Waking up in Paradise
Once you’ve been in crisis mode, you sometimes forget you are writing a new book, not a new chapter, which is what is going on now. At Zumba yesterday, as we circled up afterwards to say why we’re blessed or why we’re stressed, someone said they have decided that every time they go to the place in their head that plays out the negative tape, they are going to turn the switch off and record a new tape. The one that says everything is going to be okay. Or better yet, it’s going to be fabulous!
Friday was the beginning of beginnings – of all good things – it started by closing on the LaLa’s sale on Friday morning and this is the final treat in a very celebratory lunch:
And then, Saturday was chock-a-block full – Tin and I went to see a play about runaway slaves at the National Historic Jazz Park, which was well worth the trip – it was Tin’s first play:
Afterwards, we went to the Presbytere and saw an exhibit on Mardi Gras that was pretty cool; one exhibit in particular lets you re-enact the experience of being on a float throwing to the crowds below – awesome. And we saw the Baby Doll exhibit, because I’m seriously considering becoming a Baby Doll for next Mardi Gras:
In Jackson Square, Tin made a wish for “a street” in the fountain (read: a new found obsession with Cars – read again: no matter how much you keep things from your child, media is so pervasive, they will know):
At Camelia Grill, for waffles, I bargained away the chocolate shake but the waiter fell in love with Tin and gave him one gratis:
We stopped into the Healing Center to write our offer letter on the lot and visit with Fatma and her mother. Later, Tin and Suleyman went to pick oranges from the neighbor’s back yard:
Last night, Tatjana came over for risotto dinner and delicious Croatian wine. Tin was spending the first night in the Red House – his name for the new apartment and this morning I woke to a nightmare where I was being affectionate with someone I was very interested in and they kept spurning my overtones. I wondered where on earth that was coming from as I got out of bed and it occurred to me that it wasn’t about anything to come, it was about traces of my past, the past I buried back there under the funeral pyre at the LaLa.
Tin asked me late last night, before I turned the lights off, “Will you be nearby while I’m asleep?” Oh yeah, we are writing and living our narrative together, son, and this book is entitled: Waking Up In Paradise.