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What does Nola mean to you?

I was inspired by my colleague Amanda Anderson's recent post, which also reminded me of something fun. Amanda recently celebrated her ten year anniversary of living in New Orleans (god love her) and was going through the alphabet, reflecting on what each letter brought to mind about our beloved (and beleaguered) Crescent City.

She reminded me of a game I used to force my husband to play with me. This was before we had the baby and he became such a big help that I felt bad trying to engage him with it. It's a stupid game with essentially no rules and no winner, that I cleverly call "A to Z." Spectacular, no?

Basically the point of the game is to pick a topic and go through all the letters of the alphabet (the English one) and come up with, well, you know, things that describe said topic or fit into it. And naturally I've forced him to, on at least one occasion, go through the alphabet with regard to Nola.

We came up with gems like B for booze and beads and boobs. We amused ourselves with C for Cajun and Creole Cooking. And the Columns Hotel. And the broken Concrete I fell on when we were running down St. Charles (another C!). Z naturally went to Zydeco (and the Zydeco Cha Chas, another C!).

As Amanda seems to be slowly engaging in just that very thing, I was delighted to read her sections for 'A, B, and C.' Clearly I have a sister in this silly but fun way of organizing my experiences and thoughts on New Orleans.

Some of the stuff Amanda covers we all know quite well, such as Mardi Gras Beads (B). Others, I imagine, as they come up, will be more from the perspective of someone who's really lived the life down in Nola, not just visited. It's the little details, after all, that make a life and an experience.

I'm sure there are millions of things I have yet to see or do in New Orleans, just as it's not possible to go through everything there is to see and do in New York. They're both ever-changing, dynamic cities, for better or worse (lately, it seems both occupy the 'worse' category), with new places opening up as quickly as another closes, new or re-discovered neighborhoods popping back into focus for a moment--if brief at times--in the cultural limelight.

To my credit, I think I've seen a fair amount of New Orleans over the past fifteen years (or however long it's been--I really can't remember anymore!). Some of what I've seen has been touristy stuff--which, by the way, you shouldn't knock as it's probably the best time you'll have ANYWHERE--and some of what I've done was more off the beaten path. Regardless, the sum of my experiences has contributed to my idea of what New Orleans is.

More importantly, those experiences have contributed to what New Orleans--the city and the magical place in la la land--means to me. Every visitor and citizen alike has an opinion of New Orleans, whether they love or hate it, and each has his or her own definition of what the city is, what it's like and what it's about.

This is not necessarily tantamount to why they love it. Rather, it's what they think of when they close their eyes and someone says (and probably mispronounces) 'New Orleans.'

New Orleans means a lot of things to me. And they're not just with regard to drinking and getting stumble-down drunk in the Quarter or flitting around the cemeteries with a camera basically begging someone to mug me.

New Orleans means, to me, slowing things down a bit. You know how Emeril is always (annoyingly) telling us he's going to kick it up a notch? Well, for me, Nola is all about taking it down a notch--which is pretty easy since the speakers in New York are clearly set on '11' all the time.

It's about a nice, steady, soft breeze, the cool shade of an ancient oak tree. It's about having no timetable or schedule whatsoever--instead doing whatever we want whenever we feel like it, or get around to it.

It's about not being bothered! It's about having dinner, you know, whenever. It's about choosing to hit a museum or sleeping in and having a nice brunch. It's about running along the river and thinking, "Oh, if only the path went further!"

You know, that kind of thing.

I think we have a collective view of New Orleans--the Mardi Gras, the Jazz Fest, all that. We know what we know and we know what the travel guides tell us: "Hot weather in August! Stay out of the cemeteries at night! Jazz, jazz, jazz!"

But what about the gal who made me and a friend of mine the best veggie po'boy we'd ever had, which wasn't even on the menu, just because she could? Just because she had the time, and--hey, why not? What about things like sitting in a streetcar enjoying the view and the breeze--could there be a calmer, more tranquil commute? And, to boot, no one seemed to be in a rush or worried that they would be later.

Well, I guess the latter item could be a bad thing, especially in a struggling economy, but still. It's nice when tourists aren't faced with the onslaught of rush hour like they are here in Manhattan--woah, Nelly!

Now you're starting to get the idea, right?

So I ask you, beads and riverboat cruises and boozing aside, what does New Orleans mean to you? We all know what it means to miss our fair city, but what about it do we miss so much that we simply cannot let her go?

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