Dispatch From New Orleans

Sal's Sno-Balls in Metairie

Is there anything sweeter than Sal's Sno-Balls in Metairie on a hot summer evening? The place stays open until 11 every night.

Stand By Me . . . truly amazing!

Playing For Change | Song Around The World "Stand By Me" from Concord Music Group on Vimeo.

About those gas lamps . . .

You see gas lamps like this all over the place in New Orleans. On some blocks, like Uptown near Audubon Park, or in the Garden District, nearly every home has one or two. In fact, an 1870 home I looked into buying in the historic Holy Cross neighborhood has two of them.

But I wonder . . . how environmentally friendly are they? Does it make sense to burn gas day and night? At least with electrical light bulbs, you can turn them off during daylight hours. These things stay on all the time, like a pilot light.

I've read conflicting reports on whether gas lamps are big polluters or minor polluters. I'll report back as the situation becomes clearer in my mind.

What's Blooming Now? — Late December

These lovely camellias were snipped outside a house abandoned after Katrina. The storm drove the people away, but the flowers are doing just fine. There's something poetic about that. Merry Christmas to all.

Think you know the Lower Ninth Ward? Betcha don't

I drove through the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans (see map here) for the first time back in February. I was saddened and horrified at the destroyed homes, hundreds of them, thousands of them, left rotting, vacant or washed away since the levees failed during Hurricane Katrina. I blogged about it here.

Since my first visit to the Crescent City, I decided to move to New Orleans with my husband and be part of the rebuild. He is a construction consultant who helps homeowners get back into their homes, while I write about renovation. One of the first women he helped is named Miss Sheila. And that became Bill's oft-repeated motto: "I want to help Miss Sheila get back into her home."

I've gone many times with Bill to the Lower Ninth Ward to visit the homeowners he helps. I've gone to the Lower Ninth Ward Village, where Americorp volunteers live and get trained. I've attended weekly meetings of the Holy Cross Neighborhood Association as dozens of neighbors gather to give each other strength. I've visited the bunk-style housing of lowernine.org, a volunteer organization started by a boat builder from Maine. I've visited the homes built by Brad Pitt's Make It Right Foundation. I've visited the demonstration home built by Global Green. And I've visited Ariane Wiltse as she works to restore an 1870s home near Jackson Barracks.

All this has changed me. I first noticed my changes last week as Bill and I were driving once again through the Lower Ninth Ward to drop off some insulation a company had donated and to give some young volunteers advice on how to install it in yet another woman's house who wants to come home.

As we were driving, I commented to Bill that it seemed like a lot of work was getting done, that a lot of houses were restored. I thought, did anything much really change since February? Yes and no. Mostly, the change is in me. I no longer focus only on the homes that are damaged, vacant and broken. 

Instead, my eyes dance from one fixed-up house to the next. I am in awe of every painted board, every restored window, every potted plant and shiny doorknob. I know that each of these elements is a miracle, is a testament to someone's unyielding and irrational belief that this neighborhood can come back. Two or three years ago, nobody knew. But today, with the beauty you see in these photos, it's happening. The Lower Ninth Ward is coming back, better than ever. And I have learned how to see the miracles that I once missed.

Photos: Above you see two colorful houses on Jourdan Street, with the grassy hill of the levee behind them.

Here you see the same cottages as seen from atop the levee. Notice all the other colorful cottages? In this area, the Lower Ninth Ward feels like being out in the country.

From "the Nine," as it's called, you can see across a bend in the Mississippi River to the downtown skylight. At night, this is a magical view.

Here's a beautifully restored double shotgun cottage, converted into a single family home, on Dauphine Street in the Holy Cross neighborhood. It's for sale through Latter & Blum for $250,000. This is a gorgeous home. See more photos of it here.

An iconic Lower Nine home that makes it through every hurricane with style and grace.

A darling cottage with what looks like solar water heating on the roof. There's a big push to rebuild New Orleans green.

What's Blooming Now? — Mid December

December sunset at Audubon Park

Water birds nesting at dusk one recent day in December. See more about Audubon Park and see it on the map.

Fiddler Amanda Shaw, at 18, is a local treasure

Bill and I headed out a couple of weeks ago to the first New Orleans Po-Boy Preservation Festival on Oak Street in the charming Riverbend neighborhood. Our goal was to see fiddler Amanda Shaw, who just celebrated her 18th birthday with 800 revelers at Rock 'N' Bowl.

We were not disappointed. This kid can put on a show!

