some things never change

Flowers and a Toast in memory of Katrina

Today I left some flowers on our memorial tree for all the people who lost loved ones two years ago today. I lit a candle and remembered the dayh when Katrina blew through the southeast and drowned New Orleans in its wake Mr. dd and I spent many sleepless nights worrying about our friends and family. More than one week later we were very blessed to learn that my sister saved a woman's life and was living in a shelter. In the meantime my parents had been near hysteria and drove down to the coast to look for her. It was complicated because both of them are handicapped snf my mother lived in Gulfport for maybe 20 years... so she was devastated by what she saw. They convinced the security to let them pass onto Hwy 90. My father said that nothing could compare to the things they witnessed and that he hoped he never had to see such things ever again. He said that television and photography could never convey the impact Katrina had on the region. The smell of death hung in the air accompanied by tons of debris hanging in what was left of the live oaks that shelter this distinctive environment most of the time.

The tree I leave flowers on is a Weeping Pussy Willow. It was planted to remember someone we lost not so long ago. Life goes on but it looks and feels different, forever more. True loss is never found.

The rest of this nation has stumbled past Katrina's horrors in a sedated haze of cable tv and easy credit. Katrina was a wake up call. A lot of people heard it and many of them chose to hit snooze. The difference is the rest of the world is watching us snooze via satellite. Any doubts they may have had about our nation are now confirmed. Are we becoming the nation that care forgot?

New Orleans will persist because it is and always will be the city that care forgot. People have always been attracted to the culture of New Orleans because its natives live for those moments of bliss,vlove and the grandueur and beauty that life can reveal...with a passion that often transcends reason. The sublime and the decadent hand in hand... not something common in most American cities.

When I worked at a Kinko's uptown (once a Hibernia Bank, now a Rue de la Course coffee shop) we used to call NOLA a Back Water Banana Republic. Our staff was full of over educated word processors and paper collators... who were gay, straight, butch, punk, transgenger, rock-a-billy, arty boho and more. I loved playing with the copy machines, making one ten cent copy for blue haired ladies on April 15 and spending the month of May explaining to Garden District Debs that we can't get the engraved effect of a wedding invitation with a xerox machine- regardless of the brand or model.

Even then, I knew. We spent labor day weekend in 1984 or 85 taping up our windows while waiting for a hurricane. We drove through the eye of the storm looking for my Mother who was living in Gulfport. She was staying in a three story brick house on the beach that had survived Camille.

Elena and Gloria blew past New Orleans that year. The Gulf Coast toasted their good fortune and we all moved on. I've always told my friends who expressed interest in New Orleans that if they wanted to go they better go soon since one day it would be America's version of Venice. I wish. Instead it is America's version of an urban landfill... full of people, places and things of the nation that care forgot.

The house my Mother stayed in during many Hurricanes didn't make it through Katrina.
In its place she left a casino barge. I hope no one was in the house when it rolled in with the tide.

bliss

M and L tied the knot a week ago. M is a remarkable woman and an equally remarkable friend. Mr. dd and I are so happy for them. We had a phenomenal time in at their wedding. It was part Godfather, Sopranos and Sex and the City. I guess M was most like Charlotte. A real romantic in search of an honorable man. She certainly dated more than her share of charming scoundrels. I've been there. Its fun while its fun and then its not. My sister is still in charming scoundrel mode though I fail to see the charms of her current scoundrel.

M and her maid of honor arranged all of the roses above and moved from the rehearsal dinner to the reception. She's my kind of princess. Ready to get her hands dirty doing whatever it takes to do the right thing for the right people so she can prioritize her resources. We admire her and love her and wish them both the greatest happiness.

the art of life

Mr dd and I dashed around NOLA today trying to see what we needed to see and still have time to dress, have a drink and meet some locals prior to le grand nuit. We walked across the Quarter to Canal, headed for the museums and galleries in the warehouse district. Enroute we encounted a woman who would pay us 70 bucks to spend two hours at a time share presentation - seventy bucks plus free admission to the musems we were headed for. It was tempting simply to see the inside of a condo/time share near Decatur and Canal... and it would pay for our parking.... BUT, we declined. I didn't want to miss out on most of the galleries this visit and one thing I've learned is that at some point either you make a choice or decide not to make a choice and that no one gets it all all the time. anyway....

