Days Five and Six

If we kept up with the pace of days one through four, you'd probably have to scrape me off the floor by now.

Day Five, Sunday, we decided to take it easy a bit. Since we're in a Shoney's Inn, we decided to just wander next door to the Shoney's for their breakfast buffet. Good thing that's what we wanted, too, since it's apparently the only thing on their menu currently.

After that, we went back out into the world, for a little more driving. When we had gone to the Columns for my reunion on Saturday, we had driven down St. Charles Avenue, and Dick was admiring the houses in the dark. I promised we'd go take a look at them in the daylight.

St. Charles Avenue was largely untouched, being higher ground. We drove from downtown to uptown, complete with a side trip to my old stomping ground of NOCCA. I should point out that NOCCA moved long ago to a new campus in another part of town, so the photos I'm posting are of an already abandoned building. At least I assume it was abandoned: the name of NOCCA is still above the door.





After that drive, we decided to go in search of dinner. I thought, somehow, that armed with my list of "restaurants that have reopened", I was set. Nope. Just because a restaurant has "opened" technically, doesn't mean they keep anything resembling normal hours. Or are opened seven days a week. Or have their usual menus.

After a few misses we ended up at R & O's, which is not to imply it's a bad choice - it's always been a favorite - but wasn't necessarily what I had a hankering for at that moment. But that sort of sums up what it's like: you don't necessarily have access to what you want. You have to take what you can get.

After a very fried dinner (fried shrimp! with french fries!) we paused back at the hotel, and then on to the west bank to meet the boys (Dane and Michael) for coffee. For the non-New Orleanians reading this blog, the west bank is the equivalent of the Valley. In terms of snobbery and perceived distance. In fact, they are so similar, that the week of the hurricane, my head was so fully immersed in New Orleans that when I had a meeting in the Valley, I kept saying to Dick that I had a meeting on the West Bank. I must have said it three or four times before I finally realized what I was saying.

But that's how much I love the boys.



We sat and talked til midnight, which is rare in the city these days, and I think they were keeping the place open just for us - which we thanked them profusely for.

Day Six, we slept in quite a bit, and started the day with lunch at Radosta's, home of some of the best po-boys in the city. (They also used to make the best onion rings on the planet, but they don't offer them any more - everyone and their limited menus - but considering how much crap I'm eating on this trip, that's probably not a bag thing.) It's a cool place, where everything's on the honor system. You order your food, and then if you want drinks or chips or whatever, that's all out in the dining area, and you just take what you want. When you're done, you go up to the counter where they have the ticket for your food items, and you tell them what else you've consumed.

Back to the hotel for a bit, where I proceeded to call all of the people I want to see this week. Connected with precious few; made a lunch date with my little brother Leon for Wednesday, and made a coffee date with my agent and friend Becky for later that day.

Becky is an amazing woman, and all agents should be like her. She rocks. It was so great to see her. I've known her since I was ... well, I've known her for more than half my life. Wow.

From there, dinner with my dad; we first attempted a closed restaurant (shocked, I tell you), and then on to a new-ish restaurant. Same owner, similar menu, different name. I have to admit to being slightly disappointed in the food; but as that's only my second complaint in six days, I guess that's OK.

Then back to the Columns for drinks with Michael. Seriously, we couldn't figure out where we could go that would be open! But as a hotel, odds were good the bar would be open late.

We arrive, and after greeting Michael, head back to the restroom. As I'm headed this way, I see a familiar face. We get closer to one another, and he looks at me like he knows me ...

"Matt?"
"Tracy?"

Speaking of people I've known nearly half my life, Matt is an old friend, a photographer, who I had lost touch with a few years ago, and after my computer crashed, stood no chance of reconnecting. I had always wondered what had happened to him after the hurricane, if he was OK.

And there he was, having a cup of coffee at the Columns, to listen to some live music in the next room.

He joined us as well, so we had a chance to catch up, reconnect, and trade contact info.

