This is the best time of year, the season that comes to New Orleans twice every year, but is of varying duration. It is the season of NO -- no air conditioning, no heater. Some days you hardly need your ceiling fans. It is the season of enjoying the mild temperatures, and enjoying even more the lower utility bills. We all love this season, each time it comes, and wish it could last longer.
Today, though, tested my endurance, because although it is actually November 22, the temperature shot up to 80-something. I had to really stick to my resolution and not turn the a/c back on. It's late November! I'm NOT turning the air conditioning back on! I mean it! (OK, let me admit, no matter what day or what month it is, if it goes up to 90, I am darn well cranking the a/c up.)
I wonder what day will be the first day I have to turn on the heater? (Readers up North, if there are any, I'm sorry to have to brag like this.)
Monday, November 22, 2010
One of the Very Best Days EVER!
Through the generosity of one of my parishioners, Big Man and I received a pair of tickets to yesterday's Saints game in the Superdome. Since this parishioner is a long-time season ticket holder, these were no ordinary tickets -- they were seats 1 and 2 on row 17, section 138 on the Saints side. Yes, that's right, 17 rows up from the field! To make a good thing even better, the tickets came with a parking pass on the top floor of the Superdome garage, simple easy walking distance from gates F and G (the gates closest to the seats).
We've been holding the tickets for about a month or so now, and the anticipation has been driving us crazy. Since our terrific parking place would allow us to have our own personal tailgate party, we thought long and hard about the food. After much discussion, we decided on alligator sliders on pistolets. We arranged to borrow my sister L's little propane stove, that she and her husband usually keep on their boat, to do the grilling in the back of the van. We got sugar-free creme soda and Italian bubble water (his favorite!) for Big Man, and Abita pecan ale for me, and of course Zapp's special Who Dat chips.
The trick was finding the gator burgers. We knew that the Boudin Shop outside of Cecilia, Louisiana, carried frozen full-size gator burgers, but that's quite a drive. Last Monday, our shared day off, we drove out to Cajun country to try to find gator burgers much closer to home. We enjoyed our day, and explored several really neat Cajun meat markets, buying shrimp boudin and white boudin and andouille, but no dice on the gator meat, ground or otherwise. After a long day of touring around, having fun being together and seeing new things together (completely new to Big Man, but a renewal for me), we finally, 30 minutes before closing time, ended up in West Baton Rouge in a place called Bergeron's. There, we hit the motherlode: andouille, boudin, meat pies, stuffed pork chops, boned and stuffed chickens, turduckens, cracklin's -- and alligator meat. At this point, we were so relieved to find gator at all, I just decided to use my meat grinder and make my own gator burgers.
On Saturday, I prepared our feast. I ground 2 pounds of tenderloin alligator meat along with one egg (next time I would add another egg to hold things together), about 3/4 cup fresh bread crumbs (I used whole wheat end slices I've been saving), about a 1/2 cup of chopped onion and red and green bell pepper, 3 or 4 garlic cloves, a hefty sprinkling of Chef Paul Prudhomme's lemon pepper seasoning, and about a tablespoon of Provencal herbs (from La Madeleine). I mixed this all up together, and then formed small football-shaped patties, wrapping them carefully in clear plastic wrap to keep them separate, and then covered the whole shebang with foil wrap. Then I made my own caper sauce: Creole Tomato Salad Dressing, Creole mustard, Blue Plate mayonnaise, and drained baby capers; and put it all in a small watertight plastic container. So far so good.
To our great good luck, Sunday dawned a beautiful sunny warm day with clear skies. (It was so warm, in fact, that we had to turn the air conditioner on at church to take the edge off.) I rushed home after services and coffeehour, determined to spend as much time as possible at the Dome enjoying the atmosphere. While I heated up the dozen pistolets, we packed up the ice chest with the foil-wrapped package of gator burgers, the caper sauce, the creme sodas, the bubble water, the beers, and the obligatory bag of official Saints ice. Into a canvas bag, I threw in 2 black-and-gold fleur de lis embroidered towels, a spatchula, a knife to spread the sauce, the Who Dat chips, 2 Mardi Gras cups, and a small pile of heavy-duty paper plates. One TV table and 2 chairs, and we're ready to roll.
