I’m very excited about this year. In February, March, and April, I am revisiting some favorites en route to new-to-me East Coast locations. I recently wrapped up two weeks in New Orleans.

I’m traveling with Susin and Clinton, a full-time couple from Dallas I met two years ago. We’ll hang together all the way to the Chesapeake Bay in Virginia, then go our separate ways. They have never been to Savannah or Charleston, and I am brimming over with excitement to show them around.

But first, let me catch you up on New Orleans.

As Harry Connick, Jr. would say, Oh, my NOLA! I have visited five times in as many years, and it never fails to amaze and enchant me. I try to combine favorites with new experiences, and as always, New Orleans doesn’t disappoint.

This trip was made extra special by sharing it with Susin and Clinton and their friends – Jacki and Leo from Texas,

and Dave and Jess from Northern California.

We had all been to New Orleans before, but I dare say each of us came away with fond memories of new escapades.

Of course there was a meal at Commander’s Palace, but this was the first time for lunch, and $.25 martinis! As the menu says, limit three, ‘cause that’s enough.

You know I wouldn’t miss Ramos Gin Fizzes at the Sazerac Bar in the Roosevelt Hotel,

or taking a spin at the Carousel Bar in the Hotel Monteleone.

It was my first time at Tujaques, second oldest restaurant in New Orleans and home of the Grasshopper,

and we got there by the Algiers Ferry, which was also a first for me.

Bayou Segnette State Park, where we camped, is on the West Bank, making the ferry very convenient.

We ate poboys (of course) and muffulettas (of course).

There was music on Frenchman Street, and time to croon a few tunes with dear friend Monty Banks on the ivories.

It was Carnival Time, and I introduced my friends to the viewing stands at Lee Circle,

but saw different krewes than last time; a huge highlight was the Muses, an all-woman krewe celebrating its 20th anniversary.

They had the best throws by far, and Clinton and Susan even caught a coveted shoe and gave it to me!

I finally got to see the Laissez Boys, who parade in motorized recliners,

and we snickered at all the potty humor with the Krewe of Tucks. Their TP-festooned float looked like a ghost ship!

Decorated plungers and a bowl brush now adorn the area above the window in Nellie’s bathroom.

Two things will stand out in my memory about this trip; one is music, and the other is a parade. How fitting for New Orleans.

Tipitina’s

When a group of people opened an Uptown bar where Professor Longhair could play in the 1970’s, I wonder if they knew Tipitina’s (named for Fess’s song) would become the icon that it is today.

I have always wanted to see a show there, but they sell out quickly, so Susin and I began checking the website frequently in October.

Seeing members of the Neville Family is in and of itself a quintessential New Orleans experience. The opening act featured Omari Neville, who took the band over from brother Cyril (who was in attendance but didn’t perform).

Then Dumpstaphunk served up some funky goodness with Ivan Neville (Aaron’s son) on vocals and keyboards.

Susin and Clinton and I marveled that we stayed up until 2:30 a.m., but we’re so very glad we did.

The Society of St. Anne

I am always looking for new ways to enjoy and be a part of New Orleans, and this year I wanted to parade with Saint Anne on Mardis Gras Day. Anyone can show up along the route, but most join at a bar somewhere in Faubourg Marigny.

We opted for Mimi‘s in the Marigny, where we were impressed by the creativity and originality of the revelers’ costumes.

It was on to Buffa’s from there,

where the staff were overwhelmed and the bathroom lines were long, but everyone was in such a jovial mood that no one cared.

From Buffa’s we paraded en masse with a brass band through the French Quarter,

down to Canal Street to see the Krewe of Rex, then over to the Mississippi River, which culminates in the scattering of loved ones’ ashes, many mixed with glitter, into the river.

I was touched to be able to observe Susin partake in this ritual with her mother’s remains.

I knew that St. Anne would be novel, and tons of fun, but I wasn’t prepared for the outpouring of goodwill and affection displayed all around us.

This guy jumped up on a balcony and ran from building to building, over and around privacy and security screens, cheering us on and working up the crowd. He’s all over Insta at #stanneparade.

We passed two spectators – a woman with tears in her eyes, him patting her on the back, as she said, “I just didn’t know it would be this beautiful.”

Someone doled out slices of King Cake as he walked.

I asked another guy what he carried in his fancy case, and he opened it to hand me a whimsical and mystical token, a handwritten poem tucked away inside.

It was profound to see people of all types, coming together for the sake of beauty and joy and celebration, for no particular reason other than being alive.

A New Hitch In The Medical Giddyup For 2020

Susin (and Dave!)

watched over the Fur Babies for me in New Orleans while I flew back to Seattle for health care for a couple of days. This wasn’t part of the plan, dammit. In January my family physician agreed that there is a palpable lump in my left breast and ordered a breast MRI, but it couldn’t be scheduled for weeks. Instead of derailing my plans, I flew back to the coach in San Antonio and continued on the road, scheduling a flight back from New Orleans in February.

Marsha and Doug greeted me in Seattle, where I spent the night at their house, had the breast MRI the next day, and flew back that night. By the time I was sitting in the airport waiting for the flight back to New Orleans, the MRI results were back, and negative.

Still, there’s that pesky lump. The doctor has now ordered breast ultrasound and surgical consult, which I hope to accomplish in May. I’d like some time for the coronavirus to calm down, and in May I’ll be on Long Island in my friend Dawn’s driveway, with lots of nearby airports and hopefully an economical flight back to Seattle.

In the meantime, I’m gonna live ‘til I die, whenever and however that might be, and I have a feeling this whole breast thing is a false alarm. It’s more annoying than worrisome at this point.