The following video was shot at Jazz Fest 2008, but she did the same song at the PoBoy Festival. Enjoy!

It's snowing today in New Orleans

Streetcar in New Orleans. Photo by the Times-Picayune. Read the story here.

Our Jefferson Parish neighbors enjoying their snow day. (Photo by Bill Robinson)

Today in the French Quarter

The lingo of New Orleans and other impressions

As you can imagine, folks talk differently here than they do in my hometown of Los Angeles. Here are some impressions:

• I'm addressed in three ways by the people I see: Miss Kathy (which is what Leon (pronounced lee-OWN) at the tire store called me, as in "You come back and see me, Miss Kathy"), Ma'am (what I'm called at the grocery store, as in "Thank you, Ma'am") and darlin' (which is what men say when I'm passing by on the sidewalk, as in "How ya doin', darlin'?). I like all of them!

• When speaking of the wood siding on houses, it's called weather boards down here. If you go into a lumberyard and asked for horizontal lap siding, they look at you like you're speaking Japanese.

• And when speaking about your mortgage payment, it's known as a "note" down here, as in "I can't pay my note because I spent all my bill money when I evacuated for the hurricane." And here's another difference: The lenders have been conservative down here with making home loans, and did not put people into houses they could not afford. So while there are other issues here, there are not so many foreclosures due to bad loans.

• Happily, there is less of a youth-worshiping culture here. As a mature adult woman, I feel more respected and less cast aside than I did in Southern California. In fact, I feel so attractive. I look in the mirror or see my reflection in a plate glass window and I think, dang, that's a good-looking woman! That alone is worth the cross-country journey.

What's Blooming Now? — Late September

In City Park, near the sculpture garden. If you know what this is, give a holler.

What's Blooming Now? — Mid September

It's plumbago blooming in East Jefferson. See the lady peeking out the storm door? When she saw me taking photos, did she call the cops? Did she hide? Did she pull the drapes?? She did none of those things. Instead, she came out of her darling white house with blue trim and told me that she'd found the perfect spot to grow plumbago. She seemed pleased that I was shooting photos.

Let's get those houses jacked up, people!

Just in case the levees fail again, like they did following the relatively mild-mannered Hurricane Katrina, the best defense against losing one's house and possessions to flooding is to elevate the house in advance. It's required by many codes and rebuilding programs. And yet, some homeowners are skirting those rules. I heard that some 2,000 homeowners have done just that and I imagine the number is higher than that.

Why would someone choose not to elevate their home in such an environment? It's the cost, of course. And, as one woman was quoted on the TV newscast, she doesn't like the way elevated homes look. And I'll admit, some of them look goofy and awkward. But some of them, like the one above, look downright elegant, like a rich person's Florida house.

So I've become interested in photographing as many good-looking elevated homes as I can find, and this is the first one. The benefits are many. You get lots of covered parking underneath. And think of your views! Normally the neighbors get cranky when the top of your house towers above all others in the neighborhood. But if you're raising your house because it's required by code, who's to complain? Of course, when every house is elevated, the views won't be as striking. And that's a good a reason as any to become the first on one's block.

Where's Zeus?

Today, we begin a new feature in which we follow Zeus around New Orleans to see what he's up to. Here, he strolls beside a pavilion at City Park. During summer squalls, when Zeus slows down his pace to sniff and such, the park's picnickers retreat to this pavilion and others conveniently located in the park.

You can read about the park here. The park's website says the park gets more than 14 million visitors a year. But I wonder: is that including dogs? I think not.

When you live in New Orleans . . .

At a restaurant, you might get boiled red potatoes and butter on your table before your meal is served, instead of bread.

This is what happened recently at Deanie's Seafood, a locals' place in Bucktown (a.k.a. Metairie), which is north of downtown New Orleans and west of City Park. Another location has opened in the French Quarter.

See the dinner menu here.

One evening in New Orleans

It was about 90 degrees and humid and I waited until about 6 p.m. to take my big, black dog Zeus out for his walk. Usually we walk around our Jefferson neighborhood of modest post-war bungalows, but I decided to give us both a treat with a walk at City Park.

The country's fifth-largest urban park, City Park was at one time a plantation, and is 1,300 acres of giant oaks (one is pictured here), statues, lakes, trails, people, dogs, an art museum, tennis courts, and so much more. The oaks are amazing, dripping with Spanish moss, and with ferns growing right off the trunks and branches.