After double and even triple checking to make sure we had the tickets and the parking pass, we took off. Everything was like a dream -- the happy people under their canopies, radios and boom boxes blaring, the bright sun, the blue sky, and us with these great tickets. Just as promised, there was our terrific parking spot on the roof on the Dome lot, surrounded by excited Saints fans. We lifted open the back of the van, creating a sunshade, and set up our chairs. I draped each chair with a personal Saints hand towel as a big napkin. Big Man popped open a couple of cold ones, and we set up the propane stove and got it going on high. When it was sizzling, I carefully laid out 6 gator burgers and sliced open the warm pistolets, slathering them with caper sauce. I scattered plates with the chips, and while the burger grilled, Big Man and I sat and surveyed the scene around us.
Under the clear sky and shining sun, all around, Saints fans were dressed in jerseys and variations on black-and-gold clothing (including one guy in wildly striped pants in the expected colors of black, white and gold), some with big crazy hats, and some with elaborate make-up and props to complete their looks. (Us too: Big Man wore his long-sleeve Saints T-shirt with black jeans with his leather vest over it, topped by his top hat with old-gold satin band; I wore black knit pants with my sister L's flashy black short-sleeved scoop-necked top, all sparkly with gold glitter -- which I am still trying to get out of everything. I wore my gold fleur de lis earrings -- present from Big Man last year -- and I wore big flashy black and gold fleur de lis beads around my neck. I topped off my outfit with the black feather and gold metallic boa, gift form my sister-in-law R. We looked GOOD.) Everyone was happy and smiling, enjoying the day and each other, eating up all kinds of good food, drinking (of course), calling to each other, lifting their faces up to the sun (I swear I got some sunburn!), just loving the whole experience.
When the burgers were ready, I scooped them into the prepared pistolets and we chowed down happily! Big Man congratulated me on the tailgate, and frankly, I was pretty pleased my own self.
It got on to after 2 pm, and we began the reverse process of packing everything back up. We again double-checked on the tickets, grabbed the bag of Zapp's, and began the stroll to the gates. The Dome security has 2 lines to get in, one for men and one for women. A woman security guard patted me down briskly, and another guard kind of "bounced" my purse to make sure I was not trying to bring in any alcohol. (Guess we could've sneaked in the chips if we hadn't already scarfed them down.) Big Man and I met back up again inside the Dome and it didn't take any time at all to find our seats, right on the aisle, so close to the field! (We were so close that during the game we could clearly see Drew Brees's frustration on the sidelines after throwing an interception down in the Red Zone. Poor fellow.)
We thoroughly enjoyed the game and everything about it -- all the foofaraw, the national anthem sung by the Imagination Movers (the crowd was really too old to appreciate them), Drew's big "Who Dat" chant to start things off, the people watching, the costumes, the hollers, the Wave, the Kiss Cam, the Fit Cam, the Saintsations, and of course the game itself. We got to stand up and get crunk several times, which was the most fun at all. We took pictures with our iPhones, and every now and then hugged and kissed, saying, "Isn't this the BEST?? Isn't this wonderful??"
In the 4th quarter, with the Saints way ahead, some folks began leaving early to beat the traffic, but Big Man said we were there for the duration and wouldn't leave til they shot off the smoke cannons to say the game was over. And that's just what we did, seeing the official end of the game and then joining the giant crowd leaving. We went into the restrooms (which were empty!), and then took our time getting back to the car. Out on the walkway around the perimeter of the Dome, we were part of the huge throng of happy excited people, taking pictures with the costumed characters, loudly chanting "Who Dat." An almost-full moon glowed down on us. Everyone was happy and so were we. We were in no hurry.
On our level of the parking lot, we could see a long line of cars waiting to leave, but we were not in a hurry at all, and live close enough to the Dome that it's not an issue, so we just sat in the car, with the radio playing, making some calls (bragging to people!), talking over and reliving the game's highlights. We were so happy.
Finally the line went down and we drove down all the ramps and headed home under the moon. We were two of the happiest people in the city, and we woke up that way this morning as well.
One of the best days EVER!
We've been holding the tickets for about a month or so now, and the anticipation has been driving us crazy. Since our terrific parking place would allow us to have our own personal tailgate party, we thought long and hard about the food. After much discussion, we decided on alligator sliders on pistolets. We arranged to borrow my sister L's little propane stove, that she and her husband usually keep on their boat, to do the grilling in the back of the van. We got sugar-free creme soda and Italian bubble water (his favorite!) for Big Man, and Abita pecan ale for me, and of course Zapp's special Who Dat chips.
