photo | st. anne’s at the river March 3, 2006
photo | st. anne’s brokeback mountain boys
photo | sleep defeats his majesty
photo | my favorite kid
photo | his highness eats an animal cracker
photo | es-Caped toddler
photo | jackson and katherine
photo | jackson and shannon at bacchus
photo | shannon’s mardi gras day breakfast
it’s good to be the king
After inviting Steve to march with me in the Society of St. Anne on Mardi Gras Day, I impulsively went off to Lafayette and picked up my grandson to take him along. Kinda weird, but I was thinking, “what’s he gonna do? Dump me and move back to California?” I also gave him numerous chances to bail, because he has told me he’s not crazy about kids. He hung in there, though. Having never marched in St. Anne’s without a kid, he didn’t really know the difference. I knew it would be a lot of fun with Jackson, but not the drunken abandonment that it could be.
I made Jackson a little beaded crown and red cape and Steve made his own costume by decorating a Tyvek jumpsuit with three water-lines and swirling hurricanes of beads with little king cake babies in the middle of the swirls. He had picked up a really nice purple feathered leather mask. I wore my beaded bustier, blue tarp skirt, white bloomers, white plastic go-go boots and blue tarp grommet chapeau. We loaded up Jackson’s wagon with diapers, wipes, apple juice, snacks and his personal holy trinity of blankie, pacifier and sippy cup. He carries these three things with him wherever he goes.
Shannon had invited us over for breakfast at 8:00. She and Thierry are living at Steve and Adrienne’s house until their flood damage is repaired, and it is just a few houses down from where St. Anne’s originates at Burgundy and Clouet. Steve and Adrienne’s house is a great big rambling old Greek-revival with a huge yard, by Bywater standards. The house was full of people putting on costumes. The dining room table was covered with make-up and hair implements. Shannon had cooked a huge breakfast and she had one of La Madeleine’s wonderful king cakes, coffee, mimosas and bloody marys. My job was to mix up brandy milk punches.
Steve happily kept an eye on Jackson for me while I made the brandy milk punches, and even fed him some breakfast. Then we went outside and I took over. Steve received a call from a client (poor people! In California, it was just another Tuesday). Jackson became fascinated with the fountain and the goldfish swimming in it. I stood over him while he looked in, pointing and saying, “ahhh! Oooh,” to the fish. I noticed the ancient-looking fountain was lined with a metal pan that was rusty and jagged, and it stuck up in places. Suddenly, I heard Steve, still on the phone with his client, “Kim! Don’t let him touch that!” Jackson was about to grab the rusty metal. I thought, “born without a daddy-gene, my ass.” That was pure instinct. It reminded me of Don, too. Talking business, but watching me watch the baby as though the buck stopped with him.
Steve helped me get into my beaded corset, lacing it up the back for me, one lace from the top to the middle and one from the bottom to the middle. Now, this is a garment that I recommend more women wear. In addition to the shape, you need help both getting into and out of it. I’ve never had a problem getting a volunteer to help me with either. I’m just sayin’.
Thierry was hilarious in a belly-dancer costume. He is a very good-looking man, but it that outfit and blue wig he looked like Gerard Depardieu trying to sneak into the harem. Or when you open the bottle and the scary drag-queen genie comes out. When we first got there, he was lumbering around on very high-heeled shoes that made my feet hurt just to look at them. Shannon had bought him a pair of black plastic boots which she covered in blue glitter. She was insisting that he wear the boots and he wanted to wear the shoes.
“But ShaNON, eet looks like a shreemp boot!”
“Thierry, if I wore those shoes you would be carrying me home. And I’m an experienced high-heel wearer.”
I don’t know how he felt at the end of the day in his shrimp boots, but those heels would have gone in the trash before the parade got to Elysian Fields.
We left Shannon’s and joined the parade as it marched right on time. King Jackson rode in his wagon with his seat belt on, already excited about “Beeeez!” Steve and I brought a plastic pitcher of brandy milk punch.
