Please Save Preservation Hall

Back in '97, I went to New Orleans with my wife for a week. We visited all over the city, plenty in the French Quarter, but out to Lake Ponchatrain, and rode out to the zoo too. It was a beautiful city. So old, and yet very quaint. It felt like an old suburb that somehow got lucky enough to get some class. The people were so sweet, and ironically, always told us repeatedly to watch out for them. They were warning us about how slick and dangerous New Orleans' residents could be, but they all were so kind in telling us the info, I found it hysterical.

Most of the time, at night, we went to the Preservation Hall to watch jazz. Really old players who could knock out some of the slamminest ragtime I have ever heard. The hall is just a tiny room off of an alley. No drinking, no eating, no pictures, hell, for the most part, no chairs. It would be packed every night. Two dollar tip got you a request, five dollars if you wanted "The Saints Come Marching In".

Please, please, save the hall. I have always dreamt of returning one day, and I sure hope that is still possible.

Big disasters like this always make me feel small. It is hard to write about yourself when you keep focusing on the fact that everyone who lived there, EVERYONE, won't be able to get back to their shredded life for at least a couple of months!

But I will try.

Last night I got a call from my wife. She is starting to doubt. I think that because she moved out, and didn't really have any possessions, she was always focused on getting her things back, and making a normal life. Now that she has those things, she is realizing that they don't provide the normal life she was waiting for. That is making her long for our marriage.

I think she is just lonely, and afraid that she will be alone forever. If she could get past those, then she would be fine. I told her as much last night. She seemed to agree, but I can tell that deep down inside of her, there is still some shred of a thought that maybe we can work it out.

I think I am past that point. I don't think going back is ever really healthy. I have always hated it. Plus, I think going back because it is comfortable and safe is really stupid. I wouldn't rule out ever having a relationship with a former lover, but it would have to be new, and based on moving forward, not recapturing something that is no more.

I think once school really gets going, she will forget these thoughts, and dive into what really matters to her. What really only ever mattered to her. I think that's best.

Life.

Such a mess, and often miserable. The joy is good, and for most, far too infrequent. The constant struggle for what you need, and what you want, and what you dream. The agony of loving others and trying to keep them happy, and healthy, when you can't really do that. All of it is hard wired to not work, to make us hate it all. Yet, we come to moments of danger or death, and instantly kick into I want to live mode.

What a strange brew. I have panic attacks sometimes driving on the freeway. A person will swerve or hit the brakes real fast, and I will imagine them losing control and crashing into my car. My tiny, ain't gonna save you car. My heart starts beating wildly, and I grip the wheel tighter. All I can think is, please don't let this be over. Please let me struggle some more.

I really wish I could give that thought to everyone.