Yes, it's the Christmas season and you'd expect -- if you were anywhere else -- that signs posted around town saying, "I Believe" or simply "Believe" would refer to Christianity or to a literal faith in the Biblical nativity story. Anywhere but here, that is.
"Believing" in New Orleans right now refers strictly to a deeply held faith in the Saints perfect season. It means believing with all your heart that the Bless You Boys will beat Dallas on Saturday, and more than that, will go on to win in the playoffs and end up as Superbowl winners. If faith is "the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen," then what New Orleanians of all classes and colors have right now is true and authentic faith.
Religion is supposed to be a uniting force in society, and it is sad how often it is not. You can't imagine how this Saints-faith has brought us all together. Our beloved quarterback, Drew Brees, has been selected to rule over the Bacchus Parade on the Sunday after Superbowl -- picture the pandemonium in the streets! Many houses have Saints-themed Christmas decorations. My personal compromise: our house has Christmas lights and wreaths and mistletoe -- and a gold and black fleur de lis flag. The drug dealers on the corner (OK, I can't prove it, and they're perfectly nice to us) have a glittery gold and black wreath on their door. A swanky maternity dress shop in Old Metairie had a pregnant mannequin outside sporting a black Saints-themed baby-bump hoodie -- and a sign on the door proclaiming "13-0 Woo-hoo!" At my bank this morning, a car in the parking lot had a preprinted sign saying "14-0" -- although many around here would disapprove of counting our winnings before they hatch. (Superstitions abound -- some folks refer cryptically to the "S Bowl.")
With our shared faith in the Saints, and our renewed pride in our city and ourselves, it feels like we can do anything we put our minds to. It's a welcome and much-needed feeling this still-battered and bruised and not-fully-recovered city. What a wonderful Christmas season -- what longed-for gifts!
Love and gratitude to the Bless You Boys for all of this good feeling and unity.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Teddy Bear Tea at the Roosevelt
Big Man got an unusual gig this holiday season -- he's portraying the Toy Soldier who plays the herald trumpet for Santa, Mrs. Claus, the Christmas Elf, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and the Snow Fairy at the re-established Teddy Bear Tea in a beautiful ballroom at the Roosevelt. In a revived tradition from pre-Katrina, every weekend leading up to Christmas, beautifully dressed and generally well-behaved little children, accompanied by parents and doting grandparents, make reservations to sit at round tables in the gorgeously decorated ballroom -- white trees glowing with white lights, the arched ceiling glowing with blue lights interspersed with giant dangling snowflake chandeliers, the "Santa house" at the stage made to look like gingerbread and candy -- to nibble at little cucumber sandwiches, ham and cheese sandwiches, and various sweets, all served with hot tea and coffee for the adults and hot chocolate for the kiddies. Each child leaves with a teddy bear (and possibly a stuffed crawfish or alligator if the accompanying adult has trouble saying "no").
There's a brief musical program, with Big Man blowing Christmas songs on the trumpet, and then the characters make the rounds of the guests, meeting and greeting, and of course there's photo ops with Santa. (Santa told me a lot of the children slid right off his lap, due to the satin and taffeta and other slick fabrics of their holiday finery.) During the table visits by the other characters, Big Man takes a break, since, quite frankly, kids are not lining up to get their picture taken with the Toy Soldier and his herald trumpet.
When the program is nearing the end, they bring Big Man back in, with all the characters except Santa (who's *always* swamped with kids, either taking pictures or just trying to tell him what they want for Christmas), and they all do a big Christmas secondline all around the ballroom, Big Man leading the characters in a little parade of Christmas songs, the kids following behind, waving their red napkins in the air. (Only in New Orleans!)
When the whole thing is over, the characters -- including Big Man in his Toy Soldier guise -- line up to form a "receiving line" as everyone leaves, and it's touching to see the little ones give big hugs and pose with their favorites. (A few even squeezed Big Man and stood for pictures with him! It was sweet.) Later, the Roosevelt's lobby was crowded with holiday-dressed children clutching teddy bears.
If you're a New Orleans-area parent or grandparent of a child older than 2 (the younger ones found Rudolph and his light-up red nose frightening and cried) and younger than 10 (any older than that and they'll just roll their eyes at you if you suggest it), then we recommend the Teddy Bear Tea to you. And be sure to say hello to that large Toy Soldier with the horn.
There's a brief musical program, with Big Man blowing Christmas songs on the trumpet, and then the characters make the rounds of the guests, meeting and greeting, and of course there's photo ops with Santa. (Santa told me a lot of the children slid right off his lap, due to the satin and taffeta and other slick fabrics of their holiday finery.) During the table visits by the other characters, Big Man takes a break, since, quite frankly, kids are not lining up to get their picture taken with the Toy Soldier and his herald trumpet.
