New Orleans Love.

This post was previously published on my blog almost a year ago. But because today is ironically the 7th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, and because of Hurricane Isaac, I wanted to share this again. And I’m praying for no flooding.

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(I found this writing excercise via Galit Breen’s blog, These Little Waves, and she got it from Mama Kat. If you’d like to give it a shot, you can find Mama Kat’s template here. Based on the original poem-Where I’m From by George Ella Lyon.)

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I am from heaping plates of Camellia red beans over rice with andouille sausage, from Haydel’s King Cakes long before they had cream cheese in the middle, and drive-through daquiri shops that sell by “go cup” or the gallon.

I am from the two-story red brick house on Livingston with a pea-gravel driveway and lots of lush landscaping.  I’m from ligustrum and birch trees, liriope, and Confederate jasmine. I’m from snowball stands, beignets with powdered sugar and the Roman Candy Man.

I am from rivers and lakes with long names, St. Augustine grass that’s hard and crunchy under bare feet. I am from a city of steamy summers that lacks four seasons. I am from a city where the levees hold back muddy water, where alligators lurk and moss hangs in heaps from ancient oak trees.

I am from Baskin Robbins on Friday afternoons after school and lots of anxiety; I am from Best, Hicks, Guten and Margoles. I am from a cat named Mateus, a stray dog named Zoe and a beloved Yorkshire terrier named Darby. I am from several buried goldfish and two parakeets named Jack and Jack.

I am from Tums takers, list makers  and Monopoly players. I’m from “MYOB!” (mind your own business), “Be on your best behavior,” and “Who Dat!”

I am from Judaism, from Bubbe Sarah who lived in Russia. I am from little religion, but always the desire to learn more, be more, and do more. I am from the six million who perished in the Holocaust. I am from those who will never forget.

I am from New Orleans, Milwaukee and Millington, Tennessee; from crawfish boils, shrimp poboys and bagels with lox and cream cheese. I am from Mardi Gras, Bud’s Broiler, voodoo dolls and plantations.

I am from Grandma Frances who birthed four sons and lost one in a car accident; from Grandma Betty who struggled with bipolar disorder and lost the battle with her demons; and from my mother, Julie, who went back to college in her 40s and completed grad school while juggling three kids, a gay husband and a divorce.

I am from silent home movies, photo albums with yellowing pages, and pictures in frames. I am from baby books stuffed with souvenirs, and silver cups and rattles with my name engraved on them. I am from white baby shoes with scuffed up toes and worn laces.

I am from love, laughter, and lots of memories.

photo credit