New Orleans is thisbig, I tell ya. One of the many many reasons I love this city.

Day Four

Saturday was actually incredibly overwhelming, in so many ways, that I had to take a break from blogging and get a little distance.

Maria came in from Bossier - actually, her whole family was in Lafayette for the weekend, so she took the little hop down. So we went to lunch with her, and Marissa and the girls.

I will post pictures once I get home - because I really want to post side by side pix of us from the 80s, and now. Side by side.

These woman are amazing. The two of them actually have been friends since high school; in college, I met them, and after some adjustment, the twosome became a threesome. We have seen each other through quite literally the best and the worst: three marriages, six children, and seven funerals ... to just pick out the major life-changing events.

When I left NOLA to go west, it was hard to separate from them. I needed to go, for a whole host of reasons, but ... hard, still. (Only Maria's oldest, Sydney, actually remembers Auntie Tracy.)

But I knew when I left - whenver I came home to visit, they would be here. They would be a part of the landscape that is New Orleans. Born and raised, not even leaving for college, both settled with families, they were never leaving. So aside from the phone calls and emails, I knew I could always count on seeing them at home.

File this under "Katrina Damage That No One Thinks About".

Maria's house was destroyed:


The B&W photo she sent me in October; the other photo taken this week. Dick snapped the photo as I stared inside the now-gutted house, trying to remember where all the furniture went.



Maria and her family happened to evacuate to Bossier City, LA. And now, nearly a year later, they've decided to call it home. They've wrestled with coming back, but to what? How much work would go into the house? How much work could she get? Even if a decent school opens for the kids, will there be any kind of life for them here?

Meanwhile, Marissa's house is mostly intact, but not quite livable for her and the girls. So she's been living in Baton Rouge while her husband commutes back and forth for work. And they could go home, but so much of her very close-knit family has split up now ... they've decided to take this opportunity to move on career-wise, and be closer to family. Their destination is probably Dallas, TX. She had really hoped she'd be settled somewhere by now, but the wheels of Katrina roll very slowly.

End result. Neither will be living at "home" any more. And won't be living in the same place. (They'll be about a 3 hour drive from each other, but still.)

And after we said goodbye yesterday, after I walked back into the hotel room ... I started uncontrollably crying. I can honestly say now that I have no idea when I'll see them again. (I'm getting all choked up just typing this, now.)

They will always be my rocks, these two women. And I will always know them. And I'm thinking up some ways to ensure that we continue to see each other.

But they're part of what will be forever missing from the landscape of this city.

There's more to Day 4 that was heartbreaking. I drove through the neighborhood that I grew up in, New Orleans East, and it was practically a ghost town. Parts of it are like a shrine to what life was like in August 2005 (gas was only $2.35!) ... and it's so overwhelming. This is a huge area, geographically, and it's only NOW slowly coming back to life. And there are so few stores of any kind actually open, and I'm told there's still very little in the way of utilities functioning. But people were out, and working on their houses, at least in some places.



This is the house I grew up in. It's been gutted; there's a water mark on the front door. I imagine my father is glad he sold it two years prior to the hurricane.







This was a fairly typical house in the East. Vacant, gutted, overgrown. Ever wonder how tall grass and weeds can grow in a year?





And then, the icing on the cake, my high school reunion. As I suspected, very few of my closest pals actually went to this thing, although a few did. And that was wonderful, to surprise them. As we gathered to take the class picture, a girl I'd barely known in school turned to me, wide-eyed, and said, "Isn't this ths must surreal experience?" And I had to admit, it was. Seeing all the same faces - only older. Some looking the same, without a doubt. Others ... I needed to look at the picture on their name tag to try and figure it out.

I'm glad I went. And I'll be good with waiting another 10 years go do it again.

Day Three.

