Guests 2017

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

February Festivous

Or

Guest-with-us for the Rest-of-us

            Whoopee! It’s February! Valentine’s Day! Carnival! Crawfish! The arrival of the Spring guests that turn up from now all the way into Jazz Fest (oh Boy!)

            I’ve pondered points and concluded that guests generally don’t quite get or feel comfortable bunking in with friends that they see once or twice a year. Believe me, that goes triple for the folks that play ‘hostess with the mostest’ for them. So, in the spirit of blatant honesty; let me literate my situation for the edification of incoming company.

My house.  First: this is as clean and orderly as it gets; second: don’t ask me where anything is because, in the cleaning and organizing, that I’ve spent the last two weeks laboring over, I don’t know where anything is! Quite simply: whatever you’re looking for, it’s around here, go find it. The soap might be in the freezer; spare light bulbs possibly under the broom; coffee is on the mantle; put your luggage in the tub (kidding). Next: don’t open the hall closet; that’s where we keep the soiled laundry that I haven’t had time to do because I’ve been cleaning/organizing to make a good impression on you.  Caution: not all the chairs are safe to sit on; none of the clocks tell the correct time, some lamps have ceased to illuminate and the ‘Smart TV’ is as dumb as a box of rocks

 The way I clean and organize is to start moving things around and I have an aversion to throwing things away that may be important and/or significant; two weeks of that and you’re bound to find anything anywhere, it’s not a mess, it’s home and we welcome you; mi casa/su casa and all that.

            We live in a half double shotgun house, which means that we have five big rooms that are stretched out one after another in a straight line so that, if you were to fire a shot gun in the front door, you would hit whatever was at the back door; hence the name. The living room is in the front and the kitchen in the back separated by two bedrooms, (one where you’ll be staying) a bath and a dining room, small yards front and back.

Here is our schedule: we work seven days a week, most times until 6:30-7:00 at night; we come home, we have a little Happy Hour and then dinner, down time and bed by 11:00. Debbie is up around six to feed the herd (three cats and a dog and various outside strays), coffee, walk the dog and then to the Treme Center for swimming and exercise. Then to coffee at Whole Foods (bagel and cookies) and then back to work. Some nights we don’t get in until after eight; it comes with owning a business.

            We have lives much bigger that ourselves; the dining room also is used for painting pictures and a chair to read or listen to tapes to learn the foreign language du jour. The living room has a piano and other musical instruments, none of which we have mastered; there are unfinished projects throughout the house, countless books and novels, collections of coins, world globes, statues, photos and finger bowls. The kitchen is filled with spices for our signature blends and other handy non fresh ingredients that we supplement with fresh stuff from the green grocer; a full larder, for ease of cooking. Except for the occasional dairy product, we keep a vegan kitchen; if you want to cook otherwise you’re welcome to, just know that anything you don’t eat, may perish. We come home loaded down with all the detritus from the day and deposit said stuff on our way to the refrigerator, which means, all through the rooms. In the mean time, baths, shaving, cat litter cleaning, recycling, composting, bed making and visits to our neighbors, our veterinarians, food markets and shopkeepers keep us active and generally invisible.

            The first cat gets up at six and complains loudly that he’s not been fed for at least eight hours, at this point the dog needs let out. There’s time to sit a spell in the morning and when you use the bathroom for your morning toilet, expect all cats to visit; the youngest one loves to watch humans take baths (there is no shower), the little dog may want to sleep under your blankets (with you).

            We live in a neighborhood, which means we walk, we talk, greet and hail people that we see in the streets; introduce yourself, tell them who you are and behave like a guest and not a short term rental tenant. Smile. We don’t expect you to be bringing home any lovers, possibly some people that you may meet but not sheet shakers, okay? We rarely have parties at home; home is our sanctuary: that’s how we picture it. Don’t try to clean up after us, just take care of your own space odyssey and everything will be hunky-dory.

            You’re welcome to use the car responsibly, although we don’t have it insured for a second driver; the brakes are good and the tires are fair. It’s that ’94 Lincoln Towncar that’s parked crooked in the street. It has over 237,000 miles on it and is cranky and idiosyncratic at best. The windows, air-conditioning and sometimes the door handles or trunk switch sticks or doesn’t work at all. It has a radio tuned to 94.3 an oldies station… on second thought, maybe you should leave the driving to me.

            So, you get the picture; you’ll fit in just fine because you won’t expect anything to be normal around here; in fact, seeing as you’re our friend and all, it may remind you of home.