Change of Scene

After waiting all day on Wednesday to hear about Pearl, and finally, at five P.M, hearing that she was OK, I fell apart. Tension and frustration dissolving, There was nothing left but surrender, and the eventual realization that I needed relief. Obvious relief from worry over Pearl, but also relief from my dear little aging dog and the sameness of my environment. I hadn't been away since Portland to visit Kendall two summers ago. That was just prior to surgery on my arm, and frankly, it has been a long and difficult haul since then.

The truth is that the longer one waits, the more difficult it becomes to act. So on Thursday morning when I called and made a reservation for just one night at The Prytania Park Hotel in New Orleans, it felt as thought I had climbed a mountain, and driving there was almost as difficult.

It didn't help that once I made it into the city there was road work everywhere. I must crawl down familiar but unbelievably congested streets for an hour before I found a restaurant with very few cars in its tiny parking lot. It was three o'clock and I hadn't had lunch. I was pretty desperate for the spinach salad and the bread soaked in olive oil. Perhaps that helped grease my way back uptown to the hotel. It seemed a little easier. And arriving there, I received the kind of welcome that only seems possible from Southern concierges... Nearly as warm as the hot summer air.

Still I was in shock. I felt like an alien. An exhausted alien... So, once in the air conditioned room, I dove for the bed and pulled the covers up. I needed to hide...at least for an hour. After that I was able to venture out on the familiar wooden balcony, take a few photographs of the typical New Orleans rooftop view. Only then was I ready for a walk down St. Charles Avenue. Also familiar, and I knew I was making an effort to find my place in this city that was my home for so many years. Three times I had embarked on a sojourn in this: the nearest and most cosmopolitan city to my childhood home. Three times I claimed it as the place where my dreams would be nurtured...where I could grow to become the person I was meant to be. Was this why I came?

In the morning I made my way down good old Magazine St., the street where I had my first studio over Turci's restaurant. But it just didn't feel the same. So I sought out Audubon Park, the haven of one for whom nature is dependably restorative. Oak trees... Yes! Water and Ibis and ducks... Yes! Willow trees and Cypress Knees... Yes!

Was I happy? No... I remembered being there with Kendall in 2012, dancing for her on the stage of the bandstand. The freedom and joy! Not this time. I gazed at the cypress knees, which always remind me of people gathered together in harmonious groups. Like-minded and happy... Perhaps this was what made me realize what was missing: human connection...the sharing of experience and feelings. It seemed like a prayer. And perhaps my next act was an answer to this prayer.

Back in my car, I made a telephone call. And the voice on the end of the line, though unfamiliar, was welcoming. For the next two hours I sat with a lovely and intelligent woman talking about art. I came out of hiding during the first fifteen minutes, and as we spoke, the door that has been so tightly closed opened further and further. By the time I showed her the few images of my drawings and sculptures that were on my phone, light had filled up the doorway, and our mutual enthusiasm and liking for one another carried us through the door and down the sidewalk for a shared repast.

Over lunch, lives were shared: our children, my grandchildren. And plans were made. When I finally drove bravely through a rainstorm out of the city, purpose and hope rode beside me. Going home was just fine. I was tired, but I was looking forward to picking up Pearl and Music and returning to my studio in the woods. I had made contact, and contact was the reason I had summoned the courage to go to the city. Contact had opened the door for me to pass through.