Zeus got to say hi to quite a few other doggies, including a splendid white standard poodle. The sun was shining as we set out and I wore a hat to fend off the rays. I brought water for Zeus but he really prefers wading into the lagoon for a sip or two. I worried, being a newcomer to New Orleans, about alligators. I asked some fishermen and a fisherboy about that. The boy said he saw a 3-footer not too long ago, but the others assured me that the area was generally gator-free.

A few steps further, we came upon a group of adults and their children chatting on the path. All of them turned to me and said hi, how ya doin'?

About halfway into our walk, I felt a few sprinkles of rain. The locals barbecuing and picnicking seemed to know this was going to turn into a squall as they ran with their food-laden paper plates into the stone pavilions nearby.

As the squall came on, Zeus walked slower and slower. I thought it was a time to run, but his slow-poke speed made me simmer down and enjoy the torrents of warm rain. A jogger passed by and called out that he loved this weather.

By the time we got back at the car, Zeus and I were drenched. And I could hardly see to drive. A few miles away, I noticed the street lights were out and the stores and houses were dark, all except for a nearby hospital. We passed by Metairie Cemetery with its giant stone mausoleums sitting above ground.

Near a freeway overpass I heard a loud noise and when I passed the intersection I could see that a white van had just smashed into a pillar, its lights still blazing. I saw several cars make u-turns to go help. It wasn't until I got half a block away that I realized maybe I should have stopped. But I had the black dog and was wearing sandals and was soaking wet. I felt depleted. So I drove on, but I felt guilty about not stopping to help, and I hope when I need help, people don't just drive on.

My plan had been to stop at a grocery store called Rouse's on the way home to pick up dinner supplies. But when I passed by, I saw that it was dark from the power outage. I had resigned myself to canned pea soup and nuts for dinner when I came across Dot's Diner, which was all lit up. I had never been to Dot's, which has several stores in the area, so I pulled in. I waved to a man sitting outside and watching the rain. He looked like he wouldn't have minded some company.

I ordered onion rings and a dinner salad to go. When I said, "I wouldn’t mind having blue cheese dressing or something like that," I realized how much New Orleans had already changed me. Back in my home state of California, you demand what you want and if it's not available, you start thinking about getting a lawyer. Here in New Orleans, so much doesn't go your way so much of the time. But you adjust yourself to that. You become easy-going. I noticed that in my husband, Bill, who has been down here for several months. Bill's typically a pretty demanding guy. But I started hearing comments from him like, "I've come to accept that," or "I've adjusted myself to that." In New Orleans, when things take longer than you want, or are not available, you work around it. That's how things are done in the Big Easy. You mellow and relax.

And, sure enough, they were out of blue cheese and offered me ranch. Back at the house, the power was on, and I enjoyed my meal, and Zeus enjoyed his dinner and his nightly bone. A little while later I noticed a tiny frog jumping across the carpeting and I gently moved it outside.

(Photo: Samual Portera)

When you live in New Orleans . . .

When you live in New Orleans . . . you hope and pray the coming hurricane will miss your beloved city, not really thinking about how it will wreak havoc on someone else's. (Read the latest.)

Porch Patrol — Clean and serene

When the workday is done (the owner's a gardener), this porch gets a good workout with the grown-ups in the chairs and the kids kicking the balls around in the street. This is the living, breathing, heart-beating American Dream. (Jefferson)

Porch Patrol — Big Blue

This is the kind of porch I salivate over. (Jefferson)

When you live in New Orleans . . .

When you live in New Orleans, or anywhere in the path of hurricanes, you think twice about your love of "leafy" neighborhoods. While you desperately need the shade of a big oak tree like this, you also have awareness that this tree could come crashing down in a big wind event. And there goes your house, and you if you're inside. The big tree issue is a definite quandary.

Signs of the Times — MRGO Must Go

Spotted on a front lawn in Jefferson Parish, just west of New Orleans Parish, just north of the Mississippi River. The sign refers to efforts to close the Mississippi River Gulf Outlet and thus decrease damage to the wetlands that have historically protected New Orleans from storms.

Hot dogs in New Orleans

Here's my dog Zeus, right, making a new friend on our daily walk. Having a big black dog in New Orleans limits your activity in the hot and humid summertime. The choices are: take the walk early in the day, take it late in the day, or make it a short walk!

Patriotic house in Jefferson Parish

Do you love the colors of this house?

The upside of a mild hurricane — #2

If a fence has weak poles, that fact may be revealed during a mild hurricane.

By the way, this house is for sale with a listing price of $162,000 (though it's been on the market for some time so I think you could make a deal). The exterior isn't too exciting, but it's got a nicely remodeled kitchen. See it here.

