Recharging with Shimmer and Shine

That's why, even
with the lingering smells of last night's stale revelry, the fresh air of New
Orleans is always worth the three hour drive. While there, my husband and I
usually spend most of our time in the famed French Quarter - window shopping,
eating, and dodging those stumbling drunkards we've come to lovingly refer to
as "bourbonites" (so named for their tendency to wander over to
Bourbon street and stay there).
Jazz notes dot the
air as the sun sets and you can't avoid the sparkle of beads hanging from any
given lamp post, balcony, or bourbonite. The people come in all kinds -
touristy, local, colorful, drunk and sober. Street performers and even
indigents are welcoming. It feels like a city of gypsies.
New Orleans is a
sensual place; any hedonist would be happy there. The weather is warm and
consistent, as are the people. The food is a heady mix of French, African,
Spanish, and Italian traditions, as is the history. The architecture is eye
candy decorated by crowds of attractive people and awash in free music.
Each shutter hides a
different story, a different fantasy. In one, I'm a pedicab driver collecting
people's stories for a book. In another, I'm a street performer by day and
writer by night, living in an austere and forgotten corner of the French
Quarter. In yet one more I'm just a bland woman on a business trip who longs
for adventure - finally sloughing off my skirt-suit for a taste of freedom out
on the Gulf of Mexico.
I feel like my
creative batteries have been charged by the endless celebration that takes
place in New Orleans. The people I've met, the experiences I've had, and the
food - oh, jeez, the food! - I've eaten
are all material I'm happy to use; and sometimes happier just to collect.
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