I focused on galleries today since I know they'll all be closed tomorrow. Arthur Roger, et al. It was fun. Mr dd went to the Civil War Museum and loved it. My favorite show was at Bienvue Gallery. Raine Bedsole had a terrific series of mixed media paintings and sculpture.

rehearsal for life

Auspicious February

Last night Mr. Beloved and I nearly missed the PBS American Experience focus on New Orleans due to a review I read in the NYT: "City of Feel-Good Music and Feel-Bad History" By NEIL GENZLINGER. I am relieved we gave it a chance since it was very enlightening and I KNOW more about NOLA than most folks.

It's very obvious to me that Mr. G just doesn't get IT. Last night I realized that most Americans don't and perhaps IT's a place ya just have to live in to get tho that wasn't a requirement for moi. My first real New Awlin's experience was when I was a sophomore in college. I'd made some friends from the Gulf Coast who were planning to drive down for the ruckus of Mardi Gras. I was game. We left the Thurs or Fri prior to Fat Tues... I think. Its funny... I don't even remember who I rode down there with... nothing about the drive or where we stayed. Maybe with someone's parents someplace in the suburbs that first night. I wore my first pair of pointy cowboy boots... they weren't premium, since I was on an art school budget. That was a mistake.

I remember painting faces and taking photos of Lucy and Brian playing their juice harps by the light of the street lamp on Jackson Square. I remember painting faces on Bourbon Street with a little wooden sign Brian had made saying "Face Paints While U Wait." I'd use one hand to prop a slightly tipsy person against a wall so I could paint their face and they would hold their drink in one hand and the paint water in the other. It was interesting watching how often they would mistake the paint water for their Hurricane as the night wore on. I had NO MONEY. I took 20 dollars with me and if I didn't get tips from the face painting I probably would have eaten saltines from the salad bar all weekend... and I certainly didn't have money for drinking. When one is completely sober in the Zeitgeist of New Orleans during Carnival it is a true circus. We went to the Cafe du Monde. I had my first cafe au lait and beinets. I ran into people I hadn't seen in years. I felt like I was in the place I needed to be maybe for the first time in my life.

That night I wound up crashing with Jeff and Adele (an Egyptian scientist with three masters degrees and workin on a Phd who was flippin pancakes at the waffle house because he didn't have a green card) Don't ask me how we found these guys in a city crammed with revelers since I'll never know. Cell phones weren't even on the horizon back then. I didn't have any friends in NOLA at the time and barely knew most of the the people I was traveling with... we were all studying poetry or science or social work or fine art at a southern university about 5 hours north of NOLA... like minded souls in a land of southern belles, jocks, rednecks and good ole boys. Fraternities and Sororities tried to run things in those days but we did a pretty good job of giving them a run for their money.

That night poet Jeff drove us to his friends' apt and parked in the parking garage. I think we were in a Colt or some other small hatchback of the late 70's vintage. His friends never came home. We tried to sleep in the Colt. My legs were cramping from the walking, the boots, maybe from growing out of my tight levi's, from drinking bourbon...maybe from all those reasons. (Bourbon always gave me leg cramps. I don't drink it today... every)

I was 19 years old, almost 20. Adele and Jeff were so sweet. Neither of them ever made a move on me though I had a slight crush on Jeff and Adele had a slight crush on me. Those were the days when bohemia was full of kindness and people were just sweet... (what happened?)

That car, though. It was a disaster on wheels. Early in the morning after Fat Tuesday many of us (MSU bohos) were crammed in the same car and passing over the Lake Ponchatrain Bridge. The car died. There are 7 or 9 people crammed in this COLT and it is shaking as semi s roll past us. I have to admit, it was a little scary. Just like in a sweet fable, some Jed Clampet-like family with an open truck stopped on the bridge and let us all cram into the back of their truck. We were in face paint and costume and must have been quite something to see. The most amazing thing is they used what they had: jumper cables!!! - to attach the two cars and tow Jeff's Colt to the other side of the bridge.