The trick was finding the gator burgers. We knew that the Boudin Shop outside of Cecilia, Louisiana, carried frozen full-size gator burgers, but that's quite a drive. Last Monday, our shared day off, we drove out to Cajun country to try to find gator burgers much closer to home. We enjoyed our day, and explored several really neat Cajun meat markets, buying shrimp boudin and white boudin and andouille, but no dice on the gator meat, ground or otherwise. After a long day of touring around, having fun being together and seeing new things together (completely new to Big Man, but a renewal for me), we finally, 30 minutes before closing time, ended up in West Baton Rouge in a place called Bergeron's. There, we hit the motherlode: andouille, boudin, meat pies, stuffed pork chops, boned and stuffed chickens, turduckens, cracklin's -- and alligator meat. At this point, we were so relieved to find gator at all, I just decided to use my meat grinder and make my own gator burgers.
On Saturday, I prepared our feast. I ground 2 pounds of tenderloin alligator meat along with one egg (next time I would add another egg to hold things together), about 3/4 cup fresh bread crumbs (I used whole wheat end slices I've been saving), about a 1/2 cup of chopped onion and red and green bell pepper, 3 or 4 garlic cloves, a hefty sprinkling of Chef Paul Prudhomme's lemon pepper seasoning, and about a tablespoon of Provencal herbs (from La Madeleine). I mixed this all up together, and then formed small football-shaped patties, wrapping them carefully in clear plastic wrap to keep them separate, and then covered the whole shebang with foil wrap. Then I made my own caper sauce: Creole Tomato Salad Dressing, Creole mustard, Blue Plate mayonnaise, and drained baby capers; and put it all in a small watertight plastic container. So far so good.
To our great good luck, Sunday dawned a beautiful sunny warm day with clear skies. (It was so warm, in fact, that we had to turn the air conditioner on at church to take the edge off.) I rushed home after services and coffeehour, determined to spend as much time as possible at the Dome enjoying the atmosphere. While I heated up the dozen pistolets, we packed up the ice chest with the foil-wrapped package of gator burgers, the caper sauce, the creme sodas, the bubble water, the beers, and the obligatory bag of official Saints ice. Into a canvas bag, I threw in 2 black-and-gold fleur de lis embroidered towels, a spatchula, a knife to spread the sauce, the Who Dat chips, 2 Mardi Gras cups, and a small pile of heavy-duty paper plates. One TV table and 2 chairs, and we're ready to roll.
After double and even triple checking to make sure we had the tickets and the parking pass, we took off. Everything was like a dream -- the happy people under their canopies, radios and boom boxes blaring, the bright sun, the blue sky, and us with these great tickets. Just as promised, there was our terrific parking spot on the roof on the Dome lot, surrounded by excited Saints fans. We lifted open the back of the van, creating a sunshade, and set up our chairs. I draped each chair with a personal Saints hand towel as a big napkin. Big Man popped open a couple of cold ones, and we set up the propane stove and got it going on high. When it was sizzling, I carefully laid out 6 gator burgers and sliced open the warm pistolets, slathering them with caper sauce. I scattered plates with the chips, and while the burger grilled, Big Man and I sat and surveyed the scene around us.
Under the clear sky and shining sun, all around, Saints fans were dressed in jerseys and variations on black-and-gold clothing (including one guy in wildly striped pants in the expected colors of black, white and gold), some with big crazy hats, and some with elaborate make-up and props to complete their looks. (Us too: Big Man wore his long-sleeve Saints T-shirt with black jeans with his leather vest over it, topped by his top hat with old-gold satin band; I wore black knit pants with my sister L's flashy black short-sleeved scoop-necked top, all sparkly with gold glitter -- which I am still trying to get out of everything. I wore my gold fleur de lis earrings -- present from Big Man last year -- and I wore big flashy black and gold fleur de lis beads around my neck. I topped off my outfit with the black feather and gold metallic boa, gift form my sister-in-law R. We looked GOOD.) Everyone was happy and smiling, enjoying the day and each other, eating up all kinds of good food, drinking (of course), calling to each other, lifting their faces up to the sun (I swear I got some sunburn!), just loving the whole experience.
When the burgers were ready, I scooped them into the prepared pistolets and we chowed down happily! Big Man congratulated me on the tailgate, and frankly, I was pretty pleased my own self.
It got on to after 2 pm, and we began the reverse process of packing everything back up. We again double-checked on the tickets, grabbed the bag of Zapp's, and began the stroll to the gates. The Dome security has 2 lines to get in, one for men and one for women. A woman security guard patted me down briskly, and another guard kind of "bounced" my purse to make sure I was not trying to bring in any alcohol. (Guess we could've sneaked in the chips if we hadn't already scarfed them down.) Big Man and I met back up again inside the Dome and it didn't take any time at all to find our seats, right on the aisle, so close to the field! (We were so close that during the game we could clearly see Drew Brees's frustration on the sidelines after throwing an interception down in the Red Zone. Poor fellow.)