When the program is nearing the end, they bring Big Man back in, with all the characters except Santa (who's *always* swamped with kids, either taking pictures or just trying to tell him what they want for Christmas), and they all do a big Christmas secondline all around the ballroom, Big Man leading the characters in a little parade of Christmas songs, the kids following behind, waving their red napkins in the air. (Only in New Orleans!)
When the whole thing is over, the characters -- including Big Man in his Toy Soldier guise -- line up to form a "receiving line" as everyone leaves, and it's touching to see the little ones give big hugs and pose with their favorites. (A few even squeezed Big Man and stood for pictures with him! It was sweet.) Later, the Roosevelt's lobby was crowded with holiday-dressed children clutching teddy bears.
If you're a New Orleans-area parent or grandparent of a child older than 2 (the younger ones found Rudolph and his light-up red nose frightening and cried) and younger than 10 (any older than that and they'll just roll their eyes at you if you suggest it), then we recommend the Teddy Bear Tea to you. And be sure to say hello to that large Toy Soldier with the horn.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Too Funny
Last Sunday, the Saints played a cliff-hanger game against the Washington Redskins (horrible team name, they should change it), and the whole city paused to watch in wonder. There was hardly a car on the streets from about 12:30 to 4-ish pm. It seemed everyone in the city was glued to some means of following the game -- no matter what else they had to do that day.
I understand through letters to the editor to the Times-Picayune, that Sunday Brunch at quiet, staid, traditional Galatoire's Restaurant was punctuated by waiters bearing sweating sterling silver pitchers of ice water to the tables, reporting to the well-dressed and well-heeled customers on the game scores from the radios blaring back in the kitchen.
That's amusing enough, but the capper was finding out that folks attending the matinée of "The Color Purple" at the Mahalia Jackson Theater of the Performing Arts in Louis Armstrong Park were entertained during intermission by a TV set turned to the Saints game in the theater lobby.
Yes, but then both the play AND the game resumed. Theatergoers reported later that the darkened auditorium was strangely lit up in places by the Saints fans continuing to check their cell phones and Blackberries for text messages about the game's progress.
And then in about the 4th act of the play, the actors were startled and the play halted as news quickly spread through the theater that the Saints had won a squeaker, 33-30, in overtime play, and had won their division. There was actually 2 minutes of applause and cheering that had absolutely nothing to do with the play, and the actors onstage had to wait til the fans subsided (somewhat) in order to finish the play.
Turns out that one Metairie Carnival organization has announced that they are canceling their parade for Superbowl Sunday, and the annual so-called "Family Gras" on Veterans Highway (yeah, like Carnival in the city *isn't* for families -- I hate that) has likewise been canceled for 2010. One blogger to the NOLA.com site has already complained they doing that might actually jinx things.
How "Who-Dat" is that?? Now that we're Division Champs, God help us all if the Saints actually do get to the S--------. (Yeah, I'm THAT superstitious!)
I understand through letters to the editor to the Times-Picayune, that Sunday Brunch at quiet, staid, traditional Galatoire's Restaurant was punctuated by waiters bearing sweating sterling silver pitchers of ice water to the tables, reporting to the well-dressed and well-heeled customers on the game scores from the radios blaring back in the kitchen.
That's amusing enough, but the capper was finding out that folks attending the matinée of "The Color Purple" at the Mahalia Jackson Theater of the Performing Arts in Louis Armstrong Park were entertained during intermission by a TV set turned to the Saints game in the theater lobby.
Yes, but then both the play AND the game resumed. Theatergoers reported later that the darkened auditorium was strangely lit up in places by the Saints fans continuing to check their cell phones and Blackberries for text messages about the game's progress.
And then in about the 4th act of the play, the actors were startled and the play halted as news quickly spread through the theater that the Saints had won a squeaker, 33-30, in overtime play, and had won their division. There was actually 2 minutes of applause and cheering that had absolutely nothing to do with the play, and the actors onstage had to wait til the fans subsided (somewhat) in order to finish the play.
Turns out that one Metairie Carnival organization has announced that they are canceling their parade for Superbowl Sunday, and the annual so-called "Family Gras" on Veterans Highway (yeah, like Carnival in the city *isn't* for families -- I hate that) has likewise been canceled for 2010. One blogger to the NOLA.com site has already complained they doing that might actually jinx things.
How "Who-Dat" is that?? Now that we're Division Champs, God help us all if the Saints actually do get to the S--------. (Yeah, I'm THAT superstitious!)
Monday, December 7, 2009
Christmas at the Roosevelt
Last week, my sister D and I made trip after work to go visit the newly unveiled Christmas decorations at the Roosevelt Hotel. Of course, no New Orleanian can do this without remembering and thinking about the old decorations, back in the day, of the whole block-long lobby draped in fluffy angel hair (and don't even start telling me that you can't use angel hair any more due to safety concerns). So that memory -- or those memories -- were in our minds as we parked the car, walked past the poor sad still-shuttered Orpheum Theater and went through the big brass revolving door of the Roosevelt. Entering, we joined the throngs of people strolling through the lobby -- some were natives like us, reliving their happy holiday memories, and others were tourists pulling wheelie bags, just checking in.
