Cue Mardi Gras Mambo, because it's eight weeks to Fat Tuesday. I’m heading down to
I’ve got my favorite beads ready (all the strings that hang down to my knees and the one with M-U-S-E-S spelled out in blue) and I’m starting to think about costumes. (Would anyone give me crap if I revived Little Red Riding Hood again?)
But as I’m mentally packing my ratty suitcase, I know that I’m in for a smack in the face. I’ve been living in
Now the friends who stayed (there weren’t many) tell me that things are getting a little better down there. The mountains of trash are dwindling. Most everyone has gas and electricity again. You still wouldn’t want to drink from the tap, but why would you do that when there’s Abita Amber on tap anyway?
My buddies are starting to sound hopeful. They’ve seen more businesses open back up, and it seems like most of the bleeding has stopped. That is, the people who stayed so far might actually stay through the year. ((A friend of a friend recently declared that she wouldn’t help anyone else pack their shit to move out of
So I’m headed down to the greatest free party on Earth to help out any way I can. I wanted to volunteer with Habitat for Humanity, but the coordinator says the group won’t be building anything during Mardi Gras. I can see why a hammer in one hand and a hand grenade in the other might be a bad idea, but I really wanted to do something productive between parades. (Survivor’s guilt anyone?)
So, I’m looking for other ways to contribute to the city in some way. My best idea: Gluttony. I’m going to go shopping for all the
And those restaurants I couldn’t afford when I was down there last year? Well I’m knocking on their doors this trip.
If I can’t rebuild my friend’s houses, I’ll at least buy them dinner and visit with them for a few hours. I’ll be a free-wheeling tourist, just like the ones the visitor’s center always loved.
And maybe some bright idea about how to really help will strike me as I stand by the tree at