palace of winds

Monday, April 10

I’d intended to keep up better with journaling my trip, but here it is over a week later, so all the little details are slipping. Probably best for you, in the long run, because it cuts down my inane rambling.

We rose early, I’m sure; I was always waking early, brim-full of energy, wanting to move, and there was only so long I could confine myself to the bedroom. In retrospect I ought to’ve slept on the couch so I could’ve hopped on the elliptical first thing to burn off some of the restlessness. Fluffy little hamster with her wheel.

Anyway, Monday morning was mostly a blur of me trying not to freak out and freaking out anyway, and informing Steph periodically of just how screwed we were as far as tea party preparations go. But we managed to pull it all together, and produced: tomato sandwiches (tomato on rye squares with a teeny smear of mayo), cucumber sandwiches (cucumber and goat cheese on rye), hummus sandwiches (hummus, sundried tomatoes, red onions, and mixed greens on this amazing sunflower seed bread from Whole Foods), and mini spanikopitas (little baked triangles of spinach and cheese and spices in phyllo dough). I spent the morning fretting and wringing my hands and likely driving Steph insane, and when we flew out the door I remembered the gifts but forgot entirely the photos I’d stayed up past midnight on Friday pulling together. When I remembered them five minutes or so down the road Steph and I both agreed that it was probably the very best thing we could’ve forgotten when considered against things like gifts and sandwiches and clothing.

Upon arriving in Sarah’s neighborhood we managed to park and then were promptly foiled by a row of mailboxes. It would have been less embarrassing if one of her neighbors hadn’t noticed the mailboxes’ triumph, but we had definitely started up the walk to the wrong house before noticing it was, well, wrong. Followed immediately by noticing that the boxes were all on one side of the street. So we sheepishly crossed over to the right house.

I love seeing people’s homes, being able to final picture them in the right place. Knowing how the light feels, what upstairs means, the best spots for curling up with a book. Everything you don’t notice any more, living your own life.

Sarah had set out this gorgeous china tea set and a three-tiered tower of teas to choose from (and oh lord me such an indecisionist; I could have stayed for months just sipping tea after tea), and the kettle was steaming on the burner, and it was all just gorgeous and spring. Plus she’d made a cake layered with clouds of whipped cream and lucious berries (a true decadence for me as berries are still quite expensive here and oh they were gorgeous). So we had tea and sandwiches and then cake, chatting in the quiet open light of the dining room.

When we’d finished we trooped briefly upstairs so Sarah could get her photos and things from her year in Wales, and we lingered in her bedroom pouring over her bookshelf, mostly admitting to all the books we all owned by hadn’t read yet, or had been meaning to get. We finally tore ourselves away and returned to the living room, where we cozied up on the big plush couch and looked through the album and her box of loose photos and bits. We’d spent so much time that year talking about our respective UK experiences that it was fantastic being able to finally picture hers so clearly (and I kicked myself again for having forgotten my own album at Steph’s).

Poor other-Rachel was running on almost no sleep and I’m afraid I tortured her a little, sitting on that couch for hours just rambling on while she tried to stay awake, but the time truly slipped away and suddenly it was nearly six. And we made our goodbyes.

It’s always a little bittersweet for me, visiting far-away friends. I try not to but I can’t help imagining what it would be like if all the distance between our homes folded away into nothing. I don’t see a couch but the couch where we would curl up and have a movie marathon until all hours; the bed or floor where we’d sprawl, working on scrapbooks together, or just chatting, or working out the lives of princes and bards and a strange fae girl; the expression that goes with that big, warm laugh, the one that hints at the quiet depth of strength under all her gentleness. I can’t help building a little heartsickness when I visit anywhere, a pang of longing for a sunny Baton Rouge parking lot, nights in Chula Vista, the long brightness of the Golden Gate. Kathy’s living voice, leaning back into Brenda. On and on. More and more I know home is not just a place but people, who seem to have a very inconvenient habit of not all being in close proximity.

It’s always hard to put words to this, and I have a tendency to ramble around it and around it and hesitate and delay and here it is in truth seven days later. And so I’m going to accept that not everything can be said and wrap up this day and post it, or I’ll never finish the rest.

On the way back we stopped at Big Lots, since I’ve heard so much about it and never been. We wandered and poked through everything and I know I bought things, but I don’t now remember what was from there, specifically, and that’s all right.

Back at the apartment we succumbed to laziness and the lure of Illegal Burrito, where we were decidedly opposed on the issue of beans (black vs refried) and cheese (no vs yes), but came to an accord and split what turned out to be an utterly amazing mushroom burrito. The mushrooms were outstanding. I don’t know what they marinated them in (and don’t even want to know how much oil was involved), but — oh lordy. And the green salsa was spicy-sharp-bright and just right. We started Spirited Away, but as soon as we’d finished eating we decided it was a good idea if we knew at least the first thing about New Orleans (namely, how to get there; and, really, the second thing, being what to do once we managed that first bit), since we were heading there the next morning for Steph’s birthday day extravapalooza. I don’t know about Steph, but I had really no expectations; I was ready to be surprised by the city. And it delivered: surreality, a sort of haunted waiting; fantastic food; a quantity of clothes & shoes; and wine. Rather a lot of wine, in the end.