10 December 2009

Another month, another trip to California. In November I put about 5,000 miles on the Volvo, or rather I would have if the odometer weren’t broken. But since it is broken, it doesn’t count, right?

Well December’s mileage will be only about 2,000, because this time I’ll be staying in Los Angeles until the beginning of February. I’m bringing some paintings to work on, my sewing machine, and a few projects so that I’ll be able to set up some sort of un-vacationy routine, maybe even find a little job in LA. I can’t help but be a little nervous, but only because this is something new and different. I’m crazy excited about spending so much time with Jason. After our time there, we’re heading back to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. March is unclear, but I know that for my birthday at the end of the month I would like to be in New Orleans with my friends and Jason. Also, Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me! is going to be in NOLA on 11 March, and I am so super psyched about that.

Another notable entry on the iCal is Allia’s grand debut as a ballerina, this weekend in The Nutcracker. She’s going to be a mouse, and I haven’t seen any of her costume or dance steps, so I’m pretty excited. Last week while Jason was in town the three of us saw The Fantastic Mr. Fox, and I had a great time hanging out with them both.

So, to summarize: I spend all day hanging around the apartment, painting and sewing, with occasional outings on the bicycle, but now I’m going to do it in LA the city, not the state.

A happily uncertain place 3 November 2009

It’s been 3 months since I moved into this little apartment back on Bayou St. John, and almost 2 months since Burning Man. I’m not sure exactly what my life is doing right now, but I can tell that it’s really good. I’m getting pretty settled.

Friday night Lorraine slept over at my place. It was great to have some casual time alone, something we haven’t done since we lived together a year ago. Saturday was Voodoo fest so we dressed up in some bodysuits I just happened to have lying around and hit the park. My mushroom costume was fabulous and I felt like a star! People kept coming up to me all day with compliments, my favorite of which was, “I’ve heard about your costume and was hoping to find you!” I was in a ton of pictures and an interview for Fuse TV. When the camera would scan over the crowd at the Gogol Bordello show, it was real easy to see exactly where I was.

We were ready for anything

I’ve been very busy sewing lately. Soon I will have a page to show all my projects. I’m also painting again. Money is definitely tight but I am supporting myself with my hobbies. When I have a lot of projects going on I can move around on a whim, and I get to stay home all day. But even better than that is being able to travel.

Next week I am going back to California. I was there for about a week last month, and Jason and I had a wonderful time together. We drove up the Pacific Coastal Highway to San Francisco for the Burning Man decompression and spent the evening in a park in our matching red velvet costumes. Oh, it was fabulous. So in a few days I am driving there in my Volvo. After a couple weeks in LA Jason and I are heading east, spending his birthday at the Grand Canyon before continuing on to St. Louis to be with his family for Thanksgiving. Then we will stop at my dad’s house in Arkansas on the way back to New Orleans in time for Kami’s big 28th birthday. A few days later Jason will fly back to LA, but I won’t be too far behind him, chasing his plane in my station wagon.

After the party, without our hats and wigs

So here I am, starting to feel settled in my life, when in reality I am just as divided as I’ve ever been. On one hand I have my pretty little home in my city, but on the other hand my mind is always on the west coast. Looks like the next year might be just as unpredictable as 2009 has been.

The Rocket 14 September 2009

Burning Man was so incredible. I was very close to not going, but once I was there I realized how inevitable it was that I attend. Cosmo, one of the most amazing of the people I met there, said that the second is strong in Black Rock City; knowing for someone 5 days in the desert is equivalent to 9 months in the default world. When old Jason came back from Burning Man last year I was frustrated with his inability to explain what it was like (as well as for other reasons) but now I understand that there’s no way to communicate that experience unless you are actually there. And once you are there, you will have a completely different story than I did but you will understand.

But there is one event that sticks out in my memory. I’ve told this story but I know it’s impossible to really tell. It was magical, unbelievable, and inevitable all at once.