The day mostly spent with friends. A good part of the afternoon hiding out from a rainstorm (actual thunder and lightning! yay!) at Marissa's house, with her adorable triplets. The evening spent out to dinner with Marissa (sans triplets), and old friend Rodney and his partner, Brian. I can't remember the last time I saw Rodney. Seriously, I think it was in the '80s. We recently reconnected via email - like a week or two ago - and I'm so happy that it timed out to my being in town. After dinner, we went to see Rodney's house (after 13 years of renovations, they were nearing completion when the hurricane hit, filling it with eight inches of water and lots of mold.) Luckily, they own a rental property across the street, so they've been living there. They live in this gorgeous section of mid-City that frankly, I never knew existed. It's like this little hidden street. And we all just sat for a while and caught up and got to know each other all over again.

The other cool thing that happened today was while getting lunch, I actually ran into an old friend from high school, Lisa. I keep looking at people while I'm here, thinking they look so familiar. And I do this over and over, wondering if I've ever met them. And in walks this woman and I think, "Gee, now she looks like Lisa." :) We're going to have dinner with her and her husband - also an old friend - next week. Which is fabulous. :)

That was all the good stuff. We did more driving around. I won't post all of my pictures here, because it would take up too much space, but I will start putting them elsewhere online and provide a link at the end of the trip. I will give you some highlights here, though.



It's all still so devastating. The fact that it's been nearly a year. The fact that people are stuck in a holding pattern. The fact that even sometimes people here - the lucky ones who didn't lose everything - don't fully understand what the people who did are going through.



The fact that some people STILL don't have FEMA trailers. And some have them, but have yet to receive the keys. And some have the keys, but are still waiting for the electricity to be set up. And still others are done with theirs, but can't get them removed.



The fact that even though, intellectually, I know the city inside and out, and have studied the flood maps thoroughly ... even I didn't fully grasp the scope of the devastation.



The news focuses on the Ninth Ward. The Ninth Ward this, that and the other. And it's all true. But it wasn't the ONLY area to be destroyed. There was another levee break. Some people are calling it a wealthy area, but I would say mixed-to-working-class, because to be frank, I once almost rented an apartment on that street, the street that butts up against the levee. And I've never been anything remotely resembling wealthy.



Those are the neighborhoods that I've been touring. And I have more to see. You have to understand: there are rows and rows of houses, blocks in and out, where you just see over and over again, everything from complete devastation to nearly-finished rebuilds, and everything in between again.



I just can't wrap my mind around it all. It would seem to me that this would be the time for everyone to band together. To say, "to hell with race, religion, political party - let's just work as a team to rebuild our beautiful city - and make it better, safer, stronger!" But clearly everything is just going in the opposite direction. Rapidly. There's a whole chicken-and-egg thing going on (we need more workers! the workers need somewhere to live! we can't get anything done because we need more workers!) and no one seems to want to come up with a plan of action.

My father made the comment that back in his day (ie, Hurricane Betsy, 1965, the last Big One the city saw) people just came in, cleaned up their own mess and got on with it. They didn't sit around waiting for government handouts, he said, with some contempt.

I snapped.

Waiting for handouts? Seriously. Think about this. Imagine that you have a house, and it was completely destroyed. But it's been months before you could even think about getting back into the city to really assess the damage for yourself, even though you're fairly sure you know what's coming. And then once that happens, the insurance settlement takes its sweet time (and sometimes, not at all). Meanwhile, you're paying your mortgage on a house you can't live in, and you've got your family of five living in an apartment somewhere else. You're paying on two residences, and living in one of them.

So maybe you'd like to rebuild. But first, the city keeps you on hold while they decide whether they're going to appropriate your land for increased levee support. And then if they will let you rebuild, whether or not the land is now too toxic to build on. Or how high you have to rebuild the new house. Everything changes, moment to moment. You wait and wait and wait for a concrete answer.

Let's say after all of this, you finally decide you WANT to come home, you WANT to rebuild. And you're two working parents with three kids. You're already overtaxed with the two home payments - where does the money come to hire the contractors to do the work? And do you live in a FEMA trailer in front of your house, all five of you? Do you send your kids to the schools in New Orleans right now?

