Foley, Alabama: The Park at OWA

 

OWA in Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Since nesting in Mobile, I'd seen references to OWA this and OWA that on my newsfeeds. I was unclear what it was. Theme park? State park? Entertainment venue? And was OWA an acronym? How did one pronounce it? 

On a recent chilly but sunny Saturday, I checked it out. There was to be an arts and crafts festival there. 

My pre-landing intel told me good things: 

• Free parking
• Free admittance to OWA's "downtown"
• About an hour from Mobile
• A tribal dance performance would kick off the festival

I also felt excited about the possibility, albeit faint based on my experience thus far on Mobile Bay, that there'd be real kettle corn.  But I already had a Plan B for my on-site snacking: a pillowy, warm, buttery, salted soft pretzel.

I packed my lunch and set out on my expedition, planning to eat in my Pree before entering the park to take in the tribal dance performance. 

About that tribal dance. I never heard it or found it. Apparently, the performance may have occurred on The Island, where there is a small stage and amphitheater seating alongside the lake. Eventually, I had to ask someone where it was. The signage at the park was unhelpful. 

OWA island amphitheater in Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

 No kettle corn. Unsurprising, nevertheless disappointing. However, I had my pretzel Plan B, and I walked up to Auntie Anne's cramped space, only to find it crowded with waiting customers. Oooh, no, was I really going to wait in a line for a pretzel? I walked away. ........ Only to return half an hour later to stand in line for that pretzel. (Ha. Standing in line reminds me of this.)

 

OWA pretzel in Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

Now having checked out several arts and crafts festivals along the Gulf Coast, I feel equipped to say that this one at OWA was a bit dull. Having said that, I liked that there was, perhaps, a stronger than usual representation of Black vendors there. By stronger than usual, I mean stronger than usual than what I've seen thus far at similar events on the Eastern Shore of Mobile Bay. This suggests to me that the OWA festival organizers have taken thoughtful actions to be inclusive.

However, this vendor presence was in stark contrast to the dearth of Black visitors to OWA on the day I visited. 

OWA is seven miles from the Gulf Coast beaches, but this pseudo beach charmed me:

OWA pseudo beach, Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

On the whole, my trip to OWA was a good way to spend a sunny, chilly Saturday, and it satisfied my curiosity about the park. 

That peek I had into the rides part of the park also gave me a thrill-shiver  - the future prospect of a whole day of endorphin-infusion on ride after ride after ride.

I am remembering my day at Silver Dollar City a few years back: Missouri: Roller Coasters, the Swamp, and the People I Didn't See. Kettle corn was there. 

 

What I've learned about OWA since my visit

• The Poarch Band of Creek Indians are the principles behind the development and operations of OWA. 
• On OWA the name: "Pronounced like oh-wah, the name is inspired from the Muscogee Creek language to mean 'big water.'”
  
• Land acknowledgement for Foley, Alabama: The Muskogee Creek.
  

 

10 Years Ago: Dubai: Eating a Camel and Sleeping on a Table

 

The original post is here. 

 

Monday, January 23, 2012

Dubai: Eating a Camel and Sleeping on a Table

Exterior view of my flat building, Dubai, 21 Sikka Road

I'd booked my airbnb flat for just three nights, so had to move on. Via booking.com, I found the Al Uruba, a hotel hidden within the Gold Souk. Rate was 160 dirham per night (plus taxes), which came to ~ $43 USD. Breakfast included.

Yura, the flat manager, called the hotel to get walking directions. The hotel doesn't open up onto a street, so one must walk through the Souk to get there in an off-alley.

A map to the Al Uruba Hotel in the Souk. Dubai. January 2012.

A gregarious Somali man is the manager. He is the guy who calls women "my sister" and men "my brother" and assures you that everything will be perfect for you. He will eat his meal, talk on the phone, and check in customers and talk to friends all at once. Well, try. We chatted briefly about Harar (which is close to Somalia) and how maybe they're a little crazy there (in the best possible sense). His wife and child live in Boston. I had a look at the first room he offered me, and when I sat on the bed, I laughed out loud. This is because I almost hurt myself, it was so hard. I mean, Jesus, it was hard! But the room was, in the main, just fine. .. until I fired up the laptop to check out the internet connection. (Free wifi was one of the hotel amenities.)  Not good, so I went back downstairs and he gave me a different room. Beds (now two twins) just as hard as in the first room. A mini fridge in the room, a desk, the beds, a coat rack, and a small carpet for praying.

My Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.

Al Uruba Hotel bathroom. Dubai. January 2012.

View from my Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.

View from my Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.

View from my Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.

I walked up to the sixth-floor restaurant for lunch, where I learned there is a room for men to eat and a room for women to eat. I had the women's room to myself.

I also learned there were no menus, but the restaurant manager (I presume) recited the specials of the day for me and when he said, "camel," the deal was done. Camel! I was supposed to have camel in Harar, but I got sick and couldn't make that appointment.

The waiter brought out broth and salad as first courses. Then came camel and a plate of pasta and a delicious, dark, piquant sauce.

Camel for lunch

With a side of pasta and sauce

and tea afterward

The camel tasted good. Less chewy than most goat I've eaten. But I didn't get any sense of its "camelness," if you know what I mean. Lunch cost 16 dirham (~ $4.36 USD).

 

Word of the Year 2022: Disciplines 2: Showers

 

Space capsule shower, Motel 6, Tucumcari, New Mexico. July 2017.

 

Beginning some time in December 2021, I implemented a discipline: 

Take a shower every other day. 

 In years past, when I worked in an office, I showered every morning. 

Once I began working remotely, which has now been for some 10 years, I routinely showered every other morning. 

But then COVID came, and I had nowhere to go, much.

So the time lapse between showers stretched to three days, often. Sometimes four. 

I cleansed my face and lady bits every day, of course, but a full-on shower, no.

A couple of months ago, I determined to move back toward normalcy and to a regimen. 

A couple of times, when shower day fell on a cold and rainy Sunday, I've engaged in lawyerly arguments against showering. Why shower today? You're going to stay home, anyway, right? Stay in your pajamas! Be warm and cozy! Take your shower tomorrow instead!

But thus far, I've responded thusly: 

1. You wanted a discipline, a regimen. 
2. Small maintenance routines matter. They are things you can control in an uncontrollable world.
   
3. They are a return to normalcy. 
4. Besides, if you wait til tomorrow, you'll just have to take that shower tomorrow. Instead, you can take it today and have tomorrow off! 

Speaking of showers .... 

August 2017: Missouri Flash Trip, Part 2: The Space Capsule Shower

November 2017: Ferguson, Missouri: My Shower

April 2013: Cuba, New Mexico: Shower Moon

March 2011: Harar, Ethiopia: Camels and Osama in Babile, Harar, Day 7, Thursday

August 2011: An excerpt from Me Ver Gavige [I Don't Understand] about a not-quite-shower in Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia, and the challenges of language: 

I was taking my customary bucket bath this morning, enjoying the pleasure of hot water. I turned on the water, wetted my washcloth, turned off the tap, did my thing, then turned on the tap to soap up the cloth, turned off the tap ... etc. 

Presently Nino [my hostess] starts talking to me outside the bathroom. It was kind of early in the morning, which meant my brain wasn't completely engaged anyway. Nino seemed to require some sort of response from me. I said, "Me ver gavige. (I don't understand)" More talk. I said, "Budishi (I'm sorry), me ver gavige." Nino said more, adding a sound that was similar to a hoarse dog barking. And I'm thinking, "I don't understand what you're saying or what you want. And I'm naked here, OK? Why are you making me talk to you while I'm standing naked in a wash basin with three inches of water in it? What do you want me to do in this moment?" But I say, "Budishi, me ver gavige. I don't understand." Eventually, my brain plucks out the word "gasi" from Nino's statements, which it puts together with the hoarse-dog-barking sound effect, and I realize Nino is talking about the gas water heater, which evidently she wants me to stop engaging when I use the hot water for my bath. So I switch to cold water only, feeling very grumpy indeed.

Once I'm out of the bathroom and getting dressed, we revisit this issue, and I come to understand that Nino didn't want me to turn the water on/off, as it kicked on the gas pilot each time, which might wake up Giorgi. Instead, I can just leave the water run. OK, now I've got it.

Language lesson learned: Sometimes a hoarse-dog-barking sound means gas, and sometimes, as it did a week or so ago, it means the sound of a hoarse dog barking, which kept Nino awake one night. It's all in the context.  

Thank God Nino doesn't seem to hold a grudge.

Bathroom in New Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. July 2011.

 

 

Connections: Paper Sleeves in Alabama and Istanbul

 

Warm pretzel in sleeve at OWA, Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

At my maiden visit to OWA Park recently,  I savored a warm, buttery, salty, soft pretzel. I ate it slowly, pulling away limbs from the main body, sitting in the full sun, watching passersby pass by. 

