Je ne sais pas (I don't know)

In between working, and doing whatever it is that Elizabeth does; there are times where memories flood my brain like a runneth over creek. Sometime the memories are really grandiose and bring a smile to my brown face. Then sometimes the memories come over me like a grey cloud hovering in the atmosphere, not really causing distress, but reminding me that it could cause distress if the right winds blow.


But today, I am grinning from ear to ear as I think about a simpler time and place:

I am not certain the year or the exact month, but I am sure it was the mid 80’s and it must have been early summer in New Orleans, Louisiana. My baby sister and I would be shipped to Louisiana every single summer, and every single school break. This is where the maternal side of my family lived/lives and we would always have a completely different experience every time we go.

Flow with me, as I paint the picture engraved in my heart and soul…this is one picture that the water did not erase-

Ellen and I slept in the most adorable pajamas, perched across either a bed or a pallet in Gramo’s room. The window would be open, only bearing the screen. The breeze would flow in across the Mississippi River, down into the lower ninth ward, and into our window, creating a small dance across our faces and into the curls which rested on our heads.

Then, amidst the breeze and the calmness of the moment, we would hear a shout in the not-so-far-away distance “Vegetables! Come get your vegetables!”. This was just the alarm clock that we needed. Up, we would hop, to ask Grandmama for some change so that we could meet the Fruit and Vegetable man outside and get whatever our hearts desired. Of course, she would arm us with shiny coins and send us into the street. There we would wave down the man with his truck and huge amounts of fruits and vegetables visible from his cab. I don’t remember what all we would buy, but I can remember seeing my Aunt Mildred a few houses down watering her lawn, and waving at the girls from Texas. It was morning and the jazz playing and the friendly faces outside, most of whom were family, was a strong indication of such.

Back thru the gate and up the porch stairs, we would race; and back into the room where we would rest. The smell of strong Café’ Dumond Coffee with Chicory would be brewing in an old tin coffee pot. The smell would began to draw us in.

Ding-Dong-Ding-Dong, and at the door, as timely as a clock himself, was a tall, brown Uncle Brother. He had the smoothest skin, and the most beautiful grey locks of curls in his head. He was a handsome, manly, man. This was grandmama’s brother and he came to visit the house every morning, on foot, with his Times Picayune, Newspaper, tucked neatly under his arm. Grandmama would pour him some coffee and at the table, they would sit and laugh about the “good old” days. He taught me to play checkers when I was eight years old.

Within an hour, some of the other family would come down to sip coffee, eat cinnamon rolls and just talk about the issues of the hour.

Ellen and I would come out and sit on a lap or two, laugh and mostly amuse them with our Texas accent with every word spoken, from our small voices.

I am so blessed. I knew all of Grandmama’s sisters and brothers. They all, except 2 of the 8, lived in the lower ninth ward, in walking distance of one another. They all had their own stories to tell, and they all had there own way of touching my life.

Sometime, when I go back to visit New Orleans to see the handful of family still there, I come down Claiborne Street (Highway 90), over that rickety bridge and come down the street where my Grandmama used to live. There is nothing there but stumps, grass, abandoned boats and some new art-deco homes being built in an effort to completely remove the memory of what, once was.

I do not have very many pictures of my family from that street. In fact, very few of us do. You see, when the waters rose, they didn’t just take away people’s homes, it attempted to eradicate our very existence. It attempted to remove the fact that once upon a time, we were there; and we were happy.



Dedicated to the: Broussards, Josephs, Lapages and Quests.

I love you all!