The Scent of Happiness

It's a cloudy, overcast Sunday but the temperature is mild and wonderful. Spring is here and the neighborhood has been going crazy planting flowers and working in the yards. Consequently, there are butterflies everywhere and the colors are bright. Since my new place already had a washer and dryer, I traded my set to my sister and brother-in-law for landscaping. The front of my house is now framed with a variety of plants. The 3 foot azalea bushes are young but packed with so many huge blooms it doesn't look real. The snapdragons are now dying out, but they still add splotches of yellow. I don't hold much hope the buds on the gardenias will bloom, but there is always next year. The transplanted star jasmine isn't taking off as quickly as I hoped, so I've got my fingers crossed. But off to the side in the front bed is the star of all my plants - the sweet olive bush.

I'm currently outside sitting on the front porch trying to get work done on the computer. I pulled one of the pug's beds out onto the porch so he's softly snoring next to me. I was deep into completing a hearing schedule when a soft wind blew that wonderful scent my way. I had to stop working and try not to cry. At my last home the tree bloomed well but trapped in the pot it never had a smell. Now happily transplanted my sweet olive has infused its blooms with the sweet and magical smell of my childhood.

My grandparents had a huge sweet olive in the backyard next to the patio and "The Hut." The Hut was a one room building with a kitchen and half bath. In it was a double bed pushed to the side and then several old retro chrome dining tables. When the family gathered, the tables were pulled into a line to form a huge single table. The sweet olive was always in full bloom by the time the spring crawfish boils started. The scent flavored countless games of tag, climbing in trees, crawfish races and a few quite memorable water balloon fights. The sweet olive scent surrounded us as we searched for Easter Eggs dressed in our holiday finery. And the scent lingered the day I sat with my best friend on the patio and wept telling him of my grandmother's death the night before.

It is quite possibly one of the top 3 of the thousands of reasons I love New Orleans so much. Hundreds of sweet olives are littered throughout the city especially in the Garden District and Uptown. How could I not fall madly in love with a city so enveloped with the smell I love most? I've yet to properly walk through the city after Katrina to determine if she still has her magical scent. Sadly, my brother's sweet olive which branched up high and wide didn't survive that bitch's wrath.

So here I sit and bask in the beautiful blooms and tear up as I breathe in the scent. I stopped for a while to run for my camera while a male and female red headed woodpecker pecked around the neighbor's tree. The male's head was so ruby red it looked painted on. I'm hoping my pictures come out but it's my first role on this camera. My neighbor drove up as I put my camera away. I asked if he saw the woodpeckers, but he was less than thrilled complaining they were killing the branch. I popped my iPod, Punkin's earpiece back in. He seems terrified that I'll get too friendly with him. Sometimes when I've company, he manages to smile and act friendly. Unfortunately, if it's just me he's as cuddly as a cactus. I'd like to tell him not to worry, I've got the message. I hate to see him waste the energy.

It matters not, I'm now in my own place listening to a wonderful music mix a friend made for me and my sweet olive scent has reminded me of the first time I read "Little Women." Joe was breaking Laurie's heart as I sat on the swing next to The Hut. My siblings and cousins ran around the yard playing and having a good time as I sat swinging with my nose firmly placed in my book. How could I explain I would never rest until I knew for sure Laurie would win Joe's heart. I can now handle disappointment.

Finding My Voice

At lunch today a friend asked me if I was still blogging. I paused because it was something I've been thinking about so much lately. "No," I replied. "Not since Katrina. That bitch stole my voice."

And it's true. Sure I've done a couple of stories, but nothing really much. It just all seems so pointless and insignificant suddenly. Stories would happen and I'd write them in my head, but to put them on paper seemed silly and worthless.

I’m back on my own now. The pug and I have moved back to the Heights and are finding ourselves again. We both miss my sister, but are glad to also finally be back on our own. A week or so ago I was driving to Austin when I suddenly came on one of the trail rides heading out of Houston. It's rodeo time which always brings a host of surreal sights. I never fail to smile when I get caught up in a minor traffic jam as horses and covered wagons ramble down the highway. This is the Texas foreigners imagine when I tell them I live in Houston. So anyway, I'm driving and see the horses and start to smile. Maybe my life really will resume and all will be ok.

One of my closest friends turned 60 yesterday. (Is this possible? How can I have a close friend who is 60? How is it possible I'm 45?! Here I am waiting to grow up and get my life together and I'm getting old.) We did dinner at a little known restaurant in Montrose called "Just Dinner." It's simply a bungalow house with no sign or advertisement. There are three small rooms with a handful of tables. It's BYOB with a small Italian menu. The food is good, nothing outrageous, but basic and comforting. The owner and his daughter wander from table to table taking part in conversations and checking in. Really, it's like going to someone's house for dinner. In the right mood it's fun and adventurous. However, if you're not in the mood to mingle with strangers, I'm certain it could wear on your nerves.

I should go. I don't want to overdue my return to writing. And the pug needs a bath. Honestly, I'm not kidding. He's sitting about 6 feet away and I can smell him. To make matters worse, he's sleeping on a pillow that fell off the couch. Two feet to his right is his newest bed, a nice fluffy pillow type. Just a few feet in front of that is his blanket stretched across the floor. And rounding a few more feet to the left is his large bed with sides. So with three other choices, why must the smelly pug always go for the one item he has no business laying across?