The upside of a mild hurricane — #1

You get to see which trees have shallow roots.

Time to pour the wine in New Orleans

According to Ariane at 4 p.m. CST:

I just got the best news yet. A friend who stayed in New Orleans during Gustav sent me a text to report, and I quote, "Cooking crawfish pasta and drinking a lot of wine." Sounds like people on the ground feel confident that the worst has passed.

And at 7 p.m. CST, here's the final storm posting from Ariane:

As was reported on the local WWL-TV website: "Water was roughly six feet below the top of the floodwall on the west side of the Industrial Canal. Street flooding on and around Poland Avenue between the Claiborne Avenue and Florida Avenue bridges had receded completely."

Fearing that somehow I'd jinx our frazzled city, I've been afraid to say what I felt for the past hour or so: It appears that New Orleans has dodged Gustav. What we considered to be little more than a deck of cards -- the levees -- seem to have held.

I'm physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted. And I'm thirsty. I have a big bottle of red wine with my name on it. Time to rejoice!

Stay tuned for another posting in the next few days as Ariane comes back home to the Lower Ninth Ward and finds out how her house fared in the storm.

Mack, the Village, and the Lower Ninth Ward

If you hang out long enough in the Lower Ninth Ward, you're bound to come into contact with Mack, who has created the Lower Ninth Ward Village, a gathering, community and workspace in the area.

Check out this piece with Jimmy Carter in the Lower Ninth Ward and New Orleans in general. You'll see Mack and the Village (green building) one minute and 15 seconds into the video. Mack's in the hat, thanking Carter for coming by and saying. Then, read Ariane's thoughts below:

Ariane's thoughts:

As we sit glued to the TV, just like millions of Americans, my thoughts turn to a conversation I had with a neighbor late Saturday night.

Standing under the streetlight in front of my home in Holy Cross, my neighbor Mack and I tried to soothe each other's nerves. Like me, Mack was prepared to stay. He wanted to be able to help rescue our neighbors if the Lower Nine flooded again. But after hearing Mayor Ray Nagin say the storm had veered east, had grown to a Category 5 and was "The Mother of ALL Storms," Mack, and I, decided it best to leave.

We both figured the Mayor was exaggerating, and thank God he was, but we didn't want to stick around to find out first hand.

Even though Mack knew it was time to go, he didn't want to. He feared that he wouldn't be able to get back into the city, that we'd be prohibited from entering the Lower Nine for weeks or even months. (The
Lower Ninth Ward was the last area of New Orleans to reopen after Katrina. It wasn't until May 2006, a good nine months after the storm, that residents were allowed to do more than "look and leave.")

To help convince Mack to leave, and to ensure that he'd be able to return, I gave him a handful of plastic ID sleeves along with shirt-pocket clips to make any type of badge he deemed necessary to get past the road blocks and into the neighborhood.

Mack wasn't always a neighborhood leader. He has a past, a past that today gives him the fortitude and the authority to convince people that by working together, we can do more than survive. We can thrive.

He preaches unity in the Lower Nine. We must bridge the historical divide that has kept so many black and white residents divided. Lower Nine and Holy Cross must work together, he preaches, paraphrasing Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., otherwise we perish as fools.

Like so many other people, myself included, Mack was riddled with anger, frustration and depression in the months following Katrina. The lack of government response made him bitter. In the grips of this rage against the system, he had a vision: "Stop waiting on the government to help. They're not going to. Step up and do it yourself."

Today, Mack tells us, "We are the ones we've been waiting for."

For the past year or so, Mack has been working with neighbors and volunteers to rebuild a warehouse as a community center. He's named it the Village because, like Hillary Clinton's book proclaims, it takes a village.

Mack and I hugged about a dozen times before we parted ways. I was so afraid it'd be months before we meet again, I didn't want to let him go.

Standing under that streetlight, we made a pact: Whatever happens, we will return, and we will rebuild.

Update from Ariane

An update from Ariane at 1:05 p.m. CST:

Thank God for Gov. Bobby Jindal. He's clear, concise and calm, cool and collected. A true leader in a time of crisis.

According to his most-recent briefing, the levees are holding, but the Industrial Canal on the Upper Ninth Ward side is still over topping. The worst could come on the back end of the storm later this evening. So we're not out of harm's way yet.

