Its all in the timing

I've just returned home from the Delta. I can't stress how important it is for an artist to return home to their native land once in awhile... it isn't easy - but the payoff is always there if one is open to it.

Sources are so primordial. It all goes back to wandering in the cotton fields when I was so little they towered like trees above my head... and cicadas... and even mosquitoes! I spent a great deal of time dreaming about Bill and Sookie while heading up and down back roads that haven't changed much in close to 100 years.... certainly not in 50... and I wondered WHY am I so obsessed with these Charlaine Harris characters? I am not convinced in the power of pop culture, Dark Shadows and all that.... but still... when I read TODAY that Charlaine was born in 1951 in Tunica, MS, well - now I KNOW. She went to college at Rhodes in Memphis and it is one of the creepiest, surreal cities anywhere - that's not to say I don't love it, in a strange, comforting way... but it isn't American in many ways, anymore than Louisiana.

So, Charlaine, your characters feel like family to me... and now I know why. I thought I might be going through some close to mid-life obession but its just homesickness... and the strange life that an outsider lives amongst the natives. My mom reminded me of how horrible the mosquitoes were - (I had a recurring nightmare as a child that I was being crucified on a cross in that box of mosquites that was featured in the OFF commercials of the day...) so maybe my obsession with Bill the Vampire somehow relates to THAT??? An art historian or shrink could have a field day with that one.

The drawing above is a portrait of Mr dd. No, he doesn't look like Bill the Vampire but I realized recently that one of the first, most compelling things he professed to me during our passionate courting days: "I am Yours, You are Mine." That was a first.

I never waited tables but I always knew the score. I was never seriously interested in those Delta Boys because I think I feared they would take my life away, tie me down and I'd never see the world. Mr. dd and I met each other at the right time and the right place, otherwise, well, there is no telling what part of the world I'd be hanging my art in.

Now I go back and I cherish those Delta Haunts for their resonance... I wound up at Po-Monkey's last Saturday night... a place I visited with a bunch of girlfriends and nere-do-wells (sp?) afterhours way back in the mid 70's. I was maybe 16. I had no idea where we were or if I'd made a mistake hanging out with these night owls who only wanted to drink MORE beer with hopes of getting into our pants. Instead our car broke down and we sat in the dark on a gravel road singing pop songs all night.

I spent last Saturday with a view an the Indian Mound Bayou from my window and wishing Mr. dd was there to experience the wonder that is the Delta. A friend from my youth and I walked through the soybean fields and picked up pottery shards and I realized today they are likely made from the same clay that Lee McCarty has used for 50 years.

Emergency Measures

This self-portrait was created upon my arrival in Germany during mid May.
I wish I looked half a relaxed now as I did then.

I've spent my life expanding the world I live in. Maybe a childhood in the Mississippi Delta makes one expect wide horizons? I saved my allowance at the age of 12 or so to create my first adventure. I flew to Chicago at the age of 13 by myself. I am almost a travel addict and will jump at the chance to work overseas.

My first European adventure occured in 1985 when one could fly to London for $200. and the exchange rate was so good that an unemployed post graduate could live off $10 - $15. dollars a day in most any city in Europe - especially if one had a couch to crash on - my favorite being Schaumi's. I missed many trains, nearly shipped my return ticket home by accident and gave many Brits and Europeans good cause for laughter due to my inexperience and willingness to try new things.

Experience is the best teacher... but sleep deprivation erases the best laid plans! Normally I xerox my passport and all travel documents, credit cards, etc... for peace of mind. (Being responsible for students or kids makes one a much savier traveler.) I've never had to rely on these measures but came so close yesterday that I had visions of living off my lunch time rashions at the Munich airport much like Tom Hanks in The Terminal. Yesterday was a long day for me and although my ducks were swimming in a watery row I thought I might have to visit the American consulate before I could return to American soil.

We order a taxi to pick my up at 4:15 am. I was nervous that the taxi would be late. I have a problem with pre-departure anxiety and insomnia... plus I travel with luggage at maximum capacity since they've lowered the weight limits... but then the limit doesn't matter. I am always there.

