54

A new day. A new life continues. 

“Rosie says that she’ll see you’all later.”  Rosie barked like she usually did when Bellex says her name.  I glanced over and saw both of them getting ready to leave the apartment.  Belle had on cutoffs and a cutoff grey striped tee shirt and Rosie had on her pink and grey studded collar.  Both had pink and grey ribbons in their hair.  Rosie was also pink haired for the day.

“Have fun,” I said automatically.  It was Memorial Day and Belle had been planning on being a “Daughter”.  I didn’t see any flags but she had told me last night that they were going to plant flags for the “fallen flowers of the South”.  She was into being a Southern Belle, with capitals, since we came to Charleston and she decided that she must be the reincarnation of such a Belle who had been ravaged in the War of Secession.

Last week she was still deciding if she was a Georgia Peach or just Belle of the South.  I guess  “Belle” won out.

I’m pretty sure she didn’t know any Civil War history, hadn’t a clue about slavery, hadn’t read any books on the subject, but she had, as she told me, seen Gone With the Wind more than once. 

As I once read, she might be in error but never in doubt!

53

A new day. A new life continues.

“Lookie,” Belle said as she came into the apartment.

I’d been painting on my new sparrow picture. 

“Lookie, lookie,” she said as she put two boxes on the kitchen table.

“Hi,” I answered.

“This one is yours,” she pointed to one of the boxes.  They were identical.

“Thanks,” I said.  Better be thankful I always knew.  Always be thankful for Bellex’s presents, especially Belle’s.  Sometimes multiple times in one day.

She came over and grabbed my arm, squeezing it against her, pulling me away from the canvas.

“See!  Yours is bigger cuz you have big hands, and mine is a little tablet cuz I know best.”  Both boxes looked the same.

“Hey,” I interrupted.  “What happened to that painting I was working on last week?  The wind mill thing?”  I was planning on looking at the painting that morning but it wasn’t on the easel where I’d left it the other day.  I opened the box and pulled out a new laptop.  I needed one ever since the crazies from the yellow bus had trashed our apartment in New Orleans.  We left the “Big Easy”, as Bellex called it, and had been traveling the coast ever since.

“Konitchiwa,” Bellex bowed to me.  “Konitchiwa,” she said again.  She came over to look again at the new painting.  “I like this one too,” she stood next to me and then hugged me from behind.  I knew that something was up.  She didn’t say anything about the missing canvas.

Konitchiwa?  I didn’t know how to spell the word.  Probably Japanese I thought to myself. 

“Would you like some to this tea I found at the market?”  It had Japanese script on the box.  Tea?  I usually drank coffee.  But what the hell!

“Sure, what happened to the painting?”

“I sold it to Mr. Kiyama.”  Her back was to me but I could see her smile from the sideways view.  “A lot of money to us, just a little to him.”

“Oh!”  I said.  Money was always a good thing.

“It was a good thing that you signed it last week,” she added.  She gave me a cup of tea.  It was unusual.  Kind of thick and black.  Pretty good.

“I don’t remember signing it,” I took another sip.  Better.

“Oh yeah,” she said, “right in the left corner.  You added a new flourish I thought that you should have been signing all along.”

Flourish?  Oh well. Bellex always took care of money and things to buy.  I’d always just traveled along and lived from day to day before I met her last year.  We both claimed to be 16 but I had my doubts about her age.  Again, oh well!

“Don’t you remember?” she continued.  “You were tired of signing everything in that dark blue color and decided to sign the sparrow one with a nice green.  I thought that it was a nice touch.”

Green?  Oh well, I supposed I should have thought of using green before now.  I should probably use a pink or yellow next.  I’ll wait and see what I decide.

The finished charm painting.

 The other charm painting.

The missing sparrow painting.

52

A new day. A new life continues.

Bellex, sometimes silent x, and sometimes not, likes to prowl the nightlife here in New Orleans.  Since I'm her "faithful companion" I prowl with her.  Maybe most of all for her safety, as if I could fight off the various demons loose at night in the quarter.  She has made acquaintances with some of the oddest people at the clubs, and consequently, somehow, we both get in to the clubs, even though we're supposed to be 21, and are clearly not. 

Funny though, the other night, I was up and getting a couple of cokes at the bar and when I went back to the table, I couldn't find it.  There was an obviously older person at our table.  As I paused and looked around to get my barrings I looked and looked but couldn't find it.  Finally I looked back at the table and there she was, sitting, listening to the music, waiting for me.  Now I wonder if that happens all the time and that's why we sit in the clubs some nights and no one has ever questioned us.  Rosie is there most times, although she sneezes at the smoke and sometimes leaves before we leave.

My finch series continues.  The charms continue to charm me.  He is the latest effort, barely started, but with two of the women we saw in one of the smaller clubs.  Belle befriends the women and they don't mind if I stare at them and draw them as they work.

You can still see the pencil drawing but I'm having fun and don't care.

51

A new day. A new life continues.

Bellex brought the gypsy Grace back to the apartment.  Grace was staying away from her family for awhile.  They didn't tell be any reasons.  Just a "don't ask" from Belle.

