Dancing in the streets
The St. Anne Ball
and Mardi Gras Morning
And on with the show
I know there was a lot of discussion about whether or not to hold Mardi Gras this year. And I just have to say that I’m glad we did. It was the best one of my life. Even when I compare it to Carnivals past with mama, daddy and my 5 siblings riding in the truck parade after Rex in the 1950’s. Mama hugely pregnant with her 7th child and dressed in a black and white striped convict’s uniform with a heart on the pocket that read “Prisoner of Love”. Then the years we went down to Claiborne Ave. to try to catch the Mardi Gras Indians and the Skeletons. The years of junior high school, dressed up like the grown women that we weren’t…hair teased, decked out in bell-bottoms and sandals, cigarettes dangling…trying our best to look like Martha Reeves or at least a Vandella. Then there were the hippie years of ahem…shall we say “altered consciousness” dancing in the streets outside the Seven Seas on St. Phillip Street, or rolling to Dr. John at the Warehouse. The years with my own children attending the family parades, the fried chicken, potato salad and bathroom breaks in my sister’s strategically located motor home. And now that my children are grown, my yearly parading with St. Anne through the French Quarter and back up Chartres Street, across Jackson Square to the Mississippi for a blessing of river water and to place the ashes of departed friends adrift.
This Carnival season was magical. I had two house guests who had never been to New Orleans for Mardi Gras celebrations. After a few days of parades, food and music, they made use of my bat cave of costume flotsam and jetsam for the St. Anne ball on Saturday night. I always love this party. It’s like stepping into the past. The venue is beautiful and the costumes are among the most lushly whimsical creations you can imagine. We danced til the wee hours and I headed home while the rest of the group made their way to Frenchmen Street for more music and dancing. Sunday was Hermes and Endymion viewed from The Columns on St. Charles Ave. Monday I spent putting the finishing touches on my costume for Mardi Gras Day.
Early Tuesday morning while I was having makeup and glitter applied by my friend, Booth, Barry rode his bike down to Jackson and Magnolia to photograph the Zulu warriors in full tribal regalia visiting from Africa for the first time in the organization’s 90 year history to lead the Zulu parade. I was torn between accompanying him and being transformed into the Whore of Babylon, but the whore won out (and doesn’t she always?). Our group assembled at our house and we made our way to the Friendly Bar on Chartres street to join the rest of the St. Anne maskers. The remainder of the day unfolded and took on a life of its own the way Mardi Gras Day always does. Never is it what you expect it to be which is what makes it so special.
I didn’t see a single sloppily drunken, out of control reveler all day long. Not one case of breast-flashing (except when the costume called for it). Just the wonderful, generous spirit of those of us who truly appreciate this city…tourists here to show support and many, many locals…some who haven’t attended Mardi Gras in years...putting on a magnificent display as a distraction from the constant stress of dealing with insurance adjusters, claims officers, FEMA and the mountains of bureaucratic red tape that we’ve all been subjected to since August 29th.
2006 Carnival in New Orleans was a turning point for me at least. I feel hope for the first time since I left town on August 27th with two pair of shorts and the flip flops on my feet for what turned into an almost three month odyssey to New York City by way of Laurel, Mississippi, Springfield, Illinois and Chicago. I learned who my friends are and who they aren’t. I learned letting go of my “stuff” is easier than I would have imagined. I learned that it’s ultimately best to take care of one another because the people you THINK have your back sometimes don’t…and sometimes those you thought were indifferent turn out to be true heroes. I learned the meaning of “refugee” and I learned that getting hugged by total strangers can be healing for both you AND the stranger. I learned that no matter how much I cry, I will still have tears to spare. And I learned something from Le Krewe d’Etat that I hadn’t thought of before: NEVER have surgery during hurricane season.
and Mardi Gras Morning
And on with the show
I know there was a lot of discussion about whether or not to hold Mardi Gras this year. And I just have to say that I’m glad we did. It was the best one of my life. Even when I compare it to Carnivals past with mama, daddy and my 5 siblings riding in the truck parade after Rex in the 1950’s. Mama hugely pregnant with her 7th child and dressed in a black and white striped convict’s uniform with a heart on the pocket that read “Prisoner of Love”. Then the years we went down to Claiborne Ave. to try to catch the Mardi Gras Indians and the Skeletons. The years of junior high school, dressed up like the grown women that we weren’t…hair teased, decked out in bell-bottoms and sandals, cigarettes dangling…trying our best to look like Martha Reeves or at least a Vandella. Then there were the hippie years of ahem…shall we say “altered consciousness” dancing in the streets outside the Seven Seas on St. Phillip Street, or rolling to Dr. John at the Warehouse. The years with my own children attending the family parades, the fried chicken, potato salad and bathroom breaks in my sister’s strategically located motor home. And now that my children are grown, my yearly parading with St. Anne through the French Quarter and back up Chartres Street, across Jackson Square to the Mississippi for a blessing of river water and to place the ashes of departed friends adrift.
This Carnival season was magical. I had two house guests who had never been to New Orleans for Mardi Gras celebrations. After a few days of parades, food and music, they made use of my bat cave of costume flotsam and jetsam for the St. Anne ball on Saturday night. I always love this party. It’s like stepping into the past. The venue is beautiful and the costumes are among the most lushly whimsical creations you can imagine. We danced til the wee hours and I headed home while the rest of the group made their way to Frenchmen Street for more music and dancing. Sunday was Hermes and Endymion viewed from The Columns on St. Charles Ave. Monday I spent putting the finishing touches on my costume for Mardi Gras Day.
Early Tuesday morning while I was having makeup and glitter applied by my friend, Booth, Barry rode his bike down to Jackson and Magnolia to photograph the Zulu warriors in full tribal regalia visiting from Africa for the first time in the organization’s 90 year history to lead the Zulu parade. I was torn between accompanying him and being transformed into the Whore of Babylon, but the whore won out (and doesn’t she always?). Our group assembled at our house and we made our way to the Friendly Bar on Chartres street to join the rest of the St. Anne maskers. The remainder of the day unfolded and took on a life of its own the way Mardi Gras Day always does. Never is it what you expect it to be which is what makes it so special.
I didn’t see a single sloppily drunken, out of control reveler all day long. Not one case of breast-flashing (except when the costume called for it). Just the wonderful, generous spirit of those of us who truly appreciate this city…tourists here to show support and many, many locals…some who haven’t attended Mardi Gras in years...putting on a magnificent display as a distraction from the constant stress of dealing with insurance adjusters, claims officers, FEMA and the mountains of bureaucratic red tape that we’ve all been subjected to since August 29th.
2006 Carnival in New Orleans was a turning point for me at least. I feel hope for the first time since I left town on August 27th with two pair of shorts and the flip flops on my feet for what turned into an almost three month odyssey to New York City by way of Laurel, Mississippi, Springfield, Illinois and Chicago. I learned who my friends are and who they aren’t. I learned letting go of my “stuff” is easier than I would have imagined. I learned that it’s ultimately best to take care of one another because the people you THINK have your back sometimes don’t…and sometimes those you thought were indifferent turn out to be true heroes. I learned the meaning of “refugee” and I learned that getting hugged by total strangers can be healing for both you AND the stranger. I learned that no matter how much I cry, I will still have tears to spare. And I learned something from Le Krewe d’Etat that I hadn’t thought of before: NEVER have surgery during hurricane season.
posted by Mary @ 8:45 PM
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