With such an early departure and the anticipation of jet lag I just stayed up that night. There was plenty to do with checking the weight of my luggage over and over and a feeble attempt to pack the Kneitinger and Weltenburger bier I wanted to bring home for Mr dd. How could it survive being checked in my luggage? I visited both breweries during my time in Bavaria and had high hopes I could share at least the taste of these places with my beloved.

The taxi arrived on time and took me to the train station. The woman helped me with my luggage which was unexpected. We arrived at the train station with enough time for me to transport my heavy luggage to the appropriate kaisse and wait. I worked hard to stay awake on the train since I needed to depart at Freising to find bus 635 which would take me to the Munich airport....

One of the train attendants spoke English and showed me the bus when we arrived. Several VERY nice strangers helped me with my 50 lb bags - which I would never allow in Spain or France... too much history there.

So... I made it to Terminal One by 7:30, rented a cart and made my way to the Delta ticket counter. The line was epic! I decided to go to the customs office first since I had some detax forms I needed to have stamped and mailed. I was pleased there was no line and gave my passport, receipts and all of my papers to a very cute passport officer. He told me I needed to check in with Delta and receive my luggage tickets so he could check my luggage.... this is a new procedure... something I had never heard of before. I made my way back to the Delta counter and realized as I got closer to the first security check that I didn't have my passport in hand and that I didn't remember seeing it since my papers were returned to at customs! I dug through all my pockets. Nada! I looked in my bags. Nothing. I left my place in line and returned to customs... he held his hands up - nothing! Ok... now I was getting nervous. I had gone into a coughing fit earlier and had shifted my bags and clothing since I was overheating and perhaps I had dropped it? No one was at the information counter. A Delta representative directed me to LOST AND FOUND. Not easy to find but eventually I did. The man there was very nice, telephoned the airport police and told me if it was turned in he would telephone Delta and make an announcement on the intercom. I wasn't doing well at this point. It was getting late and I began to fear I would miss my flight. I was sweaty, tired and at wits end.

I went back to the "special" Delta counter and showed them my xerox of my passport and wondered if that might suffice - knowing it wouldn't. He spoke to another official who said no, I would need a letter of transportation from the American Consulate which would take a day... except it was Saturday and their offices would't be open until Monday (!) I asked if I needed to notify Delta and he said no. They were aware of my situation...

I sat on the chairs and held my head in my hands and feared the worst. I was PMSing, sleep deprived and feeling bad. I considered about my options, sighed a deep sigh and determined to methodically look ONE MORE time while I could still board my flight. I began to deconstruct my luggage, clothing and bags and eventually discovered my new passport (!) wedged between two bags under some other travel essentials. How it wound up there I do not know. I was relieved but very nervous that it might be too late since I only had an hour or so to check in, visit customs for the third of fourth time and get through security. Somehow I manged... my bags were exactly 50 lbs and before she sent them off I actually remembered to inquire about the detax. She said they needed to examine my bads to insure I had the articles so I had to remove them from the conveyor and take them to customs who of course didn't even bother to open them, but stamped my documents and sent my heavy bags on their way.

By the time I made it to security the line was pretty short as was the time. I was lucky. They took my yogurt away (probably for the best) and I again, had to deconstruct myself and my luggage for the xray machine. I was so happy to make it to my flight with my very heavy hand luggage (all my books were in it) that I didn't care that I didn't have time to find cuban cigars in the duty free shop. The flight was 9.5 hours. I asked the attendant to awaken me when they served the meal. As soon as I had my wine with dinner I took half an Ambien and it was like someone clicked off the switch. When I woke up we were an hour and half from Atlanta and I still had time to watch my first episode of Nip and Tuck.

