Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans? #1

A year and some months ago, Jason's mom, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew vacationed in St. Pete, Florida. I was teaching, so I couldn't go, but Jason took off midweek and went to spend a few days with them on the sofabed in their resort room. While he was there, he and his mom went shopping for plants. Jas came back to New Orleans with a one-foot tall hibiscus plant.

When Katrina loomed, we took all the plants inside and assumed we'd be back in time to tend to them. Five weeks later, we returned to find most of the plants alive, but in bad shape. The hibiscus plant had lost all of her leaves. But we put her back outside and now she's a little leggy, but she's at least five feet tall (I know this because her topmost branches are about at the top of my head). More importantly, she has become a habitat, for lack of a better word.

It's only been in the past month or so that we've realized that our hibiscus has been the nightly resting place of a green anole. Of course we have no way of knowing if it is the same anole every night, but I think it's a safe bet. Last weekend we had a yard sale and spent the boring hours watching the anole molt and eat his own shed skin.

What's perhaps most remarkable about this lizard is that he moves to the hibiscus after dark and sleeps and almost cannot be awakened. Tonight we couldn't find him and Jason began picking dead leaves off of the branches of the hibiscus only to discover the anole cleverly camoflaged just under the leaves he removed. He's there right now, and I am tempted to test him by petting him, but I don't want to disturb him.

Like a chameleon, he can change colors-- from green to brown to almost blue. Tail included, he's about 8 inches long. He sleeps upside down and I can't understand why all his blood doesn't rush to his head. Jas and I have talked seriously about leaving the hibiscus behind when we move. If only we knew that the new apartment occupants would understand.

I will miss our green anole. All of them, the many dozens around our apartment. When we were evacuated, we talked about them all the time... what's happened to our lizards? We've not named this one, but pre-K there was a house gecko who spent many evenings in our apartment (so many that Jas once left out a Nyquil cap full of water for him) who we named Larry. We've seen "Larry" since Katrina, but never in the house.

I'll miss all these creatures. It's like the Discovery Channel around here sometimes.

T minus... eh, I don't do math

"Manic" is the best word to describe me these days. High highs and low lows. Kind of reminds me of those first few post-Katrina weeks-- except the lows were lower, and so were the highs. Every time I reach a low, I wallow a bit and then eventually pull myself out of it by saying, "You just have to get through these next few days."

I'm hoping my new home is big enough for me to retire in, hope I'll always be able to walk up those few front steps, because I don't think I have it in me to move ever again. (Eh, yes, I know what you're saying, "You're only 32, Chip. Stop being so melodramatic." And you're right. But still. Remember the last time you moved? How melodramatic were you?)

Still haven't gotten the final word on financing yet; although I'm preapproved there's still all these hoops to jump through and it's making me nuts. But the truck is rented for Wednesday, and we'll be on the road that evening, so either I'll have the keys and be moved in on Friday, or we'll be wandering around the midwest with a full truck and two cars. And a holiday weekend to contend with. Whose crazy idea was this? (Not mine.)

As soon I feel less panicky about the house and the financing, I'll post some more pictures of the house. In the meantime, keep your fingers crossed for me.

Getting closer...

Around a week ago, I got a call from a telemarketing survey. I was walking, at night, from my house to a bar, alone, and I decided, what the heck, it might make me feel safer to be talking to someone on my dark walk. The questions started out about auto insurance, but then, at the end, they switched to questions about my "quality of life." I was surprised how many of the questions geniunely upset me.

One of the questions was: "On a scale of one to five, one being 'doesn't describe me at all' and five being 'describes me exactly,' how would you rate this statement: 'I believe that if something bad can happen, it probably will.'" I think I lied to the lady when I said "Three." I think I'm more of a four or a five.

I bring this up only because I'm having a really tough time being excited about the fact that in just a little while I'll be a proud homeowner.

Betsey called me today to tell me that the seller accepted my offer and accepted the terms of the offer. He's in the process of making all the repairs that I've requested right now.

At every turn during this process, I've felt this awful mixture of thrill and dread. Dread when the inspector came, dread that he'd discover that the house was rotting, about to fall down. And after a two and a half hour inspection, thrill when he pronounced the house "In really good shape for a 100 year old house." Dread when Betsey told me I should make my offer contingent on the seller repairing some of the things that were wrong with this place. Increasing dread when it took the guy three whole days to decide. And thrill fifteen minutes ago when he agreed.

I guess I won't feel stable until the keys are in my hand and we're getting ready to slap some paint on the walls. (Okay, at this very minute I feel a little bit better. I just went to the listing online for the house and it says CONTRACT PENDING. That's nice.)

But here's a picture of my hopefully future Home Sweet Home. Pretty cute, huh?

Greetings from Louisville!

According to the city’s marketing campaign the correct pronunciation is officially “Looavul.” Just so you know. Funny to go from one city whose name’s pronunciation is up for debate (“Norlins” is my preferred pronunciation) to another. Back in the good old days I lived in places like Stonington and Tampa and New York City (although I suppose there are those who are “New Yawkers”).

Well, I think I’ve officially seen more than 50% of the touristy stuff in the city. Still haven’t been to Churchill Downs (not dressed for it—there are races today and, at least in Norlins, Sunday is dress-up day). Still haven’t been to the zoo.

