For the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to write something that encompasses why I love New Orleans. It's more than the food, although that's great, it's more than the music, although that's great.
It's...
Look. We started 2025 with a horrific act of terrorism right in the heart of the city. Someone bent on destruction and mayhem killed and injured people before we even had a chance to wake up to the new year. A week later, as President Biden met in the cathedral with families affected by the attack Hubs and I lined up with the NOLA Chorus Girls and hundreds of other people to await the start of the Joan of Arc parade. I was an angel, he was a monk. We were escorting "Saint Joan" on her birthday, honoring her as the patron saint of New Orleans and celebrating Epiphany, the traditional kickoff of carnival season.
People had wondered if having the parade was a good idea, was it disrespectful (there had been an outcry about reopening businesses on Bourbon Street as well as holding the Sugar Bowl, albeit delayed), were we scared?
The parade went on as planned, in the windy freezing cold, with smaller crowds watching than usual, but it went on. The Angels and their Saint moved through the French Quarter, swaying and smiling, and then the song "Angel of the Morning" by Juice Newton came on our "soundtrack." I still get goosebumps thinking about it- but at that moment everyone sang. Not just the Angels, but the Angels, the crowd, the Heretics behind us- EVERYBODY WAS SINGING. And it happened *every time* that song came on. When the Shaggy version of the song came on everyone danced with us.
Eventually we got to the cathedral. Remember- the President of the United States had been there just an hour or so before. The parade stopped, and we danced to Shaggy for a bit, and when the parade moved again our soundtrack was Pentatonix’s version “Hallelujah.” Now- don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a weird song to be associated with angels, but the timing was such that as we crossed in front of the cathedral doors, we were all singing “hallelujah.” It seemed more appropriate at that point.
After the parade Hubs asked me if I’d seen the people crying along the route. Being the “center angel” in my line meant I didn’t see a lot of faces, so- no. I heard people yelling though: “You’re all so beautiful! Thank you! Thank you for this!” After a week of such tragedy and sadness, people were sobbing watching a bit of New Orleans normalcy return in such a gentle way. I was overwhelmed to be part of it.
Just a few days later, as some of you have already heard, I was ready to go full WHARRGARBL because the #12 streetcar route was jacked up with no warning (thanks, NORTA) so I had to drive to work. As I was digging in my bag to get my keycard to get in the building I heard "G'mornin" behind me. I turned, thinking maybe it was a coworker, and it was just some guy walking down the street. I said "G'mornin" to him and he said "I think it's always good to start the day with a greeting. Makes everything go better." Which it did.
And then, this week, came the sneaux. The flurricane. SNOWLA. We had ten inches of snow fall over the course of a day. (The last time that happened was 1895) The city shut down for three days. Before you all snort and say things like “That’s nothing! Where I live…” take a moment to think. New Orleans is the northernmost city in the Caribbean. No living human has ever seen this kind of snow here. Houses aren’t built for cold; they’re built for floods, heat, and humidity. We had to borrow snowplows from Indiana (maybe Illinois? I forget.) The point is- we don’t do dat snow stuff here.
Anyway. I grew up where it snows. I’ve lived where it snows. As an adult I always saw snow as fun, but kind of problematic. (I got s**t to do! Places to go!) As the flurricane abated and people could venture out though, I saw wonder, joy, fun, laughter. (all from my computer- I did not venture out much because my snow boots are in storage- I like snow, but not enough to freeze in it) Nuns and priests having snowball fights. Kids and adults grabbing cardboard and crawfish platters to go sledding on the levees. Airboats on the streets in the river parishes. Skis on Bourbon Street, hockey on Canal Street. Snowsuit-wearing second line musicians in the Quarter.
In so many of the posts I saw the same refrain: “We needed this.” After so much sadness to start the year, combined with the usual WTF-ery we deal with, the joy was infectious and very sweet. It’s almost as if Mother Nature herself said “This city needs a break” and gave us three days of childlike wonder and fun.
This is not to say that there weren’t problems. Remember the houses that weren’t built for cold? There were burst pipes and cold rooms everywhere. Even my home, which was refurbished after Katrina, still had problems keeping warm. Daughter came over last night and said “Maaaa! It’s COLD in here!” Well, yeah. Why do you think I was dressed like the Stay Puft Man goes to Mardi Gras? I had so many layers on during the week I felt like that kid from Christmas Story.
The point of all this is- this city has a great capacity for joy, and it shows up in the most unexpected ways. Sure- we have Mardi Gras and all the festivals, and sure, we get swamp a$$ in the summer, but we also get angels singing and the Rougaroux snow tubing. We get purple drank in the snow. When the freeway shuts down, we can hear bells from St. Patrick’s church.
And that’s why I love it here.
