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Category: Traveling South
When we go on vacation, we just go farther south
It’s time to tell the terrible awful thing I did. Or, at least, the last terrible awful thing I did. I’m a seashell collector. I always have been. I try to be selective on what I keep, because I’m limited on space after all these years. I put them in apothecary jars with sand and they are displayed in my bedroom and my library. I think they’re beautiful and it makes me smile when I look at them, remembering each trip. The photo at the top shows a mushroom that washed up. I also found cauliflower and broccoli that morning in St. Augustine. I got kind of excited about the mushroom, I thought it was really something unique. I also have a knack for grabbing up shells with wild things still in them. This last trip was no different. I think I found most of Outer Banks population of hermit crabs. I check my shells thoroughly because I don’t want to kill any creatures just so I can have a pretty shell to display, but also, I don’t want to smell rotting varmint for two weeks as it dries out. It does get depressing, though, finding all these perfect shells only to have to toss them back. So anyway, I had collected a few one day and had the majority of them spread on the porch railing to dissipate the ocean smell. I had brought a few into…
I just got this sweatshirt and it should tell you everything you need to know about me. Although I’ve made plenty of good decisions since then (and probably even more terrible ones), my last standout good idea was Charleston for Thanksgiving. My last two visits were less than mediocre, as I spent most of my time on the beach. That isn’t my cup of tea for more than a day. But love is about compromise. So anyway, this Thanksgiving dinner found me on an island, sipping something fruity, and eating lobster. I mean, what’s not to love? I was torn, sure. I love to cook, and had been making my own Thanksgiving meal at home for several years now. It sure cut down on the stress of having to be here and there. Probably a little selfish, but when I worked at Co-op I had to be back at work on Friday morning so it was exhausting spending the whole day running and the general mayhem. I didn’t have the usual crew coming this year, everybody seemed to be up in the air on plans, and I didn’t have any solid ones, either. There were several places I was welcomed, thankfully, but I wasn’t really feeling it. Additionally, I had several vacation days to burn. I couldn’t see rattling around my house for a week, even if it did mean having all the time in…
I realize the picture is a wee bit weird, but I admire the symmetry. Here’s the thing about the ocean: It’s weird. There’s slime, and seaweed, and sticks, and fish that nibble at your toes. Not to mention all manner of man-made trash that washes up. The difference is, in the Gulf you can actually SEE what’s touching you, rubbing against your leg. Whereas in the Atlantic, you just visualise the worst & hope that if it is death coming for you, he’ll make it snappy. I had seaweed & God-knows-what-else tangled in my hair every day this week, but I just pretended I was a mermaid & went on. The waves knocked me down, flipped me upside down, drove me to my knees and skidded my elbows across the gritty sand. I got back up for more, pushing my seaweed infested hair out of my eyes, snorting and snotting from the salt in my eyes and up my nose, making them water and burn. It was a constant struggle against the current, fighting the waves crashing into me. They fizzle out but there’s more behind it. Sure, you can stay in the shallows where the danger is minimal, but why would you want to? Where’s the fun & adventure in that? It’s a battle I will never win, me against the pull of the moon. Something drives…
It’s the last day of Carnival season. One million people are celebrating, eating beignets & king cake & dancing in the street to the music that fills the air from every corner. There’s an ache in my soul because my heart is in New Orleans but my body is at the Co-op. New Orleans (pronounced Nu Orluhns, by the way, NOT New Or-leens or Nawlins, heaven forbid) has no rivals; there are no substitutes. There’s no such thing as “too much” on Fat Tuesday. I’m not sure New Orleans even knows the meaning of excess. It makes no apologies. Anything goes. New Orleans is far too busy living life & having fun to worry about what everybody else thinks. Be like New Orleans. Happy Mardi Gras, y’all…
Church bells & sirens. Jackson Cathedral startlingly white against a cloudless sky. Artists dragging out their easels, hanging their wares on wrought iron railings. Business owners pressure washing the remnants from the night before into the sewers. Locals hustling to work nod, smile, & offer “Good mornin’.” It’s seven a.m. in the Quarter, & everyone is headed to Café Du Monde for café au laits & beignets. Newspapers snap & the light becomes a little brighter as the sun shines down proudly on New Orleans. Streetcars clatter their way down the cobblestone streets, & steamboats rest along shore. The smell, not unpleasant, wafts in from Lake Pontchartrain & the great Mississippi River. The city is waking up, & with it comes the street performers. The saxophone players, the moody bluesmen, the break dancers. Just as soon as the music begins to fade behind you, another tune picks up just ahead. Tourists are carted by in wagons pulled by mules who have red glittery hooves. Happy to be alive, guides call to each other & provoke laughter at every comeback. Beads hang everywhere, like a manufactured Spanish moss. They are in tree limbs, electric lines, rooftops, across fences, lying in the street. They are draped around doorframes as decoration, looped over mailboxes & front yard fences for passerby to take if so desired. The food alone is worth the trip. A fantastic mix of creole-Cajun, French, Italian, & American, you can find anything you…
