patio time (theres a theme here)

Baldwin&Co

FrenchTruck

PeterNPaul

Rosalitas

StCoffee

week 12 and its cake every day

 

My sib and partner visited for five days and geez I’m tired!

They flew in Sunday on the heels of a drenching thunderstorm. I sloshed my way to the library and hopped the express bus to the airport. After dropping off luggage and a brief rest to charge phones, we got coffee at Bywater Bakery and rambled around town, visiting a vintage store and enjoying the post-storm afternoon. A stop at Mardi Gras Super Market netted beads, masks (including an exquisite rhinestone number) and a t-shirt. Dinner was Rosalita’s, then jazz in the FQ and on Frenchmen Street, ending with Treme Brass Band, all of us exhausted.

Monday, coffee and grits at St. Coffee. Everyone had work so we reconvened in the evening for Viet-Cajun cuisine at Bywater Brew Pub, including fried pickles and charred brussels, then over to the holiday market at Siberia (punk art!) and a thorough tour of Robert’s Grocery Store and all the Southern, Cajun, New Orleans special ingredients.

Tuesday we rambled in the increasing heat through the French Quarter in search of cake. Most bakeries were closed, so we made do at Cafe Beignet with their carrot cake, checked out the Backstreet Cultural Museum, tried in vain to buy vegetarian soul food (all venues were closed), then gave up and walked to the Quarter for Central Grocery muffaletta, another punk market, band-aids, and then to the museum for Da Truth Brass Band on the balcony. It was a pleasant evening with stiff drinks courtesy of Donny, an energetic brass band, and two young dancers who moved with joy. Then a quick trip to Goodwill, another vain search for veg-friendly soul food, and finally over to a chain for less than wonderful grits, mac-and-cheese and OK pecan pie.

Wednesday we noticed with the severe weather alerts, that schools were pre-emptively closing, then the museums. I walked my sib back to the Airbnb under lowering clouds and thickly humid heat with a stop for cake at the co-op. My landlord was frantic, insisting we not walk, giving me advice if there was a tornado. I got back home and settled in to watch a Christmas movie only to get an Imminent Danger alert around 3.45 to seek shelter. Shit. This was real. My sib was keeping an eye on the news and weather radar but I was too freaked out, so I followed orders and sheltered in the bathtub with a heavy quilt and some blankets and my charged-up phones. There was wind and drenching rain. The sky was dark, then lighter and green. It got loud, then quiet. Is this when to worry, I wondered. My sib called. There’s a tornado southeast and heading directly our way. Well fuck. We hung up. I pulled the comforter over my head and waited. My partner texted. A niece. A co-worker. By 4.30 the tornado had passed a few blocks to the east and I could finally step out of the tub but I was shaky. Was more coming? It rained hard for another hour. I watched the radar and the rest of my movie, fortified with whiskey egg nog. Later we had dinner at Cochon, my neighborhood empty and quiet, some fences blown over, the streets littered with palm tree branches and debris. Frenchmen Street was empty, all clubs except the Spotted Cat shuttered and dark. We browsed the bookstore and went home.

Blue skies Thursday, and cold. My family’s last day, so we hit the hot spots: Loretta’s for praline beignets, Bywater for chantilly cake, Elizabeth’s for fried green tomatoes and more charred brussels. Dr. Bob’s art estate, another vintage store, and then goodbyes. It was nice to have people here that know me. I say this to friends and they brush me off--well you meet people don’t you--but it’s not the same. Also, we lived through an ugly storm, huddled in our respective tubs, afraid and hoping for the best.

Today it’s back to work. I’ve got gifts to mail and Doreen Ketchens is playing tonight.

week 11 head down and werq

This is the week shit caught up with me.
Tired. Didn't feel great.
I went for some very long walks in the muggy mornings to sweat it out.
The panhandler outside District yelled at me when I didn't buy him donuts (the woman ahead of me in line
told me she'd gotten him coffee and 2 glazed).
I went to an art event but never found the person who invited me.
I bought a Creole cauliflower, creamy white with the most beautiful pale green leaves.
Croissant d'Or served up a rich slice of Italian cake.
I even had vegetarian poboys at Killer PoBoys.
Tomorrow family arrives and I'm excited.

week 10 a clarity

Up to double-digits now, and I’m both sad and eager. I’m enjoying my stay but I’m lonely. I miss people who love me and that I can be silly with. Talking to shopkeepers and co-working space people just isn’t the same.

Sunday last was more of the same tediousness but I was making progress so I got things going early on and walked up Esplanade in search of groceries and coffee on a cool, glorious morning. I don’t enjoy walking across four-lane highways and under interstates but otherwise it’s a pleasant walk. I found some mayhaw jelly (new to me and could be tarter but it’s good enough) and tried Cypress Cakes on my way back. Unfortunately the coffee was bitter and the pastries lackluster. A rare miss.

