Two Saturdays ago, James and I scurried into a cab at 4:30am and headed off to the airport. Along, the way, I was surprised to see the city alive with Friday night party-goers beginning to head home. We were leaving as Mardi Gras weekend was just getting rolling.
We arrived in DC a few hours later, and were repeatedly struck by the tidiness of the streets and metro, the reserve of those passing by, the complete organization of a city in which every aspect seems managed, and by the countless mailboxes - there must have been one on every corner.
We spent four days in a city that functions by creating a system for everything. Step on to the metro in the 10 seconds that the door is open - open your bag for a routine search when entering the capitol - leave your backbag and coat with the coatcheck guard at the museum. We were herded through each experience and we, like cattle,we did not disobey. We stood in in line, handed over our belongings, and did so with little disruption.
James and I parted ways on Wednesday, he returning to NOLA, I continuing on to Charlotte to visit my family. Ove the next four days, I drove from Rock Hill, SC where my mother lives to Kannapolis, NC where my sister lives - along with hundreds of thousands of other folks who call themselves Charlotteans, but live not at all in Charlotte, NC. Charlotte is the central point, where the jobs are, where the restaurants are, and where most people I know now refuse to live.
While in Kannapolis, I was a 'guest speaker' for my niece's 1st grade class. The topic was wind and hurricanes, and it was my job to talk about my experience with hurricanes and to answer questions. Besides the inevitable "How many dead people did you see during the hurricane?" and "Did your house blow down?" - the questions were sweet and innocent, as were the kids. They stretched their arms high above their heads and their eyes pleaded for me to pick them, but they did not speak out of turn. They sat in their spot on the floor until they were told to move to the next spot and they said please and thank you and smiled and laughed and talked to me and talked to each other. Their teacher(s) - there were three in one classroom, were attentive to their needs and respectful of them as individuals. The principal(s) - three for the school, each of whom I met later at an evening function, knew the kids and knew many of the parents and supported the teachers.
James picked me up at the airport yesterday morning, and as we drove from Kenner into NOLA, I couldn't help but notice with fresh eyes - the brokenness of the city. The buildings in disrepair that we passed - one after another after another. The abandoned houses, the trash in the streets, the ever bumpy roads.
The day was sunny, so after arriving home we took a walk to St. Charles, which was a major parade route for Mardi Gras. Our neighbors smiled and waved at us as we walked along. We stopped often to look at the blooming azaleas and beads dangling from sycamores and oaks. As we turned from St. Charles to head down Philip back to our house - we heard a brass band. We turned to see a second line parade a few streets over wandering through the streets. Someone had died and loved ones were gathering together to send that person off New Orleans style.
