One Sunny Day

One Sunny Day

Crows cawed, circling in a sparsely clouded sky as a breeze spoke through erect pines, that shared their fragrance with the statues in City Park.

Couples and solos meandered, stopping to snap a shot here and there. A group of schoolgirls in uniform following their teacher paused to giggle at a nude.

Crows fussed with each other more loudly, while a pair of silver-haired seniors swatted at mosquitoes as they shuffled along. A gaggle of senior girls stood outside the bathroom with hands on their hips wondering where to lunch.

From what seemed like the zenith of the atmosphere two vertical vapor trails appeared. A solitary white swan floated past and the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker could be heard.

A pair of plumes grew from each object hurtling out of the sky, as a lady contentedly sat on a park bench taking a deep breath after which she sighed in a long, slow exhalation, while a chameleon scurried across the path of bricks. “Thank you, God, for this beautiful day,” I heard her say.

The vapor trails stretched from heaven descending in the distance. A woman stood under an umbrella staring at the golden goddess with one foot perched on a globe aiming an arrow for eternity. The woman twirled her umbrella as she walked away. The earth shook, a wall of heat raced across the land, and life as we knew it ended that day.

Friends?

My life has developed a fairly even pace. Tears are no longer a regular part of the program and after a lifetime of being half of a we, I’m comfortable enough going alone.

A widower once told me to strive towards contentment. I’m pleased with the life I’ve led, so now that time has eased the pain of my loss, I am content or as content as an old overachiever ever gets.

With my wonderful Aunt Margaret gone I have less in Louisiana to share warm feelings. Ever since I left New Orleans at the age of twelve, I’ve wanted to return to live at least part of the year. Until I’m ready to move I hope to develop a cadre of friends.

The first couple of weeks with you were awesome. I can’t thank you enough; that time was a gift to my spirit. We obviously weren’t meant to live in close proximity, but when treated to small doses of each other it would be good?

Yes, it’s all about friends. Into my life many lovely people have come and gone; I’ve been blessed. Some of my favorite people shared a mutual interest or passion, which for me has always had something to do with dogs.

In this new phase of life, I’m exploring possibilities. I see the last quarter of my life as empty pages waiting to compliment an interesting life.

I’ve learned that a fine acquaintance becomes a friend after the first altercation/disagreement. My gratitude for allowing me your sofa and into your life is enormous; you always were a good guy in my book. I hope you remember the good times as well as I do.

In two weeks I’ll be having oysters in Amite with Margaret’s sister, and then the Tennessee Williams, which comes before the French Quarter Fest. I love New Orleans. Bookstores, blues, jazz, writers’ groups, and City Park, I can’t wait. Perhaps you’ll meet me for coffee?

Love Affair With Parks

Sitting in a shady city park with statues, and flowers, and people passing, I resonate with peace and excitement at the same time; how delicious!

I remember having lunch in a small park in downtown Chicago when I worked in the Loop. The stress and boredom of meaningless job drained into the trees. As teenagers, we’re required to hold at least one job we hate; right?

From the age of eight when I first saw Spanish moss hanging from ancient live oak trees, I fell in love with City Park in New Orleans, which remains on the top of my list.

The tree lined park, Plaza Antonia Quinones can be proud of its beauty with a fountain and a stage for horns from the San Juan Philharmonic playing tonight.

Havana’s wonderfully ornate light poles delighted me as I strolled with my dearest friend through the park in the shade of overwhelming statues adorning Cuban government buildings. Horse drawn carriages offering tours were under scrutiny by my brave animal advocate friend.

She boldly strode up to a man whose horse kept licking its lips. “Go immediately to a water trough; your horse needs water.”

Have you ever seen a senior lady with her back up? She radiated command. Those ladies who have ever gotten their backs up know what it’s like to be so filled with moral outrage your eyes are bloodshot. The water station was visible from where we stood. The man dutifully complied.

Havana also had beautiful horses and carriages. I insisted on riding with a handsome dappled gray. What is it with women and beautiful horses? My heart skips that beat, sweet!

Where ever I go I spend time in local parks; only one gave me bad vibes. I left quickly. On the island I call home watching loving families play in the parks and on the beaches remains a great time soaking up vibes.

Memory took me down many paths in many parks. Considering how important parks have been in my life I pray that people running the world realize how important they are to my stability.  

Remembering New Orleans

MY annual trek to New Orleans begins to occupy my mind. City Park where I spent much time as a kid will be one the first places where I’ll return to sit under ancient live oaks remembering a grandmother, aunts, and uncles sharing family times in the beautiful park.

One family picnic under the live oaks still vivid I sat at the table across from my Uncle Lou and Aunt Margaret with potato salad and chicken on my plate.

“How do ya like yur chicken?” Uncle Lou asked in his deep Southern drawl. I loved my Uncle Lou as much as I did my daddy. Lean and fit with premature salt and pepper hair and twinkling blue eyes, he charmed everyone.

