| Biographical Non-Fiction posted July 13, 2020 | Chapters: |
...48 49 -50- 51... 
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We ae moving to New Orleans because of a job transfer.
A chapter in the book Remembering Yesterday
Leaving the State
by BethShelby
| Background After living my whole life in Mississipi, Evan's job is transferring him to New Orleans. We have been married 13 years and have 3 children. My husband is hoping to be able to return to Mississippi. |
When we went to New Orleans for the weekend to see where we might want to live, the first thing we did was buy a newspaper and a map of the city. It didn’t take us long to realize that we didn’t want to live in the downtown area. It was where you would be working, but the apartments in that area didn't seem safe for children.
We found it hard to find our way around because of the many canals running through the area. We would be on the street that should take us where we wanted to go, only to be stopped by coming up to a canal. We saw a policeman and asked him how to find a certain apartment where the rent sounded reasonable. He told us if we wanted to stay alive, we didn’t need to be renting in that area. We soon realized that we couldn’t expect the prices in the big city to be anything like what we were accustomed to.
By the time we left the city, we had decided we liked the Metairie area best from what we had seen. It would be a month or so before the move would take place, and you were still hoping for a reprieve, so we wouldn’t have to go at all. When you had checked out the building where you would be working, you learned parking around there would be expensive. You decided if we moved that you would park your truck in a free spot about half way to downtown and take a city bus the rest of the way.
The church we would attend and the school the children would attend would both require a lot of driving since neither were in Metairie. It looked as though the school would already be in session before we would be able to move. Your company, Chevron, paid for our trip down, and they would also pick up the moving expenses. They would move us twice if we wanted to try an apartment first and later buy a house.
Back home in Brandon, we continued to live much as we had before. However, since it seemed there would be a probable move in our future, we began looking for homes for our animals. None of the apartments we'd checked out allowed big dogs. Luckily, we were able to find people who were delighted to have them and seemed as though they would be responsible pet owners. We hated giving them up, but it was a sacrifice we had to make.
For several months, the girls and I had been taking piano lessons from a lady who owned a music store on Capitol Street in Jackson. I’d had lessons growing up, but I was rusty and had decided to brush up. Her husband sold me a small guitar for Don and taught our son how to play the instrument.
Mrs. Cagel loved doing recitals and pageants. She called me and said there would be a big Fourth of July celebration on the Ross Barnett Reservoir, a large man-made lake in the Jackson area. She wanted all the girls who were her students to be in a beauty pageant which was part of the activities. “It’s no big deal” she assured me. “It is just for fun. Put them in bathing suits and let them be on stage with the other girls. They’ll enjoy it. The governor will be there and there’ll be refreshments, political speeches, entertainment, and lots of music. After sundown, there will be a big fireworks show over the lake.”
I had no desire to display my girls in a swim-suit competition. They had old bathing-suits which they had practically worn threadbare on our two trips to Hot Springs and to a lake out in the country where we often took them swimming. Carol wasn’t at all sure this was a good idea. Christi seemed okay with it. You’d already planned to spend your holiday at our country place, and the children insisted they didn’t want to go there. In the end, I talked Carol into going along with the music teacher's plan, because I thought the children and I would enjoy the fireworks show later.
When the girls paraded out on the stage, which was set up in a wooded picnic area, I realized the music teacher had not prepared me. Some of the moms took this pageant thing quite seriously. The girls were six to ten. Many of them had been to hair dressers and were wearing tons of makeup. Their swim costumes looked expensive, and some of them wore sashes proclaiming names of their sponsors. Most of the girls had been trained in walking and modeling. My kids were as cute as any of them, but certainly not prepared for modeling. Luckily, it didn’t last long. I was afraid they’d be embarrassed for their lack of preparation. If they were, they didn’t say much about it. Each of the girls got a silver charm for participating.
I met one of the other mothers, and she and her children hung out with us for the rest of the day. The children and I had never been to a real fireworks show before, and that night, as we sat on the rocks and looked out over the lake, we were mesmerized by the lights of the fireworks reflected in the water. It was a magical evening, and a lovely way to say goodbye to a city which had been my home for all thirteen years of my married life. My children had been born here.
When we got home, you told us you’d spent the day marking off a landing strip on our land. You said if we moved, you’d like to get your own plane so we could get back and forth quickly on weekends. You’d continued your flying lessons and had rented planes by the hour often, but I didn’t realize you wanted to buy one. You still hadn’t logged in enough hours to get your license, but said you were planning to continue flying when we moved.
The children had mixed feelings about the prospect of moving. They hated to leave their friends behind, but New Orleans sounded like an interesting adventure.
Someone made an offer on our house where we’d lived in Jackson. It wasn’t as much as we’d hoped. We had repainted the outside, had the floors sanded and refinished and put on a new roof, but we took the offer anyway. We knew when we moved, it would be better not to have so much real estate to be concerned about. We weren't planning to sell our Brandon house or the farm, because you were hoping we could return before long.
After the suicide and funeral of our plant manager at work, everything had settled down and was going well on my job. I hated to say good-bye to yet another job, but this time I was leaving on my own terms. One has to follow the main bread-winner. Doris and I promised to write each other faithfully.
Before we moved, we made another trip to New Orleans and rented an apartment not far from Lakeside Mall and near Lake Ponchatrain in Metairie. I had packed a few pieces of china and crystal that I didn't want broken, but the movers insisted on unwrapping it and doing it over. This move wasn’t bad because the movers came in with packing crates and took care of everything.
