"Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy."
-Eskimo Saying
How strange that the last blog I wrote was about Hissy.
Hissy hugging up his brother Maurie.
On December 23, Hissy stopped eating his special wet food. In the day that followed, he was still drinking water, however major weight loss occurred and let me tell you he was already thin. I did everything I could think of to get him to eat, to no avail. Christmas Eve night somehow Hissy got into bed with me (he was very weak), climbed under the covers and slept next to me most of the night. When he jumped off the bed he was so weak, that he fell sideways onto the floor like a scarecrow less his stuffing. My heart at that moment was ripped from my chest. I knew I must do something, but was at a loss as to what...it was Christmas day and the vet wasn't open.
I was able to get him to drink some water multiple times. So I posted this question on FaceBook: "Does anyone know a vet that may have someone there today? Hopefully somewhere uptown or mid-city? It is an mental health and furkid emergency." I went down the hall for a couple hours and when I returned Hissy had left the couch and was hiding and had urinated on the floor and was lying in it. I cleaned him up, but was struck with the realization that something far worse than I could imagine was occurring. Looking on FaceBook I saw many options from my friends. However, I knew I could not drive him anywhere by myself, I was loosing my mind with grief. Maurie...his sweet brother was by his side the entire time, cleaning and cuddling him. My friends, Linda, Stephanie, and Bob, came to my rescue and drove me where I needed to go, Southeast Veterinary Clinic. The people at the veterinary clinic were lovely and comforting. After they placed the port in Hissy's paw and handed him back to me, he hissed at me for the last time, weakly, but a hiss none the less. He always had to get the last word in. I held him in my arms cuddling him like the sweet baby he is, as the drugs were administered. My sweet 16-year-old boy passed into the sweet forever lying in my arms. My little gray boy taught me many things, but this stands above the rest: Life can change with the snap of your fingers. You have no control... Live the love you feel.
Rest in peace, my beautiful Hissy (Hissy-fit, Hissy-boy, Chunk-of-Monkey, Monkey-man, Monk).
I so wish I could say I'm an authority on the Mardi Gras Indians...but alas I am not. I do however know the community in which the Mardi Gras Indians live, is one steeped in an incredible history. One in which I know, just on the surface.
Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013
The Mardi Gras Indians hand bead (tiny seed beads) the incredible patches covering their suits, taking between 6-8 months to plan and create. The suits could cost thousands of dollars and may weigh as much as 100 pounds. Each Indian designs and creates his own suit; elaborate bead patches depict meaningful and symbolic scenes.[3] Beads, feathers, and sequins are integral parts of a Mardi Gras Indian suit. Uptown New Orleans tribes tend to have more sculptural and abstract African-inspired suits; downtown tribes have more pictorial suits with heavy Native American influences.[4] Their are approximately 38 tribes and are loosely organized as the Uptown Indians and the Downtown Indians.
In the early days of the Indians, Mardi Gras was a day of both partying and bloodshed. “Masking” and parading was a time to settle grudges.[5] This part of Mardi Gras Indian history is immortalized in James Sugar Boy Crawford's song, "Jock O Mo" (better known and often covered as "Iko Iko"), based on their taunting chants. However, in the late 1960s, Tootie Montana, "Chief of Chiefs", fought to end violence between the Mardi Gras Indian Tribes.[6] He said, “I was going to make them stop fighting with the gun and the knife and start fighting with the needle and thread.”[7] Today, the Mardi Gras Indians are largely unplagued by violence; instead they base their fights over the “prettiness” of their suits.[5]
Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013
In the 15 years I've lived in New Orleans, I've taken a couple thousand photographs, primarily on Super Sunday. Which is always the closest Sunday to March 19th, which is St. Joseph's Day.
Mardi Gras Indians have been parading in New Orleans at least since the mid-19th century and possibly before. The history of the Mardi Gras Indians is shrouded in mystery and folklore.
According to Wikipedia: In 1740, New Orleans’ Congo Square was a cultural center for African music and dance. New Orleans was more liberal than many southern cities, and on Sundays African slaves gathered to sing folk songs, play traditional music, and dance. [1] The lively parties were recounted by a Northern observer as being “indescribable... Never will you see gayer countenances, demonstrations of more forgetfulness of the past and the future, and more entire abandonment to the joyous existence to the present movement." [2] The idea of letting loose and embracing traditional African music and dance is a backbone of the Mardi Gras Indians practice.
Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013
It has been said, on Mardi Gras in 1885, fifty to sixty Plains Indians marched in native dress on the [1]
streets of New Orleans. Later that year, the first Mardi Gras Indian gang was formed; the tribe was named “The Creole Wild West” and was most likely composed of members of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show.
Super Sunday - Amy Loewy, 2013
As usual, on Super Sunday I spent 5 hours in the amazing presence of the Mardi Gras Indians. As usual, I ran into my friend Ali and we discussed the fact that the Indians is one of our favorite Mardi Gras traditions. A sunburn and a couple hundred photographs later I went home exhausted.
Brian Harrison Nelson, Big Chief - Amy Loewy, 2013
This year on St. Joseph's Day, Brian Harrison Nelson, Big Chief of The Guardians of the Flame (who is one of my neighbors) "came out the door" for the residents of Blue Plate Artist Lofts. The Guardians of the Flame continue to mask in a tradition that rivals a spiritual utopia. As a performing group, the Guardians of the Flame have attended the biggest pow-wow in North American, the Gathering of Nations. In 1993, the group was the pow-wow's first Mardi Gras Indian guests. The Guardians have also traveled to Miami, New Mexico, and Texas. In 1993, fourteen performers, ages 5 to 60, graced the stage at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.
St. Joseph's Day - Amy Loewy, 2013
As far as the Mardi Gras Indians go...this my friend is the tip of the iceberg. Y'all need to be here to be amazed and awed by the incredible art, music, and tradition of the Mardi Gras Indians.
Compliments of Big Chief Brian Harrison Nelson
From Wikipedia: [1] Smith, Michael, and Alan Govenar. Mardi Gras Indians. Gretna: Pelican Pub. Co. 1994. Print. [2] Flint, Timothy. Recollections of the Last Ten Years. Boston: Cummings, Hilliard, and Company, 1826. [3] Bragg, Rick. "Another Battle of New Orleans: Mardi Gras,"New York Times (Feb. 19, 1995). [4] Moser, Margaret. "My Gang Don't Bow Down: Mardi Gras Indian Chief Kevin Goodman leads his tribe to Texas,"Austin Chronicle (May 5, 2006). [5] Gaudet, Marcia, and James McDonald. Mardi Gras, gumbo, and zydeco: Readings in Louisiana Culture. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. 2003. Print. [6] Salaam, Kalamu. “He’s the Prettiest”: A Tribute to Big Chief Allison “Tootie” Montana’s 50 years of Mardi Gras Indian Suiting. New Orleans: New Orleans Museum of Art. 1997. Print. [7] Baum, Dan. Nine Lives. Spiegal Paperbacks. New York: 2010. Print.
Finally finishing up the boxes in the apartment. I found a few short things I wrote which I really like. So I'm sharing:
#1
A lonely woman walked quietly along the road. Holding her thoughts, wishes, and experiences in a beautiful bowl upon her head. Careful not to spill them along the way.
Changes occurring daily to her body and soul... Always carefully securing them into the bowl.
Along her road, she meets someone, they raise their hands in friendship. She tips her bowl, a rainbow spills forth.
#2
Often in the pool of life,
The beauty of flowers goes unnoticed.
Natures can be unforgiving,
Allow beauty to escape your lips.
HOME: the place in which one's domestic affections are centered.
I'm sure at some point in everyone's life a significant other has broached the subject of having “the conversation.” It can be a conversation about just about anything, but when you hear, “We need to talk” - you know it's going to be a tough conversation.
Our conversation was to take place while Rich, my long distance boyfriend was home from Seattle for Christmas. But Rich's conversation was foiled when a very dear friend of mine, Joey Bonhage, became very ill prior to Rich returning home. My holiday was spent in the hospital, culminating with my dear friend passing on Christmas day and me doing a second line in my kitchen to “I'll Fly Away.” Needless to say, when Rich got on the plane to Seattle he tagged me with, “You need to think about moving to Seattle.” When we finally had “the conversation,” I told him, bottom line, “I do not need to move to Seattle, since New Orleans is my home and will be for the rest of my life.”
