This morning there was a lovely breeze off the river. We met up with other NACBA comrades at the Café DuMonde. After an iced coffee we spent the afternoon walking through the French Quarter. The Quarter was affected by the flood, but not on the level of devastation in Jefferson. But in the French Quarter there is an energy that is alive, and at the same time folks are working through some hard times.
After snapping shots and seeing sites, we eventually decided it was time to rest and hydrate ourselves. Or as many people in the French Quarter do, get a drink. We found this little bar that obviously had been recently rehabbed. All of the fixtures were new, and there was still a faint smell of fresh paint in the air. As we were standing outside perusing the menu, the barkeep invited us in. We were the only ones there.
As a matter of fact, we were the only ones on this particular street at 2:00 in the afternoon.
We went in, and sat and were handed a one page menu that was limited in its selections. So limited that it was unappealing. The barkeep apologized, and told us she did not have a cook. The food menu consisted of only items that she herself could prepare while working the bar. We gracefully declined, and told her we were looking for something more.
At that point, she appeared upset. I did not infer that she was upset with us per se, but just upset that what could have been a lunch fare was leaving. I smiled, apologized again, and made my exit.
One of my colleagues expressed surprise at the reaction we received in the bar. After all, was it really a big deal? A legitimate question.
But then I remembered my afternoon ride with my cab driver. How he told us that people were coming to open their business again, but were finding it difficult because of the lack of employees. I imagined that while this barkeep – or her employer if she herself was not the owner – had to pay for the paint, the stools, the new plantings, and the new inventory. Being a lawyer, I know that insurance only covers so much....and that assumes it even covers anything. I imagined what she saw walking out the door was not only a lunch fare, but something that might have – if for just that small moment – give her optimism about the future. The people of New Orleans have a resolve to rebuild. 
As I see how focused they remain, I have to wonder if even I could manage such strength after losing everything. But even in that drive to move forward, there can be dark moments.
On our way back, I saw very simple writing on the side of the wall. In other cities it might be considered ugly graffiti. But where it was today, on the side of a building on Bourbon Street, it seemed more of a command. To disobey this command is not an option for the people I meet.
