coming to terms

I finally feel enough time has passed since my departure from New Orleans to try and begin to formulate what happened.

The past month or two, I've been feeling very nostalgic for New Orleans.  Initially, I thought because it was approaching spring which was always my favourite time there.  And then I thought it was because I'd found that the man who had made my life, in turns, deliriously happy and devastatingly unhappy, was in New Orleans.  In Tremé.  Going to all the places I’d taken him.  (Yes.  I still keep track of him, secretly.  Very sad, I know, but there ya go.)  The Bywater, Garden District, and of course the French Quarter.  And with his female travel partner.  Love partner?  Maybe.  Looking at their road trip photos, I felt a deep pang.  But it wasn't for him.  It was for New Orleans.  That old, intoxicating, troubled, beautiful city.  

I longed to smell the jasmine that followed me down streets, I longed to see those huge and extroverted southern magnolias.  To see the colours of the Caribbean on almost every house.  I wanted to be called “Miss Trish” again.  I wanted to walk through the quarter in the early morning while the tourists were still asleep and photograph the lovely shadowplay from the amazing grillwork and architectural details.  I wanted my sweet tea.  And red beans and rice on Mondays.  I wanted to ride my bike to work and see the ladies of Forever New Orleans.

The thing is, I fell I love with New Orleans but tried to make her into what I was comfortable with.  I didn't (couldn't) simply except her for who she was.  

To be continued...

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©Trish Korous | 2011