Atlanta was another kind of hell due to Delta's inability to maintain a flight schedule... but that's another story. I finally got home with my damp, beer soaked luggage two and half hours later than scheduled. It could have been a great deal worse. Losses: three bavarian beers (the security guy who helped me pick the glass out of my luggage and sniffed in appreciation. We both acknowledged that even beer made by the monks would have a hard time surviving an international flight.) Another casulty was a new linen shirt I found at H&M for Mr. dd. Paint stained it and it doesn't look like it will come out. It would be easier to shop for the the mister if the H&M here carried men's wear!

C'est la vie. It could'a been SO much worse!

Shock

Late this afternoon I was working in my studio when a long lost cousin who is my Dad's age rang me up on the telie. I am not sure we'd ever had a conversation before... maybe years ago when we both lived in New Orleans at the same time but were in very transitional periods. Anway - my father encouraged her to call me because our politics are very similiar and now that my family is online I am always receiving propagadistic emails from people who may be related to me - except for her. She sends excerpts from articles, usually critical of the "situation" we've gotten ourselves into in the "big house" in DC, Iraq, et al.. We spoke for a long while and I tried to work in the meantime knowing that I didn't want to hurt her feelings by cutting her off. We were burning daylight as we spoke - my best worktime.

Immediatly after I hung up with her my parents rang up to remind me that my Dad is having surgery on Tuesday... and to tell me that another cousin of mine, one I adored as a young girl - is in critical condition at a local hospital near them! I was told she had sepsis. They asked me questions about it. I don't know much about sepsis except I thought perhaps it was like a staff infection... something that could be fatal. (I watched a great deak of E.R. at one point in my life... I was in traction...) She is in her early 50's and had been feeling sick for the past month. She wasn't able to start the semester last week she was feeling so bad so she was admitted to the hospital at 10pm last night. All of her immediate relatives were gathering at her bedside once it was determined that her situation was critical. I hung up and thought about this sweet cousin and hoped she would get the care she needed to heal - quickly!

My parents called me a few hours later - 9:30 or so to tell me she died of Septic Shock. Her family thinks it was from some catfish she ate earlier last month. Is this possible? Who knows? I haven't seen this cousin for quite awhile but we have emailed each other in the past few years. She was always a bright light on my Dad's side of the family... once cute as a button: a giggley teenager and a cheerful, charming young adult. She attended college in my home town so she and her suiters would visit our house and I was always very impressed by her. It is very hard to impress most kides at that age... was a preteen who looked to her for guidance and as the oldest, believe me, I needed it. Was I a bridesmade or flower girl at her wedding? I seem to remember an illfitting dress made for an occassion that could only be a wedding. Everything was illfitting for me at that age... and maybe even until I was old enough to buy my own clothes.

My mother and I really only argued about one thing during those years... the length of my skirt. There is a mole on my thigh which I used as a point of comparison. If the skirt or dress covered the mole, it was TOO LONG. If I remember correcly my sweet cousin backed me up on this. She was, after all, a college student and could offer an unbiased opinion. My mother disagreed. I guess she didn't like the idea of her oldest daughter showing her ass in public... a legitimate concern since I was the definition of a clutzy teenager and a late bloomer, I hope. Have I bloomed yet? The jury would stil be out but I cannot deny the fact that I may go to seed very soon. Tis the season.

As I watch my sunflowers being devoured each day by the goldfinches, ants and bees I am accutely aware of the lifespan of a flower that is taller than I. I think about my family and the distance between us. I am sad that my beloved cousin is no longer here to bring joy to her two sons, husband and silblings. Her doting parents passed away years ago which is a blessing for all. I worry about my grandmother. She is in her 80's and this will hit her hard. Her family will mourn and wonder how this could have happened - how?

Why did she wait a month before she went to the doctor? I DO understand this...(which terrifys me even more...) I am not a big fan of the medical profession or insurance companies these days. I've had some t e r r i b l e, life altering exerpiences due to inept practicioners so I don't go running to the doctor at the first sign of a flu or cold or whatever. I hit the internet. It is my doctor until it is necessary to seek additional help; Who knows what would have happened if she had received help sooner...and according to my reading Sepsis is not something a middle age woman in good health would be suseptable to... unless she was exposed to a horrible toxin - like the one floating though the mail back in 2000 or 2001... one I won't even mention here it is so dreaded. Of course that is more than unlikely... and still, we are baffled and just sad.