We'd been going to the high school all last week, Belle wanted to go before spring break, so we went.  They've been playing with Rosie all weekend.  Rosie had taken to Grace, The Flower, as Belle called her.  Rosie wasn't herself when others came into our life, but Grace was different.  She spoke a Cajun dialect to Rosie and was teaching Belle the language as well.  She hadn't needed to teach Rosie, she already knew.

Belle took some pictures of the new window with Grace holding Rosie.  Then they a bunch more with each of them holding Rosie up to the windows and then having Rosie change colors to match the colors in the window.  Dozens and dozens.  Here are the windows, Spring and Summer, Fall and Winter haven't started yet.  Spring has tulips and Summer has lily's and a female cardinal.

50

A new day. A new life continues.

It was 6:30 am.  I've already finished my run, shower, and salute to the sun yoga.

"I was such a teenager," Belle announced.  She came out of her room and touched my shoulder.  I was reading at the table in the kitchen area.  My required reading, set up by herself last week.  I think that she was veering in a new direction.  I was reading all the Stephanie Plum books.  I was on seven this morning.  The books were the ongoing education that Belle regularly put on me.  I was a "project".

"You are a teenager," I replied.  Where was this going?

"I was a girlie girl," she continued.  She poured a cup of my coffee, adding her creamer, some kind of chocolate mix that she was currently addicted. 

"You are a girl," I needlessly said.  She was dressed in shorts and t-shirt.  Her regular outfit.  She had already applied eye stuff and lip color.  Yeah.  She was a girl.  What else was new?  I'd find out when she wanted me to find out.

"Ranger is hot," she said. 

"Yeah," I smiled.  "Should I get some black clothes?"

It was her turn to smile. I waited but she didn't continue on the books.  It was early and I didn't know if she would be going to high school, the university, out in the quarter, or adventuring out in the city.  Every day was a surprise with Bellex.  I was finishing my second window for the greenhouse.  It was Summer. Still Fall and Winter to go.

I still need to get a new painting started.  I would be continuing the Finch Charm series.  A lot of finches in this part of the country.

"Are you ready?" Belle looked at me and raised one eyebrow.  She'd been practicing  "the look", as she called it.  She looked to she if Rosie had eaten.  She had.

"Yes," I replied, waiting to figure out what I was ready for.

Belle grabbed her backpack/book bag/purse and moved to the door.  Rosie followed her, of course, so I got up and followed after quickly sliding my feet into my walking sandals.

49

A new day. A new life continues.

OK, I know.  I'm a ass.

I don't know how but I made Belle cry and Rosie almost bit me and continues to growl at me everytime I try to talk to them.

Really though. All I said was that Belle was the prettiest girl at the parades, with the neatest costume of anyone, and she yelled at me for being hateful and insensitive and a liar and a bore and why don't I ever go with her to school and am I embarrassed to be seen with her since I rarely go to church with her and that I only go to the university class once a week when I have to go for the quiz we have in 19th century lit.  Then she went on about how I went and got a job at the Glass of Orleans shop and didnt' get her a job there also. 

I told her that I hadn't thought that she'd want a job learning stainned glass and she said that that wasn't the point.  And anyway, she said, we had tons of money.  That's when she threw dozens of 20's up in the air and said that it might as well be confetti at the parade.  I opened my mouth to say anything but Rosie growled and lunged at me.  I don't think she would have really bit me, but you never know, I decided, when there might be an issue that was not explained.

Rosie turned dark purple and dark red, kindof like blood.

I don't think Belle likes Jacques' companion in the Glass shop.  He can't be more than 20 and he's been real friendly, I don't that Jacques wants his partner to be too friendly with some of the workers, but Belle particularily didn't like him.  She said he had shifty eyes, the kind that shifts up and down at the guys.  His name is Peter.  There's a real ass.  As if.

I only work a couple days a week.  If we hadn't moved after Mardi Gras I wouldn't be in this situation.  We only moved across the alley, but it was the greenhouse next to us that started all the chain of events.

It goes like this.

Once there was a really good cook named Charles.  He came to New Orleans to learn gourmet cooking, got himself a place in a neat quarter restaurant over the years became well known, was head hunted by other restaurants and eventually starred in a 5 star restaurant and went and bought the greenhouse across from us in the ally, and made it into a really neat house, and Belle made friends with him, so did I after she had, and we changed apartments to the workshop apartment next to the greenhouse, and that's what started it all.

Charles collects stained glass for his greenhouse walls!  So natureally I have to do a stained glass and give it to Charles since he really likes my paintings but won't take a painting, only stained glass, hence the work at the Glass shop to learn how to do windows, hence taking a small job at the shop, hence being away from the university twice a week, hence Belle thinking that I wasn't being around her for some reason, hence I made up a story about her being pretty, hence I'm in trouble for some reason I don't understand, so

the university class doesn't suffer since both of us have read all the required books before we decided to take the class and Belle registered us with the university as full time scholarship students in literature, at least as this time, who knows when she'll change that, or even if we'll keep our scholarships, or if we'll stay in New Orleans long enough, or or or or

anyway, here's my first effort at the shop, it's going to be "Spring", with wisteria's on the top, an iris in the middle, tulips next, a robin (kindof the first bird of spring), and some croscus plants,

oh well, it's fun and maybe Charles will hang it somewhere on his walls, he still has lots and lots of open window space around the back of the house.

48

A new day. A new life continues.