I reached out to my New Orleans acquaintance about meeting up but he never replied. However, a friend’s daughter was in town so we texted and agreed to meet up Monday. I took an afternoon break to walk through the JamNOLA Festival, then finished up work and headed home late.

Monday: nervous about letting my boss know the tedious project wasn’t quite finished, I was up early, got another batch going, and headed out in PNW-like fog for French Truck Coffee. It was a joy to see my friend’s daughter, who sounds like her Mom and patiently gave me an hour to hang out and talk. She isn’t a fan of New Orleans--it’s busy but slow, she said. As opposed to New York City, which is busy and fast. We also discussed how Southerners seem more closed off than Seattleites to adding new friends. I do wonder. (And the biscuit breakfast sammy from French Truck is surprisingly good: get the pimiento cheese, spicy and tangy, and don’t toss out the herbed strawberries.)

The day dragged as co-workers got snarly about some of their files and I had to stay late to work and then jump on a cousin Zoom and then a friend Zoom. I made it home by 9 pm, so tired I was in tears.

Tuesday I looked forward to ushering but that alas was canceled and my boss needed help with another tough project.

By Wednesday I was so tired it was all I could do to work and stagger home.

But Thursday! Most meetings canceled, I took a rare afternoon break and walked to Rouse’s, shot the shit with a guy complaining about cops rounding up homeless and vendors off Jackson Square to prepare for the Macrons’ visit, then strolled to Baldwin & Co to sit on the patio with hot tea and some reading.

Friday I took comp time and even though I felt headachey and sinus pressure, went for a long hike across town, checking out Honest Bakery (ok pastries, diffident service), and impulsively walking back through the Warehouse District. I stopped at Le Mieux Galleries and was amazed by the art (especially Kathryn Hunter’s witty embroidery).

On my way back along the river I walked through the shopping mall, gazed at the Mississippi, and lurked by Jackson Square hoping to see Macron and madame. A Dickie Brennan's waiter in sharp red lipstick poked her head out a French door. “What’s going on out here?” The French president, I said. She made a face--bah--and shut the door. This day I stopped at St. Coffee for more patio time, then Rosalita’s for a watermelon margarita.

By Saturday I felt better and got writing done before the big gala event. I got emotional walking there, with people in festive holiday headdresses and glittery clothes, hearing Vince Garibaldi playing, and literally no one I know to wander with. But, I went to my shift and worked for two hours, checking wristbands, giving directions, surviving one “don’t you know who I am,” and evicting one would-be party-crasher. I’m sure there were notables but I only recognized the football player guy from Southern Charm New Orleans. There were gowns and sequined coats, high heels and big hair, a seven-foot tall man in a kilt and top hat, two men in tuxes rolling a giant wooden cent around (“big money coming through!”), and of course jazz. A Spanish-themed quintet, a vibrant second line complete with Baby Dolls I’d met earlier, a free shot of whisky courtesy of a woman bartender I chatted up, plus an all-woman jazz band complete with washboard. Outside in the muggy night as tourists gawked and the beautiful people lounged and a horn played from the balcony, I felt a moment of gladness.

weeks 8 and 9

Let’s call week 8 a bye. I had business to take care of and it superseded everything else.

Week 9. A purportedly short week at work (3 days) with of course 5 days of meetings crammed in.

I took myself for long walks in the morning chill, stopping in at District Donuts for pumpkin cheesecake and lemon meringue donuts. On a whim I stopped by Loretta’s even though the website said they were closed, and a sidewalk sign out front proclaimed “Yes we’re open!” So I popped in for a pecan tartlet and a pumpkin tartlet.

Tuesday ran long so I took a quick break to call a friend, walk to Frenchmen Street, grab an Abita at the Spotted Cat, and hear a band play “St. James Infirmary.” It was 20 minutes but it was enough. I wanted to stay for Meschiya Lake and her band but I had a competing Zoom.

Wednesday work ran even longer (8am to 8pm) and when I took a break around 2pm to dash to the café around the corner for food, the café was closed, the streets clogged with camping chairs and families, and a brass band tootled on the corner in 70 degree warmth. Wonderful, but I was still hungry.

My Thanksgiving Day invitation evaporated and work remained horrific so I spent the holiday doing tedious, tedious tasks, but I have a lot of free time on my hands and hopefully the tediousness will pay off in the end. I cooked up some pasta with Cajun tomato sauce and vegetarian meatballs and a ton of Parmesan and after a family Zoom I settled in with tartlets and a nip of whiskey.

Friday I was signed up to volunteer for a couple of hours, but the venue was closed so I hopped back on the bus and went back to the tedious work.

