I know what it means to miss New Orleans

Tom Wolfe was wrong, you can go home again. Like the Vampire Lestat, tonight I write about my beloved New Orleans from San Francisco after wandering the French Quarter just hours ago this morning. I had not been back to the city since The Storm (as Katrina is locally referenced). I had my reasons for not returning, mainly I was scared. I was scared that the city I loved was gone forever. I couldn't have been more wrong. New Orleans, the city I knew and loved is back in business. I am still on a high after spending a week, home.

I landed in the city last Tuesday night and even though I was staying down in the Quarter, I opted to get there via uptown so that I could drive down St. Charles Avenue past my old home; literally, I drove down memory lane. As I rounded the corner on Carrollton Avenue, I saw that Camellia Grill had reopened. I started to cry. I kept driving and saw that everything was there as I remembered it. I drove past a mansion where I attended a ball in law school. It was lit up and looked just as I remembered. I passed homes where my friends had lived, I passed the corner store where I used to shop for dinner parties, I passed Audubon Park where I used to run. I was overcome with relief and happiness.

I stayed the week in at the Soniat House in the residential section of the Vieux Carre (I need to use another term for Quarter or this post will quickly get tiresome). It is an old Creole cottage that was built in 1823. Not much has changed since that time. Charming doesn't even begin to describe the place. A butler took my bags and asked what time I'd like the shutters outside my room opened. The hotel upgraded me to a suite since I was a former resident. My conversation at check-in was similar to many I had that week -- the refrain was "welcome home, baby!" Breakfast at the Soniat is not ordered off of a menu. You call downstairs in the morning and ask for "breakfast, please." Approximately a half an hour later, a butler arrives with a silver tray of steaming biscuits, homemade strawberry preserves, fresh juice and the fixings for a cafe au lait. How fabulous is that?!

I spent the days wandering my old haunts uptown and in the Quarter. I went by the boutiques I loved in law school but couldn't afford anything. The shopgirls were the same and they remembered my coveting things in there. I stopped in my old coffee shop -- the one where I spent countless hours in law school preparing for class and exams -- to read and write to try to capture my memories. The students still go there. I sat next to a table of med students as I was too shy to go sit in the law section. (The old demarcations still exist.) I must have looked insane because I could not stop smiling.

I went to campus and picked up the college paper. I nearly chocked on my au lait when I read the lead story, which chronicled the university's decision to no longer allow students to store their "firearms" on campus. I had forgotten that I lived the south where all "real" men own guns. The San Franciscan in me was slightly offended, but the southern girl that lurks beneath loved it as it reminded me of my southern boys who kept shotguns under the bed, "just in case." It was all so very "baby, I can save you, darlin'." I loved that. None of them ever got a mani/pedi on the weekend.

If I hadn't lived in New Orleans, I would assume that some of the things that happened to me this week were just a streak of luck rather than typical. I decided to track down a copy of Julia Reed's "Queen of the Turtle Derby & Other Southern Phenomenon" while I was in town. I can certainly get a copy elsewhere, but I presumed that I could score an autographed version in her hometown. I stopped by Faulkner books (a fabulous bookstore located in Pirate's Alley off Jackson Square around the corner from St. Louis Cathedral in the home where Faulkner either wrote or died or both) as that seemed like the spot most likely to have it in stock. The owner was there and he told me, regretfully, that he sold the last copy the day before. I was disappointed but we started to chat and had things in common; we were both lawyers, both loved New Orleans, that sort of thing. He stopped mid-sentence and said "I just remembered something -- stay there." He then disappeared for a while and returned with the publisher's advanced copy of the book I wanted. It was autographed and had all the original publication details. He sold it to me for $7. He said he could always get another one because he knew Julia, they had dined together and she also loves his store. Only in New Orleans.

The rest of the week was a mixture of visits with old and dear friends and wandering alone time. But you're never alone in New Orleans. The city is there with all its eccentric characters to talk to.

