::holding::
Dear America,
I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana.
We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We're not much on formalities like that.
And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn't ask for this and neither did we, so we're just going to have to make the best of it.
First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.
We're a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don't cotton much to outside interference, but we're not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.
Just don't get carried away.
For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don't try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.
We're not going to listen. We're stubborn that way.
You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.
We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.
But we'll try not to judge you while we're in your town.
Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.
Often we don't make sense. You may wonder why, for instance - if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state - why in God's name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?
We can't really explain that. It is what it is.
You've probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.
The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.
We are what made this place a national treasure. We're good people. And don't be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.
When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.
But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something.
OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.
But what the hell.
And one more thing: In our part of the country, we're used to having visitors. It's our way of life.
So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.
That is our promise. That is our faith.
(Chris Rose for The Times-Picayune Chris Rose can be reached atnoroses@bellsouth.net.)
those aren't my words. but they are damn good words, so i wanted to share. they were written by the same journalist that decided to poke fun at the tarot card readers in jackson square in new orleans by wearing a black beret and sitting out there one day with a magic 8 ball and a book called "existentialism." he sat out in the square all day, making 5 whole dollars from unsuspecting tourists. it turned out to be one of the funniest articles i've ever read. chris rose knows and loves new orleans. enough said.
so i guess anyone who would be reading this right now - close friends, or the ones that stalk me on facebook - know that i'm not living in a castle in england. my life is officially on hold as i play the role of a displaced person. i woke up on the morning of august 30th in houston to 2 emails - one from my cousin who had ridden out hurricane katrina in our house telling us that she had to get out because of the rising water, another one from england telling me that they didn't expect my work permit to go through so don't even bother flying over. awesome, great britain, awesome. so no newcastle in warm pint glasses, no running around a castle in my socks, no seeing michael buble at the apollo in london, no fabulous accents, no flying to rome, ireland, france, china on a whim because i CAN. for about a week, i kept thinking that someone in their "home office" would pick up my application for a work permit, see that i'm from new orleans, and say "we need to get this lovely young lady OVER HERE NOW - GET HER A WORK PERMIT THIS INSTANT!" ah no such luck.maybe one day i'll get to do all those things as a temporary british citizen, but not right now.
the last two weeks have been a blur. the last thing i really remember was spending the night in baton rouge with the fantastic people i know there. (ironic, considering the amount of alcohol i drank that night in total). the next day, i woke up to 10 voicemails from my mom wanting me to get home before contraflow - the beginnings of the evacuation from new orleans. now i've found myself in fairhope, AL - via bunkie LA, alexandria LA, houston TX, pearl MS, and birmingham AL. separated from the only people who can really understand what it means to miss new orleans, and facing the end of life as we know it. dramatic, but true.
if i was to be uber-positive about all of this, it would be to say that i did get out of new orleans with a good portion of my stuff - because i really thought i'd be able to fly out of houston when we evacuated. i brought some great pictures - 204 outside of golden crust on the last day of classes, the group that came to mardi gras this year at pat o's (real women drink EVERY drink on the pat o's drink menu), some great dancing shots at the commencement formal, brett and i on block island, ann and i on groovy day in the seventh grade. the pictures were a nice surprise when i was digging through my bags this week. makes me excited that i can be back in providence soon. if i can't be in london, or new orleans, i'm glad i can be in providence. as much as i fought that idea back in may. the abbey hasn't seen the last of me yet.
if you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.
I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana.
We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We're not much on formalities like that.
And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn't ask for this and neither did we, so we're just going to have to make the best of it.
First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.
We're a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don't cotton much to outside interference, but we're not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.
Just don't get carried away.
For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don't try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.
We're not going to listen. We're stubborn that way.
You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.
We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.
But we'll try not to judge you while we're in your town.
Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.
Often we don't make sense. You may wonder why, for instance - if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state - why in God's name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?
We can't really explain that. It is what it is.
You've probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.
The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.
We are what made this place a national treasure. We're good people. And don't be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.
When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.
But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something.
OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.
But what the hell.
And one more thing: In our part of the country, we're used to having visitors. It's our way of life.
So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.
That is our promise. That is our faith.
(Chris Rose for The Times-Picayune Chris Rose can be reached atnoroses@bellsouth.net.)
those aren't my words. but they are damn good words, so i wanted to share. they were written by the same journalist that decided to poke fun at the tarot card readers in jackson square in new orleans by wearing a black beret and sitting out there one day with a magic 8 ball and a book called "existentialism." he sat out in the square all day, making 5 whole dollars from unsuspecting tourists. it turned out to be one of the funniest articles i've ever read. chris rose knows and loves new orleans. enough said.
so i guess anyone who would be reading this right now - close friends, or the ones that stalk me on facebook - know that i'm not living in a castle in england. my life is officially on hold as i play the role of a displaced person. i woke up on the morning of august 30th in houston to 2 emails - one from my cousin who had ridden out hurricane katrina in our house telling us that she had to get out because of the rising water, another one from england telling me that they didn't expect my work permit to go through so don't even bother flying over. awesome, great britain, awesome. so no newcastle in warm pint glasses, no running around a castle in my socks, no seeing michael buble at the apollo in london, no fabulous accents, no flying to rome, ireland, france, china on a whim because i CAN. for about a week, i kept thinking that someone in their "home office" would pick up my application for a work permit, see that i'm from new orleans, and say "we need to get this lovely young lady OVER HERE NOW - GET HER A WORK PERMIT THIS INSTANT!" ah no such luck.maybe one day i'll get to do all those things as a temporary british citizen, but not right now.
the last two weeks have been a blur. the last thing i really remember was spending the night in baton rouge with the fantastic people i know there. (ironic, considering the amount of alcohol i drank that night in total). the next day, i woke up to 10 voicemails from my mom wanting me to get home before contraflow - the beginnings of the evacuation from new orleans. now i've found myself in fairhope, AL - via bunkie LA, alexandria LA, houston TX, pearl MS, and birmingham AL. separated from the only people who can really understand what it means to miss new orleans, and facing the end of life as we know it. dramatic, but true.
if i was to be uber-positive about all of this, it would be to say that i did get out of new orleans with a good portion of my stuff - because i really thought i'd be able to fly out of houston when we evacuated. i brought some great pictures - 204 outside of golden crust on the last day of classes, the group that came to mardi gras this year at pat o's (real women drink EVERY drink on the pat o's drink menu), some great dancing shots at the commencement formal, brett and i on block island, ann and i on groovy day in the seventh grade. the pictures were a nice surprise when i was digging through my bags this week. makes me excited that i can be back in providence soon. if i can't be in london, or new orleans, i'm glad i can be in providence. as much as i fought that idea back in may. the abbey hasn't seen the last of me yet.
if you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.
posted by Catherine at 5:42 PM
1 Comments:
what you said about being around other people who understand what it's like to miss new orleans--
i can empathize. i've been lucky to be in BR, where my friends are, but also where most of new orleans has ended up. and honestly, the people i stuck around with that first week were the ones from new orleans. because no one else really got it. at least with the nola kids, we can all watch CNN together and go "what neighborhood is that? what neighborhood--is that vets? ...oh, i don't know, it all looks like water to me."
what killed me, though, was not being able to see my mom, dad, or brother. even though i knew they were okay. just to talk to them. i wish we'd all been able to evacuate together.
i really, really loved the post about galatoire's. then after all this hurricane stuff, i was thinking-- i don't know. it doesn't really put the galatoire's issue "in perspective" or anything. because, in fact, that's the kind of stuff new orleanians hold dear. and now that everything's sort of gone, i don't feel trivial for cherishing it. just empty.
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