"I died for beauty...", Belle started quoting Dickinson's Death poem again.  Where she got the poem was another mystery.  We both had ashes on our foreheads, in honor of Ash Wednesday.  We'd partied all day yesterday, into the night, and got home about midnight.

"...Until the moss had reached our lips and covered up our names," she dramatically collapsed on the couch.  Belle was dressed all in black, she'd dressed up for 7 o'clock mass at the cathedral and since I was her "constant companion", as I was introduced, I was along for the duration.

I guess we were catholics now.  I didn't know if she was baptised in any faith, I know I didn't know what I knew about any religion in my life.  I know.

But, as her companion, I escorted her to the church, with holy water crossed on our chests, genuflecting at the pew, up to communion and out the door past the priest, to whom she talked to about what an inspirational service/talk he'd given.  I stood silently and smiled and nodded in agreement.

We had danced with the krewes as they had passed us by in the quarter, singing and cheering the parades until the end of the day.  Now we were ashed and could relax.  I painted while Belle continued to sprawl on the couch.  Finally I applauded.

I put the finishing touches on the second charm painting.  Belle especially liked the finches and had made us both wear finch costumes all yesterday.  Lots of feathers.  She looked astounding.  I looked just plain silly.  But I was only her "constant companion" and cheerfully accepted my roll.

47

"Are you ready?"  Belle came out of her room all dressed in black and wearing a black mantilla on her head.  She looked like she was going to a funeral.

"Ready?"

"Mass starts at 9:00 this morning and you don't look like you're ready."  She looked at me quizzically and raised her eyebrow.  Rosie barked.  She also was wearing black.  I was outnumbered, as usual.

"Mass?"  I'd been working on my newest finch charm painting and was focused on making a lot of headway in the next few hours.  The painting wasn't yet half way finished but I thought that it had a lot of potential in the long run. 

"Come on, you sinner," Belle was brushing Rosie and obviously waiting for me to change out of my painting shorts.  I loved the mild climate of New Orleans.  But why fight the inevitable?

"Five minutes," I told them and put my cadmium yellow and titanium white laden brush into some mineral spirits.  I'd better hurry if I didn't want to get barked at.

I didn't have all black or white for whatever costume Belle was wearing so I put on a clean pair of jeans and a button shirt.  Close enough.  I suppose that she was into a spanish/mexican mixture for church, after all, marti gras was next week.

46

A cool, cloudy day in the land of jazz.  Bellex, I have to get used to saying and typing her new name, brought home some dixieland jazz, she calls it and plays it over and over.  She won't look or answer to the old one, and Rosie almost growls at me, not quite but close enough.

"Listen closely," she'll say and then put some Louis Armstrong on the ihome thing. I'm getting used to it and it makes a lot of sense after awhile.  She calls them by their first names, Satch, Pete, Fats, and a bunch I'm not sure about, yet.

I've been starting and stopping and working on some paintings.  Bell Baby took some away and I don't know where they're at now.  She lets me get away with that name, but not much else.

New Orleans is unlike any city we've been to so far.  Not that we've been to a lot of places yet.  I've started a series of finch paintings.  I've finished one Charm of Finches and just began another.

Finch charms will be fun for another couple of paintings.

45

A new day. A new life continues.

"Rosie wants to say hi," Belle/Xena held her cell in front of the terrier.

Rosie barked three times and not only wagged her tail, but wagged her whole body.  Belle was talking with our friends back in Kansas.  Tyler and his sister Jessie.  She'd been talking for the last half hour, ever since she'd come back from spending the day at the accelerated middle and high school here in New Orleans.

"Now Rosie wants to smile at you," she held the phone in front of Rosie, who smiled, and Belle took her picture and sent it to them.

"Now Rosie wants to spin and roll over and kiss you."  Rosie spinned, rolled over and put her nose against the phone and Belle took her picture.

I was amused and stopped reading the latest vampire book set in New Orleans, which Belle had given me with instructions to read and discuss at dinner this night.  It seemed that there were a lot of vampire, voodoo, ghost, witch, demon, and on and on and on..... all set in New Orleans and the swamp/bayous in the adjacent areas.  On and on and on.  I guess people like these stories.  Xena/Belle certainly liked them, coming home with at least one new every night.

"I'm not Xena anymore," she told them.  She listened to their response and laughed, then held it up to Rosie's ear and she laughed also (barked).  I smiled.

"It seems," she continued, "that I was really born here in Nar'leens and kidnapped by a nefarious traveling conservative/reactionary/imperialist/white slavers/misogynist woman hating minutemen who took me to the mountains around the Daniel Boone Forest to serve their hateful ends to make me one of them, to be their slave and dress in 19th century clothes and breed stock for their never-ending search for the overthrow of the sane people."  She took a breath.  I continued to smile.  I liked to listen to her stories.

"For surrr," she drawled.  "I'm rally a Cajun princess back in my rightful section of the country."

Cool.  A princess!  I wondered what I was but didn't dare interrupt her story.  She sat and Rosie climbed up on her lap.

"My maman loved me with all her heart, as did ma pere, but the swamp took them when they tried to keep  me safe away from those slavers.  They only knew me for a few weeks and they loved me because I was the dawning sun in the morning and new moon in the evening. Then they died on that bayou, died and those bad people took me far away."  She paused and looked at Rosie.

