Good-byes are hard for me and this one stings. I hope it’s only a see-you-later.
To back up a bit: on Monday we breakfasted at Elizabeth’s with a trio of determined bees that we temporarily housed in upturned water glasses, then drove out to Whitney Plantation. This is the rare plantation that tells its story from the perspective of its enslaved inhabitants, which is powerful and grim. I can only imagine the futile loneliness of living in the middle of the swamps. Dinner was at the Sneaky Pickle, buffalo cauliflower wraps and delicious fries and lovingly-prepared cocktails.
Tuesday was predicted to be stormy, an unsettled day of tentative walks and random meet-ups, card games, charging up phones, and waiting. When the afternoon storms fizzled, we walked to Frenchmen Street but nearly every venue was preemptively closed. Overnight, around four a.m., thunderstorms raged, with lightning so bright I couldn’t sleep.
Wednesday saw the departure of the Christmas Day arrivals. They came by with wine, leftovers and a palpable air of relief. We cleaned, packed and worked, and headed out in the evening to the Blue Nile to hear the New Breed Brass Band, and a glimpse of Kid Merv across the street. I felt happy watching these talented young players tear it up on their brass, and also deeply sad to be leaving.
Thursday dawned hot and sunny, and we ate leftovers, went for farewell walks, and eventually hopped in a Lyft driven by a talkative Cajun and headed to the airport.
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Arrival on the west coast has been complicated. Illness, bad feelings from a landlord, rain, confusion. I’m trying to remain calm and focused but my stomach is in an uproar. Today, laying low, a few errands, a distant hello at ETG, and now writing.
C’est tout.
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