I'm awake at 5:20am and I’m not surprised that I feel … disappointed.
I have a confession to make. I’m not very good at manual labor.
I question myself and how I’m doing on a task each time anyone walks behind me. I wonder if they’re thinking “Man – we’ll need to go over everything she’s done this week”. That’s a pretty strong sinking feeling and self-doubt can be a loud voice in a persons head… but you should hear what my heart is telling me. It’s something like “how can I keep my job and still do this work?” I may not be good at what I’m being asked to do here, but it’s the single most rewarding thing I’ve done in my 38 years.
But I’m disappointed because I have to leave. I gotta say-- I NEVER thought that I’d want to stay in East Biloxi longer that I’d originally planned. Italy, Rome, Paris– sure, but Mississippi??? That’s a bet I would’ve lost SERIOUS cash on.
Kevin and I drop off Emily around 7amish and we drive to Café Du Monde. A decaf café au lait and an order of hot beignets
pick up my spirits.We walk across to Jackson Square,
quite possibly the most beautiful place in the French Quarter. Even tho’ it’s on a very busy street, spending time in the courtyard brings a certain peace. It’s a very calming place to be and it’s easy to feel like you’ve traveled back to a simpler time.
We continue to walk around a few blocks, where I point out as much as I can remember from my previous visits in years past. Some are famous street signs or landmark bars, or the street performance artists that this city is known for and some are just traditional “only In New Orleans” sorts of things.
While we’re walking, Kevin says 5 little words that make me smile. “Can we get more coffee?” Happily I know a place that has pretty good java and their brunch isn’t bad, either. We walk to 417 Royal Street … yep, we’re at Brennan’s.
During the course of the meal, we send text messages to Bruce, trying to rub in how much we’re living it up. We know that he was planning on going back to the village and do a half days work … and we’re think we’re doing a pretty good job of making him wish he was with us– until he comes back with a reply that makes both Kevin and I a little green with envy … he and Jim are hanging out having coffee. Hard to say who was having a better time.
I can’t figure out why we’d miss sweating like mad or sanding the same piece of trim over and over (and over) or moving boards from point A to point B, or “discovering” cockroaches when trying to get some work done, but Kevin and I both agree that we *will* miss it. Kevin is wondering how he can maybe do this again next year. I’ve already told Jim he can have my sabbatical.
From Brennan’s, Kevin and I walk to the Hurricane Museum (also on Royal Street) which is open so we spend about 30 minutes there,
walking quietly among the photos looking at how bad things *used* to be. 
The docent asks me where I’m from, why I’m here and I answer her. She takes my hands in both of hers and says “thank you so much for coming”. She probably does this dozens of times each day but I tell her what’s in my heart -- “I’m happy to be able to do it. I had to do something.”Walking down Royal, I look around the corner and I know where we’re going next. “OK Kevin– you’ve almost seen the French Quarter. Come with me.” We walk past the long, dark bar on the left and into a beautiful courtyard. Pat O’Briens has the nicest spot to relax for an hour or so, which we do.
As it turns out, I may not be great at manual labor, but I’m a damn good tour guide. I remember Jim’s shock at my admission of never having been in a WalMart and him telling me that’s a goal for the next trip. I decide that he can be my WalMart tour guide if he’ll let me show him our “showers” at camp
but, then again, if he sees WHY we’ve been so thankful for the use of the Village, he probably will start charging us a usage fee.
Hmmm, maybe I’ll wait on that.
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