Mardi Gras 2022
March 1, 2022 is Mardi Gras Day and the parades are back!
This is why I have thrice been vaccinated (ha, found a way to use thrice). These past years of isolation and distancing will now be rewarded. We will pack into dense crowds with people not of our household where screams and spittle will hurtle up to the Gods of Excess.
I was gifted a spot on a float moving Mardi Gras day. This is a chance to be on a rolling party for hours and hours, pelting excited people with an assortment of strange objects, traditionally beads and doubloons. I prefer to catch moon pies, cups and coma-inducing projectiles, 48 inches long with 22mm beads. (See attached picture.)
Since my writing has yet to produce a profit, I have been forced to dig into other areas of my creativity and make many of my own throws.
Aside from being a stellar writer, I am also an unexceptional seamstress. I turned to my hoard of fabric and notions to create some masterpieces. Must say, the results were underwhelming. My own pudgy hands produced some forty gigantic panties, dozens of ribbon wands, too many garters, and an impressive stash of feather clips. Oh, and with all the mother-guilt I could muster, my children were recruited to produce tiny works of art inside oyster shells gathered from the local seafood restaurant.
I am not sure how the crazed masses will receive my art and crap projects. There is hope for me since the most coveted throws from Mardi Gras parades are always the unique handmade items. While I am not a completely plastic-free rider, I am trying to do my part to forgo the typical for some things a bit more tree-hugger memorable. And hey, if folks want to collect my handmade giant panties, all the better.
I feel sorry for any who has never been to a carnival celebration. There truly are few places in the world where one will round up their family, camping chairs, cooler, and playpen before 8 am to choose a side; neutral ground or sidewalk. There, on the side of the road, they will set up a clear “this space is mine” boundary, often defined with a tarp spread on the ground. (But don’t be a #KreweofChad.)
The people here will suck you in. If you are around a local long enough, you will be told their name, compare anyone who may be a mutual acquaintance, and learn how their neighbor’s cat has glaucoma. Parades seem to eliminate everyone’s bubble quicker than standing in a checkout lane in Wal-Mart nine customers long.
Those not from here ask “why” about most everything local. Why is it called “making groceries”? Why do people wear white rubber boots everywhere? Why is it called a neutral ground? Why do people say they will be somewhere “in a minute” when they aren’t even dressed yet? Why do some people in the French Quarter keep telling me they know where I got my shoes? Why does everyone talk like that? Why do people even live there?
The answer to all is because it is New Orleans.
Carnival time is a huge tourist event, greatly benefiting our economy but I always thought of it as a sort of prize for those who live here all year. They have earned this extravagance. Not only with this past hurricane season and the one approaching, but because, like all moving through life, we live for the good times. Laissez le bon temps rouler is our motto, after all. New Orleans has often been the underdog, and though it’s sinking it always rises.
So, if you are in Metairie, Louisiana, on Mardi Gras day, be on the lookout for a lumply formed drunk human throwing items on the sidewalk side.
If you catch something from me, I would love to hear from you.
