Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery...

We woke up to a big diner-style breakfast with Nan in Fairhope, and headed northeast to Montgomery. We had our copy of Just Mercy by Bryan Stephenson, and we drove to the Legacy Museum and the National Memorial for Peace and Justice. We knew we were heading to hallowed ground, but nothing could've adequately prepared us for the spiritual awakening we were about to experience. We parked our car and were greeted by this powerful quote:

Upon entering the museum, we were informed that the building that houses the museum is the same building that used to temporarily warehouse slaves when they would be brought off boats from the nearby river. You could palpably feel the human suffering, and the ghosts of the souls who had been there, which were captured as holograms in the museums first exhibit. The museum is one of the most emotional, experiential, well-curated museums I have ever visited. It engages you on a multi-sensory level and flawlessly connects the dots from the trans-Atlantic slave trade, to the domestic slave trade, to the post-reconstruction era and Jim Crow and the thousands of lynchings that went unchecked, to segregation, to the War on Drugs, to mass incarceration. No one can argue this straight line of racism and oppression. And this museum is a living, breathing testimony to it all.

 

We met our dear friend Will Marble and his middle daughter, Addison, at the museum. They came over from Birmingham to join us. Addison is close to Wendell's age, and she and Wendell asked such precious and innocent questions about why people would ever treat other people like that. At a certain point, they both hit their saturation point, so Will and I took them outside to play. Mahalia and Will, however, were not ready to go. They were captivated by the painful truths on display at the Legacy Museum, and proceeded to spend a total of 3 hours reading and experiencing everything the museum had to offer. When they came out, we all drove over to the National Memorial for Peace and Justice, which is a memorial to the thousands of lynchings that occurred without ever being prosecuted, and were, in fact, grossly accepted by many whites as a normal part of life in the South. This haunting memorial is different from the museum, in that it is just that, a memorial, an honorary mass grave of sorts that both holds America accountable for it's sins, and also names and honors the dead. It was, quite simply, one of the most moving things I've ever experienced, and I think every American needs to visit both of these places. 

Fists up in solidarity with resistance...and justice!

This experience changed us. It reaffirmed the core tenets of our faith, as expressed in Micah 6:8:
"He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”

Day 3: NOLA to Fairhope

Day 3 Quote:

"To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.
To weep is to risk being called sentimental.
To reach out to another is to risk involvement.
To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self.
To place your ideas, your dreams before the crowd is to risk being called naive.
To love is to risk not being loved in return.
To live is to risk dying.
To hope is to risk despair,
and to try is to risk failure.

But risks must be taken because the greastest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, and becomes nothing.
He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn and feel and change and grow and love and live. Chained by his certitudes, he is a slave, he’s forfeited his freedom.
Only the person who risks is truly free."

Woke up early today to get to Fairhope by lunchtime. We drove through swampland, bayous, estuaries, and bays--a part of America I'd never seen. We arrived in Fairhope in less than three hours and drove to the lunch spot where we were to meet Nan.

Nan is the mother of one of my very close friends. We sort of adopted her after our friends moved away. She used to live nearby in Texas, but recently relocated back to her family's home of Fairhope. Nan is very proud of this community and, after lunch, she took us to the local Fairhope Museum.

A shout out to Fairhope's first female mayor.

Craig Sheldon, eccentric builder and sculptor

Learning about indigenous home building practices.

Though Fairhope's populist history was interesting, I was incredibly stressed trying to manage a work call with my university IRB. I didn't have wifi nor a place to take the call, but was trying to spare a colleague from having to be on the call, and was also wanting to get this checked off my list. The stakes were high, but there I was sitting in the hot sun with a poor connection, trying to answer questions justifying this research study, while my children waited on me impatiently in the museum.