She listened to whomever was on the other end.  She nodded yes but didn't say anything for a minute.

"That's why I'm not Xena anymore, my father looked at me when I was born and called me his Belle Bonnie Babee, his sweetheart."

"Bonnie Belle!" I said.

"Non, my petite," she said to the phone and to me at the same time.

"When they registered me at the local hospital my father said my name was Belle," she nodded her head up and down, thinking to herself, "but he wasn't good in English, he wasn't good at writing and reading although he was very smart out in the bayou, out in the swamps, out in the land and water, so for my last name he just put an X.  So my real name, my real me, is Belle X."

"Meet Belle X," she shook Rosie's paw. 

Rosie barked of course, and turned a yellow and orange like a calico.

"Talk to you all tomorrow," she said to Tyler and Jessie.  She'd tell me what they talked about later on after she digested the conversation.  She wrote on an envelop sitting on the table.

Bellex

44

A new day. A new life continues.

"Sunshine, ya'all!"  Xena/Belle shouted this morning when she came out of her room.  She was dressed casually, jeans and a Lady Gaga t-shirt.  She had a leash and blue thing that would go around Rosie.  It said Official Service Dog.  It was new and it actually looked like something official.  No way that it was real, was it?  X/B came over and gave me her regular kiss on the top of my head.  I was at the "kitchen" table that we used for painting/reading/eating/crafting/studying etc. that stood by the small window overlooking the alley.

"I was worried all yesterday when you were out adventuring and exploring," I looked at her eyes, trying to convey that I had really been worried, as I usually was when she went out doing her thing about money.

"Don't worry, sugar," she drawled in her faux New Orleans accent.  She took the last of the bagel from my hands.  She pulled a two inch thick roll of twenties from her backpack that she had left last night when she came home after the ten o'clock news.  I'd been so happy to see her then that I hadn't said anything but hi!

"SugarBelle," I tried to play her game.  "You're the only person I worry about in the world."

"Close your ears RosieBear, he just said that he didn't care about you enough to worry."  She dramatically put her hands over Rosie's ears.  Rosie looked at me and barked.

"Besides," she continued, "I'm the best, no one comes close.  Rosie's the best too, aren't ya darlin?"

"What time is it?" Changing the subject, I thought.

I looked at my wrist.

"What time is it Rosie?" She said and put Rosie on the table next to the plate I'd been eating off of before she'd taken my bagel.

"What time Rosie?"

"Why Rosie, you say it's 7.  Good doggie.  Best doggie."  She held up Rosie's front paw where my watch was, loosely buckled on just above her paw.

"Rosie's going to school today and needs some lunch money, don't you Honey?  Have to have your po'boy.  Here Moonie has a five in his billfold.  She opened my wallet and pulled out a five and then dramatically put an inch thick wad in and gave it back.

"I'm the best.  Don't worry."  She looked into my eyes from two inches away.  She took my head in her two hands and repeated.  "Don't worry, I'm the best.  Those dirt bags are so stupid they think I'm a tourist wandering around the quarter, then I disappear and go on to the next intersection.  Don't worry sugarbear."

"Do you want to come with us to the special school today?  Rosie's going to be show and tell and show the smart kids that there really is magic in the world if they just look for it."

43

A new day. A new life continues.

"Bon Jour ma petite!"  Xena greeted me this morning.  I was way over a foot taller than her but that didn't make any difference.  She came out of her room and with both hands grabbing my head and holding it still she planted a kiss on my forehead.

"Bon jour Xena," Started to answer but she turned my head back and forth and said

"Non, non, non, I'm no longer zee Xena, warrior princess of the new world, je suis a southern belle, born and raised in the deep south, I would never set foot in that yankee wilderness of Kentucky.  Non, non, ma petite ami, je suis a belle of the south, maybe a canjun belle or a belle from Georgia, I could be a Georgia Peach!"  She swayed around the little apartment, exaggerating her belleness I suppose.

"Well! Belle!" I said.  I liked it.  To tell the truth, but not to Xena/Belle, I never really pictured her as a warrior, a princess, yes, for she is petite and very good looking, kind of like a princess but not really a warrior princess, except for her eyes, or in her intelligence maybe, and in her ideas, yes!   I could see her as a warrior/belle.  Kind of like that movie where they had these ladies acting like flowers but at the same time thinking they were like steel.  That's Xena/Belle. 

"Un croissant with cream cheese," Belle continued trying to be French/Cajun/southern belle.  "Avec coffeee avec cream (actually milk with a bagel) avec ma jolie petite ami..."  She waved her hands, evidently running out of avecs.  She finally ended up on the couch (my bed) and tore her bagel to pieces as she ate it.

"I'm adventuring today, so I might be late tonight."  She was dressed all in grey and black.  She looked at me and gave me one of her warrior looks.

"Don't ask, don't tell," she finished her bagel.

"You sure I can't help?"  I tried asking anyway.

"No, you'll be too noticeable.  I'm much more safer without a jolie lug lurking along with me."

