Our Final Weeks

I'm so bummed, in advance, about leaving that I haven't felt like blogging.

We've begun to make leaving preparations: The cats have a flight back home. We're talking about what route we'll take. We're making arrangements to return out kick ass mattress. My copious amount of Mardi Gras beads have a place to stay until Mardi Gras '08.

We've also made a list of things we have to do/people we have to see before we go. This list includes eating at Todd English's restaurant because my mother requires it. Apparently, she is madly in love with Chef English and doesn't care if his restaurant has garnered mediocre reviews. (I don't know but she may expect me to slip him her phone number. I might, because it would be cool to have a cook in the family. Dad especially would enjoy that, despite the weirdness of it all.)

Otherwise, life is pretty much the same. We had Jazz Fest for the past two weekends, so that was awesome. I continue to be a gutting master. Today, we did a house Uptown that hadn't flooded but had suffered roof damage in the storm and it looked like it had had water up to the rafters, so gross and destroyed it was. It was dirty work, with plaster walls and so much dust you couldn't see at times, but a good gut. This is the second time I've worked for the owner, George. (The house is a double and last time, we only finished emptying and partially gutting one side.) Last time, George gave us drinks and snacks. This time, he did that -- and more. He fried a whole turkey and made a vat of jambalaya. It was the best turkey I've ever eaten. I mean, I've had fried turkey before, but this was so juicy and flavorful -- he fries it in peanut oil -- that I could have eaten it for all three meals.

George was modest about his food but told us that when he rebuilds, he's putting in a super big kitchen because he loves cooking. He was naturally a quiet man, the kind who looks down when he smiles, and so sweet. He introduced us to his girlfriend and one of his oldest friends and I really got a glimpse into his life. Of course, he invited us back when things were finished, even if it was years in the future. I wonder if I'll ever see him again.

And then I got to thinking that, at one point, I was spending a lot of time at a house about two blocks from George's. But if the storm hadn't hit, I never would have met him. And I never would have met Mr. L or Gloria or Heidi or Suzanne or all of these wonderful people that have filled our lives these past few months.

So Katrina, you bitch, thank you. I've had a lot of people tell me that good things always come from bad and I'm almost believing them.