Thursday, December 9, 2010
December 9th - Party
I’m participating in Gwen Bell’s #reverb10 challenge this month which means 31 days filled with daily writing/photography prompts meant to reflect on the past year and at the same time look ahead.
It was the first warm night of the year, the snow had melted weeks ago and the chill had held on...but this night it was warm, no cicadas yet, the spring was not yet in bloom, but we were out, walking the streets, my fellow Atlantans, unfettered, without glove or hat, and we were all feeling sexy. The party was an art opening, my first of what I hoped would be many nights out in my newly adopted city, and I had on a new scarf. I chose pink pink pink for my party clothes, and I drove down Peachtree past the Fox theatre with all my fellow citizens walking, drinking, talking, a convivial spirit enveloping the city. The people were as light as air, the mood was frivolous, gentle, laughter and clinking glass. The food was party fare, finger-y foods, white wine, gin and tonic, this is the south after all, and the characters were in full promenade. I met a politician, a broadcaster, some artists, some trophy wives, everywhere was skin, prickly white in the almost cool first of spring evening, but we braved the gooseflesh, we had had enough of wool and down, and cotton and silk were dancing around like Chanel Cruise collection on a runway model. The music was inconsequential, the dj spinning moody tunes, punctuated by a bit of hip hop when a local rapper joined the crowd, the room was bright, well lit for the paintings, and the conversation swift. I was carted around to each of the leading men and ladies, regaled with tales of Atlanta, its dark, light and funny sides, much like the roads here, all conversation lead to Peachtree Street, How can there be so many streets with the same name? I laughed at the tales of dogs, wrecked cars in ditches from late nights with too much drink, good old boys and college football. I told my tale of my first try at fox hunting, I was already initiated, accepted, a beloved, for southerners adore daring-do.
Looking back now, from my home in Los Angeles, I see that moment as I see all of my short 6 months in the South, as a treat, a bon bon, a petit four, a glimpse into a life that would not be mine. A friend of mine once told me "when you look back at the past, don't stare". Too true Molly, too true. If I were to reflect, and hope to manifest again, then it is I who must seek out the night, the warmth, and I will not judge the Autumn by the Spring.