Call it an Epiphany.

King Cake and Doom frosting recipe

I miss New Orleans.

Sometimes. Not always. Not much. Sometimes.

I do not miss a lack of regard for personal space. New Orleanians can get a little close quarters. Especially in the Quarter. Figures.

I do not miss humidity. Although, I tip my hat to moist heat that helped me drop the weight I'd gained from being on an anti-depressant.

I do not miss the food. But I never liked sea bugs, river bugs or mystery pots of culinary risk taking.

I do miss a proper cafe au lait. Las Cruces cannot make a good half and half cafe au lait. At first I thought it was because I was asking for half and half, instead of milk. But the baristas here hear "L" and think "LATTE." I say half and half and they think breve. 

I miss that I didn't get to start the job I was given. I was going to help look after a pack of Littles. I mean, the title might not have said it- but I was going to be, at least a form of, a teacher.

I miss walking everywhere. Hoping on a street car. Busses that run on the hour, and every 15 minutes after that. 

I miss my deli. I miss Deli Chaos. I miss the Deli Creatures. I miss the phrase, "What do you want?" being casually slung in my direction. And in weeks/months, "Naomi, what do you want?" being casually slung in my direction. 

I miss the beer selection. At the deli, in the bars, at the store, in my fridge. I miss the beer selection.

I miss Touro Synagogue. I miss feeling at home. Feeling welcome. Belonging. I miss singing. Poetry. Understanding a few Hebrew words. Prayer. Crying quietly and not being embarrassed. I miss walking to temple. 

I miss my New Orleans family. 

Cher and Pablo- who are a bundle of jokes, giggles, silliness and never taking anything too seriously. But with that, they both would still hold my hand when I was punched in the gut blue about something. Cher is quietly supportive. Pablo is kinda a dandy about it, "You can hold my hand if you need to... but don't let this get out." Sorry Pabs. I just ruined your reputation. Softy.

Crista for being right about a dangerous situation but not rubbing it in my face when it all went horribly wrong. 

Sammy Sam Sam-a-Lot- who is kinda the bees knees. Even when her knees are knocking and nervous. BEES KNEES. Chock full of good stuff.

Monika is a comadre in arms. Without knowing it, a great helper. For understanding what I want to do, and why I want it. And for making me loud mouth laugh at almost everything.

Jen who, Lit majors unite, gifted me a book of poetry when, truly, the walls about me we trying to buckle. 

The Saltzmans who were just totally awesome and let me baby sit their awesome Little and their awesome animals. 

And the Marxes. Knowing them pretty much makes me all wibbly and teary eyed on a weekly. The Little Bear and the Bear Cub. And the challah gobbling. And... all of it really. It was all really good.

Flapjack, I'm crying. I'm full of tears and King Cake. 

Sometimes I miss New Orleans. 

Call it an Epiphany.