-Michelle

As we head toward the airport, I imagine that most of us riding don’t want to be gauche and start making comments about the state of the city post-Katrina (not to mention the subsequent hurricanes and the recession). Still, I’m sure that as we peer out of the van windows, we are all trying to reconcile what we’ve gleaned from media coverage of the Katrina disaster and recovery efforts with what we see in front of us. In my own mind, I am noticing how in some ways, the city seems much better than I would have expected. In other ways, it seems worse. But, who am I to judge? As with so many other people, I’m just grappling in my head, trying to comprehend something which defies comprehension.

A few passengers do begin commenting on the ‘dilapidation’ of much of the city. Our driver graciously steps in to provide perspective. In a conscientious way, he begins a casual presentation of information which includes a bit of history, a little politics, selected factoids and great anecdotes, all with a light touch. He has a knack for knowing which piece of information is pertinent and when a particular fact is useful for perspective – a spatial reference, such as depth of the flood water or proximity to a canal.

In a brief disclosure, he shares that he lived in the notorious Lower Ninth Ward, and that his home and the homes of his family are gone. They are exiles in their own city.

He doesn’t focus only on his former neighborhood, he speaks for all in the city. He describes the Mayor’s ‘five houses down’ program, which provides incentives for residents to maintain and repair adjacent abandoned properties. And, he makes national comparisons with other cities which are combating blight.

One woman who was traveling to the airport in an off-white designer suit and stiletto pumps asks, “What did you call that? Blight?”

“Yes, blight.”

She says, “I’ve never heard that word before.”

A man, who had been earlier bragging about his acceptance into a PhD program pipes up, “Yeah, that’s a new one for me. Hmm. Blight.”

I feel I should speak up in the driver’s defense. That I should tell the man and woman that the word blight is not like the word bling. I want to validate the driver’s terminology and that I think his analysis is spot on, but I am weary and also don’t want to engage with these Pontificaters. Anyway, the driver is holding his own well, casually and humbly noting that it’s a term he picked up from news programs. The riders ask him to explain what that word means, which he does. He shares a few more tidbits and then artfully pauses before turning on some New Orleans-styled jazz music.

As we approach the freeway exit to the airport, he turns down the music and explains how he will call out the names of the airlines. Then, he wishes everyone a safe journey home to our families, thanks us all for coming to New Orleans, and makes a heartfelt request, “Please don’t forget about us in New Orleans. Come back again soon.”

Shortly, I’m standing behind the van as the driver retrieves my suitcase. I know I’ll only have a moment to express my appreciation and admiration. So, what am I going to say? That it is so great to do business with people who are efficient, professional and conscientious, as he is. That I really valued everything he told us and that he’s a very talented speaker. That I imagine his family must cultivate impressive faith and love for him to be the kind of person he is coming from a neighborhood that was rife with poverty, crime, drugs and hopelessness after the waterfront jobs dried up. That, in a city where tour guides will tell you that spirits outnumber inhabitants ten to one, the spirits of his ancestors must be strong and giving wise counsel.

I have to try to convey all of this with a tip and a heartfelt smile of gratitude as I say a simple “thank you.” But I add, “and thank you for your information about urban blight. I’ve heard a lot about it.” He replies, “thank you, I appreciate that,” but doesn’t take even the briefest of self-congratulatory moments to make this about himself; without missing a beat, he continues expertly shuttling travelers to the right doors to get them to their next destination.

-Michelle

I seek out a quiet spot to read. The far side of one of the concourses is quiet so I sit down and relax into my magazine. Between articles, I glance up to appreciate the view around me. It’s a relatively small airport, but where I am sitting feels expansive. I glance out the large windows, past the man in front of me doing his yoga, past the airport vehicles and planes crossing on wet pavement outside, past the softly blinking lights in the light fog to see the outline of the evergreens in the far distance. Shifting my focus back inside, I appreciate the trees growing inside the building, next to the seating areas, in large planters. A police officer makes his rounds, unhurriedly pedaling his mountain bike indoors past me and the trees, and then past the man doing yoga.

