Dear New Orleans,

This is a love letter to you.

I have been planning a trip for over 20 years to New Orleans. It was a place that I knew, deep inside me, was part of my soul, even having never been. It has been confirmed by a recent (finally!) visit. I am connected to this place somehow - I was before and am now so even more. I am sure of that.

I drove a straight shot down I-10 to the place that has been my siren's call, arriving to find all the stars were aligned just for me. Every little thing was perfect and seemed so just for my exact liking. It was like New Orleans opened it's big ol' arms to welcome me with the warmest of southern hugs. It wanted to show me how much I was welcome after so many years pining for it.

My room was a balcony room, overlooking a quaint French Quarter street - which I did not ask for nor pay for. I could see the horse drawn carriages clip-clopping by and hear the sound of the streets below. I could see the night lights of Louis Armstrong park by just turning my head to the right.

The weather was perfection - sunny and slightly chilly. The moon was bright and full. The French Quarter at night was nearly empty giving me a good view of it, plenty of walking room, a nearly empty Jackson Square, a seat right next to the flaming fountain at Pat O'Briens (hurricane!) and easy seating for food (red beans & rice!), and the famous Cafe du Monde (beignets!) It was surreal - like the city was mine.

On the photo excursions, I was lucky enough to see perfect skies, feel a softly kissing breeze as I drove through the Metairie cemetery. I stood in awe of the place - finding such beauty, strength and history there. And I talked to it like I always do - saying thanks to the place and its peoples. I believe - if you ask the world for something of a good heart - it replies. They gave me some lovely crows that played in my photos. I know it was a gift. The whole weekend was a gift to me. I believe this wholeheartedly.

Later I visited Cemetery One, making it an hour before it closed. Again, beautiful, crisp skies but now with hearty dramatic shadows. And Marie Laveau...in triplicate. It would not be complete without her.

The next day, I found myself walking the French Quarter in the early morning sun. It just glistens. Don't believe all those stories about how dirty it is. It is a sparkling jewel. As I walked looking at all the details, to the tip-tap of my boots, it was like someone was whispering to me - "Look at how that dormer leans" "Do you see that building - how askew it is? Original and like it was so long ago?" "Look at those lights - those doors." "Do you see that color and those markings?" A secret companion in my head telling me what to see. New Orleans. The French Quarter.

I tell this story of the place more than the cemeteries because it has touched a very deep place in me. Someone said to me "A friend told me last year that the city knows her children and calls some of us back again and again. It sounds like you're one of them." I have never heard anything so beautiful. I hope I am. I love this place so very much.

Finding Adelmor

A little family cemetery that I have passed thousands of times, it being one of those places you know so well you don't think about too much, finally got my notice after all. This plot sits next to a pretty green cornfield, on a typical central New York hill, and today, against a blue, blue sky. It is beautiful here.

I hate to say I took it for granted, but I stopped on a whim, without my good camera. I left my car running, expecting to be done quickly. Then, one stone that faced away, against the edge of the tree-line caught my eye. I peered around it and was surprised to see a very interesting marker. It had hands on it similar to the typical skyward pointing ones that were often used. But... there were three hands and they were not pointing. I read the inscription and knew something was different, but I didn't quite piece it together...yet.

The Ears of the Deaf Shall Be
Unstopped. Isaiah 35, Chap. 51

Selected by his Teacher

ADELMOR

Son of Wm. & L. Doty

Died at Washington Heights

N.Y. City October 15, 1864

In the 19th Year of His Age

We loved him.

Later, when posting it on my Facebook site. Jen, a distant cousin who works in deaf education, saw the photo and quickly posted "Hey, that's fingerspelling. It says God!" Revelation! This was a deaf person buried here. It made perfect sense and was the answer to the riddle I was trying to solve while studying it. The three hands were SIGNING!

And it gets better.. "Hey, there used to be a School for the deaf in washington Heights!" and "The New York Institution For The Instruction Of The Deaf And Dumb"

Within minutes Jen had answered all the riddles. Adelmor was a deaf student at the school where he died. His mother, Lucretia, it turns out was also a "deaf mute." Very unique to find this respect in a small rural area, from a time when they were called "deaf and dumb."

So, another day, another surprise. I find the best things when I am not looking.

Here are some links I found about them:

http://www.deafbiographies.com/showsnippet.php?id=6723
http://www.deafbiographies.com/pictures/doty_adelmor.php

http://books.google.com/books?id=PLoVAAAAIAAJ&pg=PA74&lpg=PA74&dq=Adelmar+doty&source=bl&ots=ZvXxsSeBqK&sig=NKcHs-c5FNaR1NoRmz4dfzyclQc&hl=en&ei=XbYxTq-9N5PqgQeNkqmcDQ&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=6&ved=0CDcQ6AEwBQ#v=onepage&q=Adelmar%20doty&f=false