Every now and then Xena/Belle took off for a day, or a night and then returned with cash.  She'd told me long ago that it was bad guys cash and they didn't need it and she relieved them of some of their stash.  She's never explained and was adamant about it being safe and I wasn't to concern myself about her vocation, as she sometimes put it.  She hated bad guys, hated bullies, hated anyone who preyed on the weaker, hated anyone who hurt the weaker and somehow relieved them of their ill gotten gains (her words again).  It must be dangerous but I had zero say in the matter. Xena would have been astounded if I tried to tell her, or anyone else for that matter, what to do, how to act or especially how to take care of the "bad guys".  After our first week here in New Orleans she'd announced that there were much more bad guys here in the city than out in Kansas.  As she had said, bad guys are bad guys anywhere we go but there are a lot more of them here, and we'll get them to contribute to society.

"Bye bye sweetness," she said when she left.  I worried about her but this is what she did before I met her last year and this is what she'll do for as long as she wants.   Oh well, she'd told me once that "we" gave a fourth of the takings to different causes that "we" liked.  I scatched Rosie and gave her some of the left over cream cheese.

42

A new day. A new life continues.

"Hmmm, po'boys," Xena said for the hundredth time since we'd been in Naw'leens.  We were downtown again today, Saturday, again for the hundredth time  since Christmas.  We just left a gallery about blue dogs and Xena said it was time to eat.

"Po'boys with 'dads and a cola," she said to woman in the corner store.  "Put a little of that naw'leens hot sauce, will ya honey?" She directed the lady behind the counter.  The lady obliged and looked at me.

"How about you, sugar?"

"Meatball po'boy and a cola," I answered.  Xena never seemed to get tired of the sandwiches.  I didn't mind.  Whatever she wanted was fine with me.  The lady gave us the po'boys and drinks.

"Come on surrga," Xena drawled.  We went to a table by the window where we could watch the tourists.

We'd been in New Orleans since the end of December.  Ever since Xena accidentally saw the Saints on TV and had to come down and watch the footballers in person.  We were in the stands for their playoff game.  Maybe you noticed Xena, she'd been dressed up like a nun/saint/hooker.  The guys in the stands made outrageous suggestions throughout the game towards her.  She thoroughly enjoyed giving back as much as she took.  She still wore the necklaces everyday. 

"I think that I was reincarnated here once," she said and took a bite of her sandwich. 

-----------------------

Reincarnated Sparrows in New Orleans

-----------------------------


"Reborn?" I asked.

"Yep, honey, I was a dancer in early jazz houses."

"A dancer?"

-----------------------------

Reincarnated New Orleans Dancers with Sparrow

--------------------------------------

"Yep, of course, I was horribly abused and died tragically young, only.....17."

"Just a little older than we are now."

"Another year and a half," she said through the mouthful of food.

"Will that repeat again?"  I asked.  I didn't know how these things worked.  Xena was the reader of all the different New Orleans authors.

"It could," her eyes got a little bigger.  She looked out the window up and down the street. "It could."

She had talked about the new Lama that was found somewhere in the northern states lately.  It was in the city paper this morning.  About a five year old boy who was reincarnated a lama.  Xena was fascinated.

We had come down through Dallas, Houston, and along the coast to New Orleans just after Christmas.  It had only taken Xena a couple of hours to connect with the city and find a little apartment downtown where they were many thousand dollars a month.  I don't think she paid anything when we moved in.  Don't ask, she said, as usual.  The owner/manager gave us the key and said we could stay as long as the woman wanted.  He wouldn't look Xena straight on and talked mostly to me.  Xena does that to some people.  A couple of teachers back at the high school wouldn't look at her either, plus a couple of jock type guys.

The first week we played regular tourist and took the trolley car up and down the city.  We took tours around the city and up and down the river.  She had especially liked the occult tours.  We must of hit the graveyards a dozen times.  After a month Xena could probably draw a map of the city that would rival anything the chamber of commerce could put out. 

"Come on sugar," she said and grabbed my hand and pulled me out to the street. "Time to light a candle."  She'd really liked the cathedral at the bottom of the quarter.  Although I don't think she was ever a catholic, but she'd taken to the local church customs and went to "mass", as she called it, every day.  She got a kick out of going to confession in these little rooms at the back of the different churches.  I don't know what she confessed but she came out and kneeled in the pews and crossed herself numerous times as she kneeled and prayed.  She also went to "communion" everyday and drug me to the altar with her when she went up to the railing.

I told her she was going to hell for pretending to be a catholic but she smiled and said god, "she" wouldn't let her go to hell, even if it really existed, which she didn't think it did, and anyway "she" loved everyone, even zombies and reincarnated witches.

---------------------------

New Orleans Girl with Sparrows

---------------------------

After Christmas she came back from a walk around the neighborhood, back in Kansas, and announced a new plan.

"Now!  Now.  Let's go.  We need to leave.  Go.  Today.  Now.  Get up."

"Now?"  I was slow.

"Now!"  She was pulling bags out of the closet, pulling open drawers and emptying the contents in her bags, my stuff along with hers.  "Now," she whispered to herself and got another bag and dumped everything in the bathroom into it. "Now,"  she opened the frig and took out whatever food she could safely put into a plastic sack.

"Now," she looked at me again.  I wasn't moving fast enough for her.  I therefore grabbed books and computers and everything electronic from the living area.  In ten minutes she took what she had packed out to the van and come back and grabbed more stuff out of my hands.

