Amid Family

Priorities aside, my first reflections fall upon my Dad's snoring.

However much it has lessened over the years, during this visit home, I found it alive and well. When my brother finally flew in from San Francisco, I gave up my bed and resided to the couch. It's a big couch and I'm in the middle of the action until everyone turns to sleep for the night instead of company. I get to read for however long I want; watch Christmas movies until an ungodly hour; stare at the beautifully decorated Frasier Fir--and then the downfalls include having to get up and unplug the Christmas tree lights--which is inconvenient when nestled in the couch with a book in your hand; I also have to tend to the outdoor lights someone forgot to turn off and lastly, I'm closer to the one who makes the sound of a Cessna plane coming in for a landing, conveniently located in my parents' bedroom. 

I hear my Dad's intermittent snore and I have to laugh in wonderment: Does he dream he's a pilot when he subconsciously hears this noise? And what of my Mom? It must be the reason why she wakes up at night with the most hilarious delusions carrying over from her sleep, causing her to sometimes scream bloody murder at what was just, oh say, a little red-headed elf with suspenders running in place by the door of her bathroom laughing and saying, "Come on! Come on!" 

How she sleeps through the sounds of an engine rumbling next to her boggles my mind. Over 36 years of marriage and more than that of togetherness, I can only guess that she must've become accustomed to the ups and downs of being co-pilot. 

Moving forward, shall we?

There are always certain events and people which lead us to reflect on the recent passing of time--some more than others. 


I've been entangled in a web of thoughts of a recent gentleman I've been interested in. Unluckily for me, he is just months out of a 6-year long relationship. I am a magnet for the more or less, unavailable types. 


It's only been a month since we've met and have been--up until recently-- enjoying the slow-developing bond we were creating. 


Now, before I end up revealing details of a relationship I have no rights to, I'd just like to say that I'm the most incomprehensible advocate of staying together or getting back together. But come on, why would I egg on the reunion of the new guy I'm completely digging? Is this a form of Robin-Hoodism?  


This is my take on the situation and it's exactly what I shared with the beau:


If you feel as though you've made a mistake (in this situation, he's the one who broke it off) then make your amends and do it with all of your genuine intentions intact. In doing this, the other half--usually having known this individual for some time--will have an immediate inward response. This of course doesn't have to be expressed immediately but should be done with a rather quicker than not answer; this always seems to be a noble action. 


If this attempt is not met with ardor or made with it, it's time to move along in the movement of life. We cannot be stagnant creatures. If someone is introduced to the scene and is a rather fixed individual--not the fleeting type--this should be taken into consideration as part of a healing and rebuilding phase. We need relationships to thrive. We are made from the very word. If one combination of individuals doesn't work out then it's okay to try a different one. 


People sometimes have this stigma towards those who find themselves in a relationship soon after their last one ended but we need to let go of our standards for other people. We have just a few moments to live and interact and allow ourselves to love and receive love and it'd be a shame to pass on something solid if we are living our lives holding onto only the comforts of the past. 

Once upon a return...

By nature, I am prone to the aniticipation of leaving a place and finding myself in the midst of transition. I love ports of travel for this very reason--it's like life's purgatory and I am the mayor.

There's something ethereal in the unknown. That very feeling gives me a sense of security, moreso than a day to day plan which can seem to turn into an endless abyss of time.

An artist friend of mine, while describing his timeline in New Orleans, commented that he usually marks his life by years of moving to different cities, but since living in New Orleans--the one place he's stayed the longest--he's seem to have lost the frame of time, all moving into a blur.

So, I move and I move often. This period in my life, however, has found me oddly excited about my return to New Orleans. This is the first time, in fact, that I've spent my birthday--by choice-- in the same place, 2 year anniversary folks!

I believe there are some places that fit with the individual; some places that make every day feel completely different and memorable from the next, even when the mundane chores of life fall heavily upon most days, there's something about the place that makes all of that redeemable.

I don't know what I'm hearing inside, if the foundations of my life are settling into the ground but I know that someday soon I'll find those cracks that ensue upon the walls of an old settled house just as beautiful and ethereal as the unknown in the unsettled life I lead.

Costumes & Cards

I'm all too honest in relational situations. I venture scarily-close to being a sleazy billboard for a strip-club: I bare all, that is to say, in the emotion department. And I suppose this is not as much of a turn on as nudity.