We thoroughly enjoyed the game and everything about it -- all the foofaraw, the national anthem sung by the Imagination Movers (the crowd was really too old to appreciate them), Drew's big "Who Dat" chant to start things off, the people watching, the costumes, the hollers, the Wave, the Kiss Cam, the Fit Cam, the Saintsations, and of course the game itself. We got to stand up and get crunk several times, which was the most fun at all. We took pictures with our iPhones, and every now and then hugged and kissed, saying, "Isn't this the BEST?? Isn't this wonderful??"
In the 4th quarter, with the Saints way ahead, some folks began leaving early to beat the traffic, but Big Man said we were there for the duration and wouldn't leave til they shot off the smoke cannons to say the game was over. And that's just what we did, seeing the official end of the game and then joining the giant crowd leaving. We went into the restrooms (which were empty!), and then took our time getting back to the car. Out on the walkway around the perimeter of the Dome, we were part of the huge throng of happy excited people, taking pictures with the costumed characters, loudly chanting "Who Dat." An almost-full moon glowed down on us. Everyone was happy and so were we. We were in no hurry.
On our level of the parking lot, we could see a long line of cars waiting to leave, but we were not in a hurry at all, and live close enough to the Dome that it's not an issue, so we just sat in the car, with the radio playing, making some calls (bragging to people!), talking over and reliving the game's highlights. We were so happy.
Finally the line went down and we drove down all the ramps and headed home under the moon. We were two of the happiest people in the city, and we woke up that way this morning as well.
One of the best days EVER!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
OMG! The Rads Are Breaking Up!
Quite a shocker announcement in this morning's Times-Picayune, that the Radiators, the perennial funk-rock-R&B fusion band with a gigantic local following, was breaking up as of the summer of 2011. (See the story online at http://www.nola.com/music/index.ssf/2010/11/the_radiators_plan_to_disband.html)
New Orleans-area bloggers are having a field day, with comments ranging from "NOOOOOO!!!!" to "I can't bear it!" and "First the Beatles, now the Rads, what's next??" Thirty-three years is an awfully long time for a band to be together, but most of us just sort of assumed that the Rads would go on and on, for eternity.
Today's announcement assured fans that all upcoming gigs would honored (like MOMS and Jazz Fest) and that there would be a giant farewell concert in the city in June 2011. Small comfort, though, to those of us who just felt the Radiators were an eternal verity in our lives, one piece of continuity in a chaotic world.
What will MOMS be without the Rads' constant groove? Who knows?
To the Radiators from a big fan -- It's been great, guys, y'all are the absolute BEST. Wish each of you much success in whatever you do.
Fish head music forever!!
New Orleans-area bloggers are having a field day, with comments ranging from "NOOOOOO!!!!" to "I can't bear it!" and "First the Beatles, now the Rads, what's next??" Thirty-three years is an awfully long time for a band to be together, but most of us just sort of assumed that the Rads would go on and on, for eternity.
Today's announcement assured fans that all upcoming gigs would honored (like MOMS and Jazz Fest) and that there would be a giant farewell concert in the city in June 2011. Small comfort, though, to those of us who just felt the Radiators were an eternal verity in our lives, one piece of continuity in a chaotic world.
What will MOMS be without the Rads' constant groove? Who knows?
To the Radiators from a big fan -- It's been great, guys, y'all are the absolute BEST. Wish each of you much success in whatever you do.
Fish head music forever!!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Another Accident at Annunciation Park
I've blogged about this before, how many accidents there are at the corner of Annunciation and Race Streets, where Annunciation dead-ends at Annunciation Park. The accidents I've written about before have all occurred at night, or in the very early morning hours. I always thought they were a function of driving in an unfamiliar area at night, since the lights that run through the Park could trick someone into thinking that Annunciation Street continues straight through.
But the accident that occurred last week was in broad daylight. It was about 9 am on a weekday morning and I was in bed, contemplating getting up, when I heard the familiar thudding sound of a car hitting another car square on. (Big Man is always joking about how he's gonna start parking the van at Annunciation Park, so the next accident will wipe out a vehicle we should never have been gulled into buying.) I jumped out of bed, threw on a caftan and hurried downstairs.
