things seen on my walk today:
a can of root beer, completely flattened
an empty pack of marlboro lights
leaves the color of amber brown bottles
two skinny faux wood china cabinets left out at the curb, laid flat, face up, as if they were sunbathing
an accidental arrangement of string and leaves and light so lovely I walked around it so as not to disturb it
things seen today in new orleans and beyond:
alligator jerky
a painter's crusted palette
a wall of bottled hot sauce
donald trump voodoo dolls by the dozens
clumps and sprinkles of powdered sugar on the sidewalk
a message scribbled on a pink wall on st. claude: 'baby, went to frenchmen street-- love, boo'
a man in an ivory wool suit with matching fedora
bayou after bayou after bayou
houses on skinny wooden-legged stilts
roads swooning with live oaks
signs urging the world to vote for someone named 'tater'
a roadside memorial cross accompanied by a dozen small silver spinning pinwheels
a carpet of tiny white daisies along the shoulder of the road
another fiery farewell sunset in my rearview mirror
things seen today in new orleans:
neon colored wigs
bone white grave markers
a welcome, sprawling canopy of live oaks
a man on a bike, wearing a cotton bonnet the color of milk
a man on a bike, wearing no pants, no pants at all
homemade milk crate basketball goals
a lemon yellow pothole with the words 'love me tender' stenciled on it
an older couple sitting on the high bench outside outside hansen's sno-bliz, legs dangling, feet not touching, eating sno-balls
a collection of old memory jugs encrusted with bits of buttons and shells and beads and pieces of remembered things
a man in tortoise shell glasses pecking away on an old typewriter at breakfast
a window with the words 'no peeping toms' carefully painted on it
the dark insides of an old dip-and-dunk chemical photobooth
the candy colors of the bywater from the seat of a bike
the candy colors of the french quarter from the seat of a bike
a crazy vivid tangerine pink bittersweet farewell sunset
things seen today in new orleans:
tiny hand-painted matchboxes
tiny pink blooms on our courtyard table, like confetti
two men in wide-brimmed straw hats, holding cameras, taking pictures
a dragonfly resting on top of a woman's teased head of hair while she read a book, completely unaware
bright orange koi in the little courtyard fountain
the brightest, orangest house I have ever seen in my life
magnolia branches and pillowy clouds, as I floated on my back in the pool
a clawfoot tub filled with flowers
a somber chorus of ghost bikes
a wall full of books and light
a wall full of whiskey bottles and light
a bright red sock near the bus stop
a bright red street car on st. claude
a trashcan with the words 'you deserve to be here' scribbled on top
things I took as good signs today, signs that things are going to be okay:
the bright red cardinal that swooped across the windshield of my car as I drove home
the goldfinch that landed on one of the last of my sunflowers and stayed for a little bit
the check that showed up in our mailbox, for work already done, that we had (unbelievably) completely forgotten about
things about sunday:
the singing of an old hymn
the almost purchase of a slip-and-slide
the reading of a book so terrific I can't go one page without marking passages
the making and baking of blackberry-blueberry cobbler
bad reality television, really bad reality television
things that happened today (it was a hard day) after I officially gave up:
hard cider found me, around two in the afternoon
(poured it into a mug so as to give the impression I was having a nice cup of tea)
a cardinal landed on the lower branch of a tree in back, which I did take as a hopeful sign
two gulf fritillary butterflies made their way through my garden and I wished for one to land on my hand, I wished so hard
(I wanted another sign, the cardinal was not enough)
the world took on a weight I knew existed but had not felt in a while
the floor called my name, so I went to it
(the floor feels glorious when you've given up)
the questioning found me, I fell into that too
(questioned everything, including this ridiculous list project)
broke down, texted the friend who is maybe (probably) not really a real friend
took my foot off the proverbial brake, let the night glide to stillness
(and by this, I mean I baked a peach cobbler around ten, ate it while watching stranger things in the dark with the kids)
I will read this list one day and I will roll my eyes. I am sure of it.
things about sunday:
the kitchen, heavy with the scent of ripening peaches
ava, her first show, the selling of her first painting, the look she gave me from across the room
the moon, an opaline smudge in the sky
things seen today:
old school pool umbrellas
a three hundred year-old live oak
a giant wooden milk carton in the middle of a field
wildflowers run riot along the side of the highway
two billboards for machine gun america
an elegant live oak heavy with spanish moss next door to a gas station
a billboard boasting 'live baby gators and florida tee-shirts'
a billboard boasting a country radio station that plays 'no rap and no crap'
(in comic sans font no less, as if that no rap/no crap bit wasn't laughable and/or offensive enough)
a cloud clearly shaped like the letter L
a colossal confederate flag, large enough to cover a parking lot
(what I wouldn't give to burn it)
an endless, hopeful expanse of water the color of slate
a dozen gleaming airstream trailers
a slew of pink-tipped clouds
the bottom end of a double rainbow
bubbles in the car
america is nothing if not an endless, maddening contradiction.
things seen today:
a giant smiling peanut
the inside of an old greyhound bus
lemon meringue pie like a cloud
a mammoth yellow moth at the gas station
a pick-up truck graveyard
burning bales of hay
magic pasaquan color and pattern
hand-painted produce signs
roadside swamps and white egrets
joseph and the technicolor pool noodles
an entire field of sunflowers, all turned toward the sun
railroad ties stacked like lincoln logs
a thrift store called THANK GOD
bubbles in the motel room
things seen today:
sidewalks littered with pink petals
a man in a dark suit and charcoal fedora feeding birds at the bus stop
victorian homes like complicated, sugary cakes
a taco bell marquee that read 'nacho fries missed you'
a man cutting another man's hair on the bridge at sunset
a neon pink sky, serrated
things I spent way too much time doing today:
worrying
procrastinating
finishing that savannah list
done on the first day of summer:
bought a tent, on a whim
put up said tent in the backyard
marveled at the beauty and wonder of this tent
wondered why we have lived a tentless life for so many years
spread a plethora of sheets and pillows inside
ran a cord from the house to the tent for the small lamp I felt I simply must have
laid down inside with the kids, stared up at the sky
watched lightning bugs and the occasional airplane overhead
then, miraculously, a shooting star
listened to the sound of cicadas and crickets and frogs, an impossible chorus
consumed sweet and sour twizzlers
drank ice water out of jam jars
brought in air mattresses, blankets, more pillows
contemplated movies for watching
settled in for the night
saw flashes of heat lightning in the distance
saw flashes of regular lightning even closer, heard thunder
felt the wind pick up, the beginnings of a storm
made a run for the house
(happy summer solstice, friends)
saturday night:
barbeque sandwiches
the sounds of cicadas
the hum of the air conditioner
strawberries, fresh whipped cream
lightning bugs, again
the moon, again
friday night:
photographs of bubbles
lamentations over the last of the gooey butter cake
the last black man in san francisco
backyard moonlight bathing
a lightning bug, inside our house
(oh my goodness run run run to see the last black man in san francisco)
junk food purchased today for a birthday junk food sleepover tonight:
gummy worms
sour gummy worms
chocolate
so much chocolate
and lots of orange food
like cheetos
and takis
and bacon-flavored cheezits
last but not least:
birthday cake oreos
you only turn fifteen once.
though admittedly, I did feel as if I needed to explain myself to the target cashier.
sunday night things:
dark movie theatres
leftover easter candy
motorized reclining chairs
AC on full blast
my brother's laugh
saturday night things:
lightning bugs
bottles of mandarin jarritos
glow in the dark croquet
an exquisitely roasted marshmallow
my dad's laugh
