MORNING BREW

#160 - I take it all in and in a few minutes, I’m full. I got my fill. It’s my fix.

Welcome to Before I Forget . .

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MORNING BREW

Wafting in through the open French doors from the courtyard below, are a couple of flower smells I can identify for sure.

It is jasmine. Being dark out, it is the Night-Blooming Jasmine. I like it most of all. It is imprinted on my brain. It emits its perfume at night. So pungent and intoxicating. It is everywhere around here.

I’ve tried to grow it elsewhere where I’ve lived. It doesn’t bloom. I think it needs the humidity.

The Confederate Jasmine rules the day with its sweet, sweet smell. It grows up the brick wall, tangled in the bougainvillea.

Four lush bushes grow in big pots placed in the corners of the courtyard.

Diana has also planted ferns, orchids, a pigmy date palm, and banana trees. The courtyard is looking and smelling good.

The sides of the courtyard have a narrow strip of soil reserved for the trees and ferns.

A three-tiered water fountain and an umbrella table and chairs are yard-center.

The ground is surfaced with red brick.

It is a lush, idyllic garden.

There are other smells also at this early hour. The wet garden from the thunder showers overnight and coffee and beignets from the Cafe a couple of streets over.

In my memory is the old Jax Beer brewery; its sweet bready malt still in the air. I can taste it. It’s now filled with shops and restaurants, apartments, and even radio stations. There’s a big room for events.

A fog must be settled on the river; I hear the foghorn. It’s not needed anymore for ship navigation; all ships use GPS now. With software, pilots can see the river, its depth, channel markers, and other ships at a glance.

The foghorn is a relic now; but still necessary for small craft. So pleasant to hear across the water and on the wind. I’m glad they still function.

A towboat revved its engines, a low rumbling. Maybe it is pulling away from the wharf. Hard to tell which direction it’s going. If north, it’s getting in position to take on Carrollton Bend at Nine-Mile Point. It’s the tightest curve and busiest on the river.

They don’t call it the “War Zone” for nothing. Ocean ships, tankers, cruise liners, and barges in tow are all scary close to one another.

The ship captains are worth what they are paid. I know. I am one. It’s a good life.

It’s foggy on the river but clear here just blocks away. Drops of water from the night’s rain softly drip on the brick below. I didn’t hear the rain.

The waning half-moon shines bright on the balcony floor and through the open doors. It’s enough to light up the room with its glow.

No sheets are needed tonight; it’s high summer in the city. The ceiling fan slowly moves the air, and it is enough.

We’re naked. She’s on her back; her curves remind me somehow of rolling California foothills.

I reach over and caress her, softly squeezing her soft supple skin.

Then I get up quietly and step out the French doors to the balcony.

“Are you okay,” she asks?

“I’m fine. Just awake. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“How could you not,” she replied with a lilt in her voice?

Out on the balcony, the courtyard is bathed in moonglow. The flowers take on an eerie appearance as if they were turning neon. The courtyard looks like a photo negative. The eastern skyline has hints of the coming dawn and hosts large cumulous clouds lit up by the moon. They will storm down somewhere today.

Back in the room and dressing, I said, “I’ll go to the cafe and get some coffee. I’ll be an hour or so. You want some beignets? I’ll bring them back fresh.”

“No thanks. They are too much of a good thing. Coffee will be fine, though.”

”Okay. Back soon.”

Down on the street, still dark, it’s wet and clean looking, reflecting streetlamps and neon signs.

The marketplace is readying itself for the day. It is a swarm of activity as venders unload their goods and set up their booths. It is a well-choreographed dance they do twice daily rain or shine. Most are set up under the sprawling roof, open on the sides.

Jackson Square is similarly abuzz. Who would think these artists would be up so early, but it is the peak time for summer tourists.

Crossing Decatur Street, I get my coffee, go through Riverfront Park, cross the tracks, mount the levee steps, and just over the top, I sit down.

My view across the river is to Algiers Point. All ship traffic have another busy, tight turn on the river. There are many. The traffic can spread out with distance once away from the city.

The sun will rise soon.

I take in the view I remember since childhood and feel fresh and new. I wonder what happened to my childhood friends.

It’s humid, as always. It will be hot today, nothing new to that.

A sweet smell is in the air, mingling with those of the river. At times, even a hundred miles from the Gulf, the tide effects the river. You can smell the salt water.

The sun rises, a pinkish red-orange ball, its rays reflecting off the river at Algiers Point.

I take it all in and in a few minutes, I’m full. I got my fill. It’s my fix.

I reversed my steps to the Cafe, got two large cups of their mixed blend chicory coffee, and headed back to the house.

Diana, wearing shorts and a halter; the embodiment of looks and southern charm, was in the courtyard setting the table for breakfast.

“Alex, you just got a text message and a phone call. You really should take that cell with you.”

“I know.”

“It’s here on the table.”

He set the coffee down and checked his messages.

A quick read and a short conversation later, Alex said, “It’s HQ. I’ve got a job relieving a pilot up in Vicksburg. He’s got an emergency at home. I’ll go asap. The barge is at a standstill till I get there. It can’t go till both a Captain and a pilot are on board.

“It’ll look good on my record. Can’t hurt my application and testing for Captain.”

I’ll rent a car to get up there and the pilot I’m relieving will have transportation home. The usual procedure.

“I’ll be gone three days.”

“Ok. That’s better than your four-week shifts.”

“Yes, that’s true. I do get four weeks off, though, between shifts. We just got back from riding all over the Southwest. That was your first time out there. We’re going to Duluth soon. I’ve never been there. You neither.

“And my regular shift is still a week away after I get back.”

“I know. I so hate it when you go.”

“Me, too, Baby. I miss you when I’m gone.”

“I’ll be a few minutes with breakfast. Go ahead and sit down to coffee. Doesn’t the garden look nice?”

The smell of Jasmine filled the air.

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