I joined a small throng of neighbors who had gathered on the sidewalks and porches to view the scene -- a grey car that had just gone straight through the stop sign on the corner, smashing so hard perpendicularly into the brand-new tricked-out pimped-up pick-up truck owned by the family in the house on the corner that two of the wheels had snapped right off.
We heard later from the cops investigating the scene that the driver said he had fallen asleep at the wheel. Guess he's lucky to be alive. Hope for my neighbor's sake he had good insurance, for their truck is surely totalled.
Months ago, I wrote to complain about this corner and the many accidents there to TV's Action Reporter Bill Capo, but I guess it didn't ring his bell. he's never done a story on it, and the city has never installed stop-sign warnings earlier in the block, or a double-arrow caution sign at the dead end.
People who've lived in the neighborhood longer than we have say the accidents we've seen are not even the half of it. But apparently it's not enough for the city to do anything about.
But the accident that occurred last week was in broad daylight. It was about 9 am on a weekday morning and I was in bed, contemplating getting up, when I heard the familiar thudding sound of a car hitting another car square on. (Big Man is always joking about how he's gonna start parking the van at Annunciation Park, so the next accident will wipe out a vehicle we should never have been gulled into buying.) I jumped out of bed, threw on a caftan and hurried downstairs.
I joined a small throng of neighbors who had gathered on the sidewalks and porches to view the scene -- a grey car that had just gone straight through the stop sign on the corner, smashing so hard perpendicularly into the brand-new tricked-out pimped-up pick-up truck owned by the family in the house on the corner that two of the wheels had snapped right off.
We heard later from the cops investigating the scene that the driver said he had fallen asleep at the wheel. Guess he's lucky to be alive. Hope for my neighbor's sake he had good insurance, for their truck is surely totalled.
Months ago, I wrote to complain about this corner and the many accidents there to TV's Action Reporter Bill Capo, but I guess it didn't ring his bell. he's never done a story on it, and the city has never installed stop-sign warnings earlier in the block, or a double-arrow caution sign at the dead end.
People who've lived in the neighborhood longer than we have say the accidents we've seen are not even the half of it. But apparently it's not enough for the city to do anything about.
Harvest the Music
The free Wednesday-night concert series concluded last Wednesday with a tremendous triple-threat concert by bluesman Little Freddie King, the Krown-Batiste-Washington Trio (which usually plays the Maple leaf), and then the great Allen Toussaint with special guest trumpeter Nicholas Payton (whose father, musician and educator Walter Payton, had just died this week). An amazing display of the depth and breadth of talent in New Orleans, the closing concert was easily the best of a very, very fine lot.
"Harvest the Music" really outdid themselves this year in ensuring something for absolutely everyone in New Orleans who loves music. The series was kicked off back in September (when it was still hot) with Anders Osborne (who is a great musician but really needs a haircut and a shave!), moved into Cowboy Mouth with its fervent fanbase, then hit the high notes with Rebirth and then Dr. John and the Lower 911 (with the Treme Brass band to open).
As a special teaser to the excited -- and capacity! -- crowd, Allen Toussaint strolled onstage to play piano and sing while Mac played guitar withe vengeance, something he doesn't do that often. (You'd've thought that by billing it as "Dr. John and the Lower 911" that the set would've been all new, angry songs post-K and post-BP, but you'd've been wrong. Mac also played a lot of the old favorites that had the crowd singing along, and, memorably on "Gilded Splinters" the crowd added the appropriate "Oooohh"s at the exact right spots.)
The ever-popular Kermit Ruffins and his band the Barbecue Swingers followed Mac the next Wednesday. I love how Kermit is not afraid to really entertain an audience, and interact and joke with the folks. And now the HBO series "Treme" is bringing him a more national following, a good thing.
After Kermit, it was MOMS revisited with a 2-hour groovin' set by the Radiators. The Rads were, as always, completely into their own groove, and it was a kick to see so many people we know from the MOMS Ball out in the Square (only, with more clothes on than we usually see them!).
Then it was Ivan Neville (yes, Aaron's son) and the aptly named Dumpstafunk, great stuff -- especially Ivan's take on the "Sopranos" theme song "Got Yourself a Gun." Lots of Neville family guesting, which always happens in an Ivan set.
