The Meaning of New Orleans.

I know you think you know something about New Orleans but, unless you live here, you don't know nothing.  You know something, but what you know isn't worth a picayune.  Good luck with that.

What is the meaning of New Orleans?  You may as well ask what is the meaning of love?  It is what it is.  New Orleans, like true love, perseveres and lasts forever.  Get your New Orleans groove on and you'll never be tired.  Go with the flow.   This is a city like none other.

Even if you can only be here in spirit, be a New Orleanian, wherever you are.  That's what it means to fall in love with New Orleans.  It's what it means to miss New Orleans.  It's not just an old song.  It is a pain in one's heart.  How many people have died from being away from New Orleans for too long?  I shudder to think about it because I live in the cure.

The meaning of New Orleans is written in rats' footprints in the batture mud.  The meaning of New Orleans is in the crisscrossed power lines that are webbed over back-of-town streets.  You can read about someone's love for New Orleans by looking at the lines in their palm.

If New Orleans means anything, it means getting by by getting along and getting what you can by any way you can.  New Orleans loves the people who call this wonderful city home.  They can do no wrong.

I don't know about you but I live in New Orleans.  I have for a while now.  I'm not a native but it's often assumed I am.  I love it here.

Keep your eyes open in New Orleans and you'll learn a lot.  It will be a whole lot of nothing worth knowing unless you live here.  New Orleans is like no other city anywhere, anytime, anyplace.  

It is impossible to put your finger on New Orleans' pulse because the city is an organic collection of moving parts, not all of them synchronous, almost all of them improvising.  

Creativity is alive and well in New Orleans.  If you can't get yourself out of a jam, put on your thinking cap.  You'll figure something out.  That's how you'll know you belong here.

I ran into Nicholas the other day.  He's 17 years old.  He goes to college at University of New Orleans.  His parents think he's a smart kid.  He doesn't say so, himself.  He is pleasantly self-effacing. 

Nicholas is dating an older woman.  Age means nothing in New Orleans.  In this ancient city everything old seems new.  Decrepitude is an aesthetic.  Picturesque decay is a way of life.  Though no one lives forever, New Orleans will forever endure.  It always has.  Nothing's going to stop it now.

Nicholas was born in New Orleans and he has lived all his 17 years in this wonderful city we call home.  "What do your parents think about this older woman?" I asked.

Nicolas said, "The age of consent in Louisiana is 13, but with her I had to be 17.  Neither of us has done anything wrong."

Tina Turner came on the jukebox.  "What's Love Got To Do With It?"  People just put dollars in the jukebox and forget what they asked for.  Find me a jukebox that is quiet in New Orleans and I'll show you a place that is closed.

Nicholas said, "Look, man, if you want to hassle me over an older woman, we can take this conversation outside."  So much for the self-effacing part of his personality.  I had apparently struck a nerve.  I should have known.  I suspect he's been getting a lot of ribbing over this relationship.  Poor guy.  He's only 17, he doesn't know how to handle it, yet.

"Alright," I said.  I motioned toward the door.

Here we were, standing outdoors on Bourbon Street with all the drunk tourists, the buskers, the film-flam men, the con artists, the pickpockets, and the shot girls.  It was kind of awkward.

I held Nicholas's chin in my hand and I said, "Look, Nicholas.  Plant one on my jaw so that you keep your pride but remember this: Never be ashamed of the woman you love."

I took my hand off his chin and put my hands at my side, poised to take my comeuppance.  I said to Nicholas, "Do what you think you have to do but don't forget that I envy you.  You have a woman to love.  Make her your wife and live happily ever after.  That's my advice to you."

Nicholas wound up his fist like he was going to hit me.  He was pulling a Popeye with his windup.  I was braced.  Nicholas lost heart.

"I can't do it," he said.

Vincent came out of the bar.  "It's a good thing you didn't do it, Nicky," he said.  "If you had hit this guy after that wind up you'd be in jail for murder."  

You can always count of Vincent to put a positive spin on things.

Nicholas turned to me.  "No hard feelings," he said.

"Never here, either," I said.

We shook hands and Vincent took Nicholas back inside.  I followed and sat next to Nicholas and his fiancé the whole night.  She is a very interesting and beautiful woman, both on her outside and in what she says and how she acts.

The meaning of New Orleans is the freedom to be yourself.  

I have no reason to be envious of Nicholas.  I am married to the nicest person you will ever meet.  She is beautiful.  I wouldn't trade her for the world.  Maybe someday you'll meet her.

New Orleans is like that.

THIS BLOG IS SPONSORED BY LA BELLE ESPLANADE, a small boutique bed & breakfast hotel in New Orleans.  Visit New Orleans like you mean it.  Good memories are made on our street every day.