Night begets Day
As I packed my suitcase last night, trying to think of what I might want to wear three days from now – always a struggle – I thought about the comings and goings around here. We’re travelers, me and T, not vacationers, definitely travelers. While sometimes it is for work and sometimes it is for pleasure, I inherited gypsy blood and my wanderings are what keep me centered rather than the opposite.
The pull of a base camp – the LaLa, the bayou, New Orleans – is always there calling me home. When a friend in New Orleans told me that she dreaded coming home not too long after Katrina, I felt for her because I longed and pined for home for 16 years while I was on the other side of the continent to the point that I welped up in the #42 bus in San Francisco when I heard a woman speaking in a New Orleans accent in the back – the accent barely discernible but definitely there.
When I was packed, I went to sleep in our cozy bed, lying next to my loved one, our dogs littered around us on their comfy beds, I thought, and in the morning, I will travel again and then come home to this – and I slept the sleep of the dead.