Mardi Gras

It’s Mardi Gras, mes amis, mes amis Louisiane, mes amis Bostoniane, laisssez les bon-temps rouler!

I was born in New Orleans on a July day so hot and thick it needs no metaphor. I saw my first Mardi Gras pass by on a balcony on Prytania Street. This city, called the Big Easy, so livable and so unlivable. It gets in your soul and never goes away, no matter how far you stray.

A couple of big shouts from Jane and I to those we will never cease to love:

• Daughter Colette, who is going to spend spring break helping rebuild New Orleans.
• Son, Dylan, who is traveling down under.
• To a some of my favorite Cajuns:
o Johnny Chauvin, the best wedding photographer in New Orleans, which of course is the world.
o Michael and Marsha, dynamic duo, architects, in Baton Rouge.
o Sue Blanchard, sweet femme de New Orleans who now lives in the smokies with Jimmy.
o Sister Claire, cultural journalist and photographer.
o Skeeter who loves the city and the city loves.
o Eddie and Celeste, dynamic duo, caretakers of Tchappella Creek and all that is right and good about ma Louisiane.
o Gaston, keeper of the trees.
o Tom Anderson, lawyerly Cajun.
o David Werboff, Jewish Cajun.
o Diana, Italian Cajun.


****I took the photo of the ducks on the creek in Louisiana in late October when I was last there.