⧉ The texture of a place
Welcome to the twenty-fourth issue of OVERLAP ⧉
The ride to the airport takes twice as long as it should. The flight is delayed. Then it’s canceled. Then it’s rebooked to Fort Lauderdale. (I am definitely not going to Fort Lauderdale.) There’s another flight, booked on the spot — in another terminal — at another gate — then another gate. There are 30 or 40 planes ahead of us waiting to take off. We might be sitting on the runway for a while.
By the time I arrive at my destination, I’m done. I can think of no greater luxury than not trying to get anywhere at any specific time.
As it turns out, New Orleans is the perfect place to not be in a rush. The streetcars show up at irregular intervals, whenever they feel like it. The elevator doors creak open and pause, unresponsive to the ⊳CLOSE DOOR⊲ button. The barista waits patiently for a coffee order, leaning on the counter. “I’m not in a hurry,” she says. I realize — against all odds — neither am I.
I pay attention to details without scrambling to document them. This decadent resistance to rushing opens my senses to the textures of a new place: bromeliads and ferns taking root on walls and pathways. The wet silt stuck to my shoes after a rainy walk in the cemetery. The worn velvet of an old sofa and the silky brocade of a throw pillow. The rusty patina on a wrought iron fence and the fading letters of a laundromat sign. The shimmery beads of condensation on a cocktail glass. The slow drawl of Spanish moss swaying in the breeze.
I notice familiar words used in unfamiliar ways. “Howyalldoin” as a single-breath sidewalk greeting. “Prominent” as a code word on historical signs, as in the genteel 1860s mansion was home to a prominent family. And “defend” as a more urgent, more appropriate word for facing issues such as gentrification and climate change while honoring culture and community.
I’m back to stepping around trash piles as I power-walk to work, but I’m already plotting future escapes. Maybe I’ll take the train next time.
⧉
Not long ago, I saw a strange thing when I was waiting to board a plane. A stylish and otherwise sensible-looking woman took a paperback from her bag, ripped out several chapters, then stowed the rest of the book in her suitcase. She read the dismembered pages on the flight, then left them in her seat-back pocket to be discarded. I’m afraid to contemplate what might possess someone to treat a book this way.
Remember that SFPC workshop I attended earlier this year? This week, I met up with some fellow participants for a monthly writing group. The evening ended with an admiring examination of our host’s bookshelves. These are definitely my people.
⧉
Auntie Jess recommends:
Hot sauce. I’m more of a Cholula fan, but I won’t say no to some Tabasco on my scrambled eggs.
Beignets. If you’re going all-in on some gluten, you might as well do it right.
Streetcars. Like buses, but charming.
⧉
Thanks for reading. I’d love to hear from you — hit reply or send a message through my website to share your favorite travel stories, bookshelf organization strategies, hot sauces, or anything else that’s on your mind. You can also forward this to a friend or two and invite them to subscribe. If you missed a previous issue, all the archives are online.
Until next time,
Jessica
⧉