At first I was so irritated, but I realized several things: 1) the build-up is always worse than the actual thing itself. I spent so much time worrying, only to have it be a fairly smooth call. 2) Do the bulk of the work ahead of time, so people have what they need in front of them. 3) Stay connected to my "why." When I felt tempted to resent the hell out of trying to manage a work call while on vacation, I realized that I truly am motivated by trying to help foster youth receive adventure therapy to help them cope with trauma and mental illness. And, so I took the call on my cell in the middle of Alabama in July, and ultimately gained conditional approval for this important research study.

After the museum, we visited with Nan at her cottage on the bay, and enjoyed catching up about our lives.

We walked down to Mobile Bay with her and she showed us several houses and piers connected to her family. She showed us places her children used to play. You could sense how nostalgic she was, and also how she felt like she had finally come home.

We were disappointed not to be able to swim in the bay, but Nan said that bacteria levels were very high, and that, in general, the Gulf of Mexico is sort of a dumping ground for sewage and other waste water. Known for its dead zones, bacteria and waste now threaten the economic and recreational value of the land. 

The peer where Nan's daughter, my good friend Brenna, ran and played as a child.

My whole world.

Mobile Bay

We went to our hotel after our time at the bay, and swam in the tiny hotel pool for a bit. It's so hot here, though, that it was totally a case of "something is better than nothing."

Fun time in the pool before dinner!

Ended our day with cocktails together at the hotel before dinner, followed by fresh fish and shrimp at Fish River Grille.  Needless to say, many escapades were had, which we all laughed about it, gave each other hugs and said goodnight. Only one night in Fairhope to reconnect briefly...

Day 2: NOLA

*Day 2 Quote: "There is more to life than increasing its speed." -Ghandi

*Selected by Mahalia when I was yelling at her to hurry up and get out the door this morning. 

After inserting homemade earplugs to block out the sound of death metal coming from the neighbor's apartment at 2am, I was finally able to get some sleep. The next thing I knew, Wendell was standing at the side of my bed just staring at me. Given that the earplugs also muffled the oncoming sound of her footsteps, she scared the shit out of me!

Stumbling to the kitchen, I put on a pot of coffee and poured her a bowl of honey nut cheerios. We went and sat together on the front stoop watching the early morning traffic rumble down St. Claude Avenue. I love waking up in the Bywater neighborhood, filled with murals, colorful shotgun houses and crumbling streets--and bursting at the seams with creativity. 

But I am also confronted with the downside of this nouveau riche, urban hipster neighborhood, which is, of course, gentrification and the loss of black home ownership after Hurricane Katrina. Sitting in my cozy Air-BnB rental, I realize I might be part of the problem. Ani DiFranco is right: "Something is always lost when something is gained."

We roused Will and Mahalia and drove to the French Quarter to visit the market and eat beignets. First stop at the market was a booth where a local Louisiana author was selling his self-published book, Hood Struggle. In a total social work moment, I struck up a conversation about the courage it takes to tell your story. He told me it was either tell his story or end up dead. Needless to say, I bought the book.

The kids all got hand-painted, hand-made journals, and the artist, Rico Salas, customized them with their names. Will got a new wallet (with his own spending money), and I got hand-crafted earrings and a necklace (she threw the necklace in for free because she said I was "vibrant"-- I'll take that!). 

All this shopping made us hungry for beignets, so we headed over to Cafe DuMonde and got seated immediately. We dipped our powdery treats in chicory coffee and then licked our fingers clean. 

These two are such pals.

She's such a beauty. I just absolutely love this picture.

We walked over to Jackson Square, past a sign that reminded us that the entire city used to just be one big portage for Native Americans crossing between the Mississippi River and Lake Pontchartrain. What?! This Outward Bound fact made me smile (and made my shoulders ache).

When we got to Jackson Square, we met a woman named Tia who gave us Mardi Gras beads, but assured us we didn't have to "show our boobs--that's only on tv!" She then proceeded to tell us she was raising money for the local battered women's shelter. Whether this was true or not, Mahalia reached in her purse and gave her some money, and then told me that her high school Feminist Club wants to do a volunteer project with our local women's shelter. Almost right after, Wendell wanted to give a young, tatted-up young women some money too, "Mommy, did you see that girl's sign?" I turned to look at the sign which said she was homeless and needed help. "That's someone's little girl," I whispered to Wendell, giving her a dollar to take back to her, painfully aware of how the suffering and the beauty seem to live hand in hand in New Orleans.

