HOME: the place in which one's domestic affections are centered.
I'm sure at some point in everyone's life a significant other has broached the subject of having “the conversation.” It can be a conversation about just about anything, but when you hear, “We need to talk” - you know it's going to be a tough conversation.
Our conversation was to take place while Rich, my long distance boyfriend was home from Seattle for Christmas. But Rich's conversation was foiled when a very dear friend of mine, Joey Bonhage, became very ill prior to Rich returning home. My holiday was spent in the hospital, culminating with my dear friend passing on Christmas day and me doing a second line in my kitchen to “I'll Fly Away.” Needless to say, when Rich got on the plane to Seattle he tagged me with, “You need to think about moving to Seattle.” When we finally had “the conversation,” I told him, bottom line, “I do not need to move to Seattle, since New Orleans is my home and will be for the rest of my life.”
I then reminded him of ALL our previous conversations...I grew up moving from place to place due to lack of money and then due to a father with relationship issues with not only his children, but his many wives. I have moved roughly 33 times in my life...and when I moved to New Orleans, I knew this was home.
Rich, however, is a serial mover - Detroit to San Jose, to New Orleans, to New York , back to New Orleans for six months, to Los Angeles, to San Francisco, to San Jose, to Seattle - 9 times in 15 or so years. He'll dump everything he owns (except clothes and computer) and leave. He doesn't like to be “known” in his place of residence? Therefore, no place is home. But for me nothing makes me happier than running into friends, customers and acquaintances at any given moment. It's the most happy and lovely experience to see the smiling face of someone you know.
When I moved here - my entire family thought I was crazy. I had been working in the high tech industry in Michigan and California for over 20 years. I was leaving a $70,000 a year job to move to a city I had visited once on vacation...to become a bookseller and to write. I sent my resume' to every book store in the city, every one giving me the same comment...”You're really over qualified.” I knew this, but working in a book store was a dream I've had since I was 8-years-old. And I could no longer fathom driving over an hour to work on a two-lane curved mountain highway bumper-to-bumper at 70 miles-per- hour, for remainder of my life, doing a job that seemed meaningless. Ultimately I was hired by, I think, the best book store in the city, Garden District Book Shop. My family didn't think I'd be able to live on the money I was making, and quite honestly, it has been a struggle.
But, nowhere I've ever been celebrates life and community like New Orleans. Nowhere have I met people, that no matter their circumstances will do whatever they can to help you. There are more musicians, artists, chefs, and writers that call this city home, than is imaginable. I read once: “Stay away from stingy people, they have small souls.” With New Orleanians, there's not a small soul among them. For instance, my friend, Lucy – a lovely woman who could be my mother, became my friend in the usual way – in my line of work. I'm a bookseller and she, my customer. Over the many years that I've known her she took notice that I loved vintage jewelry and clothing. One day she invited me to visit, she told me she had some vintage clothing her aunt had made in New York in the 40s. Lucy thought they might fit me. So I spent some time visiting and then she brought out a couple stunning pieces of clothing and presented them to me. One of them being a black wool crepe sequined jacket with scalloped sleeves and front. The sequins are so intricate and beautiful it looks as if the flowers are painted on the jacket. Various colors of rose, pink, taupe, and green are gently sewn to the front and sleeves of the jacket, making it look as if a garden was gently laid upon your shoulder. When I think of the jacket I smile. When I wear the jacket, Lucy's face and incredible thoughtfulness are never far from my thoughts.
With never a lack of things to do, you can live here and be happy at home, but just in case there are: farmers markets, the Saints, art festivals, art markets, galleries, numerous literary events, innumerable book fairs, jazz funerals, second lines, Mardi Gras, Jazz Fest, and many more music festivals, etc. I know that I've left out many events ...that could easily be an essay in itself. But, you name it and we celebrate it, and with more heart and soul than any place I've ever been.
And apparently I'm not completely off my rocker in making this my home and my muse...this is evidenced by the incredible amount of people I've met - that after volunteering in the city after Hurricane Katrina, packed up and moved here. Changing their lives immeasurably for the good in ways people living elsewhere could never imagine.
New Orleans is my muse. The food is my sustenance. I have experienced great authors, great people, great book shop, a great community. I dream of galleries covered in kudzu and I see this dream daily. I imagine trumpets and trombones playing music that lifts the soul and walk down the street or go to the park to hear this with my own ears. I write stories of people dancing down the street and jump outside at the sound of music to dance along with them in a second line. To celebrate life while, being my unadulterated self, is I believe the purpose of life.
New Orleans is not just a city, it's a community of wonderful people who will do whatever it takes to support their community and one another. So the people you see on the streetcar, driving down the road, walking their dogs, jogging in the neutral ground are not just people that live here, they are more than that – they're family. For instance, Claudia and Jim – family that invites you into their home for Thanksgiving and Sue – family that invites you over for Christmas dinner. And yet another that invites you to share their table at brunch. Sunday, I walked down St. Charles and decided I'd treat myself to brunch at the Columns Hotel on their wonderful porch. I asked the Maitre d' if I needed a reservation and his answer was, “You look like an angel, you would never need a reservation.” He asked if I was alone, and I said, “yes.” Immediately the three people at the table near us said, “Oh join us!” So I did! A beautiful golden-haired woman, name Kaylee and two handsome gentleman, Scott and Adam – offshore divers, all three and relatively new to the city. I spent a lovely morning with them at brunch and then wine tasting until early afternoon.
So yes, I've become a crazy cat lady of New Orleans and this is where I want to be. If my soul ever starts shrinking and I stop smiling at everyone I meet, I want the ghost of Mardi Gras past to smite me in my bed.
