Home Town Glory

I stepped off my plane and was immediately met with the sounds of Jazz and the smell of Popeye’s in the air. That’s not some flowery metaphor for being home in Louisiana, that’s a literal account of my first seconds back in the Bayou State. It’s New Orleans and that’s how we do it down here.

Riding down I-49, I was surprised to see that weeks later, there is still a good deal of damage from Hurricane Gustav that has yet to be cleaned up. There are still tarps on buildings and downed trees crisscrossing the sides of the road. I counted no less than 12 electric company work vehicles on the Interstate between New Orleans and Alexandria before I fell asleep in the backseat of my patents’ car.

I haven’t been home in a year. When you’re away from something for an extended period of time, you tend to romanticize it. There are apparently a few things that I forgot about my home town.

It’s a small town and there isn’t much to do here. I’m not talking about being bored in Charleston. When you are bored in Charleston, you can always go for a stroll downtown. You can try one the 700 restaurants that you haven’t found the time to check out just yet. You can go people watching in Marion Square, shop at the Outlet mall or dodge the tourist at the Pineapple Fountain. And if all else fails you can see who is playing at Music Farm or Windjammer, there is a good chance that Edwin McCain is playing one of the two – he’s always playing one of the two.

People are inherently larger here. I am in a constant state of diet in the Lowcountry. I go through months at a time without eating carbs in an effort to blend in with the weightlifting, rock-hard-abbed world of Charlestonians. Here, I have a long list of places I want to eat lunch before leaving again. Each includes the best desserts on the planet and a smorgasbord of fried foods.

Because of the blazing heat of Louisiana throughout most of the year, paint fades here. I never noticed it before this week. From street signs and school buses to business fronts, the paint is dingy , dull and muted.

Why would you want to visit a place like this? Well, I guess you wouldn’t really. You have to be from here to understand why we love it so much. When you grow up in Central Louisiana, you can’t wait to flee for the fabled metropolis. You don’t miss it though, until you are miles away.

This is what we call home and I love this place in all its boring, fat, faded glory. It’s good to be home!