We walked through the end of the French Quarter, making wishes in fountains and tasting hot sauces at the Pepper Palace.

We left the French Quarter and headed to our favorite green space in NOLA, City Park. To satisfy Will and Wendell, we headed straight to Storyland Amusement Park, where the two of them rode ride after ride for hours, while Mahalia and I sat reading. I did ride the ferris wheel and one god-awful spinny ride with Wendell (only because she couldn't ride without an adult!). 

Best slide ever!

Classic big brother moves...ignoring everyone else to constantly turn and "bump" his little sister.

On the ferris wheel!

Reading Catcher in the Rye

As a treat to Mahalia, we visited the NOMA and sculpture garden for the first time. The museum was free for teens that day, so Will and Mahalia wondered around, particularly drawn to the robust collection of Italian Renaissance art.

New Orleans Museum of Art

She said it reminded her of a thestral in Harry Potter.

With George Rodrigue's famous Blue Dog

Stopped into the cafe to grab a snack and recharge our batteries. I still get so tickled when Will orders.  I can't get used to him growing up.

To cap off a pretty perfect day, I bought us reserved tickets for a New Orleans jazz concert at Preservation Hall (happy early birthday to me!), where we got to hear The Preservation Legacy Band with Wendell Brunious.

Before the show, we walked over to a voodoo shop on St. Peter Street, and explored the items for sale. When Mahalia and I were in the Dominican Republic, we visited a Haitian batay and went by the house of the neighborhood voodoo priest or curandero. I shared with Wendell what I learned from that visit--that voodoo was the religion of resistance in Haiti, much like Creole was the language of resistance that allowed slaves of various cultures to rise up and defeat the French. A shaved-headed, pierced, tatted, multi-racial woman working there said, "I'm impressed. You wouldn't believe how many people come in here to say horrible things to me." I told her that I thought that voodoo had been racialized and sensationalized in New Orleans and in America, and that I don't think fear is the answer. I told her that I am a Christian, and that while I don't "believe in" voodoo, I think it is important to separate myths from reality. She was astounded (in a good way) and said she'd never met a Christian who was so curious. I thought to myself, "What if Christianity was a religion of curiosity and not judgement?" aka Walt Whitman. I guess that would be my brand of evangelism.

With these thoughts floating in my head,  we packed into the small venue of Preservation Hall, and and the band played "Everybody Ought to Know Who Jesus Is." It made my heart sing, and we joined the intimate crowd in clapping and tapping our feet, smiling ear to ear, except Wendell, who fell asleep. Hilariously, the band commented on the fact that they were having a contest to see how many children they could put to sleep and what the oldest age could be. Wendell won. After the concert, the band leader, Wendell was astonished to know that the oldest child they put to sleep was also Wendell!

The most interesting thing about our time at Preservation Hall was running into someone we know. Just as we were getting up from our seats, I hear a woman say, "Are you guys Billy Norton's family?!!" It was one of his former RMSEL students, and she had overheard us telling the band leader that our daughter's name is also Wendell. This was our tell. I guess not too many folks have a little girl named Wendell!  Crazy small world!


This special day ended with NY style pizza from Pizza Delicious back in our neighborhood. We brought it home, got in our jammies and wrote in our journals. I was amazed at the density of the day...how we packed in so many special experiences. But that is New Orleans for you..."unlike any city in America, it's cultural diversity is woven into the food, the music, the architecture--even the local superstitions. It's a sensory experience on all levels and there is a story lurking around every corner."

New Orleans is unlike any city in America. Its cultural diversity is woven into the food, the music, the architecture - even the local superstitions. It's a sensory experience on all levels and there's a story lurking around every corner.
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/ruta_sepetys_515432?src=t_new_orleans