As I looked at this yeasty golden oven, balanced on my thigh, tucked in its paper sleeve, I remembered another sunny day, but in Istanbul, where I ate something else in a paper sleeve. On that day in Istanbul, I'd contemplated the paper wrap and compared it with the little blue plastic bags in Caucasus Georgia and Ethiopia.

 

Paper food wrap in Istanbul, Turkey. June 2012. Credit: Mzuriana.

Mobile, Alabama: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 8888: Bag o' Masks

 

Bag o' masks for COVID. January 2022.

 

Doing my part to contribute to the historical record for COVID, I present my bag o' masks, above. 

Each has a history. 

My daughter, Kit, made the yellow and aquamarine-navy masks for me. I like the cheery fabrics she chose.

The sage green terry masks below were the first cloth masks I bought, back in Tucson. 

Sage green cloth masks. Tucson, Arizona. May 2020.

 

The Alabama mask is one of three I collected at Alabama welcome centers. 

Alabama state mask. March 2021.

 

I have others, including a Black Lives Matter mask that I bought from an employee who made them, at an enlightened Best Buy in Jefferson City, Missouri. Some employees at that Best Buy wore this mask, and it impressed the hell out of me that the Best Buy management in Jefferson City supported their employees in doing so.

Black Lives Matter COVID mask. Made in Jefferson City, Missouri.

I had a lovely mask that a friend made for me; it had a watercolorish fish design on it. I gave this mask to my mother; it was so beautiful. Alas, it's been lost to the unknown somewhere. 

Other bags

April 2014: My Louisiana Dance Bag

In COVID's early days: March 2020: Tucson, Arizona: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 9: A New Kind of Dance Bag

In Silver City, New Mexico, January 2013, my dear festival bag on the motel room door:

Hat and bags, in for the night. Silver City, New Mexico. January 2013.

I still have the hat. And the small black bag.

 

 

Connections: Capicola and Capybara and Lent

 I saw this sign on the Jimmy John's store window in downtown Mobile: 

Out of capicola in Mobile, Alabama. November 2021. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

The sign grabbed my attention because I didn't know what capicola was. 

But it reminded my of this: 

 

Capybara at Alameda Park Zoo in Alamogordo, New Mexico. March 2010. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Capybara. Which were new to me when my mother and I encountered them in Alamogordo, New Mexico, more than 10 years ago in March, when we fled from a midwestern winter that wouldn't let loose its frigid fingers. 

Which led me to learn that one can eat capybara during Lent.

Unlike capicola. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mobile, Alabama: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 8888: Additions to COVID Artwork

 

Banksy?

This work, attributed to Banksy, passed through my newsfeed recently: 

Anarchist's mom during COVID. Attributed to Banksy.

The COVID Art Museum

While trying to confirm the artist of this mural, I discovered The COVID Art Museum. 

You can visit it at this frenetic website or on Instagram. 

My own COVID artwork archive:

Harriet, ER nurse during COVID. Artist: Tom Croft.

Harriet debuted in my July 2021 post: Missouri: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 8888: False Hopes Unmasked.

The work below appeared in my April 2020 post: Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 16: COVID Artwork.

COVID art: Ethiopian Orthodox Easter. Tentative artist: Habesha Expat. April 2020.

The friend of an Ethiopian friend posted the Habesha Expat (fka as Habesha in Dubai) image on a social media site several days ago. I was really taken with the marriage of culture and message in the artwork.


Below is a forlorn Mother Georgia stuck at home. It made me laugh out loud. 

Mother Georgia quarantining at home. Artist unknown. Source: I Am Tbilisi. March 2020.

Another art piece via I Am Tbilisi, a picture of a mural by artist Gagosh:

"Less Than 2m," a mural by artist Gagosh. Source: I Am Tbilisi. April 2020.

Via the Washington Post to the Art-Eater (Richmond Lee) Twitter account to the Tensor Chan Twitter account, there is this work on the Ghana Pallbearers' meme, in which the message is: Stay home or dance with us:

COVID art: Stay at home or dance with us. Tentative artist: Tensor Chan. April 2020.

And another take on the Ghana pallbearers below from Yuki Geriawan aka anzuarden.art:

COVID art: Stay at home or the music starts. Artist: Yuki Geriawan aka anzuarden_art. April 2020.