"Now," she said and rushed out the door to the van.  I went to Xena's bed and stripped in and then did the same to mine.  In another ten minutes we were backing out of the drive.

"Where?" I asked.

"Voodooland."

"Huh?"

"Let's go and watch Brees play football."

Ah!  New Orleans.  She'd been fascinated by New Orleans for the past month, even buying a magazine with all the sports events.

Mardi Gras.

41

A new day.

The christmas season.  Xena is in her element.  She's now become the personification of the cliche shopper.  She's decorated and decorated the apartment, the van, Rosie and herself.  Both of the girls wear bells and bows and red and green and tinsel and sometimes elf and santa hats.  I don't think that either of them have ever had a christmas before this year. 

"Merry! Merry, merry, merry," greets me in the morning and sends me to bed at night.  They've been singing carols since Thanksgiving and the tree gets more and more christmassy, as she says.

Finals at the high school are next week, Xena takes them pretty seriously for some reason.  The university finals were this week.  They were much more fun, the professors were much more laid back compared to the H. S. teachers. 

Xena has numerous christmas carols memorized and expects both Rosie and me to accompany her.  Sometimes she finds a christmas special on the tv/computer and then we accompany the singer(s) as they entertain the audience. We helped Pavarotti, the Celtic women and 3 priests sing this week.  Who knows about next week.  At least I don't have to play an instrument with her ukulele as she and Rosie sing along with the NY Met.

I finally finished the woofstock painting.  I didn't put Xena and Rosie in it like I started.  After drawing all the rhinestones and bows on both of them I decided that they deserved a painting by themselves and will do that some day.

I enjoyed doing the people and dogs that I started another today and will work on it over the christmas break from both schools.

Xena seems to be planted here until spring.

40

A new day. A new life continues.

Thanksgiving is over.  Black Friday and Xena's frenzy of mall hopping is over.  She went at midnight for the black Friday things.  She and her threesome buddies, Tyler, Jessie, and Chrissie.  The twins didn't go.  When they left the apartment I bid them bon chance but all four had this manic look and practically yelled at me, telling me it wasn't luck but execution.  The were all dressed in black, for battle I assume, and swept out to the  van at midnight on the dot, Xena mumbling on the way that they were already late.

I went back to reading Maeve and her Dublin people.  Xena calls it my comfort books, rolling her eyes all the way.

Xena came back at mid-morning, having dropped off the others wherever they ended up for the holidays. I kind of thought that they'd end up here but I never know.  Xena does.  As does Rosie, who for once, didn't complain about being left behind of the shopping adventure.

"Look at these deals!" She exclaimed when she first came back.  She was carrying multiple sacks from different stores.

I went to look but she pushed me away.

"Stop!  These are for Christmas."  She squinted here eyes at me and frowned. 

I decided I better not look at the deals.

"We need to get a tree," she gathered her packages and took them to her room. "We wish you a merry Christmas," she sang as she and Rosie disappeared into the room.  Rosie had turned a bright red.  I suppose it was a Christmas color.

My people never had celebrated Christmas back in the mountains, unless you count an extra bottle of Jack to make the day merrier and more dangerous.  I didn't know what Xena's people did, but it was probably some kind of satanic torture ritual that they saved for the season.  Xena had told me not to ask when Christmas "back home" was brought up by the twins.

The twins.  How come there are always mysterious twins in stories?  Ours are on the fringe of every group at school.  Everyone knows them, no one knows them.  They're in the classrooms, usually different classes since the republicans think to separate them for some reason, sitting quietly in the front but never drawing attention to themselves.  Almost as small as Xena, just as thin, but well dressed in nice clothes and always spotless.  Pale skin and pale hair.  Pale blue eyes.  Kellie wears a little make up so she's not quite as pale as Kevin. Always they wear very pale clothes, white or some kind of off tan. 

The twins were always sitting alone at lunch until Xena invited herself and sat with them.  They were antisocial or anything.  Just quiet and content to be in each other's company.  It seemed.  But they smiled and jumped on the chance to talk with Xena.  And after Xena, the threesome, and eventually me.  Rosie jumped on Kellie and sat there during every lunch.  Xena was pleased.

39

A new day. A new life continues.

The week of Thanksgiving.  Wow!  This is the first thanksgiving either one of us have ever had.  A for real Thanksgiving that is.  Xena is all a flutter, as she says.

"I'm all a flutter."  She pats her chest like it's fluttering.  She skips around the apartment, singing made up songs about turkeys, pies, and football games on Thursday.  Then she started decorating.  We have kindergarten-like turkeys on the windows, hanging from the doors, and even on the refrigerator.  It's like living with a 5 year old some times.

We've been still going to the schools.  Like we're real students.  Real people, real kids.   But with totally different life and family styles than any one we've met at the schools.  Xena's been connecting with some of her classmates from her drama and music classes.  Three seem to be important and have been over.  I think they must be goths, but they talk regular like and seem regular like and act regular like except for the black clothes and make up.  Even Tyler, the boy, has make up like Jessie and Chrissie, the girls.  All black, even their hair, two thin (Tyler and Chrissie) and kind of heavy, Jessie. 

