Pralines

The oppressive heat of the city weighed me down like the burdens of a preacher trying to save 10,000 lost souls. Rank odors filled each pore until I was cocooned in an invisible and putrid dumpster without escape. July in the French Quarter was acid hot and even the sky burned clouds of amber and black as if the city itself couldn’t contain the waves of embers and lazily offered them to the sky for relief.

We entered the cooking school and felt the cool air conditioning on sweat laden skin and smelled the same aromas that both slave and free man experienced over the generations. Sausage and seasonings assaulted the senses and invited the travelers to rest. The school was housed in an ancient building that time had not completely changed and we awaited the tastes that only come from using real butter, cream, milk and lard.

The chef, slipping into the dialect of the past, prepared her gumbo and Creole. I envisioned spirits rising with the dead encircling us with voodoo embraces until we were drugged and lifeless. Suddenly, the sweet smell of caramelizing sugar, pecans, butter and vanilla awoke my senses. The chef listened to the pot declaring the mixture ready and began rapidly spooning the praline mixture onto shiny aluminum foil. We were transfixed with anticipation watching the gooey mixture transform into pralines.

We were served. We took a collective bite. It was a moment when writers were without words, musicians couldn’t play tunes and artists stared at blank canvases. In that moment, time stood as still as the air. Troubles melted with the praline on my tongue and the heat of New Orleans magically slipped away with the haints.

New Friend

Life is lived in the space of a moment. Moments captured in the early light flickering on the morning’s waning frost or marked as soft as the skin on an infant or in the wonder of a new mother whose first child tightly grasps her finger. Moments frozen in time and forever undimmed by age or memory. In these moments, marriage proposals are accepted and secret first kisses are shared.
Moments are also marked in a series of cataclysmic events punctuated by car accidents, job losses, illness or divorce. In the brevity of time, children are born, people die and life propels its inhabitants forward into the vast unknown or backwards into abysses of regret.
Yet, we are not just shaped by defining moments – we define moments by embracing the fleeting seconds that are not seen by the eye but felt in the heart. The seemingly inconsequential times that take up the bulk of a day with regularity and normalcy. Moments that have space and place as solid yet as fleeting as a stray autumn leaf floating on the breath of the wind - mundane and trivialized by some but felt by others. These are the moments in which life is lived.
A few days ago, I had lunch with someone, and as we ate, we discovered similar experiences, common pasts and shared opportunities. How did she go from acquaintance to new friend? Was it over shared burgers or the exchange of email and traded favors?
I believe it happened in that space of time, crossing the room, conquering fear. It happened when I took control of the moment and reached out to another person. I spoke as time and heart raced ahead on the swiftest of feet yet as conscious thought froze.
When unchartered territories confront us and destinies are shaped in ways unimagined, these are the moments we define. I am fortunate to have crossed paths with this acquaintance and seized the moment to invite her as friend.