Monthly Archives: March 2013

Love. Different. Equal.

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ClownOrnament

The confluence of our preparations for the road and today’s Supreme Court proceedings has pointed to an interesting coincidence in the provenance of the two treasures above.

The vintage wooden clown was a birthday gift from my first spouse Donna, to whom I was married for a long while and with whom I share two amazing children. The kinetic yard ornament is a birthday gift from Dave, who has been at my side for the last two decades. Each was spotted while I was in the company of the spouse in question. In each case a discussion followed which reasonably concluded that it would be silly to spend the amount asked, for something so impractical.

And in each case the spouse in question snuck back and purchased the impractical. Knowing how much delight it would bring to their sometimes impractical spouse.

I love Donna today as much as ever, but in a wiser way that comes of age and a better understanding of who I am. My love for Dave is the kind that comes from knowing there is no kinder, more caring person anywhere with whom I could spend my life.

Each love different. Each love equal.

As I hope the Supreme Court comes to understand.

The big wooden clown, heavy as he is, isn’t suited for nomadic life and has gone off to live with daughter Jennifer for a spell.  The yard ornament will be coming along to be planted in whatever ground we land upon at any particular point in our voyage—claiming it as home.

 

“You’ll Miss New Orleans”

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Once at a party in New Orleans, an elderly local doyen asked me where I lived in the city. “Faubourg Marigny, east of the French Quarter,” I answered naively.

In a practiced tone reserved exclusively for those not from families with roots buried centuries deep into the city, she replied. “You must not be from around heyah (Imagine Vivien Leigh as Scarlett O’Hara speaking this line.) Around heyah, we say UP RIVAH and DOWN RIVAH.”

And it is in a that same patronizing tone that several friends have told me, when they hear of our plans, “You’re going to miss New Orleans.”

“I WILL miss New Orleans,” I reply, “And Baton Rouge, and St. Francisville, and Breaux Bridge, and Mandeville, and Pontchatoula…and even Chalmette.”

I’ll miss every twisted turn of River Road, and every quirky cultural crevice I’ve had the joy to explore around these parts over the last many decades.

That is in fact, precisely why I’m leaving.

Because, when I return, the inevitable “taking it for granted” phenomenon that sinks in over the years, will have dropped away. And all these amazing things will once again be—amazing.

Meanwhile, I’ll be on the hunt for all that is amazing elsewhere.

I'll most definitely miss the hysterical costumes that fill the streets of Faubourg Marigny on Mardi Gras Day.

I’ll most definitely miss the hysterical costumes that fill the streets of Faubourg Marigny on Mardi Gras Day.

The Big Sort

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Two weeks till our Fifth Wheel arrives. Time to get serious. And so the sorting through the detritus of our life has begun. And I’ve discovered the process is a full-on part of the adventure.  We now have a stack of empty photo albums as I clear them out and prepare to send off a lifetime of snapshots to be digitally scanned. Albums full of good times—and grief.  
OrangesuitHere I am with daughter Jennifer from a party several decades ago. And yes it was a costume party—that wasn’t my fashion sense even back then. The suit is its own story for another time.

But there too, in those same albums, are snapshots recalling good times with friends that would  later be lost to the AIDS epidemic.