All three have been together at school every day at lunch, and before and after classes.  They travel in a pack.  Xena calls them a family.  Tyler and Jessie are sibs.  Xena's word.  Chrissie is just Chrissie.  They don't seem to have to be anywhere, ever, and are true free spirits, again, according to Xena. 

They let me hang out with them.

Xena has take on the roll of leader of the pack.  Her description.  I follow when I want to. Which is sometimes.  I keep waiting for the "family" to coalesce and develop into even something more.  I'll wait.

Xena left last Friday and returned Sunday.  It was one of her periodical adventures she undertakes.  She left Rosie here with me.  Rosie wasn't too happy but didn't complain too much.  She did turn her hair jet black while Xena was gone though.  Xena slept all Sunday afternoon and night after she returned. 

"Don't ask," she said when she reappeared Sunday.  She had a back pack filled with stacks of money that she left on the table in the kitchen area.  Then she had "crashed" in her bedroom.  Monday morning, yesterday, she was up and cheerful and left for school, told me to find my own way for once, and showed up at school 2nd hour without the backpack.

"Don't ask," she said when we met between classes.

Oh well.

38 OW

Occupy Wall Street!

“Maybe we should head to Wall Street?” I asked Xena and Rosie last night.  I’d been thinking of it for the last couple of weeks, wanting to belong to a family that would include, not only Xena and Rosie, but others. 

Xena stopped looking at her homework and faced me as only she can.  Direct and laser like attention. 

“New York?” She asked.

“Maybe.”

“New York in New York?”

“The Town.”

“We can leave right now if you’re sure that’s what is meant for us.”

“I feel,” I continued, “that we should be part of the movement.”  I didn’t quite know how to say that I wanted to belong to something bigger than our threesome.  I didn’t know if OW was the thing to do, or not.  It seemed like a likely place to start.

“OK,” Xena said a second time.  “We can be ready in ten minutes.”  She started to get up to pack their stuff. 

“What about school and the here and now?”  I was a little taken aback by how readily she would go where I wanted.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to go; maybe I was just throwing out an idea, a possible path, and a maybe.

“Remember what Mrs. Washington said in class the other day, when she said that if all the people who said that they were at Woodstock actually gone, then the state would have been full.”

I nodded kind of knowing where she was going.

“And remember,” she continued, “what Mrs. Washington said about all the people who said that they were in the jungle in the Viet Nam war, had actually been there, then all the bases in the US would have been empty.”

“Yeah,” I answered again.

“And, this is my favorite,” she said.  “Remember what she said about all the people who think that they were at Haight Asbury, could have been there, but weren’t, because there wasn’t that much LSD.”  I didn’t answer.

“So,” Xena finished, “if we should go and be a part of the movement, then we should.  Right now, tonight, not tomorrow, not next week or next year.”  She paused.

Rosie wagged her tail and rolled on her side for me to rub her tummy.  I did.

Xena was right.  We should go, if that is what was needed.  But was it needed?  Was Occupy all over, even if the New York part was the current beginning?  We’d both been at the Wichita Occupy when we marched on the Koch Building and at the court house downtown.

Xena just sat and looked intently at me.  It seemed that it would be my decision.

“Let’s wait a bit,” I finally said.  I wasn’t sure but it was nice to know that Xena would go with me if I found it necessary to go.  Back to Bloomsday and Jimmy Joyce, as Xena calls him.

Occupy Wall Street!

“Maybe we should head to Wall Street?” I asked Xena and Rosie last night.  I’d been thinking of it for the last couple of weeks, wanting to belong to a family that would include, not only Xena and Rosie, but others. 

Xena stopped looking at her homework and faced me as only she can.  Direct and laser like attention. 

“New York?” She asked.

“Maybe.”

“New York in New York?”

“The Town.”

“We can leave right now if you’re sure that’s what is meant for us.”

“I feel,” I continued, “that we should be part of the movement.”  I didn’t quite know how to say that I wanted to belong to something bigger than our threesome.  I didn’t know if OW was the thing to do, or not.  It seemed like a likely place to start.

“OK,” Xena said a second time.  “We can be ready in ten minutes.”  She started to get up to pack their stuff. 

“What about school and the here and now?”  I was a little taken aback by how readily she would go where I wanted.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to go; maybe I was just throwing out an idea, a possible path, and a maybe.

“Remember what Mrs. Washington said in class the other day, when she said that if all the people who said that they were at Woodstock actually gone, then the state would have been full.”

I nodded kind of knowing where she was going.

“And remember,” she continued, “what Mrs. Washington said about all the people who said that they were in the jungle in the Viet Nam war, had actually been there, then all the bases in the US would have been empty.”

“Yeah,” I answered again.

“And, this is my favorite,” she said.  “Remember what she said about all the people who think that they were at Haight Asbury, could have been there, but weren’t, because there wasn’t that much LSD.”  I didn’t answer.

“So,” Xena finished, “if we should go and be a part of the movement, then we should.  Right now, tonight, not tomorrow, not next week or next year.”  She paused.

Rosie wagged her tail and rolled on her side for me to rub her tummy.  I did.

Xena was right.  We should go, if that is what was needed.  But was it needed?  Was Occupy all over, even if the New York part was the current beginning?  We’d both been at the Wichita Occupy when we marched on the Koch Building and at the court house downtown.

Xena just sat and looked intently at me.  It seemed that it would be my decision.

