Brewing - a story of faith and New Orleans

The sky this morning is pale ocean blue - dull and thick with the water that lingers on the edge of a coastal storm. I made coffee last night, because I'm gross and like it room temperature and also like to grab it when I first wake up at dawn's early crack so I can coffee nap. Yes, this really works.

Hurricane Florence is pummeling the Carolinas; Abby the Cockatiel and I watched CBS coverage for a few hours yesterday. Most of the interviewed voices reiterated that they felt lucky and ready to get back to work; I heard someone say the one thing they would like donated is cleaning supplies. My heart gets happy to hear a pragmatic person speaking to the world.

I started watching a TV show called The First, starring Sean Penn (Abby didn't seem interested.) It's set in New Orleans, a city that will always hold a piece of my heart and soul. The city itself is a cliché for something that cannot be explained because it's incarnations deep. The home in the TV show probably belongs to someone who's getting paid to let it as a film set, and it is gorgeous.

One might wonder what possesses a person to invest so much into something that is clearly in danger from acts of God and Nature.

I lived in New Orleans and had two children at Charity Hospital. We didn't have much money, so my milieu was of the working people. The pay-check-to-paycheck people, the construction workers, restaurant hustlers. And hustlers. Most of the people I met were born there and would die there, and they knew all along they might die in a hurricane. We used to joke about prepping for the storm: put tape on your windows, crank up the barbecue and wait and see.

Sometimes the storm turns and hits someone else. Sometimes it's tired by the time it hits shore; it dumps buckets and lays down in your street, exhausted, slowly drifting back the few inches to sea-level. Hurricane Season comes every year like a poorly-wound clock.  You know it's going to happen, so you get as ready as you can and then you live your life. You have to remember to live, because homeostasis requires it. While you wait for the next hurricane, it's best to make food and music. Make your life a piece of art.

We know we're going back to the mud. But still, we live.

Spend a minute thinking about dumping your soul into the most beautiful thing you can create with your hands, knowing that it may be washed away, obliterated by things beyond your control. But loving enough to do it anyway.

Bring the storm.

All these photos are taken by me in the French Quarter. 

There's so much happening in this picture.

I gave her a dollar.



Graffiti is the true story of the city

The mother lode... :)

King Alexander is shopping for hats.

Not sure whether he's a pirate, or looking for one.
These shiny, oddly-lit streets are the way I remember NO.


Comments

  1. It was 99. Selfishly, I'm glad that you met me later for the first time, after my metamorphosis. That Lounger Meet was a lot of fun. I made my first journal entries in the funny looking ledger I've recorded important information in for the last 20 years, haphazardly, no dates, just where ever there was a spot. And I met some amazing people, none of whom would recognize me now.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. <3 It was SO important to meet you, and probably important to meet you exactly when I did. I suspect we'll find out later some time.

      Delete

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