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I have always loved the way these three buildings in St. Cirq Lapopie look like they belong together...they match. You'd never know it, passing below. There's so much to be said for new angles, different perspectives, and moving from a stuck place. Happy Friday!
Everywhere you look in the Lot, beauty abounds. What could be prettier than the Pont Valentre through summertime roses? Lots! Cahors is one of the bookends to my bus route, with Figeac on the other. Living in the Lot was heaven for me...I didn't have to go anywhere, I didn't have to do anything...just being there is enough.
Back in the days when I was just "visiting" in the Lot, my friend Stuart would regularly say (with his incredible Welsh accent): "When one door closes, Laury, another will open." It wasn't like I hadn't heard that before. It wasn't like I didn't believe it back then. I did. I loved the visual. Sometimes I'd even open and close doors to get the sensual of the visual. It helped me move on.
I'm not sure what's going on these days, but most of my doors are slightly "ajar". And, I'm not the only one. Conversations with friends and family in St. Louis, as well as in New Orleans, lead me to wonder what is going on in the world that leaves us all dangling in the breeze. There seems to be no settling. And then, with all these doors "slightly ajar": you can't quite get in; you can't quite get out; do you stay?; do you go?; and, when does the circling stop? I'm beginning to wonder if times like these require some kicking open and slamming shut? Something about that feels really powerful! I like my doors opened or closed.
Change is tough, but particularly so as we get older. With Mom and Dad in assisted living, I brought Mom back to their house yesterday to get a few more things and see her azaleas blooming. She's missed the Japanese magnolia. The peonies are close. Next weekend, their home will receive a Century Award from the City of Ferguson. Mom and Dad lived in this house for 40 of those 100 years.
Before we left, we walked around the yard. I suggested we cut some of the azaleas to take back to brighten up their apartment. "No", she says: "they'll just fall."
And so Happy Mother's Day Mom...with a few photos to save your azaleas in your memory this year.
You wouldn't know it by me, but there was a lot more to the Fest on Friday than just (dare I say just) Willie Nelson. Finding food, fun and Fais Do Do rounded out that end of the day sojourn in the hood. I leave you with a few more Friday photos...tomorrow, I'm "on the road again"; See you when I return.
Friday morning, I left home early. I was on a footwear mission to Walgreens. I'd seen pretty rain boots there before, but never took the plunge. I wanted to be able to see Willie undaunted. I can take the rain, but all the mud and maneur can stop you dead in your tracks...a maze with no way out but through or across. Not only was the last high pair beautiful, but also in my size...meant to be for sure. So meant to be that before my walk home, they were on my feet to help my umbrella keep me as dry as possible in yet another downpour!
I could describe fest conditions to you that day, but it will be a lot more fun to show you. Happy Sunday-sunshiny and drying out!
On my own at Willie Nelson yesterday, it was as if the man and his music held a mirror to the history of my life. Oh, there have been other favorites and other kinds of music that I've loved and have touched me. But, if my life were a movie, Willie is the sound track.
"Starting off with Whiskey River, it wasn't long before Willie screamed: "This one's for Waylon" and broke into "Good Hearted Woman". He'd sing: "She's a good hearted woman" and leave us to fill in "in love with a good timin' man." What a grand homage to Waylon Jennings. It was more of the same with Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow up to be Cowboys and Riding on the City of New Orleans. Joining in on that "Good Morning America I love you" refrain, had tears streaming down my cheeks.
Through Willie's music, I first fell in love with country. I played hard, loved hard, danced hard, lost hard and learned to move on down the road to a Willie Nelson tune. When I was in grad school my first cat was named Willie Nelson, and my purple Ford Ranger Splash that now lives with Gaynell is Willie Nelson too. I play the "Red-Headed Stranger" album loud and long in France, and can't hear "Blues Eyes Crying in the Rain" without tears for an old love lost to a motorcycle accident when I was in my 20's.
I had to hear Willie at the Fest yesterday. He was a must. When I learned he was on the Gentilly Stage, I knew I could have stayed home and heard him from my backyard.
But then: my Tulane cap wouldn't have stirred the conversation with LSU fans; I wouldn't have felt the power of knee high rubber boots in the mud; I'd have missed the contact high from all the heavy pot around me, and I'd have missed the opportunity to lay eyes on Willie face to face one more time and let him stir my soul and my life.
There is a calm before the Jazz Fest Storm. The hood is getting ready. The Fairgrounds side, or "the other side" of Esplanade is center stage. This is my side of Esplanade. Enjoy an early morning bike ride through the hood during a calm, sweet, early morning...a morning of art, color, activism, music and bonjours!