“Let’s wait a bit,” I finally said.  I wasn’t sure but it was nice to know that Xena would go with me if I found it necessary to go.  Back to Bloomsday and Jimmy Joyce, as Xena calls him.

http://occupywallst.org/

37

A new day. A new life continues.

Halloween has been a hoot, as they say back at the beginning place.  Not home surely.

Xena dressed in all brown and glued some big, white clothe letters on her back that said “BACK”.

She said it was the scariest thing she could think of while we stayed in Kansas.  Brownback.  A few of the students got it, so did a few of the teachers.  A few got mad when they figured it out, a few laughed, a few cheered her at lunch.  One couple, a terrorist and his toxic waste girlfriend said that they wished they would of thought of it.  He wanted to be a silverback to her Brownback.  I dressed almost the same as I do everyday, but changed just a little so that I would be OW’ler from the occupy people at wall street.  Not scary but important anyway.  I guess Xena is more aggressive.  I made a kindof owl costume but it didn’t convince very many people.  A few negative red necks at school scOWled.

There was a Twilight festival on the tv this weekend. I didn’t know anything about the movie or the books.  Xena was disgusted with me and went and got me the book.  It was a good read.  Now I told her to find me the second one since they keep advertising it on the tube and on the internet.  I thought about being a cold one but Xena said I didn’t have the eyes, among other things, which she didn’t elaborate.

I see her post about the farmers market.  Here’s a better look at it.  It’ll be a lot of pastels when I start on it.

36

A new day. A new life continues.

Part I

Ya know, I was going to go off on the bikers being just as bad as the churchers, but, ya know, that's not the way to do things.  Moondoggie's right.  Live and let live.  Get even.   Hit hard, harder, hardest when necessary.

I was going to relate the words of the bikers, the flipped cigarette at Rosie by the biker chick, because I was talking to the biker Moonie said.  I was going to "relate" the words and looks by a couple of the dirty old men with their flag tattoos.  They were as bad as the churcher preacher and his slug of a incest rial son.  And daughter too, most likely, as stupid and bovine they all looked.  But, our philosophy teacher at the HS was talking about man, superman, and current possibilities of mankind and I got to thinking..... why obsess on the negative.  Just get even, if necessary, and Moonie said it wasn't necessary, yet, and let him do the evenses.

Well, women back home get even themselves and I don't need Moonie to get even, if necessary, if when, if we are confronted verbally and physically, if the time comes I guess we'll both get the churchers.

And, well, the bikers, they were just as low class as back home.  Even the miners didn't use language like they did at the gas stop, especially in public places like that.  Wow!  We see a lot of stupid boys, and girls also, at the HS, in the halls, but these were supposed to be adults.  Men who I thought would step in between the minister and his kids and me when Moonie was getting gas and didn't see what was happening.  Wow! Did that fat bald biker step in.  He smelled bad too.  And his chick was more hairy than he was, even if she was wearing a flag bandanna.  I guess she must of thought that she looked pretty chick-fil-lay baby.

Anyway, our teacher, Mr. Farquay, was talking about the great religions last week and talked about all the good ones have love in common.  The bad ones have fear and hate in common.  So, after having to write a paper and having talked about it all week, Moonie and I decided to let the dogs sleep and hit them so hard if they come back at us that they'll go back to their lairs and eat their own bowels.

So.  No details.  Enough already.  See what Moonie's been doing this week.  He's been drawing people for a big painting downtown.  I don't know if the drawing will show up but it'll do until he starts painting it.



35

A new day. A new life continues.

What’s the word, Hummingbird?  I keep asking Moonie what’s the word and he keeps on doing what he’s doing, which is reading one of the books from the school or painting one of his imaginary bird girls. 

He’s not writing lately, I’ve looked and he keeps leaving off the story of why we’re here.  I tell him and tell him to get with it but he smiles and continues reading and painting and not writing. 

So it’s left with me.  I know that he’ll write again when he’s finished some of  the books he’s inhaling.  As soon as he finishes some of  the bird girls.  As soon as we move on from this little place.  As soon as he tires of the rules of the school and town.  As soon as the teachers start to get jealous of his mind.  As soon as the jocks get tired of his independence.  As soon as the weather starts getting cold.  As soon as he tires of watching the tv shows on the set in the house (he laughs out loud at the one show he watches every day, The Big Bang Theory) – I think he relates somehow to the males in the show.  As soon as authority people try to tell us what to do with everyday then we’ll move on.

I’m not ready yet.

I like the school, the kids, the university, the teachers, the books, the clubs, the movement from one hour to the next.

But I’ll tire of it soon and want to see what’s next.

Back to Moonie galoonie.  I’ll go ahead and tell about the crazies.

Part One

Wait, Wait, Wait.    Before I begin part one of our adventures I've been trying to get Mooniedog to put some of his current paintings on the blog.   Boy!  What a drip!  He keeps saying he isn't finished, plus, he made up some of the girls and some of them are part me, like a cyborg I guess.  I can see me where I am, but I told him that others couldn't.  No one would know, care, care less, or care to give it a thought. So here are some details of the last four paintings.  I won't tell the names, just give an idea of what he's doing.

Sooooooo, can you guess?  Mysterious reader.  If there is a reader, that is.

Back to Part ONE