-Michelle

She looks up at me and smiles sheepishly as she wolfishly cuts in front of me and the person in front of me. She then looks off to the right, and I see that a younger woman outside of the security area with similar facial features is speaking to her, coaching her from the sidelines. The woman responds in a language I do not understand and then goes back to tailgating.

Two women behind me notice that the woman just did the same thing to me that she did to them, and they have a laugh.

-Michelle

As she is making this description, the man is nodding and knows exactly who she’s talking about. “I just promoted him, ” but he adds, “I nixed the socks.”

She says, “I don’t know how to say this delicately, but we were in a meeting, and he says, ‘look at these,’ and I look down and he’s wearing shark socks,” she chuckles.  “I’m always tickled.” She again reiterates that she thinks he’s great at his job.

The man reiterates, “Losing the socks – that was a condition of his promotion.”

-Michelle

“There are no trees – it’s so sad.”

The other woman looks over to see the view, “It’s as flat as Texas.”

“Look at the houses – they don’t have any trees behind them. Oh, there’s one with a tree,” the first woman comments.

The second woman replies, “Is that a tree? I can’t tell.”

-Michelle

As we approached one of the largest falls, we looked down to see a group of people dressed in outfits of either bright white or bright blue. At first, the group looked like some kind of cult, but we realized that it was a wedding party posing for photographs. We were surprised to see the path they used to get to where they were as it was quite steep.

The group wrapped up the photo session and climbed barefoot up the hill, the bride in a full, white gown, the bridesmaids in blue satin, and the men in white pants and blue tunics with a tie around the waist. When the group reached the cavern behind the falls, the bride slipped on her heels and walked up the main trail.

We caught up with them further ahead on the trail. They had stopped for yet more photos, and we were able to see the details of their outfits, which were stunning and which had an Eastern European look. The bride wore a hat made up of little white balls will something silver sitting on the center of each ball.

As we passed, my cousin’s husband asked, “Has it been a long day?”

The bride replied sincerely, “It’s a wonderful day.”

We continued up the trails and soon reached the parking lot where we passed a mini-van with the sliding door open. A young man wearily leaned against the van wearing  the same white trousers as the men we had seen earlier, but without the tunic; he had a cotton tank top on with the sash tied around his waist. Inside the van were more young people in white and blue who also looked less than enthusiastic about being there. A few stared ahead and one held a bottle as they sat next to the body of a guy laying face down in the van, pants undone and drawers showing.

My cousin observed, “They don’t look like they think this is a wonderful day.”

-Michelle

“Oh, I bet you are a great vacummer,” another of the ladies said to try to make her feel better.

The third chimed in, “Oh, I hate to vacuum. I try to do it as little as possible.”

-Michelle

On my birthday recently, I was thinking about that as I noticed that it does take more effort to have a birthday celebration as I get older, and it is true that I do get fewer cards.

I was out for a birthday breakfast when all of a sudden, a loud voice from the other side of the room exclaimed, “IT’S THE BIRTHDAY GIRL!” I turned to see a woman about twenty years older than I receive a big hug from a younger person who was so happy to see her. After this exchange, both women were beaming. After more enthusiastic visiting, the diners settled down to the table to get the food ordered. In a brief moment when the people around her were distracted by their food, the birthday woman turned her head slightly and wiped a tear from her eye.

-Michelle

On one amazingly sunny day, the first day it really felt like summer, I was driving, and a car to the left of me caught my attention as there was a young man in his 20s staring at me. When I turned to look at him, he started smiling and then let out a happy yell, like it was a game to get people’s attention. Then the light green car that he was riding in passed me, and he stuck out his arm and started doing the wave. He started to bring his arm back in, when suddenly four arms shot out, one out of each of the four windows. It was like a bug with outstretched arms flying down the freeway. Sun deprivation does cause interesting behavior.

-Michelle