Whoa Nelly!

My car, a 2003 blue VW Golf, has been through a lot. Her name is Nell (a shortened form of Dub-Yuh-Nell, which is the nickname for my undergrad, Washington and Lee...I couldn't name her 'Dubyuh' for obvious reasons). She was purchased in St. Louis after I returned from Peace Corps in Morocco. She then traveled highway 70 between St. Louie and Kansas City routinely for a year while I was living in KC and visiting family in St. Louis.

Then I decided to move to New Orleans for law school. This meant three round trips between Kansas City and Nola as I looked for an apartment, moved my belongings, and visited friends. Living in Nola also meant multiple hurricane evacuations to Little Rock, trips that resulted in 1 flat tire, 1 busted headlight bulb, a handful of bad mix CDs, and the murder of one unfortunate turtle crossing highway 55N. Evacuations aside, Nola was not a good place for a car. A sinking city means a city of potholes. And in New Orleans these are not your average potholes. These are not tire-sized potholes. These are large cow-sized. These are VW Golf-sized. I saw an 18 wheeler get stuck on a city street because its front tire sank into the road. And still, despite the potholes, heat, and humidity, by dear Nelly survived. Not unscathed, of course. A couple of teenage hooligans stole two of my hubcaps right in front of me. And I lost a third due to a faulty U-turn. But she's alive and kicking.

And now. Now I bring her to Minneapolis. I cover her in so much salt and gook and mess, she doesn't even look blue anymore. I freeze her senseless so that half the time I come back to the bus station after work I say a little prayer for her to start. I can't blame her orneryness, I wouldn't want to wake up either if I'd been hanging out in a -5 degree garage all day. So today, I gave her a bath. I never spend money on car washes, they were a waste in New Orleans since it rained so much. And here it seems silly since she'll just get salty again with one trip downtown. But she looked so sad and grey, I had to perk her up a bit.

Nelly, in her clean and hubcapless glory, says hello.

Cry for Help

I miss the jazz on Frenchman's Street. Someone find me some jazz.

I Miss the Sidewalk

Well, I don't really miss the sidewalks in New Orleans. They're the most awful, ankle-twisting sidewalks in America, ripped apart by oak roots and the constant sinking of the streets. But I do miss walking up and down my street, State Street, to and from school. I miss seeing houses I'd never noticed before, in colors I'd forgotten about, with flowers I could never describe.

This was my favorite house. On the corner, the yard always smelled like clay and jasmine. It was beautiful.

A New Day

For the last few years, ever since the Cardinals were defeated by the Red Sox, my family has burned a Red Sox cap in the fireplace to welcome the new year, bring good luck. We're a rabid Cardinals family, and watching the Red Sox cap melt and pop and disintegrate in open flames is a welcome sight. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

May the New Year bring similarly bizarre joys to you and yours.