And let's face it, the more you hear about how the levees aren't going to be improved at all, is all of this hassle REALLY worth it, when you think it could all happen again because no one will build levees (even though the technology exists) to withstand a category 5?

It's sad and awful, and really, pathetic.

They say the country is "tired of hearing about Katrina and New Orleans."

Too damn bad.

Day Two

First, a quick word to the non-blogger people out there who have found that without a blogspot account they couldn't post a comment. Sorry about that. You should no longer have an issue. Comment away! :)

Day One.

First, I have to tell you, I pretty much slept like a rock. Maybe it was just, after the anticipation of this trip, finally being here ... I could let go a little bit. I don't know. Or maybe it was just the air conditioning. :)

Today we ventured out, after sleeping in, in search of food. I have to say, suburbia (where I lived for my last 8 years or so in the city) is looking relatively normal. I mean, yes, there's plenty of construction, and FEMA trailers, and yes, some businesses had their signs missing, and others were closed (permanently or otherwise). But there was traffic, and hustle and bustle, and the area was basically as I remembered it, with some of the inevitable change that a city will have after several years.

That was good.

Came back to the motel, made some phone calls (talked to some people I haven't talked to in YEARS, and it was way too much fun to surprise them).

We were meeting my friend Michael for dinner at 8pm, so we had several hours before then, and we didn't want to just stay in the room. So off we went, on a drive.

First I went to Old Metairie. It's a very ritzy area that got hit pretty hard in the storm, and an area I knew very well because I worked there for several years. Because it was an area with money, there was a lot of construction - by and large, these were people with the means to rebuild. There were also empty lots where I was quite certain houses used to stand.



The area was not without its humor.
This place here, for example, amused me terribly.







Or this one. Something about the old-money nature of this neighborhood just made this trailer seem a little out of place. Of course, knowing it was the old money folks who decorated it ......

But that's where the comedy ended.

We drove out of the area, through another part of town with some nostalgia ... and then realized I was headed to Lakeview. Lakeview is the other part of town where the levee failed. It's not the part you read about in the national news, so much.

As I turned onto Fleur de Lis Street, where the neighborhood sign "Lakeview" remained on the neutral ground, covered in overgrown weeds ... my heart sank. Not that it was a surprise, mind you, the dirty streets and the unkempt grass ... but just seeing it, finally.

Unfortunately, we realized that the camera batteries were dying, so I only have a few pix to share. We'll go back tomorrow, though, because some of the images were so poignant. God bless the citizens of New Orleans, who not only wear their hearts on their sleeve, they paint them on the fronts of their houses.

I cann't express how heartbreaking this was. And this was down ONE street. Granted, it was a street I had nearly rented an apartment on, so I felt a little kinship to it. But the destruction, particularly at the spot where the levee had broken. Marissa had told me to bring my kleenex ... she wasn't kidding.

I wasn't entirely ready for it, but since we were already there, we went a little further down to the lakefront area. To the area where some once amazing seafood restaurants were now ... gone. I mean gone. Like, fell into the lake gone. Nothing but pilings. I knew that had happened to one of the restaurants, and I'm sure it should have dawned on me that it wasn't selective, that they would ALL be gone ... but it hadn't.

All at once, I remembered the bad blind date at Bruning's; the night Laurie was in town and we went out to Fitzgerald's and had drinks and danced with the live band; picnics at West End Park. This photo is of the parking lot of these great restaurants:

Those cars have been in that mating position for almost a year. And the area behind the cars? That's where the restaurants all used to be.

The day wasn't all doom and gloom. We spent the evening in the French Quarter, sat on the riverfront, walked around to see what was still around and what wasn't, and most importantly, had dinner and drinks with the fabulous Michael Sullivan.

Sad, though, to leave the Quarter around midnight ... with it virtually empty.

