lunachick

I am a proud citizen of the Mojo Nation: In dog we trust.
(Wag more, bark less.)

Mojo was a much-loved canine (see the photo prominently displayed above the bar the next if you still need proof that dogs can grin). Framed photos of patrons’ pets are also featured on a wall near the entrance to the kitchen… The regulars are a genuine community; I feel lucky for having found this particular corner of the universe.

The bartenders are of a distinctive calibre, and Mojo’s kitchen is one of the best-kept secrets in the Quarter (delicious fare that is modestly priced). Louis (the current owner/chef) humors me when I visit because I defer to him without reservation as to what I’ll be enjoying for my meal (and I’ve yet to be disappointed by his choice). The jukebox features a carefully selected collection of CDs assembled based upon the collective staffs’ picks. It’s a place without pretense or hype (a rare find in NOLA).

I regret to note that Arly (Louis’ partner in all respects) passed away on 05/22/2007. She was one tough little bird; we’re all going to miss her… I like to think that Mojo’s keeping her company until the rest of us follow along.

On the corner of Toulouse and Burgundy, it’s a place where some of the best people I know can be found. It’s a bit off the beaten path from Bourbon Street (the clientele are mostly locals), but all are welcomed to enjoy the company and conversations. It’s still my favorite living room in the past fifteen years’ time.

After the trials and joys of just living
After you've given all that's worth giving
After the road and after the songs
May you find a place where you belong...

(My poem for ordering Bushmills Irish Whiskey at Fahy’s.)

One year after The Thing:

On Sunday (08/28/05) and Monday (08/29/05), I avidly monitored Katrina from 2,000+ miles away. After landfall, I’d felt relieved because the initial reports indicated that NOLA was battered, but not broken (a bullet dodged, nothing more than a very messy flesh wound). It wasn’t until Tuesday that the breaches and flooding were accurately reported to those living outside of the region.

I spent the first three weeks of September locating scattered friends, loved ones and folks not personally known to me who were important to my long-time allies. At the time, I hurt because didn’t know how to do more; not having been displaced, I didn’t fully comprehend the value of being a stable point-of-contact (simply because my phone number is one that’s easily memorized). The morning I was able to confirm the location of the last person on my list by speaking with him directly in his new place of residence, I quietly left my workplace, walked to a small, quiet park down the street, sat down on the grass in the sunshine and finally cried.

An excerpt from an email I’d sent to a long-time ally, Brother Tom on 09/14/05: “I know that the best parts of me live openly and freely in New Orleans. I knew where the people were who easily shared laughter with me and had heartfelt hugs waiting for me no matter how much time had passed since the last time I came around. Family is all that matters at this moment; we’re all miles away from Toulouse and Burgundy these days. You’ve all welcomed me well during the days and nights when I’m able to be there; now I’m being given the chance to return that favor.”

Of the 25 friends/loved ones that were living in NOLA, fourteen returned. Of those, ten remain one year later (one of whom is presently struggling with the idea of starting over elsewhere).

During the past year, I’ve told many not familiar with New Orleans that things like the architectural charm, the sense of history, the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine, the food and music are part of what makes New Orleans undeniably unique, but that it’s really the people who live there that give it a life/character/flavor all its own. These days it’s those people (imperfect, uncommon, opinionated, gracious, funny and amazingly strong) that are my reason for coming back.

I wasn’t even back in Seattle for 72 hours from last week’s brief pre-anniversary visit before I’d booked my next trip (10/29-11/03/06). At present, I’m a frequent visitor—next year, I hope to return as a resident.

I was facinated by the grafitti; this is one of my favorite stencil-style pieces taken on Calle Matamoros in Oaxaca City.

Between fishing at Slippery Rock Creek with my dad, chasing fireflies in the summertime, counting the different varieties and colors of wild violets in the spring or animal tracks in the snow during the winter, and 4th of July family reunions, it’s a place that has always been good to me.

It’s one of those places in the world that can make you feel small in the grand scheme of things (and yet, somehow, that’s just as it should be and it’s all good).

An arts community breathing life into the ghost of a coal mining outpost. The people and businesses are eclectic, interesting and refreshing.

While my day-to-day reality is better in Seattle, my soul thrives in the Marigny. As someone stated in Jeremy Campbell’s “Hexing a Hurricane” documentary, “Living in New Orleans is like living in Oz… And everywhere else is Kansas.” Next visit is in the works for Hallowe’en 2006.

Spent the day exploring the Extraterrestrial Highway (NV 375); enjoyed lunch at the Little A’Le’Inn. It was my first solo road trip in an unfamiliar locale!

October 31-November 2… It’s all about life, vibrance, sensory delights and enjoying what you’ve got while you’re still on this side of the terra firma. More to follow…