a man hit me today and a man hit me on some other days too

A man hit me today. A stranger. Less than an hour ago.

I made it home and am sitting here feeling numb. Wondering why I’m not angry or crying.

Mostly I’m just weary. I don’t think of myself as more or less of a target than anyone else.

Walking with my sibling a couple months ago in another city, a man was weaving around on the sidewalk approaching us, then lunged and hit me in the leg. He kept going. I yelled something, I can’t remember what. He disappeared into the crowd. Then I felt outrage. Nauseated. Violated once again. Touched without my permission.

*

It happened in DC in September. I sat on a bus with family and a man was waiting to exit, talked to me, tried to shake my hand. I politely said I’d prefer not to and he began screaming at me, calling me a stuck-up bitch. My family did nothing. The bus driver. The other passengers. Everyone just sat. I was frozen in fear and anxiety until he stepped off the bus. Later I wept, feeling so unprotected, so undefended. So vulnerable.

*

Today, as I walked home from a bakery run, I dodged some squirrelly-looking characters on a corner, and took a right onto a busy street. Saw a man approaching on the sidewalk. It was nine a.m. Lots of cars. I heard a shout. Was it the man who was now just a few yards away? He wasn’t tall, but compact, young, fit-looking. Normally if I had even a sliver of worry I’d cross the street, but there was orange construction netting blocking the opposite sidewalk. So I kept going. It was broad daylight. Rainy.

As we passed each other I moved to the left, saw a baton in the man’s hand, thought Surely he wouldn’t hit me, instinctively brought the umbrella up to shield myself and WHACK, down came the baton. Hard. It rattled the umbrella. My elbow wavered.

I said nothing. Felt a surge of fear. Walked as fast as I could away from him. Do I call someone? Did the construction workers across the street see anything? I vowed long ago never to call the cops on a black man. But this one just struck me.

I looked back. He was walking away. Yelled something.

I hurried home.

Over the weekend at a support group a man was ranting about a woman who shared too much information, in his opinion, in another venue. She’s opening herself up to all kinds of pervs or weird men attacking her, he sputtered. I said, You’re entitled to your opinion but all a woman has to do to be attacked in this world is simply exist.

I don’t have a neat wrap-up or insight. These things happen and happen. No one is punished or even admonished except me for daring to exist, I guess. For daring to be in public, getting ice cream or walking to a bakery.

a momash gift

The longer I don’t post here, the worse I feel, and also the harder it is to post.

Bsp has been on the road. In Canada for a week, enjoying family, projects, and delicious vegetarian food (a mezze feast here, vegan pizza here and a Rajasthani thali here). And some non-veg pastries, the best of which were pillowy donuts filled with the lightest of cream fillings. Incredible dining.

*

One of the projects was typing up a handwritten journal we found in a box of family items retrieved from the trash heap in Kansas. A diary my mother wrote when she was 17 years old, a handful of double-sided lined loose papers that covers only half a year or so, but it’s an engagingly immediate piece of writing, of her crushes and friendships and desires, her frustrations with the nuns who educated her -- and alternately, her desire to join the sisters because romance and life sometimes felt so difficult. She adored music and listed bands and songs that touched her: The Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Animals.

I never knew this Mom of course. I feel such a nostalgia for her. How could this vivacious, witty, petty, scheming, big-hearted, fun-loving teenager know that just a year later she’d be unexpectedly pregnant with me, and hastily marrying the father, a guy who never even appears in the journal?

As we draw closer to nineteen years since her passing, I am beyond grateful for this gift of my mother.

boon boona

 Good morning one and all.

what I'm reading late 2022

We haven't talked about reading lately!
OMG!
I truly am that excited. I read some incredible (and so-so) books in the latter part of 2022, including:

Memoir
Scenes from My Life/Michael K Williams
--Tough to read knowing he passed away shortly after it was written. Honest and sadly unforgiving.
I was Better Last Night/Harvey Fierstein
--Also honest and unforgiving. I didn't know of his deep history in equality and AIDS work
The Family Outing/Jessi Hempel
--Brilliant. Outing is explored in so many facets and Hempel is a thoughtful, incisive writer
A Visible Man/Edward Enninful
--I wanted more. It was interesting but I felt EE was holding back and a little star-crossed.
Putting the Rabbit in the Hat/Brian Cox
--Same. It felt self-aggrandizing (and it KILLS me to say this about Logan mf Roy).

Nonfiction
Five Days at Memorial/Sheri Fink
--About the 5 days following Hurricane Katrina. It felt factual (?) and also frustrating because I'm guessing most of the problems Fink identifies have not been solved.
The Palace Papers/Tina Brown
--This felt like a hit piece on Megan Markle, unfortunately. Shame, TB.
Red Notice and Freezing Order/Bill Browder
--These cover the Magnitsky murder and surrounding political activities. Fascinating.