Saturday:You guessed it. More tedious work! But I went for an early run before a storm rolls in, picked up Evan Williams nog and some breakfast and nearly got run down by a fleet of school buses. Walking back along Elysian I saw a girl in a spangled outfit. Then a marching band. And another. And horse trailers. It was the staging ground for the Bayou Classic. I watched for awhile as the bands tried to drown each other out, warming up, girls doing high kicks, parents and coaches looking stressed and excited. 3 cowboys rode up and down Elysian Fields as they waited. It was surreal and wonderful.

week 7: TCOB

After another no-internet weekend, getting back to work Monday felt almost like a relief. 

I said almost.

*
On my walk to the work space I pre-emptively grabbed 2 paperbacks from Little Libraries, then downloaded 6 books to Libby, and installed Hulu on my phone.
Just in case.
Monday and Tuesday were killer work days. Back to back meetings for 5 and 6 hours in a row, including one really stressful one where a co-worker lost their shit on me, telling me I have been going behind their back and undermining them for a long time now. I'd known things weren't perfect
but this was a blow. Shaken, I asked for time to reflect, and went to my next Zoom.
I didn't sleep much these two nights. Between ending my lease with the shitty landlord, and this interaction, I was feeling shaky.
During a brief break on Wednesday I ran over to the museum to see Charmaine Neville perform with her band. The room was packed so I had to sit in the lobby for a few minutes, waiting for people to leave. When I got the wave, I ran in. What an entertainer! She had the normally staid room doing
call-and-response, the piano player busted out an accordion, and by the end everyone was cheering and laughing. Her music truly restored me.
On Thursday I had a long talk with my supervisor about the co-worker situation. It went OK but I don't know what the outcome will be. My sibling advised documenting everything and going on record with HR. The internet was going down at the co-working space (of course!) so I packed up and got myself
over to the Sneaky Pickle for their tofu and buffalo cauliflower salad. The salad was good but the service was weird.
Friday, a day off for Veteran's Day! Both the New Orleanians I'd hoped to meet up with ghosted me, so I got myself up early, went over to the WWII Museum for a commemorative event, picked up takeout eggs, grits and a biscuit from Willa Jean, then jumped on a Zoom with a dear friend to catch up
for an hour. On my way back from Willa Jean I heard the silkiest clarinet of my life playing on Royal Street. I stopped to watch a 4-piece band playing on the corner outside Rouse's. The woman playing clarinet and singing was confident and just so so good. Doreen Ketchens. She's played the
Kennedy Center. Why she was outside a grocery store with a sousaphone player, a bassist and a drummer is anyone's guess but it was magical. Even the Rouse's security guard was dancing, his pistol banging against his thigh.

*
A quiet afternoon of cleaning, reading and writing, and preparing for what may be a tough week. Note to self, the Willa Jean's biscuit was not great. The grits though! And the coconut cake. Mmm.

week 6 setting myself free

It’s been a week of credits and debits, death marches and weird phone calls. And trying to let go.

Monday was Halloween, and the city was even more festive than usual. As I walked to my work space I passed an older man dressed as a wizard, carrying a sceptre topped with a skull. I’d hoped to have friends here to enjoy the holiday with but it was not to be, so I worked, walked the neighborhood checking out costumes and festivity, and then took myself home.

Tuesday: All Saint’s Day, and an unsettling one. I found out my landlord let himself into my house without permission (he insists it was a “miscommunication” but it cemented my feeling that it’s time to go, so I’m working on it). I started the day with a long run to check out a grocery store on Esplanade. Halfway there I came upon a car accident, two smashed, smoking vehicles, a trio of kids sitting on a curb shaken and crying, adults around making calls and looking anxious. I felt so helpless, bought juice at the store but by the time I made it back an ambulance was pulling away, and everyone had vanished.

Wednesday I volunteered at a local thrift store, took the bus both ways and hung up signs and cleaned and met some characters, including a Navy vet who proclaimed, “If you love New Orleans, New Orleans will love you back.” I hope so.

Thursday I had a rare quiet afternoon so I headed over to the New Orleans Jazz Museum, slipping in late and enjoying 30 minutes of a jazz pianist singing her heart out.

Friday -- knowing thunderstorms loomed on Saturday -- I took a long lunch break and hotfooted it to the Backstreet Cultural Museum, a compact but vibrant space in the Treme where the founder’s daughter gave a history of masking and Mardi Gras Indians. I lingered over the beautifully beaded creations, the photos of Allen Toussaint and Troy Andrews and Treme Brass Band members. Then picked up lunch from I-Tal Garden (a delicious mushroom po-boy and seasoned fries), walked through Congo Square where TanzaFest was setting up, and headed back to work.

Storms and wind moved in overnight Friday so Saturday is a writing day, coffee from the hipsters at Petite Clouet Cafe, hello to a new friend who teaches CPR, and settling in.