I bought the frog: a reflection on my trip to the Big Easy

Yeah, FYI: there are some details in here that not everyone might not want to know about. Consider yourself warned.

My mind wonders on this Saturday afternoon as I am lost within myself so I sip on some mediocre Chardonnay. It's the Big Easy and taking a drink at 3PM is considered getting a late start. I have come to the conclusion that I am not blessed with good travel karma this year and any trips made before this year passes will be on my own sans company.

Southern boy met me at the airport, and had a bit of fun messing with me telling me he was running late. I was grateful in that I figured I could take my sweet ass time and freshen up a bit. Bloody Mary's while calming of the nerves will lead you with bad breath and therefore I needed gum and stat. He sneaked up on me as I sought out Altoids, considering their medicinal benefit. No hug, no kiss, just a smile.

It was the same in this beginning as it was when we first met. There was an awkwardness to it all. It began early that morning when I realized on the plane I was shaking. My nerves were in high gear, and they would stay that way until we reached the B&B.

Southern Boy was half way polite in that he carried my bag, but didn't open the doors. He knows how my father raised me so I can't blame him for standing down and letting this feminist roll. In objective hind sight I don't think either one of us knew what to make of each other, and so it was like two hunters stalking their pray, taking a moment to see what the next move would be.

From the kiss onward I felt like I was 16 again. Yes, he awakened a passion in me I thought was dead. I am relieved to know there is something of me left after Twiggy Fuck. Stale sex will kill a libido faster than anything. My heart leaped up out of my chest from fear. I remember the last time a man moved my soul so much and I will weep always for the unknown. I am still terrified.

There was no post codial cuddle, but rather off to Bourbon St for a beer or 4. We walked and I watched in awe of a city unfolding herself to me. There is some mojo here that I will never be able to tap into but instead be like the kid with my nose forever pressed up against the glass window.

Dinner was at a BBQ place and it was OK. We discussed when and if he'd come up in January and I want to throw down our local Bubba's at the Sun. From there we headed back to the B&B. En route I called my sister to let her know I was ok, and that I'd come hang out next weekend while her husband is in Chicago working for my father.

Once back at the B&B we went for rounds two and three, all of equal quality in passion. Then came the moment of truth. I called my dad to tell him who I was with. We chit chatted for a moment and then I handed over the phone. Again, hindsight tells me this was a mistake. But for the first time since I've known my dad he actually called right back. I could tell he was a mixture of surprise and disappointment.

A little while later out on the porch of the B&B I heard him sniffling. Stuck between what a man ought to be and what he really felt, I knew something was wrong. Red flags were rising all evening. Something was brewing in the forms of a family matter.

His daughter couldn't understand why daddy wasn't there. At almost five years old, it makes sense if you know anything about childhood development. It makes me ponder my earlier years and I have no memory of my father until I am about 5 years old. I remember my mom and my aunt well before that, and in laying out those early childhood memories side by side I have more of my mom and my aunt than I do of my father. Sadly, the ones I do have of my dad are angry unhappy ones. I know what it's like to be a daughter wanting her father. Who am I to stand in their way? I cannot do this, and I will not do this. I told him to go, but to please let me know what he planned on doing for the rest of the weekend.

He pulled me in close and gave me a kiss that sparked my 16 year old spirit. I could forgive him anything in that moment. I let him know I was proud of him for being the father he was.* He was worried about me and what was I going to do with my time.* We discussed why he wouldn't bring me with him and I understood. I value the complexity and innocents of childhood and feel it must be safe guarded at all costs, even if I am the price.

I told him I was near a gorgeous park with an art museum. I'd probably head down to Bourbon St to watch the game. He was worried about me being safe in a city I didn't know. I told him I could hold my own and I tend to have good instincts. [I will head out with my stripper guard up tonight.]

I waited for a text, a phone call, some form of communication. Fuck at this point give me smoke signals for all I care.

Finally after a text from Boat Boy and a phone call to him, I get a response. I refuse to worry or chase.

A day was spent at the NOMA or New Orleans Museum of Art. Great collection. I got to see an early work of Pollack. I got to see a piece by Louise Nevelson, and discovered a new artist to Google. The trip began with a viewing of Cinderella. The southern women here were so convincing of me going that I couldn't say no to a group of senior citizens most likely volunteering.

In I went, alone, sans child, and sat. I tried not to cry when Cinderella's hopes were crushed, but my childhood illusions and adult dreams offered up too much empathy for me to hold back the tears. At a minimum it was therapeutic.

Today I learned you cannot relive the past no matter how passionate the teenage hormones were. So at the NOMA gift shop in honor of their Faberge collection I bought myself a souviner for this trip to remind me to stop chasing down old demons; a frog wearing a crown in the Faberge style.