I'm sitting here this morning in my newly painted office. Plum Pudding is what the color is called. I'm wearing it. Little purple "birthmarks" pock my arms, legs, and even the bottoms of my feet. My little girl reminded me last night that all I have to do to get it off is scrub with soap and water. I haven't as of yet. Like tribal warriors, I wear these smears of purple paint proudly, as proof that I have done something wonderful. I've been trying to coax my husband into taking the leap and moving us further south to New Orleans. My head understands the politics, the school systems, and of course the weather...but get me talking about it after a few drinks and I'll start packing my bags. I travel down to the Big Easy as often as I can and feel like a part of me is being left each time I get back on I-10 toward Shreveport.
Solution. Although my husband doesn't quite understand my obsession with all things NOLA, he does understand ME. His suggestion...bring New Orleans home. Make my little office space a haven for all things that would make me believe that I am sitting in a loft just outside the French Quarter. So I began with the walls. Purple. My Cafe Du Monde coffee cup sits on my desk beside me as I stare at a plastic sheathed original signed print by New Orleans artist Terrance Osborne. It is called Post Katrina Blues. A single tree in the background looks a lot like Plum Pudding. Behind me on the floor ready to be hung, metal squares..W..R..I..T..E.
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