If not now, when?
Seems rather disorganized to simply pick up a blog where I left it a few months ago, but what else is there to do? It is appropriate, however, the the last entry was about the unprecedented Saints vs. Falcons game in September and here I am trying to get some work out of the way before today's game. (I've cleaned the kitchen, fed the critters and straightned the living room...this was the best delaying tactic I could come up with before hitting the work project!) I can't say it any better than Chris Rose, who has chronicled their march since that wonderful first game, so check him out if you h aven't kept up.
What a rain the past 24 hours! I sat some of the time on my back porch and tried to reflect on the past 16 months as the deluge washed the leaves from the roof, the doggie poop from sidewalks into the streets and generally accentuated any hint of a leak around the house (there are a couple). As I snuggled back into my damp chair, out of reach of all but the most emphatic sprays blowing through the screen, I felt again the sensation of being totally isolated on my little piece of the Point, tat-a-tat rain drilling the tin roof, and still practically in the lap of everyone in this wonderful city! Have no doubt whatsoever, readers, that the cry of a child, bark of a dog or stumbling of a hung-over passerby would resonate down the block, all of us hunkering down in such close proximity to our neighbors.
In calmer weather the steady, familiar parade of dog-walkers, ferry trippers, corner drinkers and dozens of people seeking the traffic court at the old Courthouse is interspersed with the unexpected, but not suprising, occasional wierdo (if that's ever applicable in New Orleans) in speedo tights at dawn, or Zu-Zu, the praline man on his bicycle, hawking homemade candy and sweet potato pies, or even a few stragglers from a cadre of Naval Reserve recruits half-heartedly keeping up with the sargeant chanting a cadence for a morning run.
This morning, clearing skies have brought out all the regulars: same dogs are exercising their walkers, lots of bicycles head to and from the ferry, the crows compete for the topmost perch on the neighbor's sycamore. Something about the rhythm of life here defies isolation of it's dwellers from passing humanity. I guess that's what keeps some people in this city, on both sides of the river: such interconnectedness contrasts with big-city lifestyles: here, you can stay out of the streets, but you can't keep the streets out of your life. That's where life happens around here - in the streets and in the alleys and on the corners.
Not much meat here: this morning the ship horns, ferry blasts, church bells and background chatter from passersby just prompted me to log in again and register satisfaction with the decision to plop down in a place where (Chris Rose's offering)the city's remaining residents try to "raise up a great city, a great region, from ruin, defy the odds and the naysayers (and the forgetters) and live life to its richest possibilities, which was always the best thing about New Orleans anyway." Hooray for the residents and visitors who, like Tinkerbell, still believe.
Bring on the Panthers!
What a rain the past 24 hours! I sat some of the time on my back porch and tried to reflect on the past 16 months as the deluge washed the leaves from the roof, the doggie poop from sidewalks into the streets and generally accentuated any hint of a leak around the house (there are a couple). As I snuggled back into my damp chair, out of reach of all but the most emphatic sprays blowing through the screen, I felt again the sensation of being totally isolated on my little piece of the Point, tat-a-tat rain drilling the tin roof, and still practically in the lap of everyone in this wonderful city! Have no doubt whatsoever, readers, that the cry of a child, bark of a dog or stumbling of a hung-over passerby would resonate down the block, all of us hunkering down in such close proximity to our neighbors.
In calmer weather the steady, familiar parade of dog-walkers, ferry trippers, corner drinkers and dozens of people seeking the traffic court at the old Courthouse is interspersed with the unexpected, but not suprising, occasional wierdo (if that's ever applicable in New Orleans) in speedo tights at dawn, or Zu-Zu, the praline man on his bicycle, hawking homemade candy and sweet potato pies, or even a few stragglers from a cadre of Naval Reserve recruits half-heartedly keeping up with the sargeant chanting a cadence for a morning run.
This morning, clearing skies have brought out all the regulars: same dogs are exercising their walkers, lots of bicycles head to and from the ferry, the crows compete for the topmost perch on the neighbor's sycamore. Something about the rhythm of life here defies isolation of it's dwellers from passing humanity. I guess that's what keeps some people in this city, on both sides of the river: such interconnectedness contrasts with big-city lifestyles: here, you can stay out of the streets, but you can't keep the streets out of your life. That's where life happens around here - in the streets and in the alleys and on the corners.
Not much meat here: this morning the ship horns, ferry blasts, church bells and background chatter from passersby just prompted me to log in again and register satisfaction with the decision to plop down in a place where (Chris Rose's offering)the city's remaining residents try to "raise up a great city, a great region, from ruin, defy the odds and the naysayers (and the forgetters) and live life to its richest possibilities, which was always the best thing about New Orleans anyway." Hooray for the residents and visitors who, like Tinkerbell, still believe.
Bring on the Panthers!
posted by Pelican Stories at 7:46 AM
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