Appropriately, Allen Toussaint was set as the season's closing act, and as always, he did not disappoint. The classics, the beloved old R&B numbers he wrote for Lee Dorsey and Benny Spellman (Allen informed us that Benny is still alive, and living now in Pensacola! Wow! Who knew!), the song that grew into a post-Katrina anthem "Yes We Can Can" (even though it was written years before It happened), and as a special favor to me, "Fortune Teller." I tell you, I sang along with every single word.
I also want to send a shout-out to the great food at Harvest the Music, with special kudos to the fried softshell crab and the char-grilled oysters. Yum and double-yum! The pulled pork over the creamy grits was nothing to sniff at either. Prices were extremely reasonable and two people could eat and drink for about $30.
As Allen closed out the festival and his set, he said how wonderful it was to live "in the greatest city in the world!" and then he started to walk away form the mike, but caught himself, came back and added, "And everybody, come home." Yes, indeed.
"Harvest the Music" really outdid themselves this year in ensuring something for absolutely everyone in New Orleans who loves music. The series was kicked off back in September (when it was still hot) with Anders Osborne (who is a great musician but really needs a haircut and a shave!), moved into Cowboy Mouth with its fervent fanbase, then hit the high notes with Rebirth and then Dr. John and the Lower 911 (with the Treme Brass band to open).
As a special teaser to the excited -- and capacity! -- crowd, Allen Toussaint strolled onstage to play piano and sing while Mac played guitar withe vengeance, something he doesn't do that often. (You'd've thought that by billing it as "Dr. John and the Lower 911" that the set would've been all new, angry songs post-K and post-BP, but you'd've been wrong. Mac also played a lot of the old favorites that had the crowd singing along, and, memorably on "Gilded Splinters" the crowd added the appropriate "Oooohh"s at the exact right spots.)
The ever-popular Kermit Ruffins and his band the Barbecue Swingers followed Mac the next Wednesday. I love how Kermit is not afraid to really entertain an audience, and interact and joke with the folks. And now the HBO series "Treme" is bringing him a more national following, a good thing.
After Kermit, it was MOMS revisited with a 2-hour groovin' set by the Radiators. The Rads were, as always, completely into their own groove, and it was a kick to see so many people we know from the MOMS Ball out in the Square (only, with more clothes on than we usually see them!).
Then it was Ivan Neville (yes, Aaron's son) and the aptly named Dumpstafunk, great stuff -- especially Ivan's take on the "Sopranos" theme song "Got Yourself a Gun." Lots of Neville family guesting, which always happens in an Ivan set.
Appropriately, Allen Toussaint was set as the season's closing act, and as always, he did not disappoint. The classics, the beloved old R&B numbers he wrote for Lee Dorsey and Benny Spellman (Allen informed us that Benny is still alive, and living now in Pensacola! Wow! Who knew!), the song that grew into a post-Katrina anthem "Yes We Can Can" (even though it was written years before It happened), and as a special favor to me, "Fortune Teller." I tell you, I sang along with every single word.
I also want to send a shout-out to the great food at Harvest the Music, with special kudos to the fried softshell crab and the char-grilled oysters. Yum and double-yum! The pulled pork over the creamy grits was nothing to sniff at either. Prices were extremely reasonable and two people could eat and drink for about $30.
As Allen closed out the festival and his set, he said how wonderful it was to live "in the greatest city in the world!" and then he started to walk away form the mike, but caught himself, came back and added, "And everybody, come home." Yes, indeed.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
All Saints & All Souls
While we New Orleanians certainly can be a hide-bound, stick-with-tradition bunch, one beloved old tradition seems to be slipping a little, if not actually fading. The custom of visiting and decorating the graves of the beloved dead, the "ancestors," for All Saints Day just doesn't seem as big a deal as it once was. (Big Man says I have to get over it, that all traditions evolve and some of them even die off, but this was sad to me.)
There was time, pre-Katrina and before, when All Saints Day was a school holiday, and when you'd arrive at the cemetery, there'd be crowds of people. There'd even be some kind of a vendor outside the gates, selling hot dogs or cotton candy. There would be almost a strange carnival-like atmosphere, as folks arrived by the carload, arms laden with potted chrysanthemums to adorn the graves of loved ones. When I used to make the trip to the family tomb at St. Vincent's Cemetery in the Upper Ninth Ward with my father and my son, back about 15-20 years ago, we would meet people from his old neighborhood around Bunny Friend Playground, and there would be a lot of hugging and back-slapping and "How the heck are ya?" talk.
Back in those days, it was supremely easy to obtain your mums for the cemetery trip, because every large grocery store in town had potted mums to sell. Some even set up tents in the parking lot to sell you the mums the easiest way possible. And near almost every cemetery, there'd be a large or small florist, providing flowers for those who arrived without. It's sure not like that anymore!
