Exiles in Time and Place

KENNETH E. HALL       MAY 2, 2016       HOUSTON

In one way or another,

We all are exiles in time and place.

What we remember as children, for the most part is no more.

It has crumbled and faded into history, or has been replaced by a cheap mockery of what once was.

So many things that once were are now gone. And the ghosts of the Tchoupitoulas Indians put their hands on our shoulders and each with a tear in their eyes, nod in sympathy. They can't go home anymore either.

Each generation recalls and remembers their own set of things and each sees a different place and a different face of the city. How we see things comes from our experiences, and they can be as many and as varied as grains of sand on a beach.

Perspectives.

We happily greet new family members as they are born, and say our tearful goodbyes as others depart from this life. In every locality, there are times for growth, decay, and renewal; there have been times to build, and times to tear down. Also, there have been times to laugh, and times to cry.

After the flood waters of Katrina filled the city, that, most assuredly was a time to cry.

What was once our home town has changed in the twinkling of an eye. We can debate whether it was for the better or for the worse, but change it most certainly has. It is said that there is nothing constant BUT change, and nothing is truer than that.

After the great storm, the city of New Orleans emptied almost completely. People who never in their lives had the vaguest intention of leaving the city even for a day, did so - some for a few weeks, and others forever.

It is nice to reminisce about the "old days" and some - perhaps most of us would like to relive a few of those heartwarming experiences, if only for one more time. We are exiles in time and place, and we want to go home again. But I submit that we are ALL exiles in one way or another, even if we did not leave the city, or even if we went back as soon as it was permitted.

For me, New Orleans never was about K&B, McKenzies, Pontchartrain Beach, City park, or even the French Quarter.

New Orleans was never was about shotgun houses, brick sidewalks, or corner groceries. Sorry, but those are physical things, and floods, fires, termites, hurricanes, and the wrecking ball can wipe out all that in an instant, and, sorry, too, but like it or not, change is inevitable and permanant.

We, who are in exile, can never go back home again. 

Not really.

I'm not going to kid myself.

We, who are in exile, can never go back home again.

Not really.

For me, New Orleans is visits to my grandparents, roasts on Sundays, climbing the old pear tree, the garden in the back, the wine jugs under the steps, and my grandmother's mannequin standing sentinel in the sewing room. I remember those

I remember walking the streets of my old neighborhood, and knowing every person sitting on every front porch, and they all knew me, too. That was home. More than that, it was conversations at the dining room table, long walks walks with my grandfather to Bayou St. John, and the old folks rocking in their rocking chairs, telling stories of life long ago. Home was climbing the Japanese Plum tree and eating the fruit right off of the branches. It was a smile and a hug and a kiss good-night, 

It was family.

It was HOME!.

Home is the kindness and love I felt as a child, the freedom to play, and the happiness that youth gave me.

For me, my home town, will always be New Orleans, no matter where I live. But it is now a land that was long ago and far away, when things were bright and new, simple and innocent.

The sad reality is, even if nothing at all had been torn down or destroyed or modified in any way from the days of my youth, those years can never come back again, no matter how hard I might try. and life can never be like it once was. That is the way of things; that is life.

*Max Ehrmann wrote : "Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth." And so I shall, for I can move in no other direction but forward. 

Yes, I KNOW what it means to miss New Orleans, and I will always be an exile in time and place.   As the song says, I will certainly "miss her each night and day," and I will carry her fond memories with me always inside my heart.

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*Max Ehrmann, "Desiderata", © Copyright 1952.