My City, a Love Letter

You might think the moon is a harsh mistress, but nothing compares to New Orleans. If this city does not love you, she makes it known. Some people she will take into her heart, and even all the potholes, corruption, and tourists cannot keep you two apart for long because she has pushed her way into your heart, too, and you are now married on a higher level than any judge could certify.

It has been Mardi Gras season after/during a plague. I saw none of the parades due to my work schedule, but saw a lot of people, so many people. Depending on the week they were lovely or not so much. For the first time ever, I got "boxed in" by parades and could not get home. So I ate, which is just how you do here, and waited it through in good company even though I was the only one at the table.

I got off work on Mardi Gras Eve and had some trouble walking home through all the revelers on my normal street. "I might as well be on Bourbon Street," a half-groused. For I was feeling a bit grousey. "Why not, then?" I asked myself, and turned the corner to walk along that drunkest street on Earth.

Waves of music and laughing and talking and noise hit me - but it was all happy. It was a street of joy and everyone who was there was there because they wanted to be there. Including me.

My city embraced me again. These years of plague have been hard for us all. I am not an extrovert by any stretch, but setting myself apart from the crowds has been harder than I ever thought it would be. Being surrounded by such joy, such freedom, was life-giving.

And when I reached the end of the noisy part of Bourbon Street, I met a person on their porch who was waving at people, seemingly sober, and asked if I wanted to sit on the porch for a while. Yes, I said, and we sat together, strangers happy to have company. All he wanted to do was to wish people "Happy Mardi Gras" as they passed, and I must tell you that that simple wish brought a lot of smiles and laughter to a lot of people.