It WAS lovely. All the way down the block of the lobby, you could see the massed bare white branches of tall trees set in urns lit with tiny white lights and hung sparingly with elegant oversized ornaments in clear and iridescent glass and medium-sized flocked trees. It made quite a sight. It was festive and sophisticated, VERY "New York" as one woman said to us. Which I guess is appropriate, since the Roosevelt is owned by the Waldorf-Astoria. I liked it, I did, but it was like the present decorations were laid over the ones I remembered, like a memory scrim. Strange feeling, seeing them both at the same time.
A pretty large Christmas train set made with candy and icing and gingerbread was set up in the new Coffee Shop in the Roosevelt's lobby (the old Fairmont Court location -- I still can't get used to seeing it so bright and white). It looked charming and delicious, and while it was not as impressive as the life-sized gingerbread village that used to be part of the old Roosevelt decorations, it was enjoyable and sweet.
D and I walked the whole length of the lobby, admiring the ornaments and trying hard to appreciate what we had instead of missing what was gone (ah, this is the lot of New Orleanians from now on!). D had never been in the new gift shop and we went in and scouted the merch. D was impressed, as Big Man and I had been earlier, by the breadth and quality of the goods offered, and by the reasonable prices. D and I found many great items that fit the Morel Family Christmas gift limit ($15-$20). D showed me a new book by localite Peggy Scott Laborde called "Christmas in New Orleans" which has photos and text about everything we remember: the department store windows and Santa areas, the Centanni house, Mr. Bingle, and all the rest. THAT is going on my Christmas list, f'sure!
Afterwards, we went into the new John Besh restaurant in the old Baily's location, now called Domenica, and sat at the bar to have a glass of wine and peruse the menu. (No way I could eat -- it was the same day as the regional ministers' annual holiday lunch at Commander's Palace, and I couldn't have eaten again if it had been FREE!) Great items on the menu, and there were options for either large or small plates -- terrific innovation and more restaurants should do it. The decor of the restaurant reminded me of Steven Starr restaurants in Philadelphia -- spare and elegant, with sheer curtains made of chain metal and single high-tech spotlights over tables, each with a wineglass full of tall skinny bread sticks. (D ate one and pronounced it very good, but I couldn't even take a bite.)
As we left, I remembered the lovely Christmas decoration at the Ritz Hotel, in the old Maison Blanche building, and I promised D we would do that on another night. More later on Christmas in New Orleans....
It WAS lovely. All the way down the block of the lobby, you could see the massed bare white branches of tall trees set in urns lit with tiny white lights and hung sparingly with elegant oversized ornaments in clear and iridescent glass and medium-sized flocked trees. It made quite a sight. It was festive and sophisticated, VERY "New York" as one woman said to us. Which I guess is appropriate, since the Roosevelt is owned by the Waldorf-Astoria. I liked it, I did, but it was like the present decorations were laid over the ones I remembered, like a memory scrim. Strange feeling, seeing them both at the same time.
A pretty large Christmas train set made with candy and icing and gingerbread was set up in the new Coffee Shop in the Roosevelt's lobby (the old Fairmont Court location -- I still can't get used to seeing it so bright and white). It looked charming and delicious, and while it was not as impressive as the life-sized gingerbread village that used to be part of the old Roosevelt decorations, it was enjoyable and sweet.
D and I walked the whole length of the lobby, admiring the ornaments and trying hard to appreciate what we had instead of missing what was gone (ah, this is the lot of New Orleanians from now on!). D had never been in the new gift shop and we went in and scouted the merch. D was impressed, as Big Man and I had been earlier, by the breadth and quality of the goods offered, and by the reasonable prices. D and I found many great items that fit the Morel Family Christmas gift limit ($15-$20). D showed me a new book by localite Peggy Scott Laborde called "Christmas in New Orleans" which has photos and text about everything we remember: the department store windows and Santa areas, the Centanni house, Mr. Bingle, and all the rest. THAT is going on my Christmas list, f'sure!
Afterwards, we went into the new John Besh restaurant in the old Baily's location, now called Domenica, and sat at the bar to have a glass of wine and peruse the menu. (No way I could eat -- it was the same day as the regional ministers' annual holiday lunch at Commander's Palace, and I couldn't have eaten again if it had been FREE!) Great items on the menu, and there were options for either large or small plates -- terrific innovation and more restaurants should do it. The decor of the restaurant reminded me of Steven Starr restaurants in Philadelphia -- spare and elegant, with sheer curtains made of chain metal and single high-tech spotlights over tables, each with a wineglass full of tall skinny bread sticks. (D ate one and pronounced it very good, but I couldn't even take a bite.)
