week 11 head down and werq

This is the week shit caught up with me.
Tired. Didn't feel great.
I went for some very long walks in the muggy mornings to sweat it out.
The panhandler outside District yelled at me when I didn't buy him donuts (the woman ahead of me in line
told me she'd gotten him coffee and 2 glazed).
I went to an art event but never found the person who invited me.
I bought a Creole cauliflower, creamy white with the most beautiful pale green leaves.
Croissant d'Or served up a rich slice of Italian cake.
I even had vegetarian poboys at Killer PoBoys.
Tomorrow family arrives and I'm excited.

week 10 a clarity

Up to double-digits now, and I’m both sad and eager. I’m enjoying my stay but I’m lonely. I miss people who love me and that I can be silly with. Talking to shopkeepers and co-working space people just isn’t the same.

Sunday last was more of the same tediousness but I was making progress so I got things going early on and walked up Esplanade in search of groceries and coffee on a cool, glorious morning. I don’t enjoy walking across four-lane highways and under interstates but otherwise it’s a pleasant walk. I found some mayhaw jelly (new to me and could be tarter but it’s good enough) and tried Cypress Cakes on my way back. Unfortunately the coffee was bitter and the pastries lackluster. A rare miss.

I reached out to my New Orleans acquaintance about meeting up but he never replied. However, a friend’s daughter was in town so we texted and agreed to meet up Monday. I took an afternoon break to walk through the JamNOLA Festival, then finished up work and headed home late.

Monday: nervous about letting my boss know the tedious project wasn’t quite finished, I was up early, got another batch going, and headed out in PNW-like fog for French Truck Coffee. It was a joy to see my friend’s daughter, who sounds like her Mom and patiently gave me an hour to hang out and talk. She isn’t a fan of New Orleans--it’s busy but slow, she said. As opposed to New York City, which is busy and fast. We also discussed how Southerners seem more closed off than Seattleites to adding new friends. I do wonder. (And the biscuit breakfast sammy from French Truck is surprisingly good: get the pimiento cheese, spicy and tangy, and don’t toss out the herbed strawberries.)

The day dragged as co-workers got snarly about some of their files and I had to stay late to work and then jump on a cousin Zoom and then a friend Zoom. I made it home by 9 pm, so tired I was in tears.

Tuesday I looked forward to ushering but that alas was canceled and my boss needed help with another tough project.

By Wednesday I was so tired it was all I could do to work and stagger home.

But Thursday! Most meetings canceled, I took a rare afternoon break and walked to Rouse’s, shot the shit with a guy complaining about cops rounding up homeless and vendors off Jackson Square to prepare for the Macrons’ visit, then strolled to Baldwin & Co to sit on the patio with hot tea and some reading.

Friday I took comp time and even though I felt headachey and sinus pressure, went for a long hike across town, checking out Honest Bakery (ok pastries, diffident service), and impulsively walking back through the Warehouse District. I stopped at Le Mieux Galleries and was amazed by the art (especially Kathryn Hunter’s witty embroidery).

On my way back along the river I walked through the shopping mall, gazed at the Mississippi, and lurked by Jackson Square hoping to see Macron and madame. A Dickie Brennan's waiter in sharp red lipstick poked her head out a French door. “What’s going on out here?” The French president, I said. She made a face--bah--and shut the door. This day I stopped at St. Coffee for more patio time, then Rosalita’s for a watermelon margarita.

By Saturday I felt better and got writing done before the big gala event. I got emotional walking there, with people in festive holiday headdresses and glittery clothes, hearing Vince Garibaldi playing, and literally no one I know to wander with. But, I went to my shift and worked for two hours, checking wristbands, giving directions, surviving one “don’t you know who I am,” and evicting one would-be party-crasher. I’m sure there were notables but I only recognized the football player guy from Southern Charm New Orleans. There were gowns and sequined coats, high heels and big hair, a seven-foot tall man in a kilt and top hat, two men in tuxes rolling a giant wooden cent around (“big money coming through!”), and of course jazz. A Spanish-themed quintet, a vibrant second line complete with Baby Dolls I’d met earlier, a free shot of whisky courtesy of a woman bartender I chatted up, plus an all-woman jazz band complete with washboard. Outside in the muggy night as tourists gawked and the beautiful people lounged and a horn played from the balcony, I felt a moment of gladness.

weeks 8 and 9

Let’s call week 8 a bye. I had business to take care of and it superseded everything else.

