I got up this morning with a gleam in my eye. Because today, my dear friend K., picked up her new bike. And she wanted to spend the day riding all over town, stretching her legs and her new chain. Well, I’m certainly up for using my sunny Saturday afternoon like that, so I met her at the bike shop in the Quarter. We then rode through the Marigny to the Bywater, where I had a quick brunch while K. zipped around. Then we hopped on the St. Claude bike lane over through Mid-City and along Bayou St. John, and then back through Broadmoor to Uptown for yet another New Orleans festival. Lovely. I stopped to snap this picture of an abandoned Albertson’s grocery store at Jeff and Tulane Avenue. Like many buildings in town, this one feels almost ghostly, as if one day the life just disappeared. And I guess that’s sort of what happened. I stopped to take this photo, though, because it was so strange to see an Albertson’s in this context. I’m from Boise, Idaho, home of the very first Albertson’s. That was my grocery store for my entire childhood. I remember when the tore that first one down. And rebuilt it on the other side of the parking lot. But I didn’t think the store made it all the way down here! But it’s closed now, just like many of the Albertson’s stores in the west, sold to Key Foods, I think. What do we do with the stuff–the buildings, the gas pumps, the land covered over with concrete–when things change and the stuff isn’t needed anymore? I want more gardens.

I had an hour this morning between work and more work, so I took the opportunity to hop on the new bike and tool around Broadmoor.  Broadmoor took on a lot of water when the levees broke, and the neighborhoods in the area are only slowly coming back.  Some streets have maybe one house that’s been redone on the block while other blocks look like nothing ever happened.  The rebuilding here is incredibly uneven, as it is in most parts of town.  So much has to be in place in order to fully commit to moving back here and to be able, financially and emotionally, to start all over.  I’m always impressed by the streets with just one rebuilt house, but also sad.  How does one mourn, incorporate loss and move on, when surrounded by constant physical reminders of that devastation?  But people do it.  I don’t understand how.  I stopped and took this picture of a burned-out house near the corner of S. Tonti and 4th.  I stopped because I could smell it, that slightly sour, old, woody smell of wet, burned decay.  Now, I don’t know when this house burned down, but that’s the thing that struck me as I rode around today.  I don’t know when these houses were abandoned.  I don’t know if the many crews working on houses in the neighborhood are still doing post-Katrina repairs, or if they’re simply doing some remodeling.  I wonder if I will ever ride around this place and be able to forget what happened here three and a half years ago.  I bet most people who don’t live here already have.

I woke up this morning to a flat rear tire on my bike. That’s not a good way to begin the day, but I got a new tube this afternoon and took a long bike ride around town, from Uptown, through Central City to Broadmoor, over to the CBD, through the Quarter and then to the Marigny. I saw a lot of things–a broken-down public pool on Earhart, the new Sav-a-Center being built where the old Winn-Dixie stood abandoned for years on Claiborne, a collapsing building with the furniture still inside on Chartres, and countless facades failing to hide decay. But what caught my attention when I left the coffee shop to head home were were the birds. So many birds, lining the wires, flying back and forth and chattering in the sky. It was kind of eerie. Who called the meeting? How did they all know where to come? Are they planning something? Do they know something I don’t know about the weather? Or is this just bird happy hour? There’s a lot of man-made disaster in this place, but there’s also natural beauty, like this sky and these birds who surely have their own experience of this place.

The weather is strangely cool in New Orleans today, which I like, and I enjoyed a non-task related ride around the Broadmoor neighborhood.  This neighborhood took on a lot of water when the levees broke after Katrina, and much of it remains in disarray.  This house caught my attention because it was on a street with a number of rebuilt homes, making it stick out more than most.  I also noticed the twisted one way sign on the corner.  There are so many signs like this in New Orleans right now–one way signs pointed up, street signs missing, stoplights seemingly directing both sides of traffic.  Some of these signs are downed by Gustav’s recent winds, but far more have been down for over three years.  And this house looks almost untouched since that storm, mailbox askew, windows blown out, paint peeling.  The lawn has been cut, which makes me think that someone is looking after this place.  But I make a lot of assumptions around here.  Signs don’t help, so I guess I’m just going with my gut.

Today was a very, very sad day.  Jackson, the very first dog I have loved–and those of you who love animals know that’s one special love–died.  Now, I loved this dog.  He was incredibly special, more of a man than a dog, really.  Or like a man who is secretly a cat dressed in a dog suit.  He was smart, well behaved, loyal, fun at parties, and, frankly, one of the few uncomplicated and purely loving relationships I’ve ever had.  And I only knew the sweet boy for six months.  But in that time we developed a strong bond–he knew the sound of my car pulling up in front of his mom’s house and would rush to the window to see me.  He’d meet me at the stairs, stuffed beaver or puffer in mouth, wiggling and whining a whine meant just for me.  He was scared of storms, as most are here in New Orleans, and I liked sitting with him, scratching him and letting him know everything would be ok.  And I loved walking him.  Loved it.  So when his mom called me late to tell me he was sick and early to tell me he’d passed, I was devastated in a way I certainly didn’t expect but in retrospect seems fully normal.  I loved that dog so, so much.

The only thing I could think to do in the face of this unexpected sadness was to bike.  But it was absolutely pouring rain for much of the morning and afternoon, raining too hard, actually, for me to safely bicycle around.  It was as if the universe was telling me to slow down, to sit with the sadness of loss, to remember Jackson and how much he taught me about love, to think of his mom, and to feel, from afar, with her.  When the storm lifted, I got on my bike for a long, long ride through Broadmoor, knowing this neighborhood is one where loss and life are very well known.  I snapped this shot of the sky as I came up Washington toward Ehrhardt Boulevard.  It captured how I was feeling–clear of the downpour but with a heavy cloud looming, over a neighborhood filled with love and hope but also immense and immeasurable loss.  I will miss Jackson so much.