As we left, I remembered the lovely Christmas decoration at the Ritz Hotel, in the old Maison Blanche building, and I promised D we would do that on another night. More later on Christmas in New Orleans....
Monday, November 23, 2009
10-0, 'Nuff Said
We are all nuts over the Saints. None of us can really believe this fantastic winning season -- we're on Cloud 9. We hardly know what to do with ourselves.
On Saturday, a woman from New Orleans called into the "Wait-Wait, Don't tell Me" radio game show on NPR, and after she identified her hometown, the audience applauded -- not something I remember happening regularly -- and the host asked solicitously, "How are things there now?" And the woman burbled, "Things are wonderful! The Saints are 9-0!" The studio audience went crazy laughing and one of the panelists, Paula Poundstone, asked in an unbelievable tone, "You've got levee worries, and you're not finished recovering from a major disaster, but things are great because your football team is winning??" The woman from New Orleans was not fazed one bit, and replied back brightly, "Oh yes, we love our boys!"
We do love our boys. Big Man and I ate in a hibachi restaurant on St. Charles Avenue (Myako, go, we recommend it) last Sunday night, with a table full of strangers, and we all got to talking about the Saints, and one person had to download the touchdown song they play at the Dome (for some weird reason, it's an Atlanta hip-hop song called "Let's Get Crunk") and then we all together were making the beat sound ("ernt-ernt") of that ubiquitous song. Pretty soon, we were passing plates around and urging each other to eat off our plates. It's the Saints -- they're pulling us all together.
Quarterback Drew Brees has become a kind of secular saint to us. The Times-Picayune had a front-page story recently about how Brees was visiting a little local girl sick of a serious disease, and how he and his wife's foundation have given away tons of money to a New Orleans public school. My niece E forwarded us an email showing a picture of an altered icon, turning Jesus's image into Drew's (it was called "Bree-sus" and while sacrilegious, it WAS funny). Another relative forwarded an email joke about how God is a Saints fan. (What's wrong with that? we want to know.)
If you are not from here, you too might find it all hard to believe. But Drew Brees and the Saints have given us something to cheer about weekly, excellence to applaud, and have renewed our bruised civic pride. With all we have to deal with -- and believe you me, it really is A LOT, still -- the Saints have brightened up our prospects and united the whole damn city in a frenzy of hopeful Saints-mania. People who hate professional football have caught the fever -- Big Man said seriously to me the other day (when we were "only" 8-0, mind you), "We need to go get some Saints jerseys." "Why?" I asked. It's not like we have Saints tickets or go to a bar or something; we watch the games at home, usually just the two of us. "We need jerseys to watch the games *at home*," Big Man said, totally deadpan and serious. (On Sundays, he's taken to saying, "Who dat!" to strangers on the street when he's walking the dog.) My sister L's husband, who's from England and doesn't even *understand* American football, is now a big Saints fan -- that's how it's gotten.
It's an amazing feeling. Thank you, Saints, and Sean Payton and Drew Brees and Gary Shockey and Darren Sharper, and all the rest of the "Bless You Boys" for what you're doing for us, and how you're making us feel.
[PS: We went to Academy to, yes, buy Saints apparel to watch the games in, and an employee told us they had completely sold out of Saints T-shirts and jerseys the Friday before the game. What we were looking at on Monday was the reorder, just delivered. In the same way that Academy moves hurricane supplies up to the front of the store when a storm is in the Gulf, they had moved all the Saints merch up by the door and there was a big crowd of New Orleanians picking over the goods.]
[PPS: Big Man says that for Monday's game, we have to put on our new shirts and go to a bar to watch the game. The man's in *AA* for pete's sake! But we got to have the communal experience.]
On Saturday, a woman from New Orleans called into the "Wait-Wait, Don't tell Me" radio game show on NPR, and after she identified her hometown, the audience applauded -- not something I remember happening regularly -- and the host asked solicitously, "How are things there now?" And the woman burbled, "Things are wonderful! The Saints are 9-0!" The studio audience went crazy laughing and one of the panelists, Paula Poundstone, asked in an unbelievable tone, "You've got levee worries, and you're not finished recovering from a major disaster, but things are great because your football team is winning??" The woman from New Orleans was not fazed one bit, and replied back brightly, "Oh yes, we love our boys!"
We do love our boys. Big Man and I ate in a hibachi restaurant on St. Charles Avenue (Myako, go, we recommend it) last Sunday night, with a table full of strangers, and we all got to talking about the Saints, and one person had to download the touchdown song they play at the Dome (for some weird reason, it's an Atlanta hip-hop song called "Let's Get Crunk") and then we all together were making the beat sound ("ernt-ernt") of that ubiquitous song. Pretty soon, we were passing plates around and urging each other to eat off our plates. It's the Saints -- they're pulling us all together.