The Raygun Gothic Rocket

On Tuesday I met a man named Jason (not to be confused with old Jason). Wednesday night we ran into each other again, which is pretty amazing considering we were in the desert with 41,000 people all having a party, so to make a long story short after that we stuck together. Thursday night we rode in his art car to the Raygun Gothic Rocket, which after waiting in line and climbing up a ladder you could explore. Jason went up first while I had some deep soul sharing with his friend Rick. By the time we got up Jason had finished and gone back into the dark desert. I noticed one of the flight crew struggling with his flashlight, so I offered to hold it while he prepared a mini rocket to fire. After explaining the process, he asked me to launch the rocket. After years of temptation, I finally had an opportunity to push that red button labeled “DO NOT TOUCH.” With much gusto, I made the most of it.

After launching my rocket into what I supposed was oblivion, I climbed down the stairs and found Jason with his crew. They were all talking about the fact that Jason had caught the rocket mid-air and that he was the first person to do this. I couldn’t believe it–I thought it was pretty cool that I had launched the rocket, and it was great that he was the only person to catch a rocket, but it was pretty amazing that he had caught MY rocket… and then gave it to his ex-girlfriend so that she could skip the line for the rocket. Jason described it as “a great focus for entropy. I don’t know what it all means, but it’s certainly got me thinking.”

Something old and something new 27 August 2009

So here it is, the end of August. It’s inevitable to remember August 2005 as a landmark in our collective memory, but I had my own personal hurricane in August 2008. A year ago I had a job I loved, was plowing through my last semester to my degree, and, most important to me at the time, spent my time with someone who filled me with so much happiness and love that I always sped up the closer I got to home in order to see him a few seconds sooner.

Now I’m a year older and I  feel I can say that I’m at least a year wiser. My heart got stomped on, I quit my job, sold most of my possessions, finished school, traveled around Europe, met Rick Steves (that’s become a mantra to me), and eventually found my way back to NOLA. I feel like I’m living a richer life now. Not financially of course–the painting is going OK but I’m going to have to work very hard to make it pay off. I whir up the Singer sewing machine at least 4 times a week. I see at least one friend every day and go out with other friends several nights a week. I go on dates and while nothing looks very promising I’m thoroughly enjoying myself. When I first returned Kaden had forgotten me and was afraid when I tried to hold him, but now we both enjoy walking around the neighborhood and smelling the flowers.

My pillowcase from Budapest, the bed we built, and a photo of my Grandma

I am so happy being in my home, because everything in it tells something about my life. It’s like living in my own storybook with no set ending. Everyday I make a choice to stay, not because it’s easy but because I always find a new reason to be happy: introducing friends who come to eat redbeans with me, hearing palm fronds scrape against a car roof as I ride my bike down Esplanade, seeing my dishes gently drying on their wooden rack. That last one has always made me happy and I hope in 30 years I’ll still be satisfied with it.

A drawing from Allia, my diploma, and of course, the centerpiece…

A view of my living room/studio

I love seeing my fabric neatly stacked in my sewing space

In a couple days I’ll be heading out to Burning Man. I didn’t go last year but somehow this party in the desert has been responsible for most of what’s happened in the past year. I can’t help but be nervous about how actually attending while effect my life. But at the very least I will be appropriately dressed in my teal and green spandex bodysuits.

Flowing along with the bayou 27 July 2009

I’d been very worried that when I returned to NOLA and my friends that we would find we no longer had much in common. Luckily that’s not at all the case. In every situation I’ve been able to pick up exactly where I left off. Our lives have changed in the 7 months that I was away, but we are all still the same people and so we are still the same friends.

The past 8 months of my life have largely been about serendipity. It’s about observing and allowing things to happen, surrendering to life, really going with the flow. Realizing that no plan will ever last or actually make me happy. I’ve had so many adventures by following that mindset, some of the wonderful, some of them not so great. Alright, some of them were down-right crappy. But I did get to meet Rick Steves…

In the spirit of serendipity, my plans have changed once again. I wasn’t planning on getting an apartment, but a wonderful opportunity came up. I’m living in 854 Wilson now, just two houses down from where I’d been living since Hurricane Katrina, and where my sister lives now. I’d hoped to be able to move back into the area, but to be so close to that place and people I love is right up there with Rick Steves (maybe I can get him to visit…)

I’m still not sure how this changes the rest of my plans. Mainly, does Burning Man fit into this new direction? I’ve been questioning my motives for attending for some time now. If I were to go, it would be under different circumstances. I’d no longer be open for anything (West Coast road trip for example) but have a place waiting for me to return to. It’s very much up in the air.