Additions subsequent to original post:

COVID Facebook meme. Artist unknown. May 2020.

10 Years Ago: At the Baku Airport En Route to Dubai, And a Cat

 

In-flight movie from Baku, Azerbaijan, to Dubai. January 2012

 

Ten years ago, I was at the halfway mark in my Caucasus Georgia year. On the Christmas break. Caucasus Georgia was cold. I craved warmth. I decided to venture to Dubai. 

This throwback post tells the story of my layover from Tbilisi to Dubai, in Baku, Azerbaijan, at its airport, which has a cat. 

 

Monday, January 16, 2012

To Dubai: Baku Airport

Heydar Aliyev Airport cat. Baku, Azerbaijan. January 2012.

 
The Heydar Aliyev Airport in Baku, Azerbaijan. This is where I spent six hours of my life today.

It doesn't take much to entertain me, and I felt quietly adventurous when I found myself culled from the transit herd after we debarked from the Tbilisi flight in Baku, and was the recipient of that carefully noncommittal phrase, "have a seat, please" which can be the precursor for anything from a few moments of mundane delay to a full-blown, meltdown-worthy travel crisis.

I learned in Ethiopia that the best course is usually to relax and let the local processes unwind as they need to do. So while a gentleman carried my passport and boarding pass hither and thither, I pulled out one of my classic sci-fi paperbacks and read. I had six hours to kill, and this was as good a way to do it as any other.

In due course, I was escorted upstairs, pushed through a security check, then squirted out into the international gate area.

A curious place. Several duty-free shops and kiosks, one open cafe-bar, but other than that, mostly wide and empty corridors. A smallish lobby for travelers; not many chairs. Some travelers consumed more than their share of the limited seating by stretching out and sleeping.

A paucity of electrical outlets.

No means to exchange money. I was given to understand by the somewhat sullen cafe guy that he only took AZN, the Azerbaijan currency. I checked with the duty-free shop; confirmed there was no place to change money. This seemed to be borne out by the fact that no one in the waiting area was eating or drinking anything. Found out hours later that the cafe guy does, indeed, take USD for purchases. I got something to drink, at least. And lesson finally learned (hopefully): Pack some sort of munchie for these plane trips with long layovers - never know what, if anything, will be accessible to me, plus saves money.

I found an electric outlet in the wall in one of the corridors, outside a store. Nothing to do but to plop myself down on the floor and plug in my laptop. The airport does have free public wifi.

And then I saw a cat.

Heydar Aliyev Airport cat. Baku, Azerbaijan. January 2012.

Friendly, too. He cuddled right next to me on the floor and took a nap.

And then I made friends with a 16-year old girl from Kazakhstan. She's been studying English for two years, and I was her first chance to talk with a native speaker. She's going to Dubai for a shopping trip with her mother and aunt. We talked about terrorists in Kazakhstan, school, Kazakh food, and making it big in Hollywood. She introduced me to her mom and her aunt.

Ran into a Texan couple who work in Baku, one for the embassy and one as an English instructor. They've been in Azerbaijan for two years and like it there.

Eventually, our waiting room time ended and it was time to go. The in-flight movie looked like it was a 1960s Hollywood Western, the colors kind of faded, set in a mountainous, steppe-y sort of place with horses and the like, only it was Azerbaijani. Cool.

 

 

 

 

Word of the Year 2022: Disciplines 1: Introduction

 

 

Tai chi lesson in Upper Tom Lea Park, El Paso, Texas. April 2017.

There are:

1. Skills I want to master, 
2. Creative works I want to produce,
3. Fitness levels I want to sustain or achieve, 
4. Financial goals I want to meet before I retire, 
5. Relationships I want to nurture,
   
6. "Greater societal goods" to which I wish to contribute, and
7. Serenity I want to achieve and sustain notwithstanding storms that might pass through and around me. 

 

Tai chi lesson in Upper Tom Lea Park, El Paso, Texas. April 2017.

 

All of the above require a discipline. 

A intentional regular daily, weekly, or monthly practice - in other words, an action - designed to achieve or sustain a goal, whether that goal is physical, emotional, intellectual, or spiritual.

If I compare a discipline to a bank account, it's about me depositing money into an account every day, even if the amount is small. The more reserves I build over time, the more money I have to work with to meet my needs and desires.

2022 is to be about practicing regular disciplines that will transform my wanna-do's to my doing. 