Quarterback Drew Brees has become a kind of secular saint to us. The Times-Picayune had a front-page story recently about how Brees was visiting a little local girl sick of a serious disease, and how he and his wife's foundation have given away tons of money to a New Orleans public school. My niece E forwarded us an email showing a picture of an altered icon, turning Jesus's image into Drew's (it was called "Bree-sus" and while sacrilegious, it WAS funny). Another relative forwarded an email joke about how God is a Saints fan. (What's wrong with that? we want to know.)
If you are not from here, you too might find it all hard to believe. But Drew Brees and the Saints have given us something to cheer about weekly, excellence to applaud, and have renewed our bruised civic pride. With all we have to deal with -- and believe you me, it really is A LOT, still -- the Saints have brightened up our prospects and united the whole damn city in a frenzy of hopeful Saints-mania. People who hate professional football have caught the fever -- Big Man said seriously to me the other day (when we were "only" 8-0, mind you), "We need to go get some Saints jerseys." "Why?" I asked. It's not like we have Saints tickets or go to a bar or something; we watch the games at home, usually just the two of us. "We need jerseys to watch the games *at home*," Big Man said, totally deadpan and serious. (On Sundays, he's taken to saying, "Who dat!" to strangers on the street when he's walking the dog.) My sister L's husband, who's from England and doesn't even *understand* American football, is now a big Saints fan -- that's how it's gotten.
It's an amazing feeling. Thank you, Saints, and Sean Payton and Drew Brees and Gary Shockey and Darren Sharper, and all the rest of the "Bless You Boys" for what you're doing for us, and how you're making us feel.
[PS: We went to Academy to, yes, buy Saints apparel to watch the games in, and an employee told us they had completely sold out of Saints T-shirts and jerseys the Friday before the game. What we were looking at on Monday was the reorder, just delivered. In the same way that Academy moves hurricane supplies up to the front of the store when a storm is in the Gulf, they had moved all the Saints merch up by the door and there was a big crowd of New Orleanians picking over the goods.]
[PPS: Big Man says that for Monday's game, we have to put on our new shirts and go to a bar to watch the game. The man's in *AA* for pete's sake! But we got to have the communal experience.]
Monday, November 2, 2009
Relighting the Saenger
Earlier in the week, the Times-Picayune announced that on Thursday, October 29 (I'm a little late posting this), the marquee lights of the Saenger would be relit for the first time since Katrina. Although for years now I had been been mourning the Saenger every time I went by it, thinking that nothing had been done since the Storm, it turns out, according to the article, that a consortium of developers (with experience restoring historic old theaters) have been toiling behind the scenes. The T-P reported that on Thursday, the public would be invited to see the long hallway into the theater, with displays of photos of the Saenger in the past and plans for its glorious future. I was SO excited!
My sister L was in Texas last week, but my sister D was in town. Like all of us, and our parents before us, she is a big theater buff and had been to plays at the Saenger many times. When I told her about the story, she got excited too, and we made plans to go. In the intervening days, there were more stories in the T-P, about a VIP-only reception actually *inside* the Saenger, but it seemed like even us peons would be able to see *something* and there would be the ceremonial lighting of the marquee. All well worth it.
I picked up D in the CBD after work on Thursday and we drove to the old parking garage on Rampart, that used to be called "Blaise's" and was a favorite parking spot for our dad on family outings, especially at Mardi Gras. We paid the fee and parked, talking all the while about our father and all the times we remembered parking there in the past, sitting in the old Waiting Room (now apparently an office) for our car to be brought down by the parking attendants. (There are no parking attendants nowadays -- you have to park your own car and go and get it afterwards.)
As we walked over to the Saenger, we could see police barricades, blocking off the area around the Saenger, and acting as security. We talked about our memories of the Saenger, and pointed out things on the outside -- the old poster boxes that used to advertise coming attractions, the faded, elaborate terra cotta decorations around the windows and boarded-up doorways. We rounded the corner at Rampart and Canal, and could see that the barricades were moved out in front to part of Canal Street. We moved closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of the inside of the theater.
D and I got the front, and a policeman gestured toward us, pointing to where the barricades had an opening. We looked at each other and grinned. (D even pointed to herself, as if asking, "Me? You mean me?") We passed through the opening, thanked the policeman, and entered the long arcade hallway of the front entrance of the Saenger for the first time in more than 4 years. We nearly pinched each other in excitement. Lights had been set up, and there were many displays of the Saenger as it was being built, back in 1927, its grand opening, and high points in its life as a theater hub in New Orleans. (We were especially moved by a photo of a benefit for victims of Hurricane Betsy back in 1965.) We could see at the very end of the hallway, just in front of the old escalator by the double bars, tables had been set up to check IDs of the people invited to the special private reception. (Indeed, while we were watching, New Orleans socialite Mickey Easterling went past us, entering the VIP area.)