They made arrangements to be at the apartment when we arrived so we could show them where to put all the furniture. The apartment was a three-bedroom, two-bath with a very small kitchen and dining room. We took most of our furniture, but we left the refrigerator and a few items we didn’t have a place for at our place in the country.
And so began a new way of life in a big city.
We found it hard to find our way around because of the many canals running through the area. We would be on the street that should take us where we wanted to go, only to be stopped by coming up to a canal. We saw a policeman and asked him how to find a certain apartment where the rent sounded reasonable. He told us if we wanted to stay alive, we didn’t need to be renting in that area. We soon realized that we couldn’t expect the prices in the big city to be anything like what we were accustomed to.
By the time we left the city, we had decided we liked the Metairie area best from what we had seen. It would be a month or so before the move would take place, and you were still hoping for a reprieve, so we wouldn’t have to go at all. When you had checked out the building where you would be working, you learned parking around there would be expensive. You decided if we moved that you would park your truck in a free spot about half way to downtown and take a city bus the rest of the way.
The church we would attend and the school the children would attend would both require a lot of driving since neither were in Metairie. It looked as though the school would already be in session before we would be able to move. Your company, Chevron, paid for our trip down, and they would also pick up the moving expenses. They would move us twice if we wanted to try an apartment first and later buy a house.
Back home in Brandon, we continued to live much as we had before. However, since it seemed there would be a probable move in our future, we began looking for homes for our animals. None of the apartments we'd checked out allowed big dogs. Luckily, we were able to find people who were delighted to have them and seemed as though they would be responsible pet owners. We hated giving them up, but it was a sacrifice we had to make.
For several months, the girls and I had been taking piano lessons from a lady who owned a music store on Capitol Street in Jackson. I’d had lessons growing up, but I was rusty and had decided to brush up. Her husband sold me a small guitar for Don and taught our son how to play the instrument.
Mrs. Cagel loved doing recitals and pageants. She called me and said there would be a big Fourth of July celebration on the Ross Barnett Reservoir, a large man-made lake in the Jackson area. She wanted all the girls who were her students to be in a beauty pageant which was part of the activities. “It’s no big deal” she assured me. “It is just for fun. Put them in bathing suits and let them be on stage with the other girls. They’ll enjoy it. The governor will be there and there’ll be refreshments, political speeches, entertainment, and lots of music. After sundown, there will be a big fireworks show over the lake.”
I had no desire to display my girls in a swim-suit competition. They had old bathing-suits which they had practically worn threadbare on our two trips to Hot Springs and to a lake out in the country where we often took them swimming. Carol wasn’t at all sure this was a good idea. Christi seemed okay with it. You’d already planned to spend your holiday at our country place, and the children insisted they didn’t want to go there. In the end, I talked Carol into going along with the music teacher's plan, because I thought the children and I would enjoy the fireworks show later.
When the girls paraded out on the stage, which was set up in a wooded picnic area, I realized the music teacher had not prepared me. Some of the moms took this pageant thing quite seriously. The girls were six to ten. Many of them had been to hair dressers and were wearing tons of makeup. Their swim costumes looked expensive, and some of them wore sashes proclaiming names of their sponsors. Most of the girls had been trained in walking and modeling. My kids were as cute as any of them, but certainly not prepared for modeling. Luckily, it didn’t last long. I was afraid they’d be embarrassed for their lack of preparation. If they were, they didn’t say much about it. Each of the girls got a silver charm for participating.
I met one of the other mothers, and she and her children hung out with us for the rest of the day. The children and I had never been to a real fireworks show before, and that night, as we sat on the rocks and looked out over the lake, we were mesmerized by the lights of the fireworks reflected in the water. It was a magical evening, and a lovely way to say goodbye to a city which had been my home for all thirteen years of my married life. My children had been born here.
When we got home, you told us you’d spent the day marking off a landing strip on our land. You said if we moved, you’d like to get your own plane so we could get back and forth quickly on weekends. You’d continued your flying lessons and had rented planes by the hour often, but I didn’t realize you wanted to buy one. You still hadn’t logged in enough hours to get your license, but said you were planning to continue flying when we moved.
The children had mixed feelings about the prospect of moving. They hated to leave their friends behind, but New Orleans sounded like an interesting adventure.
Someone made an offer on our house where we’d lived in Jackson. It wasn’t as much as we’d hoped. We had repainted the outside, had the floors sanded and refinished and put on a new roof, but we took the offer anyway. We knew when we moved, it would be better not to have so much real estate to be concerned about. We weren't planning to sell our Brandon house or the farm, because you were hoping we could return before long.
After the suicide and funeral of our plant manager at work, everything had settled down and was going well on my job. I hated to say good-bye to yet another job, but this time I was leaving on my own terms. One has to follow the main bread-winner. Doris and I promised to write each other faithfully.
Before we moved, we made another trip to New Orleans and rented an apartment not far from Lakeside Mall and near Lake Ponchatrain in Metairie. I had packed a few pieces of china and crystal that I didn't want broken, but the movers insisted on unwrapping it and doing it over. This move wasn’t bad because the movers came in with packing crates and took care of everything.
They made arrangements to be at the apartment when we arrived so we could show them where to put all the furniture. The apartment was a three-bedroom, two-bath with a very small kitchen and dining room. We took most of our furniture, but we left the refrigerator and a few items we didn’t have a place for at our place in the country.
And so began a new way of life in a big city.
 Recognized |
I'm continuing to recall memories of life with my deceased husband as if I am talking aloud to him. I'm doing this because I want my children to know us as we knew each other and not just as their parents
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