Wordy Wordless Wednesday

The window at Uptown Costume and Dancewear on Magazine

I was in New Orleans last week. My brother's partner -- effectively my brother-in-law -- passed away a few days after their fortieth anniversary. I went down to be with my brother, show support, do whatever. He's never outgoing or cheerful, and so other than the occasional wave of sorrow he was more or less his usual self. We didn't do much. Sat around the house while I worked remotely, went out to dinner. I stayed from Sunday through Wednesday.

The departed lived a rich and eventful 82 years. He was a 42-year-old college professor when he found a student he couldn't resist, and they stayed together from then on. He had three daughters and a small scattering of grandchildren who adored him, and leaves an additional legacy in the world of musical academia, focused primarily on traditional jazz and contemporary classical music. He came from old East Coast money and exemplified all the social graces. I'll miss him.

This is a year of change. For my brother, obviously. He goes from several years of being a 24/7 caretaker to being single and independently wealthy. For me, surely, since I haven't yet found (or looked for) my next permanent position at the corporation. I'm a little intimidated as I seem not to have developed any of the qualities that companies look for in workers of my, erm, seasoning. For example, I had an interview last summer that went badly because I was asked to describe when I had practiced leadership. By and large, I never have, except in small off the cuff and short term ways, and I can't remember any of those. For everyone else, too, since our country seems to be teetering on a terrifying edge between the polar extremes brought on by an electorate that's sick of the shills and lobbyists and have mutually despicable visions for achieving pretty much the same thing, i.e. taking our country back and becoming great "again".

That's as wordy as I'll get this time. It only started because I like this picture. It was taken on a phone-call walk down Napoleon and along Magazine while the dusk came down in a city gearing up for Mardi Gras. In a way I was sad to go home, except that I wanted to be home; but I love the air in New Orleans, the way it smells, the energy on the street that combines a more relaxed pace of living with a readiness to have fun, and always, an element of danger.