My partner and I bought a new car earlier this week. Soon after, she had to fly to NYC to hear several auditions. Yesterday afternoon when she came home and unthawed a bit, we decided to throw the dogs in the car and drive aimlessly around Florida. The dogs, in their road-trip bandanas, relax comfortably in the back of our small SUV with the seats turned down, curled up on blankets and surrounded by their beloved toys: the multi-squeaker alligator, nylabones, and a sullied tennis ball – the latter of which our dogs wouldn’t dare venture anywhere without. After all, opportunities do arise.
We tend to do quite a few weekend road trips. Our car conversations are varied of course, and interspersed with dreadful singing from both of us depending on the playlist. This weekend we’re driving in the spirit of Carnival. Our favorite parade rolled last night in New Orleans– Krewe du Vieux. Every parade has a theme, but to us, Krewe du Vieux represents the grassroots world of New Orleans. The theme is generally a parody, always raunchy, generously liberal, grimy, and generally in bad taste. I love it. This brings up many New Orleans memories.
I sat in the car and wrote several memories down as they came up while my partner was driving – suddenly I had 4000 words, far too much for a blog post here. I think I’ll create a short series, break them up, and post them once in a while. I don’t want to forget them, and I’ve already forgotten so much. My grandmother always had a diary she wrote in before she fell asleep, and on the first page she wrote “Lest I forget what I have done”. She wrote down what she did every day, always afraid that one day she would start forgetting. She never did.
We’re currently in the Tampa area, about to cut upwards and head back via the coast. Sometimes I feel so grateful for my experiences –