But there was so much to see and we were so very happy to be there that it didn't bother us that much to be left out. We wandered around, checking out all the pictures showing the plans for restoring the Saenger to its former glory, and we were very happy. Just then, an old friend of mine (27-odd years ago, we had been pregnant at the same time with our sons) who works for the Mayor's Office came past and I reintroduced her to my sister. D recalled an early toddler birthday party for our sons, during which a friend of mine had asked who was the older sister (I am, by 5 years), and how outdone D had been that it wasn't *obvious* that she was the younger of us two. My old friend laughed and allowed as how she could very well have been the one who committed the age faux pas back then. As J walked away from us to head into the reception, we made a little joke about being "peons" who were just enjoying being in the hall.
D and I went back to examining the photos and captions, when suddenly J came back to us, pulling us by the hands. As we got to the table by the entrance to the VIP reception, J said, "They're with me" and just like that, we were in! A smiling waiter came by with wines and champagne, and we both took glasses, and toasted this amazing good fortune. Sipping at our glasses, we entered the main theater area of the Saenger, where most of the crowd had gathered.
The seats had been removed, and we were contained in a particular area, not that far our from under the upper loges above us. Special lights had been set up and aimed at the small parts of the gorgeous theater that had been cleaned, stripped, and repainted in the manner of its 1927 opening. D and I were almost overcome; our eyes filled with tears. D pointed to the approximate spot where she and Daddy had attended their last play together. We stared at the damaged but still magnificent Mighty Morton Wonder Organ, and recalled the times we had seen it rise majestically out of the floor, its full and dramatic tones filling the auditorium. Around us were the damaged statues and fountains and facades of the "Spanish village" of the Saenger auditorium, following an early 20th-century style of creating the illusion of the audience being in the open air of a village in another country.
We looked up and in the dark blue ceiling we could see the empty place where light bulbs had portrayed constellations of stars. We heard someone talking about how the stars would be reinstalled, this time in LED lights. We wondered aloud about the old cloud machine, but could not hear anyone talking about fixing that. We admired the small sections that had been repainted, and agreed that the new-old colors would be much, much more elegant and beautiful.
Waitresses from a catering company passed among the chattering crowd, with hors d'oevres like stuffed eggplant, boiled shrimp, fried shrimp, fancy cold cuts on a stick, cheese and crackers, and cut pieces of muffalettas sandwiches. Everything was delicious. We definitely felt like VIPs and we VERY glad both of us had dressed up a little for work that day, so that we did not stand out from the invited crowd as underdressed.
Big Man finally joined us and got a chance to finally see the inside of the Saenger, albeit in its unfinished, damaged state. But he could easily see its beauty and was mightily impressed. A few minutes after Big Man got there, a small jazz band struck up some second-line music and the crowd moved slowly down the arcade hallway to outside under the marquee, where quite crowd had grown on the outside of the barricades. After interminable and mostly boring speeches from the developers and various politicians, including several members of the City Council and the Mayor, the switch was pulled and the white bulbs lit up, chasing each other round and round the letters of S-A-E-N-G-E-R and the underneath. The crowd cheered, some sniffled, and many waved handkerchiefs.
It was a wonderful night, and we all look forward to reopening of the Saenger some time in 2011.
My sister L was in Texas last week, but my sister D was in town. Like all of us, and our parents before us, she is a big theater buff and had been to plays at the Saenger many times. When I told her about the story, she got excited too, and we made plans to go. In the intervening days, there were more stories in the T-P, about a VIP-only reception actually *inside* the Saenger, but it seemed like even us peons would be able to see *something* and there would be the ceremonial lighting of the marquee. All well worth it.
I picked up D in the CBD after work on Thursday and we drove to the old parking garage on Rampart, that used to be called "Blaise's" and was a favorite parking spot for our dad on family outings, especially at Mardi Gras. We paid the fee and parked, talking all the while about our father and all the times we remembered parking there in the past, sitting in the old Waiting Room (now apparently an office) for our car to be brought down by the parking attendants. (There are no parking attendants nowadays -- you have to park your own car and go and get it afterwards.)
As we walked over to the Saenger, we could see police barricades, blocking off the area around the Saenger, and acting as security. We talked about our memories of the Saenger, and pointed out things on the outside -- the old poster boxes that used to advertise coming attractions, the faded, elaborate terra cotta decorations around the windows and boarded-up doorways. We rounded the corner at Rampart and Canal, and could see that the barricades were moved out in front to part of Canal Street. We moved closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of the inside of the theater.
