This is part two of a three part series on my recent trip to New Orleans to ride in my first Mardi Gras parade. You can read part one here. Part three will be up this weekend. I wrote most of today's post last Monday while on a plane from DC to New Orleans via Detroit.
I take a lot of road trips with my brother. He's not a huge fan of flying, and both of us like to drive. We drove everywhere as a family when we were younger; I'm sure our love of road trips comes from our childhood. We have a few traditions for our road trips including buying a new CD for the trip, and stocking up on specific snacks. Interestingly, there are a few topics we tend to come back to on trips. One of those topics is about our funerals. This conversation usually takes place around hour six or sometimes on day two if it's a longer trip. I know, it seems like a depressing topic for a road trip, but it's one of those topics we have to discuss. Neither of us are married or have kids, so we have to take care of one another. And yes, we're working on getting our wills/trusts set up, but it's still important to have these conversations. I like being prepared and frankly, don't want to have to make major decisions at a time of grief. I don't want my brother to have to do that either.
Both of us want to be cremated. I have no desire to have people visit my grave or for some random cemetery worker to have to tend to it when everyone I know is gone. Neither of us are particularly religious, and cremation always seemed more secular. I don't know exactly where my brother wants his ashes scattered; I suspect a location, but he says he hasn't made a final decision yet. Having an urn is weird. I've told my brother that I would like my ashes scattered in two places: Detroit and New Orleans, the city of my birth and the city of my life.
I started writing this on a plane to Detroit where I will then board another plane to New Orleans. I didn't select this route; Delta Airlines did. I assume they did this with the same level of humor that went into their new uniforms (think Carmen Sandiego meets Willy Wonka with a dash of the Red Hat Ladies). This route is amusing to me, and maybe poetic or something. I've been thinking about place and home lately, so it's fitting that this is the route taking me to New Orleans, the place where I've always felt at home. I read a lot of rom-com novels at the gym, between cult memoirs and mysteries. In many of these novels, at least one character, usually the love interest, is searching for "home." They always seem to find "home" in a person, usually the protagonist, rather than a physical place. Conceptually, I understand, but personally, I don't get it. Maybe it's because I've never really been in love. Maybe home is with family, but I'm not always sure that's true either.
Anyway, New Orleans will always be home. We moved to Louisiana in 1987, when I was in the 3rd grade. We lived across the lake in Slidell, but spent lots of time in the city. I was captivated by New Orleans (I wouldn't have used that word as a 3rd grader); by the history and culture and the ghost stories. I remember my first Mardi Gras and Jazz Fest. There's so much to love about the area, but what I always come back to is its vibrancy. New Orleans is one of the most vibrant places I've ever been. We moved to northern Virginia in 1992, and I think I always knew I'd go back to Louisiana. I did, for college and then lived there until nine months after Hurricane Katrina. I tried to stay in New Orleans, but I couldn't. I didn't have a support network once people started leaving and I needed to be closer to my family at the time. I regretted my decision then, but I know now it had to happen. I needed to leave, at least for a little while, in order to eventually go back.
Had I not left when I did, there would be people missing in my life today. I wouldn't have experienced some very important professional and personal events over the last 12 years that I needed to experience. It hasn't always been easy, but life isn't necessarily supposed to be easy. Manageable, but not easy. I would make the same choice I made in the summer of 2006 if I was magically taken back and had to decide again.
Last week, I got to do something my 7 year old self never thought she'd get to do: ride in a Mardi Gras parade. I remember wanting to do this so badly as a kid, but we were from "away" and had no connection to the hierarchy of Mardi Gras (which is a real thing). Most of the krewes I grew up with were all male too. Thirty plus years later, I'm finally doing it as a member of the Mystic Krewe of Nyx, one of the largest all-female Mardi Gras krewes. I'm in it with two of my very dear friends, women who are my sisters, and who I shared many a Mardi Gras with back in the day (we're allowed to use that phrase because we're almost 40). It's an odd thing to those from away, who think Mardi Gras equals beads, boobs, and booze. These are people who never experienced Mardi Gras as a child or who only know one thing about New Orleans. New Orleans is so much ore than one thing.
Making my glitter purses has been an experience, both rewarding and stressful. Stressful because I overthink everything and am a perfectionist. I want the person who gets each one of my purses to love it as much as I loved making it, but I worry none of mine are grand enough. Maybe they're too avant-garde (at least a few of them) or weird. But they are what they are. I've enjoyed the creative process and figuring out all of the techniques to make each one. I have ideas swirling around in my brain for next year. I've felt, at times, that making these purses was part of the healing process of dealing with leaving New Orleans before. It connects me to the city in a way I don't feel connected to anywhere else. I feel more connected to my own creative process and sense of self. Is that a lot to put on a bunch of glitter purses I'll throw to strangers? Maybe, but it's how I feel. I know this process will influence my other creative projects; I can come back to them or start them with fresh eyes.
So I return to New Orleans, traveling through the city of my birth to be in the city of my life. In a few days, I'll return to where I live now. I'll finish writing this there, and go back to work and the dailyness of life in NOVA. I'll work. I'll write. I'll commute. I'll create. I'll countdown the days until I return again to my favorite place at the best time of the year. I'll be back in a city teeming with life and fun and pain and joy. And lots of glitter.
This weekend I'll part three of my Mardi Gras series. This last post will focus on the things you need to know if you want to be in a Mardi Gras parade. Also this month: I sing karaoke for the first time ever. What song should I sing? Should I wear my purple wig (styled of course)?
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