My newest mantra has been: Embrace New Orleans. Sure, it’s different from what this Kentucky girl is used to, but that’s OK, I tell myself. Embrace it! I chant this when my pesky “creature of habit” excuses begin to surface. In most cases, my embrace-ometer already boasts a 10 in terms of how well I’m adjusting to my new digs.
For example, jogging along Lake Ponchartrain, in shorts, in February as opposed to facing the brutal wintry-mix elements for a run (and I use that term loosely) around the neighborhood. Easily embraced difference.
French doors, shutters, balcony and palm trees…easy 10.
One way streets, U-turns, round-about expressway intersections, 4 way stops mixed with 2 way stops, traveling to the neutral ground between opposite one way streets and waiting for a green light to continue…I’d say 6-ish. I’m learning, slowly but surely. (“Moooooom! How come so many other cars honk at us?”)
I’m desperately trying to embrace seafood. For a gal whose sole fish intake, until now, has been tuna salad sandwiches…this is a challenge. The whole “not a fan of fish” thing is also a big “no no” in N.O., where shrimp, lobster, craw fish and oysters are specialties. However, I adore spicy food. And the spicy-seafood combo does much to woo this Kentucky girl. In fact, I’d like the records to show I enjoyed a shrimp etouffee on Monday. Yet, as far as embracing seafood, I’d say I’m about a 3 on the ol’ embrace-ometer.
Carnival season is in full swing and this family plans to embrace all that is Mardi Gras. The Pea, to her eternal delight, has been chosen to participate in her Academy’s Royal Court. (I must confess, I had to check out a library book to garner details on this tradition. I’m a rookie, it’s obvious.) Apparently each of the krewes (which is kind of like a group of folks who put together different parades) selects a King and Queen and Royal Court. Said royalty dons crowns, tiaras, sashes, scepters and even gets to ride on a special float in that krewe’s parade. There is also a Royal Ball, attended only by the Court and a few honored guests.
The Sweet Pea (basically needing a chauffeur) has invited me, the husband and the Bug to join her highness at the Ball. As such, we are encouraged to dress accordingly. The Husband, as I’ve mentioned before, is quite a “keeper.” He single-handedly chose and purchased lovely dresses for the girls to wear. A fact that is impressive on two accounts: 1.) the girls and I were not with him at the time and 2.) seriously, this is my husband we’re talking about, who’d have thought a few episodes of What Not To Wear could have prepared him to pick out perfectly appropriate formal attire for the children? But I digress. So, the kids are all set, the Husband has a dark suit, that just leaves me.
In a stroke of genius, Mom threw in a purple dress from my closet in KY when she came to visit this past weekend. (As I’ve mentioned before, I brought one suitcase of winter clothes, and I’m thinking my torn blue jeans and sweatshirt circa 1980 ain’t gonna cut it.) So my problem now. Well, my challenge, is to be able to zip up said dress come next Wednesday. Thus my recent desire to resume running and coexist solely on lettuce wedges. Namely because, aside from shell fish, I’ve been embracing New Orleans cuisine with much gusto. (Seriously, cheese fries topped with gravy, these are my PEOPLE!)
When the folks arrived last week, Mom took it upon herself to find “throws” for the girls. Throws are not to be confused with small blankets or pillows, “throws” during carnival season refer to objects jettisoned to onlookers from atop floats during parades. She’d read up on all things Mardi Gras, and was prepared to stockpile beads and moon pies.
While browsing through the French Quarter, we noticed the prices of bead strands. Generally a few dollars each, some strands close to $10. I quickly did the math in my head: we could afford one strand of beads, the kids would have to share, perhaps they could toss individual beads to the onlookers? Wait, no, that’s not gonna work.
Later that evening, Mom and I happened upon a native New Orleanian. Or perhaps a gentleman who had lived in town for some time, and was familiar with the area. At the time I was showing Mom our double-decker Target. (Because, seriously, for this KY girl, paying homage to a two story Target – with it’s own escalator for shopping carts – and it’s own parking garage – is just slightly below the French Quarter in terms of tourist attractions.) Anyhooooo, we were looking through the seasonal items and frowning at the price of individual bead strands. Mom wondered aloud, “Where do you go to get throws? Does everyone just buy them individually?” The Asian gentleman beside us looked both ways. Once the coast was clear, he leaned closer.
He whispered, “Across street.”
Mom and I exchanged glances. “We can buy throws in bulk across the street?”
Our new BFF nodded. “They specialty. You go to Kwee Must Wee Lodge.” And then, like a spy in the night, he sped quietly away.
With this new found information, we headed toward the parking lot. (OK, technically we checked out a huge cart of things we just HAD to have…and then we got in the car.) We were determined to load up on throws at this magical Little Lodge and bulk bead store. I drove across the street…U-turn, stop light, drive to middle, stop light, one way street, two way stop…only a single honk. And lo and behold, the neon marquee we’d been searching for: Christmas Village. (Who’d have thunk it?)
Sufficed to say, I have a trunk full of multi-colored strands of shiny beads for the girls to toss during their school’s parade. (Heaven forbid I alert the kids to the presence of said beads until the very last minute, or else I’ll subject myself to the individual counting and dividing of hundreds of strands. “Wait! That’s mine! That will make my 103rd purple necklace!” “No! That’s mine! I only have 206 green necklaces!”)
Anyhoooooo, carnival celebration will be in full force this coming weekend. And we plan to be on the parade sidelines, arms in the air, gathering beads and moon pies and gadgets galore. Events which are sure to top out at 10 on the ol’ embrace-ometer. The four of us will embrace this wonderful season of carnival: Royal Court, tiaras, throws, gowns, parades, floats, crowds, and maybe even a double order of gravy topped cheese fries at R&O’s up the street.
(Well, AFTER I zip up my dress for the ball…)
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