 

My barriers to discipline practice

1. Too much screen time. Doesn't matter if I spend squander my time reading serious news or fluff - it's time I will never get back. It's time I could use to create, learn, practice, produce. 
2. Too many distractions. Like writing this post, for instance. I look out the window. Make lunch. Watch a brainless youtube about babies' reactions to seeing their dads without a beard for the first time. Sweep a floor.
   
3. I tend to do not-urgent/not-important things in my daily life before (or instead of) the not-urgent-but-important things. My daily to-do list is helpful, but it's just an unweighted list of tasks. In other words, visually, sweeping a floor carries the same weight as completing this post. Pennies equal dollars.

 

7 Habits of Highly Effective People time matrix. Source: Franklin Planner.

 

These barriers are not new for me, of course. Hey, look at this vintage post that I forgot I wrote until now: Getting Things Done (September 2012). And this one, Portable Tai Chi, in 20 fucking 10.

Building a new skill is uncomfortable. I am averse to discomfort. I feel a little distressed. I feel awkward. Annoyed. Frustrated. I feel like I'm just not going to get it. I have the desire to flee. And it takes so. much. fucking. time. The hours it takes to reach even the beginner stage. The hours it takes to move past the discomfort phase into the I-think-I'm-getting-it phase, when it becomes more satisfying. 

Hope

Although I've had certain goals on my "I want to do...." list for years - without putting in the requisite labor hours to get me there - I do have the ability to get them in my Ongoing or Completed columns.

Because I have, in fact, knocked a number of items off the bucket list that I wrote in my early 30s, at a time when I was a single parent of a very young child, with very few financial resources. 

I've also realized a number of adolescent dreams, albeit in ways I did not anticipate back then. 

And I learned to dance, didn't I? Who would have ever thought that could happen? Not me! 

But a hard home truth: I ain't getting any younger, so I better get crack-a-lackin'.

Words of the Years: Looking Back and Forward ... and COVID, of course

 

A New Year's Eve fire and wine. Missouri. December, 2006

Tomorrow I'll launch my word of the year for 2022. 

Today is a retrospective, as befits the last day of a year.

I inaugurated my Word of the Year in 2018. It felt a little schmaltzy, but that didn't deter me.

I intended to publish a word-of-the-year post on the first of each month. Mixed results, as you can see below.

2018: Courage

• January 2018: Courage 1: Malala
  
• February 2018: Courage 2: Audre Lorde

2019: Action

• January 2019: Action
• February 2019: Action: Legal Observers
• March 2019: Action: Penpal
• July 2019: Action: Escaping Despair
• August 2019: Action: Lipstick and Salvation
• September 2019: Action: A Refugee Shelter

 2020: Build

1. Word of the Year 2020: Build 1: After the Floods
2. Word of the Year 2020: Build 2: Fronterista
3. Word of the Year 2020: Build 3: "House"
4. Word of the Year 2020: Build 4: Chosens
5. Word of the Year 2020: Build 5: It Takes a Village
6. Word of the Year 2020: Build 6: Elevation
7. Word of the Year 2020: Build 7: Trail Building
8. Word of the Year 2020: Build 8: Money
9. Word of the Year 2020: Build 9: Health 
10. Word of the Year 2020: Build 10: Service and Activism
11. Word of the Year 2020: Build 11: Relationships
12. Word of the Year 2020: Build 12: Creative Life
13. Word of the Year 2020 Lagniappe 13: My Rootless Goals
    

2021: Joy

• November 2020: Reserving My Word for 2021: Joy
  
• Joy 1: Word of the Year: Joy
  
• Joy 2: Music
• Joy 3: Surprise Vista
  
• Joy 4: Happy, Joyous, and Free
  
• Joy 5: The Science of Joy, Interrupted
  
• Joy 6: Color
• Joy 7: Birdsong
• Joy 8: Here and Now, Boys
  
• Joy 9: A Tomato and Onion Sandwich
• Joy 10: Let in Light
  
• Joy 11: Scentsuality
• Joy 12: Remembrances
  

The years since I inaugurated my words of the year haven't been easy ones. 

I know I'm not alone in feeling this.

In 2018, personal things were happening that demanded courage, on top of three years of Trumpian stressors (beginning with his presidential campaign) that enveloped us all in an invisible cloud of radioactivity. An aunt died. An uncle died.