Fiction
Maud's Line/Margaret Verble
--Even though the ending is a little rom-com, this story of Native American love, life, striving and loss is terrific.
Our Missing Hearts/Celeste Ng
--Great writing and characters, as always, and the sad ending cannot be avoided.
Murder on the Red River/Marcie Rendon
--Another strong story featuring a Native American woman protagonist who is stubborn, does and says and sleeps with whomever she pleases (and fights back, if necessary).
Who is Vera Kelly/Rosalie Knecht
--I'm working my way through these and I adore detective VK. They remind me of the Sara Gran/Clair DeWitt detective stories only slyer and with greater depth.
Yellow Wife/Sadeqa Johnson
--Another thoroughly researched take on a tough setting, enslaved peoples living, loving, and losing each other among the horrors. Imaginative and impossible to put down.

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.

week fourteen: friendcation and packing

This week has been as unsettled as the weather.

*
Friendcation continued with outdoor brunches (Ruby Slipper, St. Coffee), outdoor dinners (Dat Dog, Pizza Delicious, Carmo), and some fabulous art and photo ops at Jamnola.
With mid-week departures came the very welcome arrival of my partner on a balmy night. We taxi'ed directly to Rosalita's for tostadas and margaritas, a quick drop off at home, and then a stroll around Frenchmen Street.
Friday was wet and stormy and we unfortunately had appointments around town. We pit-stopped at I-Tal for delicious vegan soul food, and Maison Bourbon to hear the incredible Kid Merv.
Saturday was New Year's Eve, a lazy morning of coffee and breakfast, then pre-NYE cleaning, changing of sheets and sweeping/vacuuming. A break to see a friend and visit the Kwanzaa market at Studio BE. And, the happy news that another section of my memoir will be published in May.Then at-home pre-gaming of cauliflower curry, beer and a cooperative card game. Then d.b.a. for an all-woman brass band, drinks in the alcove and the best people watching. Just before midnight we strolled outside with our midnight drinks, did a countdown with Gen Z kids on the street, then shouted Happy New Year as fireworks exploded overhead and bands played and people cheered and danced to a guy rapping on the back of his truck.
New Year's Day dawned muggy and foggy. I was pleased not to feel too hungover and shared a restorative joint on a walk alongside the Mississippi. We made an afternoon pit stop at a snow-ball pop up and then at Vaughn's, to drink Victoria beers outside while Saints fans cheered and sang indoors. We chatted up a Katrina veteran and self-professed cat rescuer (Mark) who talked and smoked and told stories. His wife arrived shortly, part of a Cat Lady Pub Crawl. It happens once a year on New Year's and included a dozen women in cat onesies and decor, drinking and wending their way around the neighborhood.
Welcome, 2023.

the blur of week 13

This week was the blur of wrapping up work for 2022 and impending friend arrival.
Over the weekend I had coffee with a new friend, sharing our stories of mother-loss (hers 30 years ago and still fresh) and trading tornado scares (her Winn-Dixie had its roof blown off).
On Sunday I was walking in the neighborhood when a woman ran by with a stroller. I need to catch up to the second line, she yelled, so I followed her to a small, festive parade featuring 2 Christmas-themed floats and 2 brass bands, with folks dancing and other folks dragging coolers full of drinks. What a joyous moment.
On Wednesday my pals arrived to hugs and laughs and merriment, and we met up at Bratz Y'all for beers and pretzels and a divine black forest cake. They'd been up since 1am so we said goodnight.
Thursday we had pizza on a heated patio then enjoyed Kitten N Lou's living nativity, with silent-disco headphones, rum hot toddies and so much glittery drag cheer. It rained during the angel's solo but no one moved. Then a drink at Vaughn's, and a stroll by a few bars closer to home.
Friday we were up early for a very chilly breakfast at Elizabeth's, fried green tomatoes and good coffee and some shit-flipping from a sarcastic waiter, then a road trip to Avery Island to tour the Tabasco plant.
I enjoyed seeing the countryside, endless miles of bayou and swamp, and the chitter chatter in the car about life and I-tell-yew-what down-hominess. We were awed by the bottling line, the enormous vats and well-work work stools, then the bountiful gift shop. Back in town before dark and we all called it a night.
Saturday was Xmas eve so we strolled in the cold, sunny French Quarter, dined on pralines and beignets and coffee at Lorettas, oohed over the amazing art at Antieau Gallery, had Irish coffees and banjo jazz at Fritzels, a so-so slice of za, then disco naps and late-night partying at the Phoenix with lots of laughs about the FQ tiny cop cars.
Sunday, Christmas, wobbly and hungover, we nommed breakfast at St. Coffee, mercifully open and serving up toasty bagels with pumpkin seed pesto, delicious burritos and hot coffee. Our friends arrived that evening so we fed them Nola Po-boy fried treats, Bywater Bakery Xmas cookies, and vino verde.
More to come next week as friendcation continues.