I wear no costume, I've no facade but I've found that I live in a city where there are constantly occasions to become someone or -thing else. Dressing up and masking whatever's at hand is a style completely owned and honed by New Orleans.

The problem is this: I have nothing to wear. Ever. Always scampering around last minute for a costume but find I like none but my own threads and so I throw my hands up and relinquish myself to...myself.

I check the mirror and I think I'm good enough and the fact that I have no costume on is more of a costume than having one on and so this attracts--oh does it! They spend some time (oh, no more than a few days) and then realize, wait, she's not wearing a costume and this is her and that's the norm--insert question mark.

I wasn't a costume-baring lady.

And I'm not just showing the cards in my hand, oh no, as a matter of fact, I am handing them the entire deck, card by card. They get tired of holding these cards--imagine mine are about 3' long and a foot wide. I can't help it--they are the...cards I was dealt. Wow, sorry, I set that up for myself.

So, I can only imagine one of two things have to happen in order for my success to ensue someday: I must find a way to cut down the size of my cards; maybe not take all of them with me everywhere and find a safe hiding place for them or I must find a giant who can handle them and me.

Planes & Trains

A friend and I have been laughing at ourselves a bit too often. The reason? Our fatally low standards of how we've come to define a sweet, kind and decent man. They're embarrassing.

It's easy to use affectionate words for a reaction without backing them up with any real follow-through. The instant satisfaction has been given, the words have been said, thrown up into the air as effortlessly as tossing a balled up piece of paper; whether we catch that paper is up to us. When we walk away from it, it simply becomes garbage.

I've found, more often than not, we are mixed with counterparts who are everything but the very term. The current state of dating has a low blood-pressure. Its lifeline is rapidly flat-lining and just like the passing of the family's matriarch, things fall apart and there's no getting back to where we used to be but can we pin-point an exact hour when we were forced to give into the lackadaisical version of "dating"?

Stay with me, here's where my incurable, romance-infested heart steps up: I'd like to think it all started to change when trains became a nostalgic way of travel and not so much a necessity. On a train, there's a slow start and an assurance you will get to your destination; on a train you're grounded; on a train you can stroll about at anytime, taking in the scenery of the journey; on a train you can find yourself waving to your loved one as they chase you down the platform until all that's left are those you left behind and the empty coffee cups on platform benches. 

Airplanes--the deathly gallows of romanticism--have sped things up so much that If we wait on the tarmac for more than 10 minutes after landing, we turn into an other-worldly beast. How else did we plan on getting from Florida to Oregon in less than 5 hours?

Planes hardly teach us patience and God only knows that has been my villain throughout the greater part of my life. The constant excuse for my lack of and resistance to patience has mostly been the pride I have for my biological makeup: This is the way I was created, surely there are things I must change, but my impetuousness--that's a trait I cannot trade.

So, it's only natural that I blame my steadily declining standard of a decent, kind and sweet man on the cultural decline of train usage. 

How have I come to this resolve? On the broader sense, I don't blame this all on planes, trains or men--women take it and dish it just the same. Plan and simply put: Technology is the genesis. Shake your heads in disapproval or agree with me mightily, the advent of technology and not only that but the quickness of it-especially in our time-has possibly been so rapid that we cannot grasp the rope as fast as the moving belt below us. We're tripping. And we are and are not to blame. How could we have guessed our evolving, creative and earnest minds would result in a, "I want it when I want it and when I don't, I don't" kind of mindset? The plane isn't fast enough anymore and the train is just an archaic means of tourism, just like courting has become in the dating world. 

Somehow there are some who are adapting to this technologically-advanced dating-sphere. With online dating services like Ok Cupid, even Match.com and and even those "gamers", the Darwinian class of modernized daters who use programs like World of Warcraft and Second Life for coupling up, are leaving those of us in the old world, searching for the road in the dust.

But this is what we have. We cannot transport ourselves to a Jane Austen-era and if I'm going to California, I'm undoubtedly, though reluctantly, taking a plane.

We have to work with it and have hope in a minor revolution of a society who can use technology for its basic purpose and not let it evolve our entire societal makeup. While we are figuring out how to do this, we reluctantly, have to take the plane until we find the steady train that's going our way.

When a campaign spurs you on...

