Owning Ohio
I’ve been quiet lately. And anyone who knows me, knows that quiet = bad. By the time I left for Thanksgiving, I was totally scraping the bottom of the hope barrel. It’s an amazing thing, depression. Haven’t really ever experienced anything like it before. Normally, I’m of the “snap out of it” school of thought when it comes to setbacks. Nowadays when I hear people (Jas, mostly) say that “happiness is a choice,” I want to throttle them. It’s not that I don’t know that they’re (he’s) right. It’s just felt as though that choice has been so very hard to make these days.
This weekend, we went down to the Quarter for the first time since we’ve been back. I know that sounds hard to believe, but I just wasn’t all that interested. And, I’ve had this misconception—as I am sure you have, too—that the Quarter was pretty much “business as usual.” And I just wasn’t ready for “business as usual.”
I was very wrong.
There’s nothing normal about the French Quarter. And it was wonderful and sad and beautiful and eerie.
We arrived around 5pm just in time to park (PARK!! IN the French Quarter! For Free?!), take a wander through the French Quarter Flea Market (the Farmer’s Market was dark and empty), and then stumble across a gospel concert by Shades of Praise being held in the neutral ground (median strip, for non NOLA-speakers) underneath the giant gold statue of Joan of Arc. And while everyone in the audience was lifting up their voices to the Lord, I started to cry.
Jas didn’t mention it til later. When he asked me over a beer at Molly’s by Bourbon Street why I’d cried at the gospel concert, I told him that gospel music always makes me cry, even on a good day. I tried to explain more—that it was just this precious, gorgeous moment—that it was a heart-wrenching and pathetic feeling—that it was an enormous gesture… but I couldn’t really find the words. And I still can’t.
The Pontalba shops had a Christmas stroll with plenty of liquor and cookies. We made mental Christmas lists (for others) and planned to return next weekend to shop. We’ve both sworn to buy only NOLA goods as presents this year.
We went into Johnny White’s the FQ bar that was on the news constantly as the only bar in NOLA that stayed open throughout the hurricane and evacuation (simple excuse: no locks on the doors—it’s always been a 24hr establishment). The bartender told us that the bar’s become a total tourist trap now with the notoriety.
Ended up at Flanagan’s—one of our normal hangouts. Cheap drinks, local color, good jukebox.
But so quiet. So nice to share the Quarter with locals. So sad to see nothing like business as usual.
The only sign of normalcy? The Jesus Freaks picketing Bourbon Street with signs proclaiming that all gays are going to hell. Nice to know they’ve crawled out of whatever hole they call home and graced us with their… grace?
I’m slowly making some progress on my plans for the next few months. None of my options are ideal, but I know now that the best thing that I can do for myself is to make a decision and make the very best of it.
I did have one realization that was very hard to come to. I realized that the thought of leaving New Orleans—no matter how appealing on so many levels—was the source of so much of my sadness. This is not to say that I’m here for good or that I don’t have some irons in the fire elsewhere. It is very likely that I will be leaving New Orleans sooner rather than later. But I’ve shifted my focus from leaving to staying. At least for now.
It’s been over a quarter of a year since Katrina hit. Feeling like I had to leave has felt like punishment.
I return again and again to the quote from Lafcadio Hern in my October 26th post: ... it is better to live here in sackcloth and ashes, than to own the whole state of Ohio.
Not that owning Ohio was ever an option.
This weekend, we went down to the Quarter for the first time since we’ve been back. I know that sounds hard to believe, but I just wasn’t all that interested. And, I’ve had this misconception—as I am sure you have, too—that the Quarter was pretty much “business as usual.” And I just wasn’t ready for “business as usual.”
I was very wrong.
There’s nothing normal about the French Quarter. And it was wonderful and sad and beautiful and eerie.
We arrived around 5pm just in time to park (PARK!! IN the French Quarter! For Free?!), take a wander through the French Quarter Flea Market (the Farmer’s Market was dark and empty), and then stumble across a gospel concert by Shades of Praise being held in the neutral ground (median strip, for non NOLA-speakers) underneath the giant gold statue of Joan of Arc. And while everyone in the audience was lifting up their voices to the Lord, I started to cry.
Jas didn’t mention it til later. When he asked me over a beer at Molly’s by Bourbon Street why I’d cried at the gospel concert, I told him that gospel music always makes me cry, even on a good day. I tried to explain more—that it was just this precious, gorgeous moment—that it was a heart-wrenching and pathetic feeling—that it was an enormous gesture… but I couldn’t really find the words. And I still can’t.
The Pontalba shops had a Christmas stroll with plenty of liquor and cookies. We made mental Christmas lists (for others) and planned to return next weekend to shop. We’ve both sworn to buy only NOLA goods as presents this year.
We went into Johnny White’s the FQ bar that was on the news constantly as the only bar in NOLA that stayed open throughout the hurricane and evacuation (simple excuse: no locks on the doors—it’s always been a 24hr establishment). The bartender told us that the bar’s become a total tourist trap now with the notoriety.
Ended up at Flanagan’s—one of our normal hangouts. Cheap drinks, local color, good jukebox.
But so quiet. So nice to share the Quarter with locals. So sad to see nothing like business as usual.
The only sign of normalcy? The Jesus Freaks picketing Bourbon Street with signs proclaiming that all gays are going to hell. Nice to know they’ve crawled out of whatever hole they call home and graced us with their… grace?
I’m slowly making some progress on my plans for the next few months. None of my options are ideal, but I know now that the best thing that I can do for myself is to make a decision and make the very best of it.
I did have one realization that was very hard to come to. I realized that the thought of leaving New Orleans—no matter how appealing on so many levels—was the source of so much of my sadness. This is not to say that I’m here for good or that I don’t have some irons in the fire elsewhere. It is very likely that I will be leaving New Orleans sooner rather than later. But I’ve shifted my focus from leaving to staying. At least for now.
It’s been over a quarter of a year since Katrina hit. Feeling like I had to leave has felt like punishment.
I return again and again to the quote from Lafcadio Hern in my October 26th post: ... it is better to live here in sackcloth and ashes, than to own the whole state of Ohio.
Not that owning Ohio was ever an option.
posted by M at 3:01 PM
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