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Accepting Myself As A Flamingo — A Holiday Costume Diary
On Monday morning there was a little bit of nagging inside of me. We were on the road, driving from Galveston to New Orleans where we would spend one night. Then drive on Florida for Thanksgiving. As velocity propelled me forward, the nagging feeling dissipated. I had to suspend the anxiety that I had left something behind that I would need, or that I didn’t have enough of, clothes, shoes, jackets.
We stopped for coffee outside Houston. I went to the back of the car to take inventory. There I found the hammerhead shark and the flamingo. I had the costumes. I could exhale now because, on the holidays in my family, costumes are the only clothes we need.
The windshield wipers slapped in time to Janice Joplin as we passed the I-10 exit toward Port Arthur. Janice, known for her hippy-dippy garb and plumage, fled the coastal East Texas town for brighter lights out west. She didn’t make it long before achieving the legendary status that is reserved for musicians that die before their prime.
Dark clouds thickened, and I thought of that Tragically Hip song, New Orleans is Sinking, and the sparkling suits Gord Downie used to wear onstage, (RIP Gord).
