You do still remember the way it was, before Katrina? How the sunlight spat off the low wooden houses, off the yellow ones just as much as from the blue ones and the red ones? How the heat stretched itself languidly in the early morning already, in streets that were called Indepence, Piety and Desire? You do still remember how we had to ride our bikes around the cracks in the tarmac, some as big as potholes and so deep that my front wheel disappeared in one completely one time? How I confessed that I secretely searched for reassurance the first day: Fedex cars delivering packages, taxis accepting rides and the Times Picayune, which was for sale in the streets? That you explained that Bywater was a neighborhood on its way back, with people that refurbished the many delerict houses and starting restaurants and cafés? You do still remember that you said that Piety Street Studios could compete with all others and that Jon Cleary and Dr. John recorded there? That you talked us into an outrageous Tipitina’s for the latter and his band, with Professor Longhair’s statue in front of the entrance, made by David?
You do still remember how that mosaic looked that you had created in your front garden from strings of plastic carnival beads: purple, green, gold and mirrors? How beautiful it was, whereas the fake and vulgarity glowed from each string separately? That you told me how neighbourhood children came to deliver new strings and never stole from it? You do still remember that you said that of course it would never be finished?
You do still remember that you said that I should at most cross Bourbon Street? That I should shun that street because it disgraced the French Quarter? That I said that I would love to buy a house there, in the silent part in the direction of North Rampart, where the boozing party goers never come? You do still remember, don’t you, Gloria?
Published in Dutch in roots music magazine Heaven no.39, November-December 2005/no. 6