So, I got back to New Orleans yesterday. There weren’t any parades to herald my return. My house hadn’t been festooned with garlands, or even toilet paper. But the hounds were overjoyed to run in what’s left of the garden. I suppose that’s something.
Frankly, I hadn’t known what to expect. Despite my strong feelings for the city, what drew me back were the facts: I knew I wanted to continue living in New Orleans, I knew I’d been imposing on friends for many weeks, I knew my electricity was on and that water was drinkable, I knew my house wasn’t going to tidy itself. I added all those up, and logically it made sense to head home. I guess that’s how I make most decisions–I figure out what’s sensible and the emotional stuff usually follows.
Last night, the emotions followed. Like I said, my wi-fi at the house wasn’t working, so I schlepped my laptop to Mimi’s to check email over a beer or two. When I arrived, the place was mostly empty (it was around 5pm, and for some reason, they’d just opened the doors), but as the sun sank lower and lower into the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen, people began filtering in. I watched from the corner of my eye as friends who hadn’t seen one another in nearly two months hugged and kissed and asked the same set of questions again and again and again. There was a palpable feeling in the place, and the only word to describe it was giddiness. We were happy to see one another, happy to see the beginnings of normalcy, and most of all, happy to see a damn good beer menu.
Of course, being the good Jew-in-Training that I am, I couldn’t watch all the goings-on without feeling a twinge of guilt–survivor’s guilt, to be precise. I knew that while people in my neighborhood were all smiles and toasts, just ten blocks away, folks didn’t have such luxuries. And as much as I’d like to shut all that out of my mind and focus on me, me, me, it ain’t gonna happen. Not just yet. As my daddy might say–and often did, over the course of last weekend–we’ve all got a long row to hoe.
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