Postscript for Today (photo)

The art in our room leaves something to be desired.

Day One.

Survival.

Just needing to accept that "it'll all be OK" (the mantra Dick keeps making me repeat).

The day starts out rather easily. Really, probably too easy. Taxi is on time and makes good time, check-in is a snap, even security is quick and painless. The flight almost entirely smooth.

We walk out and embrace the humidity.

A little disappointed that the car rental company I chose because it was the cheapeast that was actually located inside the terminal ... wasn't, in fact, located inside the terminal. Fine, no biggie. We go and collect our car ... and it is .....



... the second worst rental car I've ever had. Oh, it's cute; but it's as though the designers were striving so hard for something attractive on the outside, that they didn't pay much attention to the inside. I'm not sure who this car was built for. Seriously. It's not short people, I promise you that. (I had to - for the first time ever - sit on a cushion to drive the thing.) And yet, according to the 6'3" security guard, it's not built for tall people either. And it IS a small car. ("It's the next step up from a bicycle," said the baffled Thrifty employee, who couldn't understand my request for a smaller car.)

So ok, fine. It is what it is.

We make our way to the hotel ("good luck on your first drive through the city," said my friend Kim, who just happened to call as I was dealing with the rental car, having no idea I was here yet.)

The hotel is unimpressive (though there will be photos to follow of the humorous bits). And there's free wireless internet, so I'm a happy girl.

But (you knew there was a but, right?) ... well ... family dynamics. There are some issues that I will not post publicly (but feel free to ask via email, should you care) ... for those of you who HAVE been going through the "so what are you going to do????" questions ... the answer is ... I won the battle ... and proceeded to lose the war. :p

I don't mean to be cryptic, but suffice it to say my dad and I have a difficult relationship.

But really. I don't think it's just me. Don't we all just want our parents to love us as we are, when it comes right down to it? I can't imagine I'm the only one who goes through this. The slightest disapproval from my dad sends me into a meltdown. But I'm filled with the frustration that he just doesn't listen (or hear) me; and equally frustrated with myself that I can't communicate with him more clearly.

Anyway. I'm here. I just want to sleep well, enjoy the air conditioning, and start the day fresh.

Ack.

I. Haven't. Started. Packing.

Too hot to blog. Or think.

Sure, I grew up in hot humid New Orleans.

But we had air conditioning.

It was a way of life.

Here on the west side of Los Angeles, only one of my four apartments had central air; one had a window unit in the living room only; the other two, none at all.

And that's rarely been a problem.

Holy cow this is freaking miserable.

The dog just skulks around, trying to find cool, dark places to sleep (we find him under furniture more often than not, now).



Sigh.

We leave tomorrow morning and neither of us has packed. And we certainly haven't clearned. It's nearly 9pm.

Part of it, I'm sure, is the absolute dread that accompanies this trip. Sure, I want to see my dad; sure, I want to see my friends; sure, I want some beignets ... I even want to see what the city looks like. Sorta. But part of me isn't. It's been nearly a year, and I still am not entirely sure I'm ready.

I will try to blog while I'm away. With pictures, if I have the technology.

Compact Parking

I would just like to know.

When did the word "compact" on a parking space go from meaning "only compact cars should park here" to "this is a small parking space - but go ahead and have fun prentending your giant truck or SUV will fit!"

Just curious.

That is all.

If I told you you had a nice aura ...

... would you hold it against me?

OK, no one really said that, but a strange woman in Norm's late one evening did say my aura was very bright.

And honestly? I was having such a fantastic weekend, that I imagine it WAS, indeed, all aglow.

But I'm starting in the middle of the story.

