Yes, I’ve had a lot of seafood. For starters, I had turtle soup,
lots of raw oysters and yes dishes with shell fish in them. But each meal was
hurried, and I did not enjoy all of them. Going to New Orleans was fun in the
past because they were all for fun, until this time. Do you like seafood
besides Salmon? I never asked. I need to get on board with your view in living
a happy life. It seems that you are able to create a lifestyle that is low in
stress and hence more productive and more enjoyable. I should try to look out
the window, and take it easy, like you said. Maybe I’ll find something
interesting. Maybe I’ll be enlightened.
I enjoy the evening walks down the cobblestone streets of French
Quarter. That’s what I did nearly every night, usually past midnight. When most
of the drunks have decided to turn in for the night, not out of their conscious
decisions, of course, and often on the street. Every misfit seems to congregate
on Bourbon street. I stayed away from it and walked up and down Royal street,
where my hotel was. It’s quaint, with lots of antique stores, art galleries,
and shops that sold knickknacks or confederate memorabilia. Turning to the
right midway down on Royal Street towards water was Jack London Square, and
then it’s the famous Café Du Monde where fresh beignets dusted with, or rather,
bathed in powdered sugar, were served alongside of a cup of hot Au Lait, $7.95.
In the early 90s when I came here for Mardi Gras, I used to see old African
American men selling Jambalaya scooped out of a large wooden barrel right by
Café Du Monde. $5, served in a plastic bowl, hot and steamy, topped with
Louisiana hot sauce, perfect for the raining afternoons after a tall glass of
Hurricane in the morning. When I was
here this time, it rained every day. On the clock, between 11:45 and 12:45. I’m
not talking about misty rain like you’d occasionally get in San Francisco, I’m
talking about storms not unlike summer in New England, where you grew up and
schooled. Bigger than tear drops, bigger than the largest pearls you can find.
It’s a bona fide Southern rain, needed for those lush plantations. One year I
came here for a plantation tour, and there were bunch of beautiful peacocks
wandering about the property. For years and years I had fantasized about moving
to the South, buy a large plantation house, with wooden, painted white shutters
covering the windows, wide wrap-around porches, and ceiling fan that hummed all
day long. I’m no Southerner, I’ve only been to the South a dozen or so times,
but it seemed like a charming concept to have a southern retreat to call home.
The day is filled with large breakfast, and sweet tea served in china set on a
hot, humid summer afternoon.
Now I dream about France, an ancient stone farmhouse requiring
restoration in the middle of nowhere, yet only an hour and half to Paris. You
would be my perfect partner to fix it up, I’d see you in it, making everything
perfect, beautiful and renewed. I’d grow a garden full of vegetables, and every
morning I’d ride a bike to the local bakery to fetch us baguette. We’d vacation
in Italy and Germany.
How do we go from here to there? How? How could we? What if this
was going to be a path and somehow we’ve already missed it? Two decades too
late. Chance encounter that was missed. And now we are here. Perfect for each
other, in such an imperfect, unchangeable world.
In the south, like North Carolina, the sweet tea is brewed under
the sun. I had a boyfriend who lived in Long Island who was from North
Carolina. One year I spent New Year with him. He’d make me sweet tea, and tell
me about his childhood where his grandmother taught him how. I missed having
okra this time. I like the texture of okra, most people don’t like it. It’s
slimy when sautéed, but fried them up they become crispy. Quite a
contrast. I’m a big fan of southern
cuisine. Though I don’t eat it often. I
imagine it won’t do much good to my body.
The design process fascinate me. Like a perfect English garden,
even the weeds grown between the cobble stones are left on purpose. An order
among chaos. Nothing is unintentional, yet it looks as though it has always
been that way. I imagine each of your pieces is like that too. Do you ever go
back to the beginning and start the sketching process again because one part
could not fit or be made just so?
Well, until next time. I wish you a good evening.
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