We're feeling the draw again. New Orleans is calling. At first it was a low moan, seductive and enticing. In the past few days it's become a siren's wail, urgent, insistent, unrelenting.
Mardi Gras isn't for another four months, but figuring out whether we're going has become an urgent matter to us.
I blame HBO, the US television company. Specifically, I blame "Treme" (pronounced Tre-May). We just finished watching the first series on DVD, a birthday gift from a Texan friend. The show itself is a slow burner, character driven. New Orleans, "Nawlins" is the true star of the show. A downtrodden but gracious Southern Lady, her petticoats muddy but her head held high.
The TV series follows the lives of a handful of Katrina survivors, struggling to rebuild their lives, their homes. We relate, in a way. Just months before the storm, we had our wedding there, in the heart of the French Quarter. It was appropriate. She had always been our spiritual home, somewhere that healed our souls. Watching the waters rise was heartbreaking. Counting the human cost in the weeks and months that followed was worse. Knowing that one of the truly unique places on the face of the planet might wither and die was a crushing burden to live with.
And yet we didn't return immediately. We didn't want to accept that the reality could match the images plastered across the internet, broadcast on every news channel. If we stayed away, we could imagine that She was still perfect in her imperfections. We made a pact to return for Mardi Gras 2010. We made it to 2009 before the pull became too strong. It was a good year. The Mardi Gras magic was still there.
Last night we stood in our flat. The remodel is progressing, but at a snail's pace. It feels like we've been homeless for months. Perhaps we're feeling echoes of Katrina. The place smells damp from wet plaster, there's carnage everywhere, the new staircase lies awkwardly on it's side, as if washed away by the tide. Chaos rules. I want to be home again, but for now, there is no such place.
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