joie de vivre!

The night whispered moody and blue… so much my joie de vivre!
I cannot possibly remember when this love affair began, too long ago to recollect. Swept me off my feet; stole the breath right from my chest; and breathed new rhythm in to my heart. In its sultry embrace I dance and sway. This joie de vivre…this yin, my yang… this answer to questions I’ve not asked…this exquisite match.  In a word, my friends, The Blues!

Without warning I was swept away to the great city of N’Orleans and that love affair with the Blues became a real living thing. For it was there, I swear, that we came together, face-to-face.  I stood in the Big Easy and even in daylight, I felt the night.

The sounds of horns and piano keys circled my soul. I bought a harmonica at The House of Blues because I loved the feel of it, and the song it sings just sends me! I sat spellbound in a place around the corner while a trio of players -piano, bass and singer- made music. There was a single, soft spotlight aimed at the modest stage which cut individual shadows against the backdrop… and I remember choosing shadow over man that night, not able to look away from the image cast by that bass silhouette.

Later, walking leisurely down the cobbled streets a scrappy balladeer began a song to me, “Ain’t she sweet…” with a voice so true and pure, my heart took flight. Beside him at the curb, a cardboard box, tattered and worn; dollars and cents scattered inside. I stood still, enchanted, while he sang to me; and in return I poured all my love into him; then, dropped the contents of my wallet into his box. I was just beginning to fly. My smile was brighter than that well lit street.

One open door, led to another, and to the next; and I saw ancient men tickling the ivory’s with such sweet care, singing with fine mellow voices, their smiles as wide as my out-stretched arms; horns that rang out with hope and pain, sorrow and joy. Everywhere I found music I found another piece of me. Not that I was missing pieces … but now I felt far more whole.

Nights blended into days and back into nights and music was my only passion, my purpose. In everything that wasn’t music, I still found notes and melodies tucked inside …vibrant color, reds and blues; dark skinned people moving rhythmically along, friends becoming friends. I found new friends every day with each step. Southern hospitality is as real as you and me. It’s a living breathing thing; gracious, warm, and extended to everyone.

I tore myself away from this all-consuming thing, hopped an airboat and propelled along the waterways, then cut left to burrow deep into the mossy overhangs and come alongside crocks, whilst dragon flies flit and flew, and lingered all about us. They were magic! Gossamer wings, literally! They were so abundant I wondered what they thought of us. Like they all came out to look. Back into the wide canal of the Bayou I was awed by white birds rising off the water; graceful, elegant, a ballet. Even here the air seemed to vibrate in harmony. Its own special song.

I recall each moment vividly…Gumbo, spicy and rich; oysters on the half shell at Desire’s; The Strapping Young Lads; the lady singer at d.b.a. who may have been Janis Joplin –I mean seriously. Mansions and Graveyards, trolleys, and miles of peaceful sugar cane; and there was that thing with the guy in the place…but I digress :)

Of all the elements of that rare and beautiful visit- it was the music for me. The Blues. The wailing of the sax, the excited fiddles, the sweet bliss of the harmonica…the soulful songs…and leaving town was a personal tug-of-war.  With heavy heart, I did leave, with my memories, and music wraped around me!

Standing in the driveway saying good-bye to all of this I was thinking about the actual leaving and driving away…and those feelings associated with ‘going-on-home-alone’ after the immensely memorable time spent in the south…and I knew it would be dreadful. I was feeling it already. So I made the ride about music. Stocked up on cd’s and stacked them on the seat next to me like a fellow traveler; Dr. John, Charlie Miller, Randy Newman, Fats, and a few others. Bob Seger was there, because the man just “knows.”

In town, at a stop light, I lowered the top of the Chrysler, sat back and with purpose, prepared for the next hours of scenery and sun that would take me away from the memory of New Orleans and bring me home to my girls.  I reached for the first cd, and tucked Fats Domino into the player.

Fats and I sang to each other for two full plays of his upbeat jazzy-blues and rock tunes. And I loved him all over again. ‘I’m Walkin’ to New Orleans’ getting some well-deserved preferential attention. And my mind shot through memories like a slide show of pure delight.  I saw people with broad smiling faces… Deborah and Malcolm; the-two-Chris’ and Tasha. I saw keyboards and horns; rhythmic lights and music pounding out from open windows. My mind was flashing, my heart tightening. I remembered the street-serenade …and an old man by the Miss’ blowing his horn just for me, thrilling me with his flair, as I guessed at the elements of his life.

Through the pass, Randy Newman and I got serious and heavy. His wicked sense of rhyme twisting through my mind. His gravity and pointed messages wound me through curves and over hills. I stayed with him because I wanted to, a little moody setting in.

Further on, I was carried in to Williams on ‘Eagles’ wings and re-lived the harmonies of those talented boys, rocking me back to a time when I knew them intimately by verse. I crossed the Sacramento River on some suspended green bridge and noticed people in the river below; and a foursome of canoes, rowing-in-time, one behind the other in faultless symmetry…while Joe Walsh’s “Pretty Maids all in a Row” filled the air. I smiled. It was perfect.

I passed acres of dried sun-flowers standing rather proudly in the sun, and at the rice fields of Butte County, I was surrounded by multitudes of dragon flies which filled the air above me, criss-crossing overhead like maniacs, as light as the air itself. I remembered the dragon flies of the Bayou, light, colorful and radiant….and the enormous beauty of the waterways was laid out before my eyes.

I thanked New Orleans for revealing herself to me through beauty and music. I know that music not only answers our needs, and fills us up, and can just “put us in that certain place;” but it also speaks for us. And I nodded thanks to her for our ‘conversations’ so adeptly, tenderly, movingly exchanged… our affair while still in full swing, was definitely an “event to remember.”

Seeing my girls washed away the need to be immersed in anything but home. One look into their faces and I was filled to the brim with love, joy and amazement in them; when they looked at me I wondered if they could see traces of Evangeline.