 Make a Feast |
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My parents took us out to a nice dinner the other night. We ate duck eggrolls and warm crawfish salad and tilapia topped with shrimp and almonds and it was a smorgasbord of yumminess. I asked my dad, who'd traveled to Arizona for the game with my older brother, how their trip was. And the man could hardly get the words out. Dude was straight up crying. He said it was unbelievable. That it was unlike anything he'd ever experienced in his life. That the electronic intro that plays on our big screens at the opening of the game was played in the stadium there. That the Arizona fans completely welcomed our fans and that they were literally embracing throughout the entire game. Like, high fiving each other and stuff when the other team would have a good play or score. It sounded like it was just a complete and total lovefest. "It was beautiful," he said, and then he had to stop. Because, I repeat, he was CRYING. My mother looked at him like she was regarding a stranger or an alien, but we all kind of reached over and patted him on the shoulder and said inane things like, "Wow. That's great. That sounds like it was really great." I am so glad that they got to go. We scoffed when watching the end of the game on TV when a reporter stuck a microphone in our coach's face and asked, "What does this victory mean for the Gulf Coast region?" It sounded so ridiculous. As if a football game could make any difference or bring any solace. But after hearing my dad talk about it and see him break down before my startled eyes at the very memory, I realized that it did matter. I don't know that it mattered so much that we won -- though that was certainly nice -- I think it mostly just mattered that we played. Football matters to people down here. This team matters. And that they still played the game, not at home but in a Southwestern state far away full of people that somehow made them feel completely at home, really mattered quite a lot. The commune has died down. Two of our guests are subletting an apartment in a charming downtown neighborhood. The guy left in a manner that was not so pleasant, and the woman left with utter class after taking me out to dinner and leaving the bevy of groceries she'd purchased for us and knows she can come back if her new place with four dogs, many cats, and a roommate who chainsmokes does not work out. The other night, chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter brownies, and chocolate truffle cookies arrived from Pennsylvania. We already enjoyed as much as our bellies could hold, and the rest will go to some hardworking displaced New Orleanians who could use some damn good baked goods these days. Toni and her son are on their way over to evaluate the possibility of his fixing my crushed fence. I think my dogs will not know what to do with themselves, so happy will they be to have a yard again. Toni's done such an amazing job telling the story of the storm the past few weeks. Lately I've been listening to the soundtrack to 1776 a lot. I surprised myself by starting to sing along with "My name is Richard Henry Lee, Virginia is my home" and knowing every single word. This is such a good musical. Today I plan to hang up some clothes in my bedroom while watching my VHS tape of You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown because I just really need to hear them sing about how Charlie Brown is kind to all the animals and every little bird. Reading this poem made me cry. (Thank you, Grace, for posting this poem.) Especially this part:
And how can you not forgive?
I could read that forever and ever. There is so much in my heart that I do not write about here. My heart is heavy and proud and excited today all at the same time. I'm supposed to be working on my presentation for class, but all I can do is eat candy and dust bookshelves and wonder how my boyfriend is doing and read and pet the cats. (I am currently buying his cat's affection with liberal handouts of Pounce. Thank you, Kymm.) And nap. I think I will most assuredly be napping. And of course the Emmys are on tonight. In honor of my sweetie, I will root for Deadwood and yell 'til I'm hoarse for every award it wins. He will not be with me tonight, but he will still be with me. He is always with me.
About this time in ...
© Copyright 2005 elb |
I bought one of Jette's shirts. Don't you want to? A faraway friend and longtime reader named Colleen has set up wish lists for children who have been displaced and are being cared for here. She wants to make sure that they have things to make them feel comfortable and also to allow them to have them a little fun as well as to have items that are their own again while they are away from home. The list for games is here and the list for books is here. Thanks, Colleen. |