Septis is one of the top ten killers in the United States. Maybe Bronze John would know that but did you? I didn't. I found a great deal of information on the web but the link in the title of this post was the most helpful: "Septic shock is the nation's 10th most frequent cause of death and the leading cause of hospital-related mortality."

A dark and stormy night...in the middle of the 80's

Last night a girlfriend I met my freshman year of Uni stopped in for a visit. She is traveling with her godson and they were wearing the same uniform - t-shirts and jeans - or khakis.

She's a genuine character: an army brat who has lived by her own rules since the day she left home for college. Truly. Last night she told a story I'd heard long ago and now I'll relish its retelling since I fear I'll lose it again if I don't tell it now.

GF happened to be hanging out in my hometown with two young men I'd known since grade school. They were walking on the levee smoking homegrown, no doubt. I was away at grad school and missed these middle 80's years in the south.

At the end of the evening she planned to drive back to campus, an hour or so away. The weather had turned since she's left home that morning. Folks from the Delta generally take the weather in stride. Farmer's anticipate the worst and compensate for it. Delta rats are accustomed to the black, blue or green skies of tornados when the rain can be like sheets of broken glass. Add hail to the mix and it is be a recipe for danger and fear. Funnel clouds are like large spinning dice. They are most terrifying because one never knows what they will hit and or do. They can pick up cars or houses or rearrange them in an elemental, implosive way.

Most Delta natives tend to take tornados in stride because of the low elevation and a strong levee system. It was constructed in the early 20th C by the army corp. of engineers before it was fashionable and acceptable to cut corners. Tornados are a game of hit and miss so the locals stay inside as far from the windows as possible.

My girlfriend has little experience with dramatic weather since she grew up in Germany. She's an excellent marksmen and very independent but she was terrified. The radio warnings and sirens convinced her she should stay the night. She didn't remember how she found the house I grew up in but she did. She knocked on the kitchen door, soaking wet with a six month old puppy in her arms. My grandmother, who spent weekends there since my mom left, opened the door. GF said she was a friend of mine and that she was wet and scared and asked to come in. My grandmother said sure. GF dripped into the kitchen only to see a handgun on the counter. She then realized that she was truly terrified. She asked my grandmother if she should be scared! "Oh, no." My Dad was still at work. It was a dark and stormy night.... My grandmother is and always had been a god- fearing, gun-toting Baptist who won't take crap from anyone but my grandfather who'd died in the 70's.

GF asked if she could watch the television to see where the storm was headed. She was, to say the least, freaked. My dad finally came home and while my grandmother prepared dinner for them both my father held court - which is what he does best. When he learned that GF's father was at the same Uni, the same time he was, he broke out the yearbook and looked up GF's Dad.
"He pointed his finger at my father's face, god rest his soul and proceeded to tell me many things about my father that I didn't know." My Dad said of her father "This man shot a lot of pool and played a lot of cards."

It turns out GF's father, who I knew as a man of the military, put himself through college hustling pool and cards before he enlisted. GF said they shot pool once. He hadn't had a stick in his hand in 20 years and he never missed a shot. He was the real deal.

My Mamaw made sure GF was comfortable in my old bedroom upstairs. At some point during the night GF was awakend by her hysterically barking pup. She got up out of bed and looked down on the mezzanine level of the "suite" I called home during my teenage years (my ivey tower, according to my Dad.) "There was a man wearing a top hat and 19th C clothing looking at his pocket watch on the landing. He looked up at me and then turned and walked straight through the closed door into my closet." Ghosts? Hmmm.

GF says that the night she spent with my family was one of those pivotal points of her youth. Although I was raised by a very colorful family I think my GF may have enjoyed some exceptionally strong weed with those college boyfriends. STILL... it makes a great story.

I'd left home by then. When I left for Uni I lived in the independent state of moi and when I left my home state for grad school that was it. I wish I had known then what I know now and that I hadn't always been in such a rush to grow up.

