tomato and mint

tomato and mint is such a great combination. i rarely have it, but when i do it reminds me of a time when i would fix angel hair pasta and whip up a sauce with tomatoes, garlic, olive oil, and mint leaves fresh from my mom's garden. you would think it would have a delicate taste, but it is bold and light at the same time. i ate it tonight with baked eggplant, brown rice and plain yogurt.

moroccan food in harlem with kwanza and marisa. i was sad earlier today when i booked my flight home for christmas. suddenly, the new New Orleans is no longer an abstract thing, but will soon become all too real for me. accepting that i'm not going home to spend christmas in my blue room, or lounging on our brown corduroy sofas: it's real. i'll sleep on an air mattress on the floor for 18 days in my parents one room efficiency.

i don't know how it will be to be so tangibly close for so long, but we'll have movies, wine, warmth. And the French Quarter. I can walk to Kaboom Books, Croissant d'or, rue de la course or cafe du monde. Will I wake up to the sound of barges on the river, calliopes, the clip clop of mule hooves from the tourist buggies.

are there still tourist buggies?

will the city taste the same? will it be what i remembered? i will have a direct flight from JFK to prepare me. A train take me home. i haven't seen my father since june when i wore a beautiful periwinkle satin strapless gown and danced the night away after kari finally married jared. i didn't even have a bite of her wedding cake.

but i am looking forward to new memories: glasses of wine in the courtyard, combing the Quarter as a FQ native, no longer being a resident of Lakeview.

i don't know how to wear my nostalgia. do i dress it up in smiles and necklaces? do i leave it out on the curb for goodwill?

i guess this isn't something i can anticipate. i'll just have to be there and listen to the sound of the city: ghosts from my past, all the vivid people of my present, and what i hope will be the city's future. and mine, too.