We poured out of the truck at some fast food joint on the other side of the bridge and everyone SOSed their connections from a payphone for help. I had one phone number with me - my mother's old college roomate and her family. They lived on that side of the lake. They had visited us when I was kid and gave us our first Siamese Cat, Pepper. I hadn't seen the Rusts since I was a kid. I called them out of the blue. They came to the rescue, picking up me with Jeff and Adele and towed Jeff's car to their home.

(At this point - its Wednesday - I've missed three days of classes back at old Moo U...) They let us shower (encouraged us, I'm sure!), fed us and put us up for the night. In the meantime, their daughter's boyfriend proceeded to repair the car. I think it may have cost 35 dollars in parts. I never knew if Jeff had the money to pay him or not. We took off on Thurs or Fri. I missed a week of classes but found my muse for many years to come during that auspicious week.

New Orleans showed me what was possible when one lives in a place where "do what thou wilt" is laizze faire. No one judges as long as you aren't hurtin anybody. The most memorable Mardi Gras costume I saw that year (1980) was a young man dressed as Peter Pan. He was struttin past St. Louis Square with nothin on but a pot hangin from his waist over his peter. On the back of the pan was scrawled in black marker "Peter Pan". He was wearing high tops and nothin else. It was a mild, sunny Mardi Gras that year.... or this guy woulda been way ahead of the season!

When I reorganize my office I'll hope I can come up with some images of that time. It was pure magic for me. A much better education than anything I would have learned in class that week.

Only in Virginia

Sigh. The Treme Brass Performs at the National Folk Festival. The Treme Brass Band wanders through the crowd trying to inspire a second line in the NOLA tradition. Please note the confused music lovers wondering why the band has left the stage and is parading through the crowd. "Are they finished," one person asks? Um, its times like these....

Around the World and Back Again

I've been inspired to write a great deal over the past two and half months... but time was of the essence and there were few moments to sit and write much more than short emails in response to the people in my life. My photographic record and correspondence of my time away from home and blog exists so I hope to post a record of this time away during the next few weeks while the memory is still accessible... before the cloud of business and committments overwhelmes me.

It was hard, very hard coming home... even though I missed Mr. DD and my cats, family, friends, etc. Kathryn came to visit in March and told another friend here at home that I was so different in Paris... so relaxed. My monkeys were on hanging on my back there just as they are here - but for some reason they aren't the same burden there that they seem to be here. I felt more comfortable in my own skin... perhaps because what artists do is of significant value there and here, well, art's importance is rather dubious in our culture at large.

Still, it is good to be home. It was a productive, beautiful time which I'll be recording over the next few weeks so please scroll back and respond to anything that seems relevant. I am going to try and set up a blog roll so if you see that link and sign up for it then any updates would be emailed to you. I don't mind working backwards. Its my nature. I am very dyslexic and ambidextrous and can write as well backwards as forwards with either or both hands. Working backwards and parallel parking are just my nature. Its too bad these skills aren't something one can pad their resume with.

The day after I returned Mr. DD and I left for an annual reunion with friends and family at a bluegrass festival in NC. We drove south from there to visit with my grandmother and wound up in New Orleans in time for the last weekend of the Jazz Fest. It was my first time visiting friends and family since Katrina. The spirit of the people and their hope for recovery was very inspiring. The artists I know are working harder than they've ever worked and making progress - and others, friends and neighbors of my friends are losing all hope and committing suicide. They say there is a lot of post traumatic stress evident. Erratic driving, horrible traffic with tragic accidents, couples shooting each other and themselves. It takes a strong soul with a long term vision to see past the mess down there. People can still count their blessings... which confounds me... and inspires me.

Before leaving Paris I was worried that I had bitten off more than I could chew with the southern excursion tacked onto my return home. After four months away could it be the best thing to do? It was! Mr. DD and I had many wonderful hours talking in the car and we were both so happy to reconnect with our friends who have endured so much since Aug 31, 2005.

I've posted some images of our road trip... since I think these images communicate more than I possibly could.

my favorite rhythm section....

The Archbishop of Lowdown,
the spokesperson for the Storyville Stompers
remarked during the set at the Lagniappe Stage
the second Saturday of Jazzfest:

"It could be argued that the difference
between N'awlins and the rest of the Universe is the rhythm section."

Never said better.