BK/AK BMG/AMG

BK/AK    BMG/AMG

 
I'm on the flight from New Orleans to Miami. A chance for some retrospection.
 
So many things I didn't do in NO: I never rode the street car, never went to the Preservation Hall Jazz Club, never drank a Hurricane, never saw the Katrina-destroyed Lower 9th Ward, never saw the Mardi Gras Indians. But then, I did have my fill of beignets, did visit the above-ground cemeteries, did visit the Voodoo Museum, did see the craziness on Bourbon Street, did spend hours wandering in and out of the jazz clubs on Decatur and Frenchman Streets, hearing superior music and drinking inferior beer, and did catch lots of thrown beads like all the tourists do. I also listened to the whistling ducks in Audobon Park, canoed the bayous and channels of City Park, stood at sunrise at The End Of The Earth to hear an a capella choir, built my own costume, cycled the main streets and back streets of this town until I could give directions to others, lay under a tree filled with wind chimes, and walked a Mardi Gras parade pouring wine into people's mouths like very few of the tourists do.

 
As I said, I never tried to "tour" the effects of Hurricane Katrina. But I never stopped hearing about it. If, while cycling, I ask about road repair, then answer is contexted with BK/AK (before Katrina/after Katrina). If I enquired about the Jewish community size, the answer comes back BK/AK. I went to a lecture about Louisiana wetlands preservation and it was entirely BK/AK. Schools? BK/AK! Musicians in the French Quarter? BK/AK. With 80% of the city flooded, people dislocated for months or permanently, an influx of newcomers (the ones I met were young and white) drawn to the reconstruction, I think it is fair to say that Katrina affected the city of New Orleans more than 9/11 affected the city of New York. And no wonder.
 
Mardi Gras day itself was a wonder. I guess I just hadn't realized how extravagant the costumes could be - feathered birds on stilts, Louis XIV in his finery, a wearable functioning greenhouse, sexy, skimpy gossamers - no wonder Jakob had put so much time into his dinosaur. But, alas for them, that Tuesday was cold and rainy - the worst Mardi Gras weather in memory. It was 38 F (4 C) in the drizzle as we set out in the morning and barely 41 F in the steady rain at the warmest. Feathers matted under the rain, regal finery needed to be covered by plastic, dinosaur plates of painted cardboard saturated and wilted, and those sexy, skimpy gossamers - well, I and the other viewers were forced to mentally undress the heavy raincoats before we could even begin the next step of mental undressing!
 
My own effort the night before was tacky by comparison, but a personal triumph in its own way. I gathered many of the beads that I had caught at parades on the previous days, as well as a t-shirt (black, with some sports hero front and back, size XXL) that I had caught below a balcony of revelers throwing clothing. I flipped the shirt inside out, cut the beads to standard lengths, and hot-glued them onto my shoulders and waist so that they swayed as I moved. Then, brilliant Vancouverite that I am, I put on every layer I had brought with me, capped by my rainproof jackets, and then put the XXL shirt & beads combo on top of everything. Then Jakob and I headed out into the rain - he to bemoan the fact that the wet streets of New Orleans were so uninviting and deserted, me to celebrate that fact that this typical day on the rainy streets of Vancouver were so inviting and crowded!
 
But the wonder of the day unfolded as I learned to love my tacky costume. Not only was it crafted from locally-sourced recycled materials, highlighting the tawdry in a world of studied craft and elegance, but it was damn fun to dance in! With music everywhere as we followed marching bands into plazas or wandered in and out of clubs, it was a day to dance. I danced with a white woman about my age, danced even longer with a black woman about half my age, and danced again with some men somewhere in between. And with each swish of my hips, each rhythmic throw of my shoulders, my beads danced with me. And as visions of Ruth's dancing partnership visited and fled, I swayed my way, alone in a crowd, through the cold comforting rains of Mardi Gras.

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