This morning, my last morning in town, I woke up very early and wandered around the Quarter. It was misty and chilly, but there was a hint of the warm afternoon to come. The area was quiet as the weekend tourists were either asleep or gone. I wandered back to my hotel through Jackson Square and saw a fortune teller. I am a superstitious type, but also street smart, so I've always been a bit suspicious of the trade. I have never had my fortune told though, and in the spirit of trying something "new and different" (which has proven rather difficult to do as I've really done almost everything I think would be interesting or unique), I decided to sit down for a reading. I liked the woman immediately and she didn't ask me any questions that would make "predicting" easier. I don't know if this woman was just a positive type, but according to her, I'm going to live a very charmed life. She started with the topic of love. According to the cards, the great love of my life is around the corner and we have a "past-life" and telepathic connection and he is very intelligent. I can't wait to meet him! Then the topic of career. She sensed the distress from my former job and recent decision to leave. She sees the new job as being a good fit and one where I'll be successful and happy. Then I asked if I would return to New Orleans and held my breath a little. She dealt the cards, which predict that I certainly will. They say that I will somehow find myself with more money than I ever thought possible and when that happens, I will return to New Orleans to stay. I obviously looked thrilled with that prediction, because she said if I wanted to ensure that it happened, I should go light a candle in the church at the altar of St. Jude (the patron saint of difficult causes) and drink the tap water. Apparently, the famous voodoo priestess Marie LaVeau cast a spell on the water in New Orleans. Anyone who drinks it absorbs the spirit of the city and will return. Because I'm superstitious and because I do want to return for good someday, I did as instructed. It was the perfect ending to a perfect week in my perfect city. I have never felt so at home and so at ease as I do in New Orleans.

why I left "The Practice"

I spent my second day as a woman of leisure (for a few weeks anyway) reading the Wall Street Journal in print. I came upon this article, which I had missed earlier. In case you don't care to link through, it describes pleadings filed by Law Firm X requesting that the court change the hearing dates on a motion so that they do not conflict with the Christmas holidays, which Firm X described as "sometimes the only times we get to spend with our children." Of course Firm Y opposed the motion on the grounds that the issue was so important it could not be delayed because of the "personal needs" of a few lawyers.

Sadly, I suppose I can see both sides of this one. If there truly is some time-sensitive issue, then Firm Y may have a point. Without digging deep into this one, I doubt, however, that is the case. Lawyers often oppose motions just to be difficult. And they certainly hate to talk to the other side about something like setting deadlines so that everyone can enjoy a holiday free from work worry. Last year a partner at my firm forced one of my co-workers to cancel a planned trip to Europe over the holidays because he did not want to grant the other side's request similar to the one at issue here. He thought it would look weak. All of this is just insidious in my opinion. I do not think that the practice of law should require the complete subjugation of your personal life to it. If I had any doubt that I made the right decision to leave, which I don't, articles like this one merely remind me why I went.

We don't live here anymore

I quit my job. After giving notice two weeks ago, tonight I shut down my computer, turned in my keys, turned out the lights and walked out the door. I am free. I will never again bill my time or track my life in six minute increments. It was surreal walking into the building this morning. For five years (literally to the day) I have walked into that high rise downtown with my Starbucks in hand, frantically reading my blackberry and worrying. Worrying about what I needed to do that day. About what I forgot to do the day before. About what someone would call about. About what I would say in court. About whether I'd be able to depose a plaintiff in a way that would lead to admissions that would end up resolving the case in favor of my client. About whether my clients were happy or upset with me. About whether I was impressive enough to last. About whether I would make partner. About whether I wanted to make partner. About whether I was good enough, smart enough, capable enough, prepared enough. About whether my non-lawyer friends would really understand when I missed another event. About whether my non-lawyer friends would even remember who I was when I called or emailed; eventually. Today, I'm not worried about any of that anymore. I could have done it. I was good enough. I just didn't like it. I never want to do that again. I walked out the door today happy for the first time in years. I have come full circle. I am going on to a new position much like the one I had before law school. This time it comes with a better title and department, but it's much the same. I'll be a counselor and a consultant. I don't need to make the sausage anymore. When I turned out the lights tonight and left, it felt like the end of a sitcom with a long run on television. I half expected the law firm cast to come out for applause. It is the end of my charade for good. I am not that character. I am finally free.