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I rode my bike uptown yesterday morning to go to the gym and I realized that I love my bike – for whatever reasons my bike and I are going through some sort of weird love affair right now where I can’t wait to get on it and once I do I don’t want to get off.

Stopped by the LaLa because P was there putting in the two sashes that he had fixed. Left him saying I would see him later at Bacchanal. Then I had to do the whole Metairie thing – and gasp – Lakeside Mall. I walked in and there was a guy with a double stroller watching his three year old daughter chase a red balloon – she was having such a good time sending the balloon up in the air that she raised my spirits and braced me against the food court that was between me and the store I was headed towards.

Then was off to pick up G and we headed to Bacchanal where hail hail the gang was all there. It was Bordeauxs of every variety and then E, who had stopped in, said he was off to meet friends and sit around the water and play guitar, so the course of my day shifted and E and I were off to the North Shore. As before when I first met him at Delachaise, E launched into a conversation about what had been on his mind recently – a book about his parents that might shed light on what is the crux of the adult conundrum – how did he put it? it was almost perfect – that adults think they know the answer and rather than give into the uncertainty they fret and strut about with the wrong answers rather than letting go and embracing the mystery of not knowing. I can’t remember exactly how he worded it but it struck me as spot on.

E was saying that he had met people in Florida that he knew just wouldn’t be comfortable being here in New Orleans and that caused him to dismiss them. It’s this post Katrina phenomenon that I am experiencing as well – the Love New Orleans All The Time or Bust feeling that borders on xenophobia or communal communism or something – New Orleans has become more rarified, more striking in her almost demise and we cling to her like ivy to the vine.

Entering Beau Chen, I was reminded of when S lived there with G many many years ago and I had that usual hands clasped firmly around the neck feeling that often comes when I enter a gated community. Walking through the front door, the wreath with silk flowers giving me pause as we tried to escape the sprinkler, E and I instantly had a feeling we had interrupted a set up for him as I had been a last minute addition – but in typical New Orleans fashion, warmth and kisses and hugs welcomed a stranger.

We followed L & C with their daughter – such a beautiful name – Adeline – and L’s friend T and her two kids, B and T and headed to the water and Boar Island. Legend has it that wild boars roam the sandy bar at night but the only ones we saw as we sat in a circle with the gentle gloaming draping around us was the common bore – the drunk wife beater, the family of home schoolers with the 16 year old who is being pushed into marriage rather than education, the philanderer with the girlfriend who sends pictures of her China over his cellphone while the other girlfriend discovers them in the middle of the night.

[Definition of China for those who don’t know – W was asking me one day about babies and how they are born and I said “vagina” and he thought I said “China” and since then it is impossible to refer to it as anything else.]

The red orange ball setting and the full moon rising, we watched the Purple Martins flying overhead forming perfect cut outs against the darkening sky. E strummed the guitar when the head banger music had quieted down. As I grew more familiar with the company, I realized that regardless had I shown up, setups are hardly ever well thought out.

A woman’s waivering voice and shaking hands reminded me of a frail bird – I wanted to catch the bird up in my arms. Later offhand comments like “moneybags isn’t around anymore” and “supposedably” stuck out.

I read later purple martins have become almost completely dependent on humans. The waivering voice reminded me of a purple martin – this woman dependent on the kindness of strangers, of the male variety, looking for shelter against the storm because flying solo forced the entire being to flutter nervously.

And later in bed, I thought about how all we have is now, and I had spent a day in the now, which had been pleasing and delightful, and I thought about boorish behavior vs gentlemanly conduct – how distinct they are – and yet only once you have experienced the boorish can you know the gentlemanly but in isolation they do not stand out as remarkable. And what is that I ask you? Must everything live in contrast for it to be believed or appreciated? Can we only love New Orleans in her almost absence? Is who we are only recognizable in contrast to who we aren’t? Are you a Mexican or a Mexican’t?

This entry was posted on Sunday, June 11th, 2006 at 5:31 am and is filed under Main. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.