--WRITING. At least eight stories and part of a memoir were birthed and labored over here.
I hosted a few pre-funks here, ate vegan food with my boo, stared into Zoom meetings, wished the neighbors next door were quieter.
But mostly I've treasured this quiet, private space, the hours that were mine and only mine.

done? or done-done

 With writing, especially fiction writing, I never quite know when I'm done.
"Done." Done-done.
I'm better now at stages, the wild and creative and shaggy rough draft, the first rounds of edits, then letting it all rest for awhile, like a yeasted dough. Something has to ferment in the prose, or my brain, or both. Then the return, another round of edits, and feeling around for threads, that idea or theme that emerges, reveals itself, clarifies everything, making it easy to see what stays, and what is mercilessly (but not unemotionally) excised.
So: rough draft, edits, resting, threads, edits.
And then?
I like to tinker, adding lines, removing them, seeing how they feel and read.
I ask myself questions: did I go deep enough here? Does it all make sense? Have I found something new or meaningful to say or investigate or rage about? Is there a sense of longing, understanding, wanting more?
You know when bread's done, by the baking time and aromas.
With fiction, for me, it's still a guessing game.

smoketember is upon us

Years of hot summers and smoky forest fires usually mean leaden skies and terrible air by August.
This year the smoke held off until this weekend, but Smoketember is fully here.

A grass fire along highway 104 nearly deterred us yesterday from a cabin visit. Two yellow-suited firefighters stood watchfully by as we passed a thin smolder of smoke.

In the parking lot of a grocery store, the sky glowed ashy gray and neon reflected in the premature dusk. My phone blared with an "Imminent extreme alert" from a nearby county, regarding an evacuation order.