Over the River

Undoubtedly some of my family will be thinking: get over it. Lots of people move to New Orleans, and many of them live "across the river." Well, as true as that is, not a lot of them could be as enthusiastic about New Orleans as I am these days, or you couldn't get into the Dry Dock or any of the coffee shops in my neighborhood. As it is, one of the best kept secrets, as advertised on the Algiers Point website, could just b e the ambiance minus crowds that defines my neighborhood on the West Bank.

For now, I'm not put off by being "on the street" as describes the various doubles and singles, camelbacks and mini-mansions in most of New Orleans. My current, conservative, rather "upper" neighborhood in Baton Rouge politely looks the other way when I stumble out at 7:00 a.m. to retrieve the newspaper and/or walk the greyhound while arrayed as a sleepy, berobed, pre-coffee denizen of this private cul-de-sac. These folks are sipping coffee or readying children for school behind doors which are set back more than fifty landscaped feet from the street,until about 8:30, when cars begin backing into the street from hidden carports, and the yellow buses cruise the block in search of uniformed elementary kids. To retrieve the morning newspaper in "the Point" I will expose my "morning" persona to anyone and everyone on their way, driving or walking, to or from the ferry, the bridge, or a "late" evening. Oh well, maybe familiarity can breed other feelings than contempt. We'll know soon enough.

During every trip down my Baton Rouge driveway I think of the tradeoffs required when I surrender this very safe, very dull, always predictable life I have enjoyed (sometimes) here on Meadow Lea for the sometimes safe, seldom dull and never predictable residency on Pelican Avenue. Not since college days have I looked forward to each day with such an eagerness for the new and the untried. Not that I haven't been forced to endure the new and untried: the birth of each child writes a lifescript that one might have read about, but never imagined. One day struggling with sore breasts, the next day explaining, again, that "I'm really tired." No one could have prepared me for the soaring affection and exhilarating pride as each daughter stepped off the schoolbus after the first independent day at school. Of course, when I buried a young husband, the father of my children, myriad, unbid emotions and life experiences overtook my previously-known life.

These girls continue to inspire me with their intrepidity as they buy homes, bear children, seek education and stay on the very edge of forward social thought and custom. This boomer has no intention of "keeping up with the Cannon girls" as they experiment with all the age of generation X'rs has to offer; however, I WILL continue to take advantage of their experiences in worlds I have yet to conquer, including how to be Austin cool, grandchildren, and, of course, college life in the 21st century.