In 2018 and 2019, I could see up close and personal the ravages of our draconian attacks on the human rights of fellow humans who are making the most rational decisions they can to rescue themselves and their families from violence and poverty in their countries of origin by leaving all that is familiar to them and migrating to the US.

In 2020:

• COVID came.  
• A friend died. 
• An aunt died. 
• My heretofore joyful embedment in my new communities - meeting new friends! joining new groups! live music in small venues! - also dead, due to COVID.  
• The overt and covert racism that bloomed under the far right's New Infection, a pernicious systemic virus that continues to drag all of us down, which again, irresponsible representatives of the people discount, dismiss, and not only deny, but exacerbate. (Think of the almost-laughable panic about the possibility of critical race theory being taught in schools.)
  

In 2021 .... Oh what a fucking year it's been! 

• My mother died.
  
• An aunt died a week later. 
• Another aunt died early this month. 
• My daughter, Kit, caught COVID (and fortunately, avoided a hospital stay because of timely and effective outpatient treatments, e.g. monoclonal antibodies therapy and at-home oxygen, but how frightening!). 
  
• COVID dug in deeper, thanks in large part to the viral collaborators who refuse vaccines and such simple actions as masking, in addition to disparities in our global access to vaccines (and, probably, masks).
• An attempted insurrection against our national government that cravenly irresponsible "representatives of the people" discount, dismiss, and even deny. 
• Reactionary movements to ban books in our libraries. 
• A repressive, anti-woman, anti-abortion law went into effect in Texas, with some other regressive states flocking to follow suit. 
• A mid-January 2022 trip to NYC, for which I booked flights and hotel in early November, and which I felt we could safely accomplish with careful precautions - I canceled it a week ago because of the omicron tsunami, projected to peak at exactly that time in New York.
  

Jesus. 

Did the above laments make me feel better? I don't know. I don't even know why they came out in this post. But I'll just leave them there. Inshallah, maybe I'll revisit this in five years and see how things have changed. Or not. 

But moving forward:

We still need to make lives for ourselves. Notice I said make lives for ourselves. 

 

Dauphin Island, Alabama: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 8888: Boxing Day: Audubon Bird Sanctuary

 

Audubon Bird Sanctuary-Dauphin Island Alabama. December 2021.

 

Oh, it felt good to be out. 

I'd been lamenting to myself, of late, at the difference in my getting-outedness the past two COVID years in comparison with my Alamogordo year. That year in Alamogordo, I think I explored a new destination in New Mexico just about every weekend. I visited all but three state parks, I think. I went to the national parks and monuments. I went to museums, to festivals. 

Yesterday I drove out (over?) to Dauphin Island.

Destination: Audubon Bird Sanctuary. 

But first, I ate my picnic lunch at the Estuarium (also known as the Alabama Aquarium):

• Carrots
• Roasted, skinless, boneless chicken breast
• Sweet potato
• White potatoes

I lunched at a bench that overlooked the Gulf. 

 

Gulls on rocks. Dauphin Island, Alabama. December 2012.

 

I saw gulls, pelicans, a heron or two. 

And oil rigs. 

After lunch, I drove over to the Audubon Bird Sanctuary. 

I walked.   

 

Yellow gem leaves. Audubon Bird Sanctuary, Dauphin Island, Alabama. Decembe 2021.

 

Peace, serenity, beauty, breeze. Soft colors, muted for winter. 

 

A slide show of Audubon Bird Sanctuary below: 

If you'd like to go down a rabbit hole re: Audubon and sanctuary:

• September 2012: On the Road to Alamogordo, Day 1: Faith and Fury
  
• September 2013: Montezuma, New Mexico, Part 1: Light
• March 2016: Louisiana: The Chimpanzees From Alamogordo, Chapter 3
• December 2017: Ferguson, Missouri: Our Lady of Guadalupe and One of her Stolen Sons

Mobile, Alabama: Christmas 2021

 

British Park on Christmas Day in Mobile, Alabama. December 2021.

My Mobile neighborhood is, arguably, the prettiest I've ever lived in. Any day that I take a walk here is a good day. 

 

Note: I make a distinction between pretty and striking. El Paso is the most striking place I've ever lived in.

On Christmas Day, I walked to nearby British Park. Twice. Once during the day and once at dusk, to better appreciate the holiday lights. 