I’m so excited about having a home again. I’m excited as I always am to be stepping off onto a new, unexpected path. I’m excited about living alone and seeing how my lessons from traveling will continue to manifest themselves. But more than any excitement, I’m grateful to have such a wonderful home and a reason to be somewhere. I’m grateful to be back in my city where I am surrounded by old friends while at the same time continously discovering new people, where you don’t have to be moving yourself to be a part of something. New Orleans has welcomed me home in a way I’d never expected, yet doesn’t surprise me. I don’t even mind the heat.

Back to the city of my birth 17 July 2009

I totally pulled over on the interstate to take this.

Everytime I stepped out of the Volvo I was shocked at the heat, but I still couldn’t wait to get to New Orleans. None of my friends knew that I was arriving; I’d told everyone that I was still in Paris. My first stop was Cafe Rose Nicaud on Frenchman, and when I walked in Lorraine had to do a double take. She closed the coffeeshop soon after that and we saunted down to Flannigan’s to while away the evening, followed by a run to Juan’s Flying Burrito and finally ending up at Lorraine and Brian’s pad in Algiers Point.

Since then I’ve been occupied with reunions. Everyone all had the same look of surprise on their faces. Of course, my first stop on Wilson Drive was 840, and Allia cried when I walked in. All the neighbors were happy to see me, even the ones I’d never really talked to knew I’d left and were happy to see me back on the street. I rounded up a crew of my favorite Wilsonites and whiled away the night at Finn McCool’s, eventually passing out on Boy Robin’s couch.

The next few nights passed in much the same way. I shudder to think just how much whiskey I’ve consumed in the past week. I haven’t had more than 6 hours of sleep any night, but it’s more often around 4 hours. I keep thinking it might be nice to have a relaxing evening, but I have so many awesome friends and there are so many places for us to explore in New Orleans that I just don’t see it happening. I’m out and around, having a great time and always looking out for new opportunities.

Dinner at Boucherie, nee Purple Truck, aka Que Crawl

Since I’ll be leaving again in 5 weeks for Burning Man I’m not getting an apartment. So far I’ve been staying different places every night, and my wonderful friends keep offering me beds. I keep my backpack around so that I’m always ready to crash on someone’s couch. My days are spent with Allia at Ant Jooli’s Super Fun Time Summer Camp, which largely consists of running errands together. But hey, we do other stuff, like hang out in the Quarter, go to the aquarium, and explore beautiful Abita Springs on the North Shore. My nights are spents dancing and drinking around the city while my days consist of dressing Barbies and playing Dora the Explorer Go Fish. Oh, what a life!

Allia had never eaten beignets before!

The American Road Trip, Part 1 15 July 2009

To pick up where I left off…

In January in Amsterdam I had met a fellow American traveler named Brian. We hadn’t really communicated since then, but one day in May we both happened to be online at the same time. I mentioned that I would be taking a roadtrip south from Cleveland when he was going to be in Chicago, so he decided to tag along.

We decided to go down to Leesville, Ohio, where Betsy, my mother’s step-mom, had a little house on a little lake. It seemed like a great place to stop for a night on the journey south. Betsy was up from her home in Mexico, visiting with her two college roommates Bridget and Sallie. The three of them were having a great time and happily included Brian and me in their fun. It became clear that we had to stay for more than one night, and three days were quickly laughed away. I started calling them “the three aunts.” As we ate blueberry pancakes with rhubarb syrup, we discussed everything from the definition of “creativity” to third wave feminism. Bridget played us a song she had written as we made s’mores around the backyard firepit. I walked out of the local thrift store with a blue Western Flyer bicycle, imagining how good I will look cruising the sweaty streets of New Orleans.