Started the morning at an Irish Festival on the river. Fun, but it was cold and rainy and poorly attended. Plus they weren’t serving Guinness today or I was there too early for beer (is there such a thing?). Then I headed to the Muhammad Ali museum, which is SO impressive. A definite must-visit for anyone who visits me. Even if you’re not a fan of “The Greatest” (and I am), it’s worth it just to see what a really exquisite museum looks like. Dropped by the Louisville Slugger Museum (although I didn’t go in except to the gift store). Then to the Arts & Crafts museum, which I did fairly superficially. Then I drove up to 4th Street Live, which is a couple of downtown blocks dedicated to bars and restaurants and clubs. It’s like… hm, I’m struggling for a comparison. Like Disney’s Pleasure Island although not as diverse? Sort of. Mostly chain places like the Hard Rock. But there are a couple cool “theme” places like a hip bowling alley and a really nice pool hall. Then I drove around and around and basically got lost a dozen times. And it’s only just now 5pm. Pretty full day.

On the house front—after all, that’s why I’m here—the big news is that I am not buying the house I came up here to buy. It was cute as heck and in a great neighborhood, but it was also really run down. As with a lot of houses from the turn of the century (last century) someone, at some point, decided to screw up a perfectly sweet Victorian. They dropped the ceiling, but with plaster, not tiling, and did a really shabby job of it. The walls were cracked and the floors were warped. Some of the ugly stuff was simple and cosmetic. Some of it was structural. I can handle the cosmetic stuff, but not the structural.

Anyway, Betsey, my real estate agent, had another house lined up for me, and as soon as I walked in the door, I knew I was home. Simply put, the house screams New Orleans. Depending on the room, the ceilings are (I’m guessing) 12 or 14’ high. Hardwood floors in every room. It’s another Victorian, but a different style. A side-hall shotgun. One story. And the backyard is almost twice the size of the house’s footprint. You could actually build a whole house and then some in the backyard. (My wheels are turning on that one!).

The inspection is tomorrow morning, so I don’t want to say any more about it until that’s done. But Jason was absolutely right, this is my neighborhood. Walking distance to just about everything I could possibly need. Parks and big trees. And when I swung by last night for another look my next door neighbor was watering her lawn listening to A Prairie Home Companion. My kind of folk.

Keep your fingers crossed.

Placed?

Tomorrow morning, I'm leaving on a last-minute trip to Louisville to look at a house. I won't say too much about it; I don't want to jinx it or get my hopes up too much. But Jason and his mom spent all day Wednesday looking at houses that I'd picked out from the internet, and the last house that they came to (after 11 others!) was, in both of their opinions, "it." At the very, very least they insist that they've found "my" neighborhood and this house is a really good deal.

So the wheels have been set in motion. Yesterday I submitted a low-ball offer contingent upon me seeing the house and approving.

This is far from a done deal, but as I said the wheels are turning. Will try to update this from Louisville if I have time. I'll be back in NOLA on Tuesday morning.

Nine Months Later: A Visit to the Municipal Yacht Harbor

I’ve yet to figure out how to properly caption photos in Blogger, so I’ll have to work this entry backwards. Hopefully, I’ll get this right.

Yesterday, Saturday, it was—as it has been for weeks—steamy hot (over 90) and sunny. I’m so tired of packing. At last count, I’ve got 40 boxes packed—and that’s not even half the house. Packrats, both of us. Revolting.

Anyway, after going to a streetfair that was too hot to enjoy, I decided that a “free” (minus gas costs) way of keeping busy and cool was to take a drive. I hadn’t been to the lake front since Katrina—again, it’s that fine line between needing to know and gawking that worries me.

As many of you know, when I was married, shortly before the divorce, Blake & I bought a sailboat. I barely made any use of it; we had some pretty awful pre-divorce moments aboard the boat (which I named “Sprezzatura”), and soon it became symbolic of everything that was wrong with the marriage. So despite the fact that I really loved the boat, I stayed away.
So Saturday, I took a field trip to the Municipal Yacht Harbor where we used to keep “Sprezzatura.” And below, if I do things right, you’ll see pictures of what’s left of that neighborhood.

At the entrance to the MYH, one of many sunken sailboats, completely submerged and unsalvaged. In order to get to the MYH, you have to drive around a park on a one-way street. At some places, the street was nearly impassable because of boats literally piled atop one another on the side of the road. As I drove in, I swore I would re-take the route on my way home and stop and take a picture. But when I left, I was too sad to double back.

This is the pier where we had our boat docked. Our boat was docked at the very end, in slip 33W, if I recall correctly. If you can see in the distance, I couldn’t make it to the end of the pier to see how our slip fared because there is a sailboat lying completely across the pier. The boat partially lodged on the pier in the foreground is the “Green With Envy.”

“The Green With Envy” mauled with gaping holes. A boat bumper, meant to protect the boat, lodged in a gash.

In the distance, boathouses—houses with boat slips for speedboats beneath them. Most were hollowed out by the storm, on the second story. There are some signs of rebuilding—maybe a half dozen or so showing work done. Most—there are probably (I’m guessing here) sixty—are still in ruins.

These next two pictures show where there used to stand three or four lakeside bars. Slightly cheesy beach bars like you’d find on the Florida coast. We’d been to Jaeger’s and the Dock on several occasions. It was a great place to watch the sunset and drink a beer. Nothing left but the pilings.

On the way back to the car, I shot this photo of a boat across the sidewalk. The sidewalk is around one story above the lake.