It's Friday night, and we decide to do a double-header at Sacred Fools - the mainstage La Bete (because it sounded interesting and he needed another Ovation show) and the late night Bukowsical (because Kathi's in it and we'd been promising her for months that we'd go). La Bete was really quite good - there were some things I didn't love about it, but I thought both the acting and direction were phenomenal, and I'd rank that as my all-time 2nd favorite show by the Fools. After the show, we go outside to wait to come back in for the late night show, and suddenly we see our dear friend Mary Elizabeth - who we hadn't seen in over a year - and had just emailed us that day with her new email address, after having not been in touch for quite some time! We had no idea we both chose that night to see Kathi! It was so wonderful to see her ... and while we're catching up, and basking in our delight at running into one another ... up walks Bill, who says oddly enough, he only just read my last blog post about running into fellow theatre people randomly at the theatre! He too was there for Kathi ... we formed our own little cheering section. It made an otherwise fun evening that much more fun.

Now on to Saturday.

To begin with, I had a wedding to go to the next day. And I truly had nothing to wear. This is not just something women say; there was honest-to-God nothing in my closet that fit me. I have my skinny dresses, which I'm still a ways from getting over my hips, and my fat dress from last fall, which is now too big. If need be, I could pin the big dress, but I thought, heck, I'll go on over to Ross and see if I can find something for cheap. An interim dress.

Well imagine my surprise when none of the first round of dresses I brought into the dressing room fit because - at size 6 - they were TOO BIG.

"I must be some in-between size," I grumbled, as I picked up some size 4's, waiting to be sorely disappointed.

Imagine my surprise and delight when I was able to purchase a lovely new dress for around $15 (I love that store) ... and it was a size 4.

I bought a size 4.

Woo hoo! Happy dance!

That evening, Dick and I had committed to doing box office at Ark. And there was this older couple who came to the show - repeat customers - who were just so taken with our company in general. They totally got who we are and what we're trying to do, and were waxing poetic about how wonderful it was. Sometimes you bust your ass doing the work to create something, and you're not ever sure anybody cares. And then, suddenly, you're gifted with ... appreciation. And you know that what you're doing has some meaning to someone.

I don't think we've seen the last of them.

On to Sunday, and the wedding and the size 4 dress (yay!). Well, the real story here, is that without thinking, I had agreed to have Dick commit us to doing a screenplay reading for a celeb friend (who I won't name-drop and, well, name), totally forgetting that the wedding was the same day. D'oh! So the wedding was at 5p and the reading we pushed back to 8:30. Of course, the wedding was in Long Beach and the reading at the theatre ... but I kept thinking, we won't get to stay terribly long, but long enough.

Of course, I wasn't banking on it being a sit down dinner rather than buffet. Since they were taking their time through the courses ... well, we made it through bread and salad. Sigh. We had to leave.

We do the reading - almost entirely Ark talent, or at least friends of ours - and he (the friend) was thrilled. Not only that it was read well, and gave him a lot to work on, but because a group of actors, most of whom didn't know him from Adam (well, not personally), were perfectly willing to give up a few hours on a Sunday night of a holiday weekend to read his screenplay ... just because. He said some jaw-droppingly complimentary things to us, individually and as a whole.

It was enough to ride high on through the night, as Dick and I went to get some dinner, finally, around 11pm. We figured Norm's was open, so what the heck. Not high quality, but it's there. But the vibe in the place was just ... weird. Between the zillions of open tables that they refused to seat anyone at, and the complete ignoring of the actual sign-in list, and the really really bizarre clientele, we finally just walked out. But before we did, while Dick was in the restroom, this woman looks over at me and compliments my dress. I've barely gotten out "thank you," when she tells me how bright my aura is, and can she do a reading for me?

"No," I said politely, "but thank you!"

On to Canter's for what was arguably one of the best burgers in the city (I had no idea they did fabulous burgers - I go to Canter's, I usually get corned beef or something!), and the people-watching. The folks next to us were desperately trying to order off the menu. Gotta love that. They were really in the mood for Greek food, apparently. (So they went to the Jewish deli?)

And just enjoyed the evening. And the burger. And my husband. And the glow of compliments and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, we were doing something right.