“Good chicken, Uncle Lou,” I replied with a big smile for my favorite uncle.

“Y’all like that chicken? It’s good, yeah?” He waited for my vigorous nod of approval.

“Ya remember the baby chicks y’all got for Easter?”

No reply; I didn’t remember.

“Ya don’t remember the colored chicks grandpaw gave you and your brother for Easter?”

Oh, yeah, I remembered how we and our cousins were given these colored chicks that the boys chased around the yard and after my little brother stepped on his, it ran with its head hanging down before it died and the adults gathered up the rest and put them away.

I shook my head; I remembered the Easter chicks, which felt kind of weird, but I didn’t know why. I wasn’t much more than eight.  

“Patty, how do you like your chick?”

I hadn’t seen the chick since Easter, so I looked as confused as I felt. I didn’t want to look stupid in front of my Uncle Lou. I didn’t understand a thing about the stress I felt and now the rest of the table had picked up on the conversation so all the adults were looking at me. City Park one the scenes of my early epic I don’t want to be in the spotlight moments, one of those moments when you just don’t get it.

“Patty, that’s yur Easter chick; how ya like it?”

Uncle Lou seemed to be so pleased to tell me. I looked at the tender thigh on my plate; my eyes felt like they popped out of my head, tears flew along with me from the table to the car where I sat bawling until my mother brought me back to the table to finish my plate.

Life’s teachable moments seldom went smoothly, but that’s how it goes. After lunch my dad and uncle to the kids off to explore the park, where I learned to never ever go near a gray goose nest again.

Shaping a New Life

Hi,

It’s a cool, clear day with a low in the seventies. I love winter in Puerto Rico. Saturday is my home day to do chores, so naturally I’m on the computer. Stretching and cracking my spine, having a smoothie; it’s good to be retired. After working a lifetime, my wants and needs fill my days. Sing halleluiah!

In my fifties my body fell apart, everything hurt. My exercise program has improved my strength, but I’m still a big fat girl. It’s scary to think how fat I was; fat and happy that’s what I was. In the beginning I was just a bowl full of jello, and now I have nice muscle under a layer of fat. Bat wings and belly are a fright, but so what.

One of the things I’ve discovered about my new self is that I’m not as outgoing; the old me would talk to anybody, any where. Sometimes it feels as if I’m shy, but I know myself better. I’ll talk to women before I will men. When I talk to men here, I get the impression that they think I’m hitting on them, so I stay to myself, especially, at the gym. Hell, I was one of those idiots who say hello to people in parking lots, so this is a big change for me.

Filled out a form that required the choice of single or married; I checked married. What’s up with that? My identity for all of my adult life has been married lady. I’m alone; why can’t embrace single lady?

Last Sunday of the month jazz in Condado happens tomorrow, so lawn chairs are loaded. And since I love free jazz, I’m going to New Orleans end of next month for the Tennessee Williams Lit fest and the French Quarter Fest, which is music in the streets. I won’t be a face alone in the crowd; I’m volunteering.

By Water Bar

Congo Square

The trip finale will be a leisurely drive down Florida Gulf coast on the way to Orlando for my flight home. Fifties style motels are calling my name. I’m going to do it; wish me luck. My best to you, Tricia

Crying Time Again

Tears burned in my eyes, as I pulled into a parking space between the Morning Call and the Besthoff Sculpture Garden. Memories of Kirt aren’t enough today. I ache to have him near, to smell his skin, to put my face in his neck. Today without him hurts.

What's the point?

In four months it will be two years without him. You’d think I’d be getting the hang of this by now. I’m bringing him with me where ever I go. I think about what he would say about a piece of art. I know he’d like the naked golden archer poised on a golden ball. From the bench where I sit the pine trees make the perfect back drop.  

A lady Mallard rushes out of the brush near my bench. A green headed boy follows in hot pursuit. She takes to flight just past the armless Venus. He wanders aimlessly without her.

The sobs, which threatened, reside. Watching people observe the sculptures gives me pleasure. I know them so well. Safety, comfort, understanding, and something to admire; and we are all quite contended little creatures.

A day in the park watching the genders and breeds of my species gives me that essential touch stone, the one which shows me the facets of God’s great gift to us. We are not boring.

Doing this each day to keep myself occupied and maybe entertained, helps me continue living my life, but it’s so freaking lonely. Alone is better than a bad fit. Even when I’m with people my mind reaches out to my husband with a thought or a declaration of love. It doesn't stop. 

City Park in the Dark

Tourists in white sneakers 

Take a seat

Park train toot-toots

Reggie the waiter on flute

Rocks a jazz beat

 Full moon glows

Spanish Moss floats in  Live Oak Trees

Latin rhythms sweeten the breeze

Lovers whisper

Some come  to sober up

Oye, como va 

Still Lagoons reflect soft light

Beignets  powdered with sugar just right

Café au lait best of all

Come to the Morning Call

City Park,a magical place in the dark

Mystery made nightly

New Orleans style