N'Awlins

 

I am, as my friends know, a Philadelphian, through and through. Still, it becomes increasingly important, as I age, to see more of this country that I also claim as my own—cities like Asheville and Staunton, Lexington and Miami, and, this weekend, New Orleans.

There she is, Bourbon Street, just ahead of a storm. Tanya and Dorise, the violinist and guitarist, are playing on a corner just behind me. Gifts for my husband and father are in a store a few blocks ahead (they will be wrapped, immaculately, by a Frenchman with a wax stamp). The morning (spent wandering up St. Charles Avenue and through the Tulane University campus) seems like a hot-sauna year ago. The evening (a little jazz) is still being planned.

I have Edna O'Brien and Colum McCann on this iPad. I've read the New York Times and watched those beloved NYT videos during rain storms.

I have no work in the room.

There is not a lot I love about getting older. But choosing to act now, to forestall regret later, is a bright benefit.

 

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