Big Man and I had a hell of a time finding mums, and wasted a considerable amount of time and gas looking. And when we got to the cemeteries that were on our list, we were often the only people there. The graves at Cypress Grove, through the giant neo-Egyptian pylons of the entrance, where we visited the founding minister of our church from the 1800s, were sadly neglected. We saw only tourists with maps and cameras, no families. A few tombs had fresh roses, but it was a poor showing.
At Lakelawn, where we honored Louis Prima with a bouquet (and thanked him for, in a way, bringing us together), we did see a small family gathering in front of the Sons of Italy group tomb, with folding chairs like they were going to stay for a while. That did my heart good -- that was more like it! We rolled down the car windows and wished them a Happy All Saints and they did the same to us. Before we drove away, we peeked into the Hyams tomb with the superb sculpture of the angel prostrate with grief, with the blue light from the back stained glass window pouring down. I pushed my iPhone through the gap in the door, and took what I think is a very good picture. (The door was locked and chained, while it had been open last year; apparently -- sadly! -- there had been some vandalism.)
When we arrived at St. Louis No. 1, a good 5 or more minutes ahead of scheduled closing time, we found the gates chained shut, with frantic tourists trapped inside. They closed the cemetery early on All Saints Day, for heaven's sake! I couldn't get over it, and the thought of leaving there without putting our hard-won floral tributes on the graves of 19th century Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau and New Orleans's first black mayor (and my friend) Dutch Morial had me practically beside myself. I tried to thrust the bouquets toward the tourists inside, begging them to put them on Dutch and the Lady's graves -- and they disclaimed all knowledge of these two famous side-by-side tombs. I nearly wept with frustration.
The cemetery caretaker showed up with a key, to let the tourists out, and I begged to go in, just for a minute, to complete my errand. He relented, reluctantly, and I slipped past him, nearly running to their tombs (which, after all, are close to the entrance). I laid a bouquet at Dutch's grave and whispered to him that while the Landrieu family were not his personal favorites, I still thought Mitch was doing a good job as mayor. Then I made a few steps to the right and put the flowers at the base of the Lady's tomb. I did not have time to make the ritual circuit around the tomb, or make any X's (and anyway, I had no requests to make, only gratitude), so I just laid my head on her marker and made silent thanks for past favors granted, and for our life in New Orleans. Big Man took his hat off, and placed his hand on the side of the tomb, and then we kept our promise and left, thanking the caretaker on our way out. (But really, why was he locking up so early on ALL SAINTS DAY??)
That left 2 cemeteries to go, and no time to do it, so we resolved to complete the ritual on All Souls. Of course, then it had to rain on All Souls, so we did those last 2 in the drizzle. First, we headed to my father's family tomb at St. Vincent's. It seemed to me that the condition of the cemetery had not improved since last year -- there was still a LOT of tombs needing repair. But what did make me happy was that there were many many bouquets and pots of mums in that cemetery. At some point, possibly yesterday, there had been quite a few families there. I was sorry to have missed them, but felt good about their showing up.
Our last stop was Holt Cemetery, the old potter's field behind City Park, to leave flowers for Buddy Bolden, the city's first innovative, famous cornet player. The rain was falling pretty hard by now, so Big Man held the big golf umbrella over me as I arranged the flowers in the glass vase on the ledge of the granite monument for King Bolden. (Readers of this Blog may remember that Bolden's actual grave has been lost and a group of fans a few years before Katrina paid for a large granite memorial a few yards from the entrance, just on the shell driveway.) Also left on Buddy's monument were a handful of jujube candy, and leopard-print key, and another bouquet, sans vase. We stood by as the rain poured, and thanked Buddy for the music and assured him he was remembered. We had to follow the shell drive all the way around to get out, and noticed lots of decorations and loving attention to the graves. Interesting that here at Holt it seems the traditions were being observed.
There was no point being that close to the original Bud's Broiler without eating, so we ended our All Saints/Our Souls ritual there.
There was time, pre-Katrina and before, when All Saints Day was a school holiday, and when you'd arrive at the cemetery, there'd be crowds of people. There'd even be some kind of a vendor outside the gates, selling hot dogs or cotton candy. There would be almost a strange carnival-like atmosphere, as folks arrived by the carload, arms laden with potted chrysanthemums to adorn the graves of loved ones. When I used to make the trip to the family tomb at St. Vincent's Cemetery in the Upper Ninth Ward with my father and my son, back about 15-20 years ago, we would meet people from his old neighborhood around Bunny Friend Playground, and there would be a lot of hugging and back-slapping and "How the heck are ya?" talk.