I was the oldest child and fiercely independent. I could have lived at home and gone to art school on scholarship - but no. I made my own way and paid for it with grants, other scholarships and a great of work study.

Cheers! May your friends dance by your side and your enemies limp so you can see them coming...

Or as the Greeks say "salut and death to your enemies!" The global round of cheers came last night while a fellow pisces celebrated her birthday at one of the "hipper" eating establishments in the hood. She invited an interesting collection of women to come and toast her 49th year. My pork loin was excellent and everything looked and smelled perfect. She received some thoughtful gifts and gave out amazing party favors. It was a very civilized and pleasant evening and in some ways very sobering!

Mr. Beloved was down the street with a bartender buddy pow wowing about something of great portent. He arrived home shortly after I but in a very wobbly state indeed! Oh, he was oblivious to it but he was wearing an Andy Capp with minimal grace. Andy may have slept on the couch but at least he could hold his liquore. Mr. Beloved was puking over the sounds of Keith Olberman's Countdown. Too bad. I was hoping he'd notice that the cats and I were waiting for him to come to bed. sigh.

More years than I want to remember I was celebrating a birthday or maybe it was a holiday with a group of friends who were all a little older than me but who share my sense of adventure. We took off one night after work (I was a night cashier in a large union grocery chain.) Everyone was in a celebratory mood. I was 16 or 17 going on 26. We began the evening at the Mattress (not ON it!); a former Mattress Factory, the Mat was a white boys version of a juke joint on the outskirts of town. We sauntered into the dark and heard an early version of this amazing band.
Most of all we were surprised to hear Charlie J. (the blonde in the aviator shades) playing his harmonica in front since Charlie wasn't much older than I was and he was already notorious for his eccentric habits. I don't remember much about that smoke filled shack except that I hated leaving. It was always amuseing to read the graffiti written in the dust-covered Buicks and Fords in the parking lot... "Les, will you SKK my dKK, and Jamie, U can come too!" etc, etc. Dust Graffiti... is so ZEN! Another delta resident remembers the same night and tells the story on this link.



Afterwards the boys in our group weren't ready to go home but it was too late to buy more beer. They knew of an afterhours place they'd take us to. What's an afterhours place I wondered?

We wound up at this place in the pitch black of night. It was the first time I was one of the few white faces in a crowd although it was so dark inside it probably didn't matter to anyone but me. It felt like I was being stared at - either because I was white or under age or a combo of both. One thing I now know - it was the same juke joint described in the article linked above and I'm so happy to know it is still entertaining the locals near Merigold.

We left with beer in tow and whoever was driving managed to drive us into a ditch beside one of the dirt roads one still takes to find the place. It was very dark, very early in the am and raining! We laughed but it was very dismal. Eventually a hero approached us from the horizon. I can't count the number of times farmers have saved me... moew times than I can keep track of. We all piled into the back of a generous farmer's truck. I arrived at my friend's around dawn to find out that the emergency brake on my Dodge Dart had slipped and it had rolled into the street. I can't remember if it was towed or ticketed or both. It was one of those epic evenings where I was pretty sober but overwhelmed by the vastness of possibilities... even in our little part of the world. If you look at the map of Mississippi included in the NYC article I grew up on hwy 61 between Clarksdale and Merigold.

I miss the friends I had then... especially Kellie M. I wasn't hanging out with her that night but she would have had something to say about it. She grew up in Merigold and I think by the time she was 16 she had just seen it all. She was always an old soul with a heart of gold. She would be a great teacher if she were alive today.

Most of my highschool friends live elsewhere now. California, Memphis, Atlanta, Virginia, New York. There is one thing about the south that I'll always love. If you avoid the box stores (the Walmarts, etc) you'll find that it's not as homogenized as the rest of the US. I'm always ISO of authenticity wherever I go.

Anyone interested in the history of "jook" should check out Birney Ime's great "Juke Joints". Of course the House of Blues used this book as the design source for their interiors (true story)... but what they hey. At least they got close to the source.