They say you can never go home again......HA!

 My first strategically planned visit back home to NOLA was Easter weekend 2011.  As any good Irish Catholic girl knows, on Good Friday Ya gotta walk the 9 churches!!!!!! Elizabeth Gilbert may "Eat, Pray, Love" her way to clarity and bliss, but in the Irish Channel,  it's more like "Pray, Drink, Sleep" (not necessarily in that order). I got off of the plane at 11 PM on a Wednesday night, starting point being a blistery cold day in Portland, Maine.  Never had I been so happy for that humidity slap right on the tarmac! Y'all know what I am talking about...... Proceeded to rental car place. Keep in mind the time...now about 1130PM.  I happily picked up my Ford Focus and began driving on the I-10 toward Old Metairie. with ALL the windows down. blaring 92.3 FM. my head out of the window. mouth open like a damn dog. singing. loudly.  What the hell?  I don't like it here, it's hot, it's sticky, it's a fishbowl for God's sake. Why am I so..... dare I say it,  HAPPY??? Oh, crap.  

Like ALL of New Orleans, I have a huge family tree. Some are displaced, but for the most part, all of the branches are intact within the metro area.  It's hard to be one of the displaced. New Orleans is a unique place to grow up. As a true New Orleanian trying to integrate into another society it can be very frustrating; like a book placed purposely on the wrong shelf.  You might fit it into the case, but the binding and materials do not match up. No matter how hard you try to ignore it, or make it fit, it just stands out. Everywhere I go seems to be too "Vanilla".  And I do not mean the color, I mean the FLAVOR. We are used to "Rocky Road, maybe a little "Pralines -N- Cream",  but VANILLA??? NOT so much.  In Nola you can let your freak flag fly high as a kite. on a Sunday. at noon. That's just how we roll. "Go big, or go home" right?  We are the "Big" Easy for crying out loud!  Small and simple just do not compute. For example: A big hurricane, CHECK. A big SuperBowl win, CHECK.  And an even bigger SuperBowl Ring, CHECK. (yes my daddy does have one, thank you very much).  

So how does one marry the coexistence of a past life lived in up all night jazz clubs while downing cool cocktail concoctions with a mundane and restrained existence in a small German town???...... stay tuned for more, but until then ..........LAISSEZ LES BONTEMPS ROULER Y"ALL!!! 

What the Hell? How did I end up here????

Let me start off by saying people from New Orleans just do not leave. Its like an unwritten rule.  Ya born here, Ya die here. Stick a fork in your coon ass, YOU ARE DONE. WHY??? Roots run deep here in New Orleans, even more than we will ever realize.  It is an essence, a common pulse between the people that run through your veins, seeping into every pore.  You don't even know its there, that is.....UNTIL YOU GO.  The microscopic underwater fishbowl that seems all at once sexy, jazzy, slow and syrupy can easily turn thick, smothering, and smell slightly sour, just like you burned your roux.  SO you leave, taking for granted everything New Orleanians hold so dear, dragging it behind along with your luggage.   I left the Big Easy in June of 2010. Couldn't wait. I AM OUTA HERE!!!! NH here we come!! The pristine White Mountains of New Hampshire didn't know what hit'em.  The Who DAT's hit "Da Village". After a challenging year of foraging for wood and fighting forest life, we have now settled into Merklingen Village by way of Stuttgart, Germany. It's like Kenner to New Orleans....kind of........