The Storyville Stompers brass band always plays with St. Anne’s. This year, the band was larger than ever. There was a woman playing an instrument that I have never seen before. It was a violin with what looked like a small gramaphone horn curling around it. The band sounded so incredibly good I felt like I would follow them anywhere. The trademark St. Anne’s ribboned hula-hoops were far ahead of us. I had expected the parade to be smaller this year, but I don’t know what gave me that idea. There were more people than I have ever seen and the costumes were as spectacular as ever. There were people in go-carts and mini-floats. Two guys were dressed as dung beetles, rolling a papier-mache dung ball that was actually bigger than them, and yelling, “Make way for the Metaphor! Metaphor coming through!” There was a whole group dressed as hurricanes, with big grey pointed clouds on their heads. There was the Federal Emergency Masturbation Authority and the Federal Emergency Marie Antoinette (”Let them eat MREs”). There were Brokeback Mountain boys with pink furry chaps, stuffed sheep and signs on their backs saying, “I wish I could quit you, New Orleans.” Blue tarps were everywhere. There was a very large number of costumed children, including infants.
Here is a website with an account of the founding of St. Anne’s, as told by Henri Schindler, Paul Poche and John Newlin: http://www.kreweofsaintanne.org/history.html
King Jackson rode with royal dignity in his float, calmly sipping apple juice and taking it all in. There was no way he was going to throw his beads to anyone, but the pacifier went overboard. He occasionally swayed to the music and posed for photos. It hadn’t occurred to me that it would be such a sunny day, so I didn’t bring sunscreen. Jackson had a red nose and cheeks and I had very red shoulders by early afternoon. Steve and I alternated pulling the wagon. We tried to shield Jackson from the sun as much as we could. Jackson was remarkably well-behaved except when we got to Cafe Brasil and the samba music was playing incredibly loudly. He DID NOT like that. We went around the block and caught up with the beginning of the parade, where the Stompers were.
There was confusion again this year as the main body of the parade avoided the R Bar again. The group got split up as some stuck to Royal Street while the rest of us went down Chartres. I guess this is a permanent change in the route. I was told that there is another group that comes down Royal Street and the St. Anne’s people didn’t want to run over them. The parade also passes by the Cathedral now, on the Jackson Square side. As usual, as the group crossed Esplanade and went into the Quarter, the band played a loud fanfare and the costumed marchers cheered. The street looked empty when we got there and then it was jammed with incredibly beautiful colors, swirling around to the music. It’s hard to capture the feeling of St. Anne’s with a camera. It’s just a very warm, lush, bohemian, friendly scene.
Steve, Jackson and I broke off from the parade as it got congested and went to Mojo’s to sit in the shade for a while. I didn’t have any more alcohol to drink, because I needed to keep a sharper eye on Jackson. My son would have my head on a pole if I didn’t watch the baby like a hawk. I was worried I would be in trouble for the sunburn. Steve thought we were going to meet up with Rachel and her friend, and he kept calling her. They were going in the opposite direction from us. He was a little aggravated, but he said Rachel was probably uncomfortable about running into me. I told him to go and join them, but he wanted to stay in the Quarter. He was disappointed also because he knew Rachel would take to Jackson. It’s hard not to, he’s such a sweet, affectionate kid. I thought we were going to eventually meet up with Don, but he called later and said he had gone Uptown to see Zulu. We saw him briefly at his place. He was a little weird, so I guess he’s uncomfortable around Steve, but I know he likes him. Steve and Don would probably get along great if I wasn’t around.
For the rest of the afternoon, we walked around looking at the costumes. There were many more people in costume in the Quarter than there were last year. I didn’t make my usual stroll down Bourbon because I didn’t think it would be Jackson’s scene. We went to the Moonwalk to wait for St. Anne’s. It was cool and breezy on the levee and we rested a while in the grass. We heard the Stompers and saw the ribbons coming, so we walked down to the steps. The group gathered and the band played “Down by the Riverside,” which always marks the beginning of my trek home. We stopped by Shannon’s friends’ place where there was a great balony, bathroom, water and cold beer. On the way back to Shannon’s, Jackson finally gave up his struggle against sleep, curled up in the wagon and passed out.
Steve and I were worn out from attending upon His Majesty, but the sobriety requirement turned out to be a very good idea. He had to start packing the next day and I had to drive Jackson home to Lafayette. We ordered a pizza (All Hail Cafe Roma, open and delivering on Mardi Gras Day!!), and Jackson woke up long enough to eat a slice. He chatted with us for a while, then picked up his favorite three items and said, “nigh-nigh?” I gave him some baby Motrin for the sunburn and he went down without a peep. It was a really beautiful day.
older posts »
