Friday, 12 June 2015

These are my Little Girl dreams

To live to write and to write to live.

To travel.

To live in sunshine, a stone’s throw from the ocean.

To be a mother in a happy marriage.

To be fit and healthy; vibrant.

For stress to be a stranger to my home, to my heart.

To live paradoxically; independent and in community,

Passionately and consistently,

with adventure and stability -

Full of love, full of life.

These are my youngster hopes. My version of a princess’ tale. The wishes of a fresh heart. A glance into the window of my future. Call me naive, if you will. Call me anything you like. I will simply smile in reply. Someday you may make your way into a book of mine.

Thursday, 11 June 2015

A slice of NOLA

I am exceedingly happy. It’s the Bayou Boogaloo in New Orleans. My dear friend Brian is off to work and I am left to my wanderings. I followed the music here, to the Boogaloo. I begin by buying some slightly overpriced photography. A price I gladly pay to support a passionate, independent artist. I hope someday people will do the same for me.

With merchandise in tow I meander over to the Bayou’s edge to sit and people-watch in one of the best cities to do so. My bum is quite literally on the pavement as my skirt is not long enough to provide a barrier, but it is warm and I am in love. I am in love with the raw, real, moment-by-moment energy that radiates from every noun in this town.

Everything is positively saturated with color. The music, the people, the food. Nothing is monochromatic. Even the gamut of minor physical discomforts (more often than not related to the humidity) provide an edge to the bliss that make it altogether joyous.

I wander over to the stage where the Funky Dawgs Brass Band is warming up for their performance. I am impressed from the start. Alone, but not in the least lonely, I dance to my content.

There is all kinds of dancing happening around me, some of which is just shy of twerking. At first glance, this seems entirely inappropriate, but it is suddenly validated (to a certain extent) as one of the band members puts down his trumpet and begins to rap. Following close behind is a chorus which repeats: “Shake what yo mama gave you”.

My experience is punctuated by observing something that both touches and amuses me. I turn to see a woman with bilateral above the knee amputations dancing in her motorized scooter as if it is the last thing she will do. The sun seems to shine directly from her ebony cheeks as the curls of her fantastic weave bounce about her shoulders. Being toted along with her is her Shitzu, who sits in a wide-open carrying case where her feet would’ve been. His expression reads: This is just another day in New Orleans.

And it is.