Living in the Moment

I was floored by Loki’s last post. Like being lacquered to to a dark, dank floor, from which nothing good will ever come. It felt like the bottom. Of everything. But sometimes the view from there gives us perspective. The only way to look is up. The only way to go is out, into another direction, in search of something true and real, something that one can clasp ones hands around and feel strength, a solid ground upon which to step from the rolling sea of bad news that has plagued New Orleans in recent times, more than ever. It’s a Beautiful Sunday Afternoon today. Following directly on the heels of A Beautiful Saturday & Friday Afternoon. It’s French Quarter Festival in full swing. I’ve just come from Cap’n Sal’s on St Claude with too many pounds of crawfish, not too small to eat or too hard to peel, perfect in every way. John Boutte is singing live on the radio. The windows are open and voices murmur from the street, thick with excitement on their way to the Music On The Levee, or languid with fulfillment on their way back. My brushes and tools seem to float around in my hands like some Disney Cartoon, magically knowing my secret desires and bringing them to life out of the flotsam of street scores. My heart, however blind to the horrors that jump from news papers and computer screens, is full of life today. Forgive me that, if you can. Just this once. I am acutely aware, in this very moment, that I live in The Best Place In The World. Because rabid conversation will soon turn to the vast nuances of What’s To Eat Next. Because the Music On The Levee today will continuously waft through from The Local Radio Station. Because art will be made from nothing. And because tonight, a National Premier on HBO will attempt to show the world our perspective on Life. Of course, no matter how close they get, nothing compares to living here. Nothing. Josh Cohen, of Morning 40 Federation, once announced with great pride that he’d fallen madly in love with a drunken old whore, the City of New Orleans. Whatever you call her or think of her, she’s seen better days, and worse. Beaten, robbed, exploited, held at ransom and very nearly drowned, she’s been through quite a bit these last three hundred or so years. But here she stays. And so do we. And behind the wounds and scars, under the tawdry costumes and torn bits of last nights finery, she has often made that walk of shame, heading home in the broad day light, no excuse for living too large, too fast, too hungry. Nor should their be one. There is Glory here. There is the Moment. There is the music coming from the river, the smell of something wonderful cooking, the cloying air and the soft sound of paint spreading from brush to surface. There are people talking, laughing and walking hand in hand, or riding ancient bicycles, to and from The Festival. It’s a beautiful Sunday Afternoon in that City by the River, another one in a line of them going back almost three centuries. Things are changing here. I hope for the better. They’ve can’t be much worse. They always change, however, as much as they always stay the same. We dance and sing, we raise glasses to the fallen and the lost, we share our tastes in art, music, & food. We live. And we go on. We are, all of us here, part of her now. Not forever, as she is, but only for a short time. Our lives are like The Moment to her. And in the Moment, we find ourselves. Individual, strong, resourceful and sometimes quite mad