I haven't been away in almost a year. Drew's had his couple of weekends in Clarksdale Mississippi to fix his live music jones. I hold down the fort at work while Drew gets his groove on.
After a challenging start to 2011, if I don't get my boogie on soon, I will surely die.
I never ever get excited before the first parking of the rental car in New Orleans. "Are you getting excited for your trip?" No. "Are you looking forward to going to JazzFest?" No. There's too much to do before we leave. Got to clean up all the outstanding work, make sure all the clients won’t miss us, all the team is on a mission to make business as usual. Working three times as much, as hard, in the weeks before THE VACATION. So hard to let it all go. But, when I do, I can do it knowing I’ve done all I could to cover.
Upon our arrival in New Orleans, we used to drive straight to Uglesich’s for oysters before even checking into the hotel. 
I needed desperately to hear the scrape and patois of shucking. And a Bloody Mary with pickled beans. This becomes my decompression. Then off to Lafayette Square for the first dose of live music outdoors. The fastest left hand on piano ever - Marcia Ball. My work has evaporated, finally…..
This time around, I decompressed the minute I met my seatmate while still on the tarmac in Newark. His name’s Howie and he’s producing a bunch of shows for bands I just happen to be a fan of. He told us Grateful Dead and Pfish and Radiators stories and about his 2 year old and his very beautiful wife and about living Lower East Side. Do we know where they could get an antique farm table and what’s to do with a coin collection? Would we like some free tickets to his events? Say wha?
Donna & Ron were onboard, too. They’ve fested for the past 30 something years. Drew and I are here 23 years now. Dejavu. Same couple, same flight, different year. I first met Donna at the Morristown health club some twenty five years ago. We said hello daily. Then one vacation, I see her at JazzFest and that's all it takes to connect. Donna & Ron become our Fest Friends. They live around the corner in Far Hills, but we’ve spent more time with them in New Orleans than in Jersey. I wonder if that will ever change.
So here we are at JazzFest, living the joyous experience. I “let it go let it go let it go” doses of Cowboy Mouth Michael Franti Amanda Shaw Bonerama Eric Lindell Treme Brass Band Wild Tchopotoulos Big Sam Trombone Shorty Willie Nelson Jamey Johnson Allen Toussaint Dirty Dozen Ruthie Foster Marcia Ball Galactic Stanton Moore George Porter Jr. Radiators.
People whirring around me, laughing, eating, devouring, dancing, eating the music, loving my fellow festers and my third softshell crab poboy, fully dressed, extra pickles.
Why dey call it Sunday? Cuz you can dance all day in the sun.
At breakfast Thursday morning I run into Barbara, a hardly-a-girl-anymore who used to swim for me when I coached swimming at Ridgewood. She and Tod are 13 year fest vets, now with their three tow-headed boys in tow. We catch up on the 24 years since she came to my wedding over a jalapeno and cheese omelet and share our love of the Rads. I think her husband and kids are perfect. I covet her children.
For the past 20 years, we've park at Theresa’s house on N. Gayoso, past D’Abadie. Drew and I drove up that street Thursday Fest morning, drove right past their yard. No Theresa, no husband, Charles parked in the aluminum folding chairs, no lemonade, no chattering folk, no children climbing around. We say "hey!" across the street, and meet Eric who tells us Theresa’s moved on now. She up and moved the whole family after Katrina and after her husband Charles died. But, look who’s driving up in her van right now? Theresa, maybe knowing we were looking for her !? Drew and I watched her daughter Tracy grow up right before our eyes. She was a mere fidget of a child, our own Lauren’s age when we first met her. Spunky little girl. Always got us to missing Lauren and wishing she was here. Then guess what? They grew up! Lauren started comin' when she was 9, all the way through high school. We enjoyed hanging out with them pre and post fest every day. We got invited to Tracy’s wedding, too. Then, lo and behold, the next fest, there she was with her own little spunkster on her hip. Theresa blocks the street, puts it in park and we hug and kiss and bless you all. She says we’re in Eric’s good hands now with a safe and friendly parking space for JazzFest. I give Eric a praline cookie.
One morning we tried to go to Houma House. Got the map, got the car gassed, take the scenic route or the wrong route. Turns out Houma House is not in Houma. Not even close except it’s in the same state. So we walk around the Nature Preserve in Houma, studying Spanish moss and bird calls. Looking for gators. Time for a softshell crab poboy…again. Can’t get them in Jersey.
Sunday after fest we head to Mandina’s for turtle soup and guess what? Softshell crab almandine. Not cuz we’re hungry, cuz we’re here.
When not eating (is there such a thing in New Orleans?) a visit to MS Rau Antiques is a ritual, as is a cruise of Magazine Street and a Bloody Mary on the porch of the Garden District Columns Hotel. Best fresh fried shrimp po-boy ever at Guy's up on Magazine Street.
Jack and Sue were married and living in L.A. when we first joined them in New Orleans in 1989. Now Jack is married to Barbara and lives in RIVER RIDGE and is on the radio down here which is a perfect match. Biggest music brain on the planet and a voice that'd melt butter. He's personally responsible for introducing me to Louisiana music. And speaking of butter, Jack is a great cook. He makes us boudin stuffed peppers, duck, oyster and andouille gumbo and a Bananas Foster that puts Commander’s Palace’s to shame. Drew and I are drunk on Jack’s food.
As we board our overcrowded plane home with a couple of muffalettas from Central Grocery, angry that our seats are in the last row, we revel in more voodoo that the only no-show empty seat on the plane is comfortably between us. Maybe it's the ghost of Marie Laveau.
Now the conversation back at home is "Whadya eat? Whadya hear?"