So far, no flooding in the Lower Nine. And yet, I can't stop thinking about my friends and neighbors there in the Holy Cross neighborhood. Over the past three years since I returned to New Orleans after Katrina, bought a house, and made the Lower Nine my home, these people have taught me what real courage and conviction looks like. They have worked from can't see morning to can't see night for three years straight, rebuilding their homes, their community, their beloved city. Many of them have had little more than their own hard work and heart to sustain them. And yet, they never wavier.

With the help of an army of volunteers from across the country and the world, they are determined to rebuild safer, stronger and smarter. They are true pioneers and true leaders. An inspiration.

We survived Katrina. We will survive Gustav.

For more info on the storm, check out Help Holy Cross.

(Photo: The Times-Picayune)

Dispatch from Ariane, taking refuge in Alabama

We've been following Ariane as she shores up her Lower Ninth Ward home before the hurricane season. It's here. It's now.

Here's what Ariane wrote this morning:

Hurricane Gustav is hitting New Orleans and South/Central Louisiana as I write. Like the vast majority of people living in the region, I evacuated. Hunkered down on the east bank of the Mobile Bay, watching the news, waiting for the storm to pass, and praying that the levees hold.

So far, so good. Gustav weakened and veered west just before hitting land, as so many other hurricanes have in New Orleans' history. Turned right or left at the last minute, sparing the city. It happens so often, people have come to expect it.

"It won't hit the city," they proclaim with the confidence of a prophet. "It's heading west" -- or east, anywhere but here.

Problem is, the city is so vulnerable, so weakened by Katrina, that we don't need a direct hit to cause havoc. You'd think we'd know that by now, after Katrina. Most do, but there's always a few who stubbornly refuse to acknowledge the threat.

My good friend Kelley just came in the room. "Did you see the news?"

(I don't have cable on the TV in the bedroom where I'm writing, so I can only see local, Alabama news.)

"No," I say with the kind of trepidation that you feel when the phone rings at 3 a.m. on a Tuesday. "What's wrong?"

"They're reporting water coming over the Industrial Canal levee in the Upper Ninth Ward near Claiborne Avenue."

F**k. Damn. S**t. NO!

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, please, please, please NO. Don't let the city flood again. Not this soon. We can't handle it. We're still on our knees from Katrina. Give us a little more time to catch our breath. Please."

I've been worried about the Upper Ninth since Thursday, when The Times-Picayune published a front-page story detailing weak spots in the levees surrounding the greater New Orleans area. They reported that an 1,800 foot stretch of levee on the Upper Nine side of the Canal was The Number One weak point in a levee system still not fully rebuilt in the three years since....

The paper reported that the Army Corps of Engineers were reinforcing the levee with 3,000 lb. sand bags.

"F**king sand bags?!" I remember thinking. "Really? You've got to be kidding me. Are they also using bubble gum and duct tape to seal the reported cracks on the Lower Nine side of the levee?!"

Both Kelley and Beau, along with the vast majority of my closest friends, live in the Upper Nine. If this breach is true, if water is pouring over the levee at Claiborne, it could be catastrophic for them, just as Katrina's breaches were catastrophic for the Lower Nine.

I guess it's time to venture downstairs to the cable news to find out.

No need. I just looked up at the tiny TV with the local news to see water flowing over a levee in New Orleans. God help us.

10:15 a.m. Just came upstairs from watching cable. Water is pouring into areas of the city. Looks like Upper Nine and an area near the lake.

I'm physically shaking. My stomach is churning. The anxiety is unbearable.

10:53 a.m.

I can't stay out of the bathroom. My nerves are terrible. Glued to the TV. Watching water spill over Industrial Canal. Praying the damn levee holds. Please God. Please.

CNN is reporting that the Lower Nine is flooding. But they may be wrong. The images looked like they are from the Upper Nine.

Kelley has turned away from the TV. "Oh, God, " she says holding her hands to her head. She opened a beer about an hour ago, as soon as we got the first reports about the levees.

I'm still on coffee, but the beer is looking better with every passing minute.

Why is the media focusing on the French Quarter?! the safest part of the city. What's happening with the Industrial Canal? On the west bank? Why can't we get some news?

Kelley's mom just got 870 AM on the radio. Gordan Roberts has a caller from Lakeview reporting power outages but no water, yet.

CNN reports the Corps says the levees are holding. But we're watching water overtop the IC levee. We know from Katrina this is how it starts. First the water overtops. Then the levee breaches. I fear the worse is yet to come.

11:26 a.m.

We just lost power in Mobile, but Kelley's parents have a generator, so hopefully I won't loose the Internet connection.