I Know What It Means to Love New Orleans

My Dear New Orleans,

I was cautious when I met you. I knew to like you would mean to hope. To hope for a commitment. To hope for long term. The ultimate live in situation.

You welcomed us with a lush greenness, much like I was used to from my first home. The tall pine trees reminded me of summers at camp. The Live Oaks with Spanish Moss were like something out of a dream.

You shared with us your history.




That first weekend you covered me with sweetness.
Or maybe that was just the dusting of powdered sugar from the beignets. Yum.

You dazzled me with twinkling lights.


You beckoned me to come closer. You whispered promises and hope. A new home. A new life. A new chance.

We moved in. We loved our neighborhood. You shared your wide collection of animals, many of which live in our yard.
You have a reputation for being a party animal, and surely you know how to laissez le bon temps roullez.


But you are a family town. You throw parties (and beads!) for the kiddos like I've never seen before!


We enjoyed trips to the zoo, the aquarium, the Global Wildlife Center. You wowed my daughter with up close encounters with her favorite animals.

We ate food we never thought we'd eat, and we liked it!

And we danced! Oh how we have danced!

At the Jazz Festival, the French Quarter Festival, Lundi Gras, Mardi Gras, second lines, concerts in the park, musicians on the street, WWOZ. Oh how we have danced. You taught me about Cajun music, and Zydeco, and the joy of a Brass Band.

I've danced to the sounds of a washboard and spoons. You know I love to dance!

Our love was still young, our honeymoon not yet over, when Katrina came to town. She ripped us apart, this usurper. Two years ago she turned our world upside.

And the world cried with us.

We separated, but not for long. For you were home.

It has been hard. It has certainly brought out the worst in us, and many, many others, at times. But it has also been a testament to community. The way people drew together to support. To rebuild. Those who have stayed even when they had no house, because their hearts needed to be home. Here, with you.

It's been work.

And it will never be the same, although sometimes we almost forget. When we're dancing. When we're gazing up at the trees. When we are breathing in the hot and sticky air. When we enjoy being home. But then we want to revisit some of our favorite haunts. And they are gone.

We want to call an old friend, and they have left. And so we remember.

And we must not forget. We must not let the world forget. There are lessons that must be learned. Changes that must be made

Love and joy and music that must be shared

I know what it means to miss New Orleans. And I know what it means to love you.

With all heart,

Painted Maypole