I should know better

By now I should know better: when out in New Orleans, carry the good camera.  I've told myself this many times, New Orleans being just too full of liberal photo ops. But yesterday, I was going to church. To church, with a quick stop at NOMA, how interesting could that be?  Besides, although it was sunny and bright, it was supposed to pour and I didn't want to risk getting the better camera wet.  So here I was, once again regretting my choice.

First, why was I going to church?  A bit of an unusual choice, even for a Sunday.but I was thinking about the Unitarians. About Unitarians and last year. They say that first impressions are lasting and when I arrived at the bunk house  last year, it was filled with them.  They were a wonderful bunch; healthy, happy, hail and whole and we had a good time together, working and playing.  I especially enjoyed partying after work with the pastor.  As I've said before; these were some of the best times I've ever had with a man of the cloth.  The impression that they left of knowing how to embrace all of life and being so grateful for it, left me curious about them.

So I googled  churches and found one in Lakeview,  three miles north on Lake Pontchartrain, lost somewhere in the nexus of desire and limitation..

I had heard that this area had been hard hit by Katrina but in the many months that I've been it New Orleans I had yet to visit there.  Well, what a mess.  Lakeview is an economically mixed neighborhood.  Here, as always, there are the poor,  but many wealthy families have  built imposing homes out there.  I guess I was assuming that their recovery would be more complete.  But no, it looks like the hurricane roared through here a few months ago.  The water marks here are ten feet high.  Most of the roads are still barricaded.  I was shocked and I wanted my camera.

To drive in Lakeview you need a few things: a four-wheel drive vehicle, a very good map, a lot of time and possibly, a kidney belt.  The roads are so damaged that all my concentration went to trying not to harm the truck that my friend has left me for the summer. The street signs are still down so that it was hard to tell where exactly I was.

I stopped to ask directions of a man who couldn't let me go until he had shown me his water marks, the work he had done on the house and the garden he built for his peace of mind.  Charlie told me that he is making 'it pretty' in order to attract a new woman into his life as his wife had left him after the storm. "Where exactly is the church?" I pressed before she became me.

 I was a half hour late to the service which has been held in a temporary building since the church was destroyed in the storm.  The parishioners are mostly locals and a study in healthy attitudes towards life and it's adversities, not a complaining, nor worrying bunch.  Stoic but flexible and inspiring.  The sermon was full of reminders that life is full of both joys and sorrows.  I was happy to have finally found them.  I left with a hand full of homemade cookies and thoughts about the meaning in the mythology of this American life.

Post script:  I must go back with the camera.

Sunday in the Park with Chuck:

On to New Orleans Museum of Art in City Park to see the poet Chuck Perkins and the Mardi Gras Indians.

On my way to City Park the rain comes. No ordinary rain-southern Louisiana rain.  A solid mass hitting ground that already permeated with water six inches below the surface.  There is nowhere for it to go but up.  I'm in the trusty truck but I'm starting to get nervous, the water is rising so fast.  The only condition on the generous loan of this truck by it's owner is that I Don't Let It Drown!  So I turned away towards Esplanade Ave, also called Esplanade Ridge.  Locals joke that it is their mountain, its actually a slight rise of a few feet, but still the highest ground in the city.  The French first settled here for that reason.  My adrenaline is pulsing, but I make it to the museum and park illegally, who would ticket in all of this?

Upon entering the museum I forgot about the elements, but I really wanted my other camera.

Chuck Perkins  the spoken word poet, our virile voice of rage and reason, was spilling poetry and passion.   His appearances are 'Events' as they are quite rare and he was in electrifying form.  Backing him were the Mardi Gras Indians with Big Chief Monk Boudreaux .  The acoustics in the lobby of the NOMA are celestial, and the neo-classic Beaux Arts architecture grand. NOMA was built in 1911with the intention of being a "temple of art for rich and poor alike." Judging by the mix of people attending, it looks like they have kept their promise.  The show was five dollars.  When the performance ended and I left, the sun was again out, hot and heavy.  There was no ticket on the truck. Another perfect New Orleans day-except for that camera.