D and I got the front, and a policeman gestured toward us, pointing to where the barricades had an opening. We looked at each other and grinned. (D even pointed to herself, as if asking, "Me? You mean me?") We passed through the opening, thanked the policeman, and entered the long arcade hallway of the front entrance of the Saenger for the first time in more than 4 years. We nearly pinched each other in excitement. Lights had been set up, and there were many displays of the Saenger as it was being built, back in 1927, its grand opening, and high points in its life as a theater hub in New Orleans. (We were especially moved by a photo of a benefit for victims of Hurricane Betsy back in 1965.) We could see at the very end of the hallway, just in front of the old escalator by the double bars, tables had been set up to check IDs of the people invited to the special private reception. (Indeed, while we were watching, New Orleans socialite Mickey Easterling went past us, entering the VIP area.)
But there was so much to see and we were so very happy to be there that it didn't bother us that much to be left out. We wandered around, checking out all the pictures showing the plans for restoring the Saenger to its former glory, and we were very happy. Just then, an old friend of mine (27-odd years ago, we had been pregnant at the same time with our sons) who works for the Mayor's Office came past and I reintroduced her to my sister. D recalled an early toddler birthday party for our sons, during which a friend of mine had asked who was the older sister (I am, by 5 years), and how outdone D had been that it wasn't *obvious* that she was the younger of us two. My old friend laughed and allowed as how she could very well have been the one who committed the age faux pas back then. As J walked away from us to head into the reception, we made a little joke about being "peons" who were just enjoying being in the hall.
D and I went back to examining the photos and captions, when suddenly J came back to us, pulling us by the hands. As we got to the table by the entrance to the VIP reception, J said, "They're with me" and just like that, we were in! A smiling waiter came by with wines and champagne, and we both took glasses, and toasted this amazing good fortune. Sipping at our glasses, we entered the main theater area of the Saenger, where most of the crowd had gathered.
The seats had been removed, and we were contained in a particular area, not that far our from under the upper loges above us. Special lights had been set up and aimed at the small parts of the gorgeous theater that had been cleaned, stripped, and repainted in the manner of its 1927 opening. D and I were almost overcome; our eyes filled with tears. D pointed to the approximate spot where she and Daddy had attended their last play together. We stared at the damaged but still magnificent Mighty Morton Wonder Organ, and recalled the times we had seen it rise majestically out of the floor, its full and dramatic tones filling the auditorium. Around us were the damaged statues and fountains and facades of the "Spanish village" of the Saenger auditorium, following an early 20th-century style of creating the illusion of the audience being in the open air of a village in another country.
We looked up and in the dark blue ceiling we could see the empty place where light bulbs had portrayed constellations of stars. We heard someone talking about how the stars would be reinstalled, this time in LED lights. We wondered aloud about the old cloud machine, but could not hear anyone talking about fixing that. We admired the small sections that had been repainted, and agreed that the new-old colors would be much, much more elegant and beautiful.
Waitresses from a catering company passed among the chattering crowd, with hors d'oevres like stuffed eggplant, boiled shrimp, fried shrimp, fancy cold cuts on a stick, cheese and crackers, and cut pieces of muffalettas sandwiches. Everything was delicious. We definitely felt like VIPs and we VERY glad both of us had dressed up a little for work that day, so that we did not stand out from the invited crowd as underdressed.
Big Man finally joined us and got a chance to finally see the inside of the Saenger, albeit in its unfinished, damaged state. But he could easily see its beauty and was mightily impressed. A few minutes after Big Man got there, a small jazz band struck up some second-line music and the crowd moved slowly down the arcade hallway to outside under the marquee, where quite crowd had grown on the outside of the barricades. After interminable and mostly boring speeches from the developers and various politicians, including several members of the City Council and the Mayor, the switch was pulled and the white bulbs lit up, chasing each other round and round the letters of S-A-E-N-G-E-R and the underneath. The crowd cheered, some sniffled, and many waved handkerchiefs.
It was a wonderful night, and we all look forward to reopening of the Saenger some time in 2011.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
How Many Festivals Can You Do in One Weekend?
Your mileage may vary, as the saying goes, but here's what Big Man and I were able to squeeze into last weekend:
Bouligny Blues Festival at the corner of Napoleon and Magazine (my old neighborhood, back when my son was little) -- great music (Joe Krown was on while we were there); some choice crafts, fun children's play area, and terrific food. (Special props to Nirvana, which brought the saag paneer, one of our all-time fave Indian dishes and to Boucherie, whose 12-hour roast beef with horseradish creme and pickled red onions po' boy with *perfect* French fries. Are you hungry yet?)
Attended one of 4, count'em 4, wedding receptions in City Park. Ours was at the Casino, on the second floor, where we witnessed a pink explosion of a sunset, like a Hollywood production. Envied the folks taking a last-minute paddle-boat ride through the park's lagoons (and my family of origin better be scheduling that promised paddle-boat race SOON!) while enjoying giant boiled shrimp, tiny tasty muffalettas, chunks of grilled fresh tuna, perfectly fried shrimp, and crawfish sardou (VERY nice take on a New Orleans breakfast favorite from Breakfast at Brennan's).
