I Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans

Bye.

Bye to the waitress at Muriel's who laughed with me about people who claim to be allergic to black pepper; to the man in line at Rouse's Grocery who told us about carrying an AK-47 in the Ninth Ward after Katrina; to the cabbie who laughed and laughed and told us "eat? You gone gain fi' hunnerd pounds, you eat so good in this town"; to our hosts, who care so much about their 1830s Creole home, and about all the history in the French Quarter; to the man standing next to our courtyard yesterday at noon, laughing and naked from the waist down; to Dan and Forrest and John, the Habitat guys, who smiled and cheered us on even when we measured wrong; to the Vietnamese waiter at Cafe du Monde, who offered to bring us coffee and beignet so we didn't have to wait in line; to Wally, who spoke so kindly to the volunteers as he was handed wine and bread and the key to his new Ninth Ward home; to the little girl in glasses and crinoline who handed me a flower from her horse-drawn carriage; to so many, many more.

Bye, y'all.