Eventually it was time to resume the journey, and so that evening we arrived in Charleston, WV. Betsy had called ahead to a high school friend who welcomed us into her home. At her advice we ate at the Blue Grass Kitchen, which specializes in local organic food. The Empty Glass Bar was just behind the restaurant and was also highly recommended. The patrons there were so friendly to the two wayward travelers and offered us all manner of intoxicants. A couple of the more flamboyant gentlemen were particularly intrigued by Brian, although sadly the attention was not reciprocated. After politely turning down the bag of cocaine we finally made it back to our beds.

The next day had North Carolina on the agenda. Several hours of turning highways and barren interstate got us out of VW, through VA and TN, and finally into the Smokies. Brian decided to stay in Asheville, so after dropping him off downtown I drove west to Annie Langley’s house in Maggie Valley. Annie and I spent the weekend hiking, tasting the French dandelion wine, and of course we checked out the fireworks on the Fourth of July. It was great to see everyone celebrating our own national holiday, and it was so different from the events I’d seen and participated in while in Europe. Distinctively American.

The road began calling me again, ever and onward deeper into the South, and so I made my way into Georgia. As a child I had loved visiting Helen, “a re-creation of an Alpine village complete with cobblestone alleys and old-world towers.” As I walked through the pseudo-Austrian town among the throngs of tourists and watched the teenagers tubing down the river, I realized that “Alpine” is more than just architecture: the was a spirit that I’d only caught a glimpse of, but I could tell that it was impossible to import. Luckily it was replaced by typical Georgian friendliness. For a few days I visited with my grandparents and other family in Atlanta, and then finally it was time for the last part of the trip: the journey to New Orleans.

Back in America 13 July 2009

Well if you haven’t heard already, I’m not in Paris. I got back to the USA a month ago! I’ve been holed up at my mom’s place east of Cleveland getting my life back in order. My Mac and I had a tearful reunion, but quickly made up for lost time together. I happily exchanged the clothes I’d been wearing for months for the ones I had left behind. After a few days of searching I found my new mode of transportation, a teal Volvo 850 wagon. Alright, ready for a new adventure, but first a bit of backtracking.

Leaving my friends in France was hard. Izzy was visiting from Prague, so my last night we all ate a garden feast a Gigi’s apartment. A few hours later it was time for the inevitable goodbye; Jason and Izzy headed back to the dark house in Le Vignaud while I spent the night with Gigi in town. The next day called for a crepe, and then it was time to leave. As my bus pulled out of the Gueret train station I watched Gigi walk down the street and wondered when and where I would see any of them again.

I was met at Austerlitz station in Paris by a fellow I’d met a month ago in Switzerland. Since I had switched my two bags out for one large, heavy, and broken suitcase, I was very happy to have someone strong to carry my crap for me. We passed a pleasant evening with pizzas and more crepes, and at 6 AM the next morning I was alone again. The only thing left was to leave, but before I took my train to Charles de Gaulle Airport I took one last walk around that city, down to the Rive Seine and Notre Dame Cathedral. I couldn’t help but feel choked up and a little panicky as the plane took off and left Paris below. When I transferred in London I was shocked to hear so many people speaking English, and was embarrassed at hearing and understanding so many conversations going on around me. At 3 AM Paris time I landed at JFK, where my mom was waiting for me. The next day we got in her truck and drove west to Perry, OH, and suddenly I was back in America, so far away from the life I’d been living for the past six months but still in familiar surroundings.

I swear I’m not dead 5 July 2009

So there hasn’t been much going on, just hanging around and making new friends, and of course enjoying my summer days. Things are going to start rolling soon. Burning Man is coming up in 2 months, for which I am not at all prepared, and after that there’s more traveling. But until then, I’ve also been posting on another blog, so you can check that out too.

I am a walking cliché. 19 June 2009

Alright, damnit, but I’m not going to write a book about it. A blog is bad enough.
TAKING A YEAR OFF

TRAVEL