Week 9. A purportedly short week at work (3 days) with of course 5 days of meetings crammed in.

I took myself for long walks in the morning chill, stopping in at District Donuts for pumpkin cheesecake and lemon meringue donuts. On a whim I stopped by Loretta’s even though the website said they were closed, and a sidewalk sign out front proclaimed “Yes we’re open!” So I popped in for a pecan tartlet and a pumpkin tartlet.

Tuesday ran long so I took a quick break to call a friend, walk to Frenchmen Street, grab an Abita at the Spotted Cat, and hear a band play “St. James Infirmary.” It was 20 minutes but it was enough. I wanted to stay for Meschiya Lake and her band but I had a competing Zoom.

Wednesday work ran even longer (8am to 8pm) and when I took a break around 2pm to dash to the café around the corner for food, the café was closed, the streets clogged with camping chairs and families, and a brass band tootled on the corner in 70 degree warmth. Wonderful, but I was still hungry.

My Thanksgiving Day invitation evaporated and work remained horrific so I spent the holiday doing tedious, tedious tasks, but I have a lot of free time on my hands and hopefully the tediousness will pay off in the end. I cooked up some pasta with Cajun tomato sauce and vegetarian meatballs and a ton of Parmesan and after a family Zoom I settled in with tartlets and a nip of whiskey.

Friday I was signed up to volunteer for a couple of hours, but the venue was closed so I hopped back on the bus and went back to the tedious work.

Saturday:You guessed it. More tedious work! But I went for an early run before a storm rolls in, picked up Evan Williams nog and some breakfast and nearly got run down by a fleet of school buses. Walking back along Elysian I saw a girl in a spangled outfit. Then a marching band. And another. And horse trailers. It was the staging ground for the Bayou Classic. I watched for awhile as the bands tried to drown each other out, warming up, girls doing high kicks, parents and coaches looking stressed and excited. 3 cowboys rode up and down Elysian Fields as they waited. It was surreal and wonderful.

week 7: TCOB

After another no-internet weekend, getting back to work Monday felt almost like a relief. 

I said almost.

*
On my walk to the work space I pre-emptively grabbed 2 paperbacks from Little Libraries, then downloaded 6 books to Libby, and installed Hulu on my phone.
Just in case.
Monday and Tuesday were killer work days. Back to back meetings for 5 and 6 hours in a row, including one really stressful one where a co-worker lost their shit on me, telling me I have been going behind their back and undermining them for a long time now. I'd known things weren't perfect
but this was a blow. Shaken, I asked for time to reflect, and went to my next Zoom.
I didn't sleep much these two nights. Between ending my lease with the shitty landlord, and this interaction, I was feeling shaky.
During a brief break on Wednesday I ran over to the museum to see Charmaine Neville perform with her band. The room was packed so I had to sit in the lobby for a few minutes, waiting for people to leave. When I got the wave, I ran in. What an entertainer! She had the normally staid room doing
call-and-response, the piano player busted out an accordion, and by the end everyone was cheering and laughing. Her music truly restored me.
On Thursday I had a long talk with my supervisor about the co-worker situation. It went OK but I don't know what the outcome will be. My sibling advised documenting everything and going on record with HR. The internet was going down at the co-working space (of course!) so I packed up and got myself
over to the Sneaky Pickle for their tofu and buffalo cauliflower salad. The salad was good but the service was weird.
Friday, a day off for Veteran's Day! Both the New Orleanians I'd hoped to meet up with ghosted me, so I got myself up early, went over to the WWII Museum for a commemorative event, picked up takeout eggs, grits and a biscuit from Willa Jean, then jumped on a Zoom with a dear friend to catch up
for an hour. On my way back from Willa Jean I heard the silkiest clarinet of my life playing on Royal Street. I stopped to watch a 4-piece band playing on the corner outside Rouse's. The woman playing clarinet and singing was confident and just so so good. Doreen Ketchens. She's played the
Kennedy Center. Why she was outside a grocery store with a sousaphone player, a bassist and a drummer is anyone's guess but it was magical. Even the Rouse's security guard was dancing, his pistol banging against his thigh.

*
A quiet afternoon of cleaning, reading and writing, and preparing for what may be a tough week. Note to self, the Willa Jean's biscuit was not great. The grits though! And the coconut cake. Mmm.

week 6 setting myself free

It’s been a week of credits and debits, death marches and weird phone calls. And trying to let go.