I then reminded him of ALL our previous conversations...I grew up moving from place to place due to lack of money and then due to a father with relationship issues with not only his children, but his many wives. I have moved roughly 33 times in my life...and when I moved to New Orleans, I knew this was home.
Rich, however, is a serial mover - Detroit to San Jose, to New Orleans, to New York , back to New Orleans for six months, to Los Angeles, to San Francisco, to San Jose, to Seattle - 9 times in 15 or so years. He'll dump everything he owns (except clothes and computer) and leave. He doesn't like to be “known” in his place of residence? Therefore, no place is home. But for me nothing makes me happier than running into friends, customers and acquaintances at any given moment. It's the most happy and lovely experience to see the smiling face of someone you know.
When I moved here - my entire family thought I was crazy. I had been working in the high tech industry in Michigan and California for over 20 years. I was leaving a $70,000 a year job to move to a city I had visited once on vacation...to become a bookseller and to write. I sent my resume' to every book store in the city, every one giving me the same comment...”You're really over qualified.” I knew this, but working in a book store was a dream I've had since I was 8-years-old. And I could no longer fathom driving over an hour to work on a two-lane curved mountain highway bumper-to-bumper at 70 miles-per- hour, for remainder of my life, doing a job that seemed meaningless. Ultimately I was hired by, I think, the best book store in the city, Garden District Book Shop. My family didn't think I'd be able to live on the money I was making, and quite honestly, it has been a struggle.
But, nowhere I've ever been celebrates life and community like New Orleans. Nowhere have I met people, that no matter their circumstances will do whatever they can to help you. There are more musicians, artists, chefs, and writers that call this city home, than is imaginable. I read once: “Stay away from stingy people, they have small souls.” With New Orleanians, there's not a small soul among them. For instance, my friend, Lucy – a lovely woman who could be my mother, became my friend in the usual way – in my line of work. I'm a bookseller and she, my customer. Over the many years that I've known her she took notice that I loved vintage jewelry and clothing. One day she invited me to visit, she told me she had some vintage clothing her aunt had made in New York in the 40s. Lucy thought they might fit me. So I spent some time visiting and then she brought out a couple stunning pieces of clothing and presented them to me. One of them being a black wool crepe sequined jacket with scalloped sleeves and front. The sequins are so intricate and beautiful it looks as if the flowers are painted on the jacket. Various colors of rose, pink, taupe, and green are gently sewn to the front and sleeves of the jacket, making it look as if a garden was gently laid upon your shoulder. When I think of the jacket I smile. When I wear the jacket, Lucy's face and incredible thoughtfulness are never far from my thoughts.
With never a lack of things to do, you can live here and be happy at home, but just in case there are: farmers markets, the Saints, art festivals, art markets, galleries, numerous literary events, innumerable book fairs, jazz funerals, second lines, Mardi Gras, Jazz Fest, and many more music festivals, etc. I know that I've left out many events ...that could easily be an essay in itself. But, you name it and we celebrate it, and with more heart and soul than any place I've ever been.
And apparently I'm not completely off my rocker in making this my home and my muse...this is evidenced by the incredible amount of people I've met - that after volunteering in the city after Hurricane Katrina, packed up and moved here. Changing their lives immeasurably for the good in ways people living elsewhere could never imagine.
New Orleans is my muse. The food is my sustenance. I have experienced great authors, great people, great book shop, a great community. I dream of galleries covered in kudzu and I see this dream daily. I imagine trumpets and trombones playing music that lifts the soul and walk down the street or go to the park to hear this with my own ears. I write stories of people dancing down the street and jump outside at the sound of music to dance along with them in a second line. To celebrate life while, being my unadulterated self, is I believe the purpose of life.