Over the past few weeks, the New Orleans basketball team, the Hornets, have had their people out campaigning for the life of the team. Suddenly, homes and business windows have been plastered with their slogan, NOLA HORNETS- I'M IN.

If you're in the dark about local sports, it might not have any hold on you and your passionless interest in the city's basketball team. After hearing a few people complain about the window decal and the lack of knowledge behind the campaign, I thought about the simplicity in its purpose.

I'm in: It's an obvious call for support; for a loyalty; a following; a promise of sorts.

Just within the last few days my dear Aunt had a minor stroke; my younger cousin called out of the blue; I learned that another family member had been battling breast cancer; and lastly, I was offered a high-paying stint that coincides with a family vacation and am just stumped on a conclusion.

After a long conversation with my Mother last night about all sorts of family affairs, I started to realize that that campaign in fact made sense, the simplicity was perfect. There needed to be a call for a family campaign within my own; we needed to find out who would claim, "I'M IN!"

We all need to realize that being in a family takes time; it takes effort but the rewards of a tightly-bonded family are endless.

The tribes we travel with, explore with and bond with only make us realize that we are more connected with the rest of the world--that idea though, is scary and huge. So, we break it down and deal with it in small doses. We start to realize the extent of our localized family and only from there can we start to see the ties that are bonding us to others in such a way that seems rather vast.

What does this mean? The Hornets have a great new campaign slogan? Eh, well, sure! I applaud them. But on a more meaningful level, I challenge you and your family--family of friends or relatives--to not be so lazy in their roles; to communicate; to bond and encourage and carry on the meaning of a family and the responsibility that is bestowed on you as a sister, brother, cousin, son or daughter, niece or nephew, granddaughter or grandson; build up your family stock in shared conversations and share hours.

Are ya in?

New Orleans

I couldn't think of a more descriptive title than the name of the city that I'm living in right now. It feels self-explanatory. The very name exudes a taste only the entire being can experience. 


To my best recollection, this is quite possibly the first time I have felt it unnecessary to think of where I'll move next. Of course I've toyed with the idea, but in all honesty, it's mostly a habit; for when I truly think of leaving this place for good, I know I'm just testing myself. 


Since moving to New Orleans this past September with my best friend, Isabel, I have yet to feel the spontaneity of life leave. This city, for very good reasons, captures its transients-turned-residents and often leaves them to tell the familiar story of, "...well, I came to visit and a week later I moved back."


Like many I've spoken with, I moved with the ever-consuming notion of love. Whether that same love exists now is irrelevant. I've found more individuals (okay, I'll be honest, I'm speaking of men) in this city who are so wonderful and unforgettable than I've met in throughout most of my adult life thus far. This makes it difficult to leave and even more difficult to plunge into the next encounter. 


The city is intricate. The ornate architecture with its seemingly unrepeated rail designs along each balcony mirrors the individuals passing underneath them. The roads--however treacherous for bikers and stumbling pedestrians--still seem to add character and history to the city's allure. It seems to be the one place where unruly juxtapositions exist. 


The completely corrupt meets the romantically inclined somewhere in this place and the uncertainty of its exact location frightens me in the least. 

Shoulda-Woulda's

It's a fault, but I can't help to sometimes revel in the opportunities that should have happened or things that I would have done. I suppose it's human nature to know that there are and always were other options available to us at any given moment. If one thing doesn't happen the way we idealized, then we automatically revert to the options that we could have chosen instead. 


For an instant, we find comfort in discussing the other variables that could have occurred but in the end, we are left with a slight feeling of pouty-lipped, ooph-ness. 


This is my first post of the year? Yes, why not recognize the (not always so good) things we do in order to better the present and future moments? 


My friends and I this year, due to a lack of a task-master, found ourselves in a Subaru Outback stuck in traffic in downtown New Orleans as the clock struck 12 and the new year ensued. The anxiety we put upon ourselves in those last 12 minutes of 2010 was downright absurd!


I'll stop there without telling you of the places we would have gone or the things we should have done instead...yeah, I'll refrain. 


This year, today, this moment, I'll cherish where I am, with the people or person I am with and whatever we are doing. I won't imagine the other opportunities I could have taken, but I will be exuberantly excited about the situation I've chosen (or, have been put in) that has led me to each separate experience. I'll look forward to the things I'll do and the people I'll meet, but I won't wonder what would have happened if I'd only picked another path.