New Orleans

We got home yesterday from three days in New Orleans, where we celebrated the wedding of our dear friend Jason. If you knew him, you’d know how funny that last sentence seems.

Jason could be described as brusque. Also impulsive, loud, opinionated and quick tempered. Hard to believe how much I love him. The intensity of his loyalty is unmatched, he’s very funny and he knows his own weaknesses. And he found the woman who thinks that’s the right package for her.

Here is a transcript of the morning after their wedding, according to the groom:

Jason: I think we’ve made a huge mistake.
Jacki: You asshole.

The wedding was a dream, and the reception both glamorous and hilarious. My favorite people were the couple who danced like they were trying to keep their footing in rough seas. And my favorite moment was the Second Line. At the end of the night the bride came out carrying a huge white parasol, liberally festooned and fringed. The groom was wearing beads. They led a parade around the ballroom and everyone followed, waving handkerchiefs in the air. I didn’t really know what it all meant, but was swept away by the sentiment just the same.

Jason is a native to New Orleans, and his accent pegs him immediately. When Jacki finishes graduate school they have tentative plans to return. His mom just returned this month after a year in exile, as her house was under water. Probably the most wholely emotional moment of the weekend for me was when they did the groom/mom dance, which was to “Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?”

I, myself, do love and miss New Orleans. I’ve been many times. I don’t claim to have any kind of insider knowledge of the city, but I can claim much affection. I generally bypass the wild drinking portion of the traditional trip and go right to walking tours of the Garden District and all the crawfish and oysters I can fit in my mouth. It’s a great walking city, which is my favorite way to see a place. I can wander contentedly for many days, and New Orleans has always offered me something great to point my face at, even if I did have to hold my nose too sometimes.

I didn’t get too far out of the French Quarter this time, as we were staying at the wedding site — The Monteleone on Royal. With all the activities (fittings, rehearsal, brunch) we were never far from an obligation. But the Quarter was definitely as empty as I’ve ever seen it. It wasn’t deserted, or even close to it. But I’m used to having to negotiate for sidewalk space and that definitely wasn’t the case. Some of that probably could be accounted for by the month. I wouldn’t guess many people plan to hit coastal Louisiana in the dead of summer. I shopped a little more aggressively than I am accustomed, in hopes of providing my own token boost to the shop keepers and restauranteurs.

To close on a shallow note: I found a boutique there and bought the most beautiful dress, which I wore to the wedding the next night. Damon was in his tux, and he looked very handsome. And to top it all off we killed on the dance floor. I will post a picture if/when our friends Marcus and Mary remember to email me the contents of their camera.

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6 responses to this post.

  1. On a completely different topic – you, Matt and Anna Claire were exactly right about what I was doing Sunday night around 8 or 9: sitting in my house enjoying some lovely TV. It’s uncanny.

    Reply

  2. On a completely different topic – you, Matt and Anna Claire were exactly right about what I was doing Sunday night around 8 or 9: sitting in my house enjoying some lovely TV. It’s uncanny.

    Reply

  3. On a completely different topic – you, Matt and Anna Claire were exactly right about what I was doing Sunday night around 8 or 9: sitting in my house enjoying some lovely TV. It’s uncanny.

    Reply

  4. It’s infinitely comforting when our friends are dependable. Still, we would have liked to have you there with us.

    Reply

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