Wednesday finds me in a better mindset, regarding the Vibe thang that had me in such an emotional dither yesterday.  I went home after work and, after having a decent cry on J over a couple of cardboard boxes, we had a chat about all of that, and the various philosophies of grief.  It is weird to use the term “grief” here, since we are moving to New Orleans, not dying.  But, it’s the same thing really – I’ve felt it myself, when I’ve had good friends move away themselves.  So, I get it.  I’m dealing.  It’s all good.

Enough doom and gloom, though.  The weather here in Denver today is gloomy enough!  Which I love.  I LOVE misty, rainy, cool crisp days, and have been enjoying this one very much.  THAT is one thing that I will miss about Colorado, when I go.  That crisp air that rolls down from the mountains from the foothills in all of its invigorating glory.  Be certain though that my attitude will more than likely change when this misty stuff decides to turn into snow and things devolve from crisp to bitter!  But, right now, I’m all about the mist and the crisp.

Looking forward, I can’t wait for thunderstorms and buckets of rain and those soft and enveloping Mississippi River breezes.

The other day, I was poking around my computer at work, consolidating personal files into one huge folder so that I can save it all down to a portable device before I wipe this machine completely of my presence.  And I found an old Word file containing my “Travel Log” from the autumn of 2008, after I had come back from showing New Orleans to my husband for the very first time.  3 years-and-some-change later, I find it rather poignant:

I hadn’t been back Home to New Orleans in 9 years.  And oh, how I’d missed it!  The damp and the spicy muddy smell, the breezes so soft and heavy with the air that you could bathe in them.  The sounds of the steamboats, the loud OOOM as they pass by, the strange and jilty calliope music.  Horse hooves on brick streets.  Rain that actually gets you wet.  Nine million different bands filtering out on Bourbon Street.  And the jazz that beats them all.  The eerie and mysterious dusty corners where Voodoo still happens.  The dark and gritty and true spiritualism that has taken root in my heart.  The necropoli of their graveyards.

…

Sitting on a bench by the Mississippi river, I made a vow along with my beloved (who loved it there as much as I do) to never ever EVER let 9 years pass again.  If we can’t live there, we will be pilgrimaging back every 2 or 3.  Much better.

I remember that moment, on that bench.  How funny, to look back at that now.  It was nighttime and we were staring out at the dark Mississippi, drinks in hand, just watching the water, our eyes agleam with the lights of the bridge.  We had this oh-so-brief conversation about the basest idea of living there, and then dismissed it as “Impossible” for reasons that I cannot remember now.  Back in Colorado afterwards, it was only a matter of months, if that, before we found ourselves agreeing to start saving up for an eventual move.  We knew it would take quite some time.  And now, here it is.

What a wild thing to find, whilst cleaning my work computer out prior to actually, finally, departing.  I simply felt the need to share that today.

I will leave y’all with a couple of photos that I took this morning on my (you know what I’m going to say) walk to the corner store.  The Featured Photo up top was one of them.  Here are the other two.

This has been on this stoop for 2 days now, I caught it before the
misty rainy stuff washed it away.  In case you can’t see, it says,
“Butt Crack.”  I laughed, couldn’t help it.

Watchful Aspen says “Hi!”