A slide show of my Christmas visit below:

 

A buoyant big dog, also out for a Christmas walk, romped: 

Some Christmases past

2012: Santa Fe, New Mexico

2013: Lafayette, Louisiana

2016: El Paso, Texas

2013: Rootless: On Doing Holidays Solo

 

10 Years Ago: On the Mississippi Blues Trail

 

Original post here.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

On the Mississippi Blues Trail

Abe's BBQ, Clarksdale, Mississippi. December 2011.

 

 

 

Carol and I left for Jackson, Mississippi, this morning a little after 5:00 a.m. to take the secondary-road route.

Destination: Jackson, Mississippi

Purpose: Carol wants the free whiskey sour she's gonna get at the Cabot Lodge. This hotel brings fond memories of past free-happy-hours-with-room she's enjoyed when traveling to the Gulf Coast for vacations. Also, Jackson is closer to Missouri than Savannah and has more of interest than Hattiesburg, which were other destination contenders for this tiny holiday.

The bulk of our travel today was in the Mississippi Delta. The Delta is flat. Sometimes one can appreciate flat; sometimes not. We experienced both feelings on the way down to Jackson.

When we crossed the Mississippi River on the Arkansas-Mississippi border, it was swollen wide. We frequently saw high, lesser rivers that had breached their usual borders, flooding trees' lower trunks.

Til I did a little research for this trip, I didn't know about the Mississippi Blues Trail.  If I get an offer to join Teach for America and they place me in the Mississippi Delta region, I can see myself exploring the Blues Trail on many weekends. (Note to gods: New Mexico is still my first choice.) 

We stopped for lunch in Clarksdale with the plan to buy hot tamales (Delta style) for lunch on the road and to pick up dinner for later from Abe's BBQ.  We accomplished half our mission, Carol getting chili dogs and me a BBQ'd pork sandwich. Hicks Tamales, a famous tamale vendor, was closed. Sunday.

We agreed that Abe's makes tasty food.

That was the most eventful part of the drive down to Jackson. When we arrived at the hotel, I poured myself some delicious Georgian wine and Carol got her satisfying whiskey sour.

 

 

Word of the Year: Joy 12: Remembrances

 

A little rock reservoir, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. May 2016.

A few years ago, I caught myself remembering a vivid experience. The experience - a particularly exuberant dance move with a partner - had been unexpected and joyful. Exultant! I remembered clearly how I'd felt during that dance move - delightfully surprised in the way of a child seeing snow for the first time. Think the final lift scene from Dirty Dancing.

Catching myself remembering those few moments, and observing the pleasure that the act of remembering gave to me - it was the first time I understood that remembrances are like water in a reservoir, a source I can drink from to replenish my spirit.

Death took three people in my circles this year. 

My mother.

A friend.

An aunt, unexpectedly, only a week after my mother's funeral.

 

Bulb in leaves. St. Louis, Missouri. December 2007.

It's odd to think that death can bring forth thoughts of joy. But I catch myself remembering pleasurable moments with lost ones, usually prompted by a sensory trigger. A snatch of music. The ticking of a clock. A pair of earrings. A color reminiscent of homemade butterscotch pudding. The creaking of a kitchen cabinet door. A small pair of scissors. An old television show. These memories make me smile, gladdened for the pleasure they give me today and gladdened for having had the original experiences with the family or friends who have died. 

Challenges overcome

As I walked home from downtown Mobile on a recent night, I remembered a time when I, a single parent of a very young child, was terribly poor. I hadn't thought of those years in decades, but as I walked home, the memories came to me of what I'd accomplished since then.

The trigger was a Head Start booth at Mobile's Lighting of the Christmas Tree event, which I'd just attended. Head Start was a marvelous resource for my young one (and me) during a time of great need for us. Remembering that era, I went to deep appreciation of my maternal grandmother, May, who - for several years, as I walked through that desert - sent me a $25 check each month, along with a brief note. In my financial poverty, that $25 check made a meaningful difference to me and my child. 

As I walked home, remembering that time, I felt so .... proud .... of what I'd achieved since then, and the richness of the experiences that followed, both the exuberant and the sad. 

I felt joyful. 

 

The compilation of this year's joy

Joy 1: Word of the Year: Joy

Joy 2: Music

Joy 3: Surprise Vista

Joy 4: Happy, Joyous, and Free

Joy 5: The Science of Joy, Interrupted

Joy 6: Color

Joy 7: Birdsong

Joy 8: Here and Now, Boys

Joy 9: A Tomato and Onion Sandwich

Joy 10: Let in Light

Joy 11: Scentsuality