I dreamed of New Orleans

Dawn today.

—–

But I woke up in Mexico to a chilly August morning.

Last night just after midnight, fireworks exploded on the nearby plaza. Just after midnight meant we’d entered another day, one that merited in some Catholic way the typical blasts of celebration.

Being accustomed to this, I went back to sleep and dreamed of New Orleans where I was walking on Carrollton Avenue, and I had a job on the newspaper again. I met a friend of an old friend. He remembered my name, but I did not recall his, which is one of my many defects. There was no clear time of year, but had it been August, it would have been hot, very hot and humid.

Just past 6, I was awake again, and it was cold, cold in August. I thought of a visit to Guanajuato in the 1980s with my second ex-wife. It too was August, and I remembered it was cold there for the same reason, altitude, and how amazed I was on walking out the hotel door to a cold August morning in Mexico.

I finally got out of bed at 7, walked into the kitchen and looked out the dining room window. And took this photo on another cold August morning. I like it here, and they’re still making noise on the nearby plaza, a small band now, celebrating something or other that I care not about in the slightest. I’m not Catholic.

8 thoughts on “I dreamed of New Orleans

  1. All is quiet in the village on the hill, the village that predates the state capital, the place that would be known as Santa Maria de los Altos until they went and changed its name to St. Mary of Guido to honor the guy who brought potable water to the inhabitants. The dawn hours would normally be marked by cohetes ushering in the fiesta patronal, and the streets would be filled with puestos and carnival games, but The Virus has made the streets quieter than Good Friday. Dreaming of making ma’amoul, a Middle Eastern buttery shortbread filled with crushed nuts, preferably pistachio or almond, I slept in. And befitting the day and season, I’m still in my flannel nightgown.

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    1. Ms. Shoes: You’re still in your flannel nightgown at 11 a.m.? A portrait of degeneracy. So The Virus has your neighborhood tranquil? I wish the same could be said of mine, but they’re still going at it down there. I hear them. Whoop-de-doodle!

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      1. I stand corrected. Facebook had coverage of the church band, three virgens, and about 20 followers in a dawn parade starting two blocks down, turning at the plaza, and headed to the church. But I wasn’t blessed with the sound of any of it.

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  2. Ah yes, the chilly August morning. From Houston or New Orleans, it’s inconceivable, scarcely more so from Boston. But here in CDMX, yes, it’s the chilly morning reality. In fact in July here, I was wishing I had a heater. No, it wasn’t colder here in my apartment than maybe (maybe) 69°, at it’s “worst.” But I’ve been climatically spoiled, having spent all of my adult life in automatically heated or cooled spaces.

    The funniest part? All of my friends in Boston keep asking me if it’s hot here, hehe.

    No, but it’s hot there, I always answer.

    Saludos,

    Kim G
    Roma Sur, CDMX
    Where I can scarcely think of a better climate.

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      1. Yes. People do realize there are mountains here, but they just don’t put two and two together. Either it’s the beach, or some sweltering desert surrounding Monterrey.

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