Two parades to celebrate Halloween, one of which, Krewe of Boo, is sponsored by Blaine Kern (the self-styled "Mr. Mardi Gras") and winds its way through downtown eventually to the new Kern Mardi Gras World a few blocks from my house. Gigantic floats with skulls and witches and ghouls and goblins and vampires, all in the signature big-figure Kern style, familiar from his carnival floats. Great stuff, could practically see it without leaving my block.
Coliseum Square Festival, in the afore-mentioned park, a small affair on Sunday with only a few food booths and the traveling gelato wagon, and a bunch of crafts, including Baba Blankets. Lots of dog owners and dogs -- our Keely had a grand time running and sniffing and being sniffed. (Keely is such a big hit with the ladies that I told Big Man he could have used our dog back when he was single. He allowed as how he hadn't actually needed a cute dog to meet women back in the day, so there.)
The Boo Carré in the French Market, also on Sunday. Really, really enjoyed Amanda Shaw and what seemed to be an abbreviated version of the Cute Guys. For Halloween, she was sporting little black feline ears and a long furry tail with her well-fitting jeans and black high heels. (I looked at Big Man, looking at her, and he said, "Just don't say it.") A very appreciative crowd was stationed in front and the sides of the stage. (The noise got to Keely a little, so we had to move away a bit. Have to get her more used to loud music.) The Boo Carré was a terrific, family-friendly event, with kids going form booth to booth, trick or treating, and there was face painting and pumpkin carving too. New French Market restaurant, Galvez (in honor of our Spanish governor) was selling a delicious refreshing sangria, which I enjoyed very much. (Funny thing: a new vendor in the Market advertised herself as a healthy, low-fat, alternative for New Orleans-traditional cooking, but the triple-chocolate brownies on her counter, she admitted, were NOT in that category. Too bad.)
)!( )!( )!(
Fall festival season is upon us, and every weekend from now on til cold weather will be an exercise in decision-making. Have fun, y'all!
Bouligny Blues Festival at the corner of Napoleon and Magazine (my old neighborhood, back when my son was little) -- great music (Joe Krown was on while we were there); some choice crafts, fun children's play area, and terrific food. (Special props to Nirvana, which brought the saag paneer, one of our all-time fave Indian dishes and to Boucherie, whose 12-hour roast beef with horseradish creme and pickled red onions po' boy with *perfect* French fries. Are you hungry yet?)
Attended one of 4, count'em 4, wedding receptions in City Park. Ours was at the Casino, on the second floor, where we witnessed a pink explosion of a sunset, like a Hollywood production. Envied the folks taking a last-minute paddle-boat ride through the park's lagoons (and my family of origin better be scheduling that promised paddle-boat race SOON!) while enjoying giant boiled shrimp, tiny tasty muffalettas, chunks of grilled fresh tuna, perfectly fried shrimp, and crawfish sardou (VERY nice take on a New Orleans breakfast favorite from Breakfast at Brennan's).
Two parades to celebrate Halloween, one of which, Krewe of Boo, is sponsored by Blaine Kern (the self-styled "Mr. Mardi Gras") and winds its way through downtown eventually to the new Kern Mardi Gras World a few blocks from my house. Gigantic floats with skulls and witches and ghouls and goblins and vampires, all in the signature big-figure Kern style, familiar from his carnival floats. Great stuff, could practically see it without leaving my block.
Coliseum Square Festival, in the afore-mentioned park, a small affair on Sunday with only a few food booths and the traveling gelato wagon, and a bunch of crafts, including Baba Blankets. Lots of dog owners and dogs -- our Keely had a grand time running and sniffing and being sniffed. (Keely is such a big hit with the ladies that I told Big Man he could have used our dog back when he was single. He allowed as how he hadn't actually needed a cute dog to meet women back in the day, so there.)
The Boo Carré in the French Market, also on Sunday. Really, really enjoyed Amanda Shaw and what seemed to be an abbreviated version of the Cute Guys. For Halloween, she was sporting little black feline ears and a long furry tail with her well-fitting jeans and black high heels. (I looked at Big Man, looking at her, and he said, "Just don't say it.") A very appreciative crowd was stationed in front and the sides of the stage. (The noise got to Keely a little, so we had to move away a bit. Have to get her more used to loud music.) The Boo Carré was a terrific, family-friendly event, with kids going form booth to booth, trick or treating, and there was face painting and pumpkin carving too. New French Market restaurant, Galvez (in honor of our Spanish governor) was selling a delicious refreshing sangria, which I enjoyed very much. (Funny thing: a new vendor in the Market advertised herself as a healthy, low-fat, alternative for New Orleans-traditional cooking, but the triple-chocolate brownies on her counter, she admitted, were NOT in that category. Too bad.)
)!( )!( )!(
Fall festival season is upon us, and every weekend from now on til cold weather will be an exercise in decision-making. Have fun, y'all!
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