Catching beads at Mardi GrasI'm feeling nostalgic this morning, homesick for New Orleans. Most likely, I'm homesick for a time and place that doesn't exist anymore, except in my memories. Part of the blame for this is the music I've been listening to (through the new, almost-NASA-budget, redundant speakers): Allen Toussaint, Irma Thomas, Buckwheat Zydeco, Dr. John, Randy Newman, Beausoleil, and others...as Jim Penny suggests, happy feets music.
Up here, in Hanover, the locals celebrate Shrove Tuesday by making fasnachts--doughnuts--using up all the lard and flour and sugar on hand before Lent begins, since there will be no sweets available (supposedly) for the next 40 days.
In New Orleans (the New Orleans of my memories, that is), we ate my Aunt Gerry's chili-mac and hot dogs, potato salad, my Mama's fried chicken, banana pudding and all sorts of comfort foods, from the tailgate of Aunt Gerry's old station wagon (estate wagon).
Then off we went, up and down Canal Street, following the parades, begging for the float riders to throw us some beads and whatever other trinkets they might have. In memory (and in fact), the beads were strings of Czech glass beads, that glistened in the sunlight on their flight from the float to our hands. Sometime in the 1970s, the Czech beads disappeared, replaced by cheap plastic crap, probably made in China. Oops, my political agenda is showing. Change that to "some Far Eastern, Communist, cheap/slave labor country." (Get a grip, Martha! It's only Mardi Gras beads, for crying out loud.)
If we were lucky, we could go out for a night parade. My best memory of night parades is the flambeaux carriers, groups of men who preceded the floats, dancing to wonderful drum beats, holding torches on long poles above their heads, lighting the way for the parade floats that followed. To me, the flambeaux carriers were the best part of night-time Mardi Gras. You hear a similar beat to the one from memory here.*
At the end of the day, we all returned to the station wagon, our necks and pockets laden with beads and doubloons, our faces sunburned and chapped, our feet (while happy like the rest of our body parts) tired and sore from all the "rattin' the streets." Good times, good memories.
Mostly, I'm homesick for my Mama and the aunts and uncles who are gone, just like the beautiful, glittering Czech beads.
*Go here for an even better example of the beat, as I remember it.
(Anybody else having trouble embedding things from YouTube today? Whassup wid dat?!?!!)
9 comments:
Memories like this are wonderful to have and recall! You've even made me remember a few days' visit there in the 80's attending a conference with my husband. The food, the crowds, the music, the old homes, the riverboats!! It's sad that place has changed.
Mostly when I miss a place, what I really miss is the time when I was there, and the person I was then, and the people who surrounded me then. There is no way home, because home is a time much more than a geography.
Les Bon Temps Rouler!
Oh, there is a documentary about Mardi Gras beads made in China, it's very good.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0436569/
As we get older and our old worlds die away memories are all we have. If we're lucky, they're enough.
That's my kind of music. I was an avid jazz fan in my young days then "graduated?" to classical, but now at the age of 70 plus I find myself listening to more jazz again which relates to your own desire for a bit of nostalgia now and again. I particularly liked the first track because the improvisation remained relatively close to the original tune.
Oh, I hope you still have some of the Czech beads!
In England Shrove Tuesday/ Mardi Gras is universally known as Pancake Day -- when all the eggs are used up before Lent. Even children who have never heard of Lent demand pancakes for tea on that day.
Marja-Leena, I'm glad you had an opportunity to see New Orleans before Katrina hit. Although I have lived more than half my life in Pennsylvania, and only lived in New Orleans for about 10 year, I still think of the Crescent City as home.
Zhoen: You hit the nail on the head. And thank you for the link to the documentary. I'd like to watch that one.
Steve, memories are like the sweater we put on when we're cold, to feel warm again. I find that, as I age, and as the people from my childhood - the ones who helped make those good memories - pass on, most of what are left are the good memories.
Sir Hugh: in my nostalgia, the music from my New Orleans life becomes more important, transporting me to a less stressful time. Best of luck on your upcoming walk. I will follow on your blog.
Duchess: Thank you for visiting.
I do have a string from the last year glass beads were thrown. My brother caught them and a metal doubloon, which he graciously gave to me. Pancakes for tea sounds delicious. I prefer jam and butter on them, instead of syrup. Some restaurants here serve very small pancakes, called silver dollars, which my daughter loved when she was young.
what a nice memory piece... and a sweet tribute to your mother. thanks for the link and the glimpse into a sound and sensation experience.
hope you are also feeling nurtured where you are.
Ah, Mardi Gras, the one time I'm not so willing to visit New Orleans because of my aversion to the large crowds.
Now, if I could teleport to the balcony of Jean Lafitte in Exile, the matter would be different, due in no small part to the series of Bloody Marys that would follow. Of course, if I could teleport to that balcony and to those healing drinks, I'd also fetch in some glass beads, the kind threaded with silk, the beads that I'd hold in reserve until someone with sufficiently happy feets toodled by, and at that point, I'd toss said beads to said peep with the happy feets, and for one brief sun-filled sparkling bead-sailing moment, the world would be right.
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