Whifts of Home – Prose and Poem to be Title

When I moved out here (13 years ago),  from New Orleans,  50 years and pieces of life and memories of places and events came along with me.  One of those memories is this one…it goes with this song:

It was Mardi Gras day.  Even though all of us kids were grown and moved away from home, we still all lived in or near the French Quarter.  The custom was to gather at my parents’ place each Mardi Gras.  That was great.  We were still of the age where that meant good company AND FREE FOOD WITH MAYBE LEFT OVERS!

My parents lived in a rented raised Creole cottage.  They lived in the larger back area.  The people renting the front area were from California.  The husband had been one of the writers of Close Encounters of the Third Kind.  He was taking a sabbatical from movie stuff.  (Poor guy.  He agreed to read one of my most morbid – at that time – short stories.  Hahaha!  He was sweet and encouraging…I was probably in my early 30’s.)

When I arrived, that Mardi Gras, this song, Cabaret, was blaring into the street from speakers set in the window of the front rental.  About 100 ft away, at a corner – near Cafe Lafitte in Exile (a bar) – gay men were beginning to gather for the annual ballroom gown contest.

The wife stuck her head out of one of the open front windows and laughed and asked: “Isn’t this a great soundtrack for today?”

I was sad when they moved back to California.  They ‘seemed’  so different and interesting.  Now that I live out here, in California, I play this soundtrack every Mardi Gras.  It’s a memory…something I can maybe write a poem about….I’d have to be able to name the emotion this memory brings.



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