Life changed before my very eyes. My mother was devastated as she buried the love of her life. That was a year ago this last week. I wondered how I wanted to spend the day. Would I have a graveyard picnic? Would I hang around my mom for no apparent reason? What would I do? As the day began at midnight, the music of Cesora Evora streamed from my laptop while I danced. It was my decision to spend the day celebrating the life that my father had and the life that he now has; music, dance, and general merriment were all in order. However, I did not know if his widow would feel the same way. After my little dance party with my father that morning, I drove to a flower shop and spoke to the owner.
She made the most beautiful bouquet of lovely baby pink roses complete with Queen Anne’s Lace. Upon entering the house, my feet carried me to my father’s office where my mother had stashed herself going through papers. I entered with a big smile on my face and handed her the flowers. She was so happy that she jumped out of her chair and hugged me. She said that I knew how to make her day. I placed the roses in a giant vase and placed them in the living room. It soon crossed my mind that I could drive to South Miami and get Henna. It was a day of celebration and the lovely art would take it to the next level. I invited my mom and my English cousin to go with me. While my hand was painted, the ladies enjoyed a cup or two at the local Starbucks. Everyone was smiling as we walked through the streets littered with boutiques and eateries.
I received so many compliments on my hand that by Friday, I decided that the other hand should be painted too. It just so happened that the same artist would be present at the Wynwood ArtWalk. As the stage lit up with lights, she free handed a completely different design on my right hand. My family ate lamb while the art was executed. We soon crossed the street to gaze at the contemporary artwork in the galleries. The crowded streets soon proved to be too much, and my family bid me adieu.
The excitement of the crowd coupled with art and music felt decadent to me as my feet sauntered me down yet another pathway.
There were bracelets everywhere. All sorts of jewelry, clothing, art, bath salts. Business cards were exchanged in the hopes that people would attend future events. Just as the thought of my bed crossed my mind, a friend informed me of her presence on the scene. We walked through the galleries which had suddenly become night clubs with paintings, and admired the jewelry which was entirely too overpriced. The jazz trio was super cool in a back lot, and we talked about the finer things in life.