New Orleans is not just a city, it's a community of wonderful people who will do whatever it takes to support their community and one another. So the people you see on the streetcar, driving down the road, walking their dogs, jogging in the neutral ground are not just people that live here, they are more than that – they're family. For instance, Claudia and Jim – family that invites you into their home for Thanksgiving and Sue – family that invites you over for Christmas dinner. And yet another that invites you to share their table at brunch. Sunday, I walked down St. Charles and decided I'd treat myself to brunch at the Columns Hotel on their wonderful porch. I asked the Maitre d' if I needed a reservation and his answer was, “You look like an angel, you would never need a reservation.” He asked if I was alone, and I said, “yes.” Immediately the three people at the table near us said, “Oh join us!” So I did! A beautiful golden-haired woman, name Kaylee and two handsome gentleman, Scott and Adam – offshore divers, all three and relatively new to the city. I spent a lovely morning with them at brunch and then wine tasting until early afternoon.
So yes, I've become a crazy cat lady of New Orleans and this is where I want to be. If my soul ever starts shrinking and I stop smiling at everyone I meet, I want the ghost of Mardi Gras past to smite me in my bed.
Oh, that I could paint a picture of peace and tranquility, it would be here. But instead I will paint with the tools I have. With my pen, imagination, and paper I will weave a story of incredible peace and tranquility and life.
Basking in the warm golden glow of the day, I slowly amble along a road of immense beauty and serenity. I’ve never been here before, but I know I want to live here. In a house tucked in the trees, surrounded by a beautifully wild and vibrant flower garden. A garden that helps we fill every room with the color, beauty and fragrance of nature. In the quiet of the morning I hear the sounds of nature waking up to a new and wonderful day. Blue Jays raucously calling to each other a warning that hawks are about. Squirrels hissing as any creature nears their stores of food. The crunch of oak leaves beneath your feet. And the musty smell of nature doing what comes naturally.
Sometimes, as I stroll down this road I can smell the ocean that is in the not too far distance. The fresh smell of cool moisture stirred into the sky. It calls me with the crash of the waves on the sand. Urging me to feel the cold wetness rushing over my feet and watch the sea birds looking for lunch. I’ll spend hours watching the children chasing the waves in and out, back and forth, wet and dry. Laughing as they build sandcastles, monuments to their youth. Monuments they hope will last forever, but are erased by the incoming waves. Leaving the beach strewn with the feathers used as flags and the driftwood used for the drawbridge, but the laughter continues. The sweet and joyful ring of laughter over the next new experience to come their way, chasing seagulls, digging for sand crabs, playing jump rope with seaweed.
Basking in the warm golden glow of the day, I slowly amble along a road of immense beauty and serenity. I find the cozy little home in my minds eye and stroll the slate stepping stones through my garden. Bending and appreciating each and every flower, it’s shape, color and incredible fragrance. The sound of the Hummingbirds whizzing from flower to flower and the buzzing bees in hasty pursuit of pollen enough for they’re queen. In the dampness of the garden, the small green tree frogs serenade in their low croak. A serenade of distinct beauty, calling the she-frogs from hiding to join in the dance of life and love.
Inside this cozy home the gleaming hardwood floors are covered with rugs in the deep colors of nature, the deep green of ancient trees, the intense blue of the ocean, the deep velvety maroon of a rose in full bloom. The sweet and exotic smell of fresh flowers fills the air, along with the warm comforting sound and smell of a wood fire. The overstuffed couch between the floor to ceiling bookshelves is so inviting, but the rocking chair in front of the fire has the loudest plea for attendance. The most vocal of your pet felines calls to you in his scratchy catcall, sounding like a disc jockey spinning discs, is filling its seat. So I sit there with the cat in my lap and become mesmerized by the sounds around me, the cat purring, the wood of the rocking chair creaking, the snap and hiss of the fire.
Oh, that I could paint a picture of peace and tranquility…
Can you hear the beauty of it all? Someday I may only have memories of these beautiful sounds of nature. Will these short paragraphs bring it all back to me?
Have Lived in Michigan, San Jose Bay Area, Kelseyville, Sacramento, Santa Cruz Area and am now living in New Orleans, Louisiana. Worked with computers most of my life (20+ years)...but quit the high tech industry in 1998. Now working in an incredible book shop, meeting some fabulous writers, and writing myself. Hobbies: Reading...of course, taking care of my two cats, writing, photography, etc. Redhead by choice.
I survived Hurricane Katrina with minimal physical damage and have been back in New Orleans since the beginning of October 2005 (exiled for just over a month).
