What the yak scarf told me

Today was the first really cold day of fall. The sky was overcast and grey, the wind whipped through the trees and the thin walls of my house, and my body refused to get out from under the warm covers in a timely manner. As I got ready for work, I paid special attention to my layers. I wanted to be warm on the bike and ferry, of course, but not dressed to the point that I would swelter all day in the office. I settled on a big turquoise knit hat and a pink and purple scarf. As soon as I pulled them out for their New Orleans debut, I was swept up in memories. Isn’t it wonderful how a simple object can transport you to another place?

The last time I wore my floppy hat was at the kick-off for an oyster reef project last January. It was freezing and I dressed in 32 layers of sweaters, long johns, vests and my floppy knit hat. The hat reminds me of that day because I had it on my head before I gave an interview and a thoughtful colleague told me to remove it immediately—I guess I do look silly in it but it is so soft and warm and happy and floppy! Putting it on this morning the emotions and stress of that day came rushing back. It was and probably will remain one of the most wonderful days of my career. Schlepping in the mud and cold with 600 of my closest friends all working together to build something lasting out of the tragedy of the oil spill is something I will never forget. It made me happy to remember that day and the people who made it special.

The scarf is an altogether different story. I’d actually never worn it before today. It is a pink and purple floating piece of art made of yak wool. Yes, yak. A former colleague brought it back from a trip to India. It kept my neck perfectly cozy and warm on the deck of the ferry as it made its way across the Mississippi. Do you think the person who made the scarf ever imagined where it would end up?

Life is so strange, isn’t it? When my co-worker gave me that beautiful scarf last year, I had no clue. No clue that I would done it for the first time in a completely new city, at a new job with new adventures and new people. I couldn’t have imagined it if you’d asked me.

And so these were the thoughts that I pondered on the boat today.

No matter what, in your wildest dreams, you can’t imagine what your life will be like even one year from now. What new people will appear in your life and become dear to you. What people who are dear to you now may not be with you when the next November 28 rolls around. The future is completely unwritten. And that is a wonderful and scary thought.

The conclusion I came to with my hat and my scarf is that a wise person looks to the past to determine what is most meaningful in life, what really made an impact, and plans for a future that allows space for more of what mattered before with a little room for what you can’t yet imagine. That being said, looking backwards is a waste and looking forward is folly if it doesn’t make your present a wonderful place to be. And right now,  on this boat, in my ridiculous hat and so soft scarf, with the wind stinging my eyes and the sun sinking behind me, I am perfectly content to be just where I am.

The river keeps many secrets

Yesterday afternoon I watched a piece of driftwood bob in the brown green water from the rail of the ferry. It moved away from me swiftly and I was astounded once again, reminded of how powerful this river is. From the bank, it looks deceptively calm, and when Moby and I walk along the levy in the morning, it is hard not to give in to his obvious desire to be let off the leash so he could run down the embankment, building momentum to leap into the water like he loves to do in every other river we have ever come across together. But I know that the soft waves that lap the shore can carry off dogs and people as easily as they do driftwood and so we stay on top of the levy, grudgingly.

Watching the water take the wood to a final resting place, the location of which can only be guessed at with any level of accuracy by pointing south, I thought about how many logs, people and dogs this river must have claimed for its own.

This is going to sound macabre, but I was intrigued by this thought and later that evening I googled "suicides Mississppi River". The singer Jeff Buckley came up, of course. But technically he drowned in the Wolf River, I think. And technically it wasn't a suicide. We think.

The poet John Berryman committed suicide by leaping from a bridge into the river in 1972. According to some reports, he waved at onlookers on the way down.

Dream Song 14

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn, ...


But the result that turned up that I couldn't get out of my mind was the story of two young lovers who flung themselves, hands clasped, from a bridge in Alexandria, MO in 1909.

I thought about Herman and Belva all night. What happened that night to make them jump? I looked and looked but I couldn't find any other information about the couple except for a short notice in another paper that they had been found 3 days later on the bank several miles downriver, arms still entwined. It made me sad. There is so much life to live, and so much gets wasted. What if this is the only chance we get?

This afternoon I got off work early and headed home on a much earlier ferry than usual. As I wheeled my bike off the ferry and rode the first curve that would take me towards home, I looked to my right and saw a young couple walking down the hill toward the Algiers Courthouse.  He had a bushy beard and a dark suit on. She was wearing red flats, a knee-length white dress and a short veil. They were holding hands, and I smiled at them without thinking. They waved in return. They looked so beautiful walking in the sunlight.

I wonder. Do you?

Where I been, what I seen

I've been running around of late and haven't been riding the ferry as much as I would have liked, but I have been collecting snippets of fun here and there.

Since last we spoke...
I went to the National Aquarium and saw a cool jellyfish exhibit!

And I splashed in the Gulf of Mexico!

And I saw a ton of beautiful things and people on the ferry when I wasn't gawking at jellyfish or getting my toes wet.

Like a man with an iguana on his back. He rode in with the nimble lizard on his head but I couldn't sneak a pic then!

And I saw a pair of perfect rainbow shoes!

Which reminds me, I ALSO saw a perfect rainbow from my office window!

I watched the night roll in with an inky purple that made sky and water indistinguishable.

Then I saw the City come alive in lights.

I watched a huge orange bullet streak across the water.

I finally learned what a Pelican State is.

So, yes. It's been a good couple of weeks.