Monday was Halloween, and the city was even more festive than usual. As I walked to my work space I passed an older man dressed as a wizard, carrying a sceptre topped with a skull. I’d hoped to have friends here to enjoy the holiday with but it was not to be, so I worked, walked the neighborhood checking out costumes and festivity, and then took myself home.

Tuesday: All Saint’s Day, and an unsettling one. I found out my landlord let himself into my house without permission (he insists it was a “miscommunication” but it cemented my feeling that it’s time to go, so I’m working on it). I started the day with a long run to check out a grocery store on Esplanade. Halfway there I came upon a car accident, two smashed, smoking vehicles, a trio of kids sitting on a curb shaken and crying, adults around making calls and looking anxious. I felt so helpless, bought juice at the store but by the time I made it back an ambulance was pulling away, and everyone had vanished.

Wednesday I volunteered at a local thrift store, took the bus both ways and hung up signs and cleaned and met some characters, including a Navy vet who proclaimed, “If you love New Orleans, New Orleans will love you back.” I hope so.

Thursday I had a rare quiet afternoon so I headed over to the New Orleans Jazz Museum, slipping in late and enjoying 30 minutes of a jazz pianist singing her heart out.

Friday -- knowing thunderstorms loomed on Saturday -- I took a long lunch break and hotfooted it to the Backstreet Cultural Museum, a compact but vibrant space in the Treme where the founder’s daughter gave a history of masking and Mardi Gras Indians. I lingered over the beautifully beaded creations, the photos of Allen Toussaint and Troy Andrews and Treme Brass Band members. Then picked up lunch from I-Tal Garden (a delicious mushroom po-boy and seasoned fries), walked through Congo Square where TanzaFest was setting up, and headed back to work.

Storms and wind moved in overnight Friday so Saturday is a writing day, coffee from the hipsters at Petite Clouet Cafe, hello to a new friend who teaches CPR, and settling in.

week five: shes cranky

A side note before I recap: people go on and on about how friendly Southerners are. Well miss me with that. I’ve been left on read by a couple folks here and it feels about the same as good ole chilly Seattle.

Anyway.

Week five has been quiet and sometimes lonely.

Monday the internet at home was futzy so I ran back and forth to the co-working space a few times. Tried to have a birthday call with the fam in the evening and gave up in tears after it froze for the third time. I texted my landlord and she was snippy about it. I heard her talking animatedly next door and felt so angry. Then I had an Incident in the kitchen with a possible rodent or big bug; I panicked, closed the door and got into bed, scared and tired. I didn’t sleep much. It was a really low point.

Tuesday I couldn’t sleep so got up and went for a walk in the heavy, muggy, gross morning. Saw a dead possum laying on the ground near my landlord’s trash cans, belly up and covered with flies. UGH. When I got back, I asked my landlord to come over and she did, with bug spray and news that her dog had dragged the possum inside and through her side of the house Monday night! That was the loud talking. Christ. I cleaned up and made it through a long day of meetings. Talked to a friend who may be coming to visit soon. May be. Maybe.

Wednesday and Thursday not much to report. I went for a couple of runs, bought roach traps at the hardware store, had delectable coconut cake from Bywater Bakery, tried the carrot bacon at Horn's (but felt discouraged by the neighborly chit-chat that skipped right over me), wrote, worked, missed my partner. I did meet a super nice woman who teaches CPR at my co-working space, we chit-chatted and she was so positive and encouraging when I said I was a writer. Got takeout from the Thai place on Royal but it wasn’t great,and got yelled at by a panhandler so I skipped a possible happy hour and went home.

Friday I worked and then got myself to a care facility on Elysian and assisted a documentary filmmaker with interviews with LGBTQ elders about the AIDS crisis in New Orleans. It was a privilege and also really fun to be on a set, arranging chairs, scouring the facility for pictures we could use for backgrounds, grabbing tissue when one subject wept, admiring another’s vintage diamond brooch. Afterward I helped move the gear to a storage area, got lost with the director on a rutted-out street, then relaxed and smoked a spliff. I’d thought we were going for a drink but the director was tired and distracted and the night was ebbing away so I unwisely walked in the dark down Franklin for home.

