What can we say? It was the happiest nine days New Orleanians have had since before the You Know Whaticane.
Last Lundi Gras, I spent the night smashing metal trash can lids together like a little kid and dancing with the zeal of an idiot aerobics instructor along with the Noisician Coalition, a glorious white-black-and-red mess of a marching krewe.
Steve laughed at me all night long from behind his red and gold Mardi Gras mask.
My sister, a dedicated member of the Noisician Coalition, had given us access to her costume closet earlier in the evening and invited us join in the night's noise parade. So we did, tromping through the Quarter with crazy, homemade instruments, entering one bar after another to overtake them with the improvised rhythms of a maniac clown krewe before spilling out onto the street again.
It wasn't the first time I'd joined the Noisician Coalition on the parade route, but for some reason it was the funnest -- and it quickly melted into my favorite Mardi Gras day to date, one characterized by great joy, communal mirth, and absolute silliness with family and friends. (At one point, I was playing tambourine with a musician on the Moon Walk, ferchrissakes.)
Which brings me to this Mardi Gras weekend.
On Friday, Steve and I spent a rockin' night playing Scrabble by candlelight while our baby slept in the next room. On Saturday, I canceled plans to go to a party honoring a dear friend because our baby had a rough day and, I feared, would have an unpredictable night. On Sunday, I spent three hours napping with our baby while her father spent the afternoon paying bills and figuring out our retirement.
I knew having a baby would change our speed and manner of celebration. But perhaps the stark contrast of this Mardi Gras to last brings our new reality into even better focus.
Last night, as Steve and I were listening to tunes by Rebirth Brass Band, Kermit Ruffins, Soul Rebels and other New Orleans musicians on our stereo, I imagined the excitement of being in a crowded, sweaty room at d.b.a. or Maple Leaf or Spotted Cat during Carnival time, with the horns wailing and the people jumping and laughing and smiling.
It's going on without us. They're having a blast.
"We should definitely go to Mardi Gras next year," I said from the kitchen.
"Yeah," Steve answered.
But he told me later he wonders if it'll be too loud.
I know that our next Mardi Gras probably won't involve traipsing through the Quarter late at night with a bunch of people jamming on ridiculously ingenious instruments. I probably won't drink enough vodka tonics to give me the courage to accompany a street musician on tambourine.
But I have no problem introducing Aida to the magic of the costume closet or the fun of the brass marching band. Give us a Radio Flyer wagon, a parade ladder and a couple koozies and I guarantee next Mardi Gras will be unlike any other.
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| Lundi Gras 2010. Photo by Kathleen Flynn. |
As a baby who was drug through the streets on Mday every year, I'd have to agree. It's WAY too loud.
ReplyDeleteBut, with a pair of tiny earplugs and lot less vodka, I bet you could responsibly rock the Casbah if you want to. I sure did.
There can be no kid with our shared Genes who could do anything but love costumes.
I really think you will be the best momma (and funnerist)that a baby could know. Just look at her. Josh said he thinks she looks really aware. I think so too. She seems to somehow be ahead of curve already.
MakerBreaker is Jolie
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jolie. We think she's special. But our ability to judge is clouded by our obvious conflict of interest. :) Love to you and Josh.
ReplyDeleteI remember last year when you guys came in for Carnival and this past week at Bachus I wondered how yall were handling missin out : /
ReplyDeleteBUT.....you are right, a modified ladder, a couple of koozies (the ones that have a strap for your neck), and a helmet for Aida; you'll be just fine!