We all know New Orleans isn’t for everyone. To wit, New Orleans’ summers moreso. And I’m not even talking about temperature. Personally I rather like the bake that becomes you. No, I’m talking about *the quiet.* The absolute emptiness we annually embrace; when our city becomes our town, again.
I was driving Magazine early this morning about 6, and it was all Omega Man. No cars. No people. Sun creaking out through the outstretched oak branches. I don’t think there was anything kinetic in my path save the traffic light. A light haze hung the air with a muted graininess, almost chalky. We have had little to no precip so this was totally understandable. But I had forgotten. And I suddenly remembered. It’s summer. And it’s oh so quiet.
I could’ve stopped the car dead in the street without a worry. And left it there running. While I grabbed a paper or a coffee or whatever. No one’s about. Almost like post storm no one. But without all the leaves, debris, and (gasp!) rotting meat. Note: if you evacuate this season and you clean out your fridge or freezer as you exit, give your perishables to your neighbors – no one picks up the trash during a hurricane evacuation. But I digress.
I love this gift of absence. All the college kids are away, old school New Orleanians are summering somewhere like Steamboat Springs, and what’s left is me – and maybe you. And that’s okay. I had my vacation late Spring. Being here is vacation enough. Watching everyone work themselves into an absolute frenzy over college baseball is amusing and likely accounts for some of the lack of people. Baseball – - – but I again digress.
Relish it. August will be here in a blink. And LSU will have won. Or lost. But we still won’t have recycling. And if I may borrow from Alex McMurray we will have a had a month of Sundays to call our own. Our simmer season translates to whispers of population where you may catch every light, rarely wait to make groceries, and pause – - – live slow, die old.