Saturday I’d hoped to museum hop but there were thunderstorms and a tornado warning all afternoon so I stayed in. Rain came down in buckets, and the wind picked up. The internet gave up the ghost at 1.30pm, not to return until 3pm Sunday. It was a long, quiet day. Friends had sent me a care package (heart eyes emoji) so I read a Neil Gaiman book and an old paperback and eventually went to bed around 9pm.
By Sunday morning, still no internets (ANGRY emoji) so I got dressed, messaged the landlord, and headed out. I walked in 70-degree sunshine to the Ogden Museum of Southern Art, passing Saints and Raiders fans decked out in gear, glitter, body paint, and costumes. A twinge, wishing I was part of the fun, but the museum was quiet and packed with amazing Southern art. Afterward I checked out some galleries along Royal, including my old favorite Antieau Gallery where I picked up 2 zines, and then Mortal Machine and their punk rock art.
Then over to Fritzel's for an incredible Irish coffee and a jazz trio, average age probably 70. (Livewire says Richard "Piano" Scott but it wasn't.)
Still no internets at home so I went grocery shopping (Community Coffee was half off so I got more chicory coffee) and then to the co-working space. Felt very down and discouraged. 
This week: hoping to volunteer at a thrift type store and pull myself together. Until then.

*

I’m trying to stay positive and not get discouraged. Most of the friends who promised to visit have gone very silent. So I’m guessing I’m alone until mid-December. It stings. I’m lonely and miss my partner and fellow-adventurer most of all. But, I’ve been finding volunteer opportunities--there’s a film festival next week and possibilities at Habitat--so I’ll do what I do which is figure shit out.

 

museum, rest, repeat

I neglected to write about some fun times in Virginia and DC in September, with some of my favorite people in the world. A dear one and I spent a day on the National Mall, checking out the mesmerizing if limited Kusama exhibit at the Hirschhorn, then browsing the other galleries. Next was coffee and a stroll to the Museum of African Art, its three floors packed full of captivating art and photography. A downpour caught us as we left, and I looked at the Capitol in the distance, imagining what it was like on J6. The traitorousness of that day still sickens me. We took refuge under an old bridge and finally made our very damp way to the Museum of the American Indian. The grounds are gorgeous and welcoming, and we spent another few hours learning and browsing.The exhibit on Native American imagery in logos was fascinating and infuriating.

Then, dinner time! Gypsy Kitchen offered up a busy sidewalk table, with lots of people watching (leather pants, crop tops, teetering boots) and delicious Mediterranean food.

The next day was an early one, throwing our suitcases in the car and heading back into DC to catch a bus to New York City. Traffic slowed us down but we arrived around 5pm into sunny afternoon madness at Madison Square Garden/Penn Station. A 20-minute rush across town to check in at our hotel, to find the room wasn’t ready. So, a change of clothes, dropping the bags off with the bellman, and out into the city. We wandered down Third Avenue and found pizza, warm cookies, and a thrift store, in that order; when the room was ready we checked in, rested a moment, then headed back out to the chaos of Times Square to soak up the city. On our walk back, my companion looked up and saw the lit-up Chrysler Building, as a pedicab circled blasting Jay Z’s “New York.” Corny, but iconic.

The next day we fortified ourselves with coffee and pastries from the nearby Daniel Boulud establishment, then headed to the Museum of Arts and Design https://madmuseum.org/exhibitions. What an amazing venue. We lingered over the Machine Dazzle costumes and the jewelry exhibit. Across the street though Magnolia Bakery beckoned, so we got banana pudding and a slice of red velvet cake and headed to Central Park to rest and enjoy a treat. Next was a dash through the American Folk Art museum https://folkartmuseum.org/ and its touching and clever Morris Hirschfield exhibit.

Another break for coffee, and my companion had a thought. She’d never visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Was I game? My feet said, Hell, no but my heart said Yes so we walked uptown, passing a line of thousands for a Global Citizen concert.

We spent about 3 hours in the galleries, not even close to enough, but my pal was happy and we finished the evening at a sidewalk Italian restaurant with (not great) pizza and a glass of bubbly. My partner flew in that night, sweaty and tired and minus a guitar.

The next day was good-bye, and we embraced tearfully at the newly remodeled Amtrak Station at Moynihan Hall, fortified with Blue Bottle coffee. Then my partner and I hopped Metro North to visit family for a few days. Not much to report other than a quick hop north to Burlington, Vermont, for the aforementioned apple cider donuts, tart apple cider, and wonderful heritage apples.

Then it was back to New York City where I checked out the FIT exhibits on Balenciaga/Dior, and shoes, https://www.fitnyc.edu/museum/exhibitions/index.php hit a couple more thrift stores, dined on margaritas and Mexican food with pals on the Lower East Side, then caught another Amtrak train.