Back in those days, it was supremely easy to obtain your mums for the cemetery trip, because every large grocery store in town had potted mums to sell. Some even set up tents in the parking lot to sell you the mums the easiest way possible. And near almost every cemetery, there'd be a large or small florist, providing flowers for those who arrived without. It's sure not like that anymore!
Big Man and I had a hell of a time finding mums, and wasted a considerable amount of time and gas looking. And when we got to the cemeteries that were on our list, we were often the only people there. The graves at Cypress Grove, through the giant neo-Egyptian pylons of the entrance, where we visited the founding minister of our church from the 1800s, were sadly neglected. We saw only tourists with maps and cameras, no families. A few tombs had fresh roses, but it was a poor showing.
At Lakelawn, where we honored Louis Prima with a bouquet (and thanked him for, in a way, bringing us together), we did see a small family gathering in front of the Sons of Italy group tomb, with folding chairs like they were going to stay for a while. That did my heart good -- that was more like it! We rolled down the car windows and wished them a Happy All Saints and they did the same to us. Before we drove away, we peeked into the Hyams tomb with the superb sculpture of the angel prostrate with grief, with the blue light from the back stained glass window pouring down. I pushed my iPhone through the gap in the door, and took what I think is a very good picture. (The door was locked and chained, while it had been open last year; apparently -- sadly! -- there had been some vandalism.)
When we arrived at St. Louis No. 1, a good 5 or more minutes ahead of scheduled closing time, we found the gates chained shut, with frantic tourists trapped inside. They closed the cemetery early on All Saints Day, for heaven's sake! I couldn't get over it, and the thought of leaving there without putting our hard-won floral tributes on the graves of 19th century Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau and New Orleans's first black mayor (and my friend) Dutch Morial had me practically beside myself. I tried to thrust the bouquets toward the tourists inside, begging them to put them on Dutch and the Lady's graves -- and they disclaimed all knowledge of these two famous side-by-side tombs. I nearly wept with frustration.
The cemetery caretaker showed up with a key, to let the tourists out, and I begged to go in, just for a minute, to complete my errand. He relented, reluctantly, and I slipped past him, nearly running to their tombs (which, after all, are close to the entrance). I laid a bouquet at Dutch's grave and whispered to him that while the Landrieu family were not his personal favorites, I still thought Mitch was doing a good job as mayor. Then I made a few steps to the right and put the flowers at the base of the Lady's tomb. I did not have time to make the ritual circuit around the tomb, or make any X's (and anyway, I had no requests to make, only gratitude), so I just laid my head on her marker and made silent thanks for past favors granted, and for our life in New Orleans. Big Man took his hat off, and placed his hand on the side of the tomb, and then we kept our promise and left, thanking the caretaker on our way out. (But really, why was he locking up so early on ALL SAINTS DAY??)
That left 2 cemeteries to go, and no time to do it, so we resolved to complete the ritual on All Souls. Of course, then it had to rain on All Souls, so we did those last 2 in the drizzle. First, we headed to my father's family tomb at St. Vincent's. It seemed to me that the condition of the cemetery had not improved since last year -- there was still a LOT of tombs needing repair. But what did make me happy was that there were many many bouquets and pots of mums in that cemetery. At some point, possibly yesterday, there had been quite a few families there. I was sorry to have missed them, but felt good about their showing up.
Our last stop was Holt Cemetery, the old potter's field behind City Park, to leave flowers for Buddy Bolden, the city's first innovative, famous cornet player. The rain was falling pretty hard by now, so Big Man held the big golf umbrella over me as I arranged the flowers in the glass vase on the ledge of the granite monument for King Bolden. (Readers of this Blog may remember that Bolden's actual grave has been lost and a group of fans a few years before Katrina paid for a large granite memorial a few yards from the entrance, just on the shell driveway.) Also left on Buddy's monument were a handful of jujube candy, and leopard-print key, and another bouquet, sans vase. We stood by as the rain poured, and thanked Buddy for the music and assured him he was remembered. We had to follow the shell drive all the way around to get out, and noticed lots of decorations and loving attention to the graves. Interesting that here at Holt it seems the traditions were being observed.
There was no point being that close to the original Bud's Broiler without eating, so we ended our All Saints/Our Souls ritual there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)