Miss New Orleans and My Love for the Fleur de Lis

Did you know that Cynthia of Running with Letters is not only a published, amazingly gifted writer, but also an artist? I fell head over heels in love with her mosaic seahorse on her blog a few months ago (you can check him out here), and I had to ask her to make me something special. If you know me, it didn't take any time at all to determine what I wanted. A fleur de lis, of course!

As a native New Orleanian now living in the Midwest, I've become particularly attached to the symbol of my city and its rich heritage. New Orleans reaffirmed its love for the fleur de lis post Hurricane Katrina, when flags featuring it could be found in front yards and on flagpoles everywhere.

Cynthia's fleur de lis....

we're trying to find the perfect spot for it!

The fleur de lis represents all my family went through when I had already moved to Kansas and couldn't go back to help. It was difficult seeing the damage, yet being unable to physically DO anything to show my support (I was very pregnant with the twins). I sat back quietly in a wretched kind of silence while these images floated through my head over and over.

my brother & sister-in-law's living room

my brother & sister-in-law's kitchen

looking down my mom's street from a canoe.

Others trying to get to their homes via canoe.

The fleur de lis symbolizes the devastation, destruction and subsequent rebirth of my hometown. Despite everything it has risen again, like a phoenix.

It symbolizes beignets swimming in powdered sugar and dipped in hot cafe au lait, shrimp poboys spilling over with mayonnaise and lettuce, and chocolate snowballs from Sal's.

It symbolizes the motionless mimes of the French Quarter painted in silver, the clank of pocket change being dropped in their buckets, and the sounds of horses' hooves clopping down the sticky streets.

The clickety clack of the old green streetcars going up and down the tracks. How I took that sound for granted until I returned after Katrina and the streets were eerily silent and still.

Visiting the zoo every year and playing on Monkey Hill, the highest point in New Orleans, the only one above sea level. Only in New Orleans will you find a man-made hill to show children in the area what a hill actually looks like.

The way your glasses fog up when you step outside nine months out of the year, even first thing in the morning. Spending Thanksgiving Day indoors, wearing shorts with the AC blasting.

The above-ground cemetaries, ripe with history. Tombs crammed together and statues of significant figures. Voodoo dolls, palm readers, and goey pralines; go-cups, Hurricanes from Pat O's, and karaoke at the Cat's Meow.

Jogging on the levee every morning overlooking the brown Mississippi River and the barges passing by. Twice rescuing turtles that had lost their sense of direction and ended up on River Road.

The fleur de lis is feeding the ducks at Audobon Park and watching the college students come and go. It's Oscar's, the bar on Metairie Road where I had my first shot of Goldschlager. It's the Mardi Gras parades and shaking my hips to the beat of the marching bands. Stomping on doubloons to claim them, catching beads in the face, the smell of beer and sweat and the throng of a thousand people pulsing beside you.

King Cakes stuffed with cream cheese, painted with purple, gold, and green sugar. Biting into that plastic baby. Red beans and rice on Mondays, and Bananas Foster anytime your sweet tooth demands it.

My favorite stationery store, Scriptura, on Magazine Street where the owner's dog, Bailey, would lie in patches of sunlight on the shop's hardwood floor. Magazine Street with its antique shops and dive bars, the Bridge Lounge with its black and white photographs of different dogs covering the walls. The cheese fries at F & M's. All the times I shared with friends at these places...

The Columns Hotel on St. Charles where I watched cockroaches swarm beneath my feet as I sipped a dainty cocktail outside on the porch, sweat dripping down and forming a pool in my bra. The sound of laughter and crickets, and the feeling that no one else anywhere on Earth knows what it's like to live in New Orleans.

New Orleans, where I spent 28 years of my life. Where much of my beloved family still lives. Where a part of me will remain forever.

With her art, Cynthia has helped me remember all these things and more. This fleur de lis is beyond special to me. It is my life, my heritage, the path I've traveled. It's a light, guiding me. Cynthia has a rare gift and I hope you will visit her blog and get to know her. Better yet, have her make something incredible for you. She's managed to bring a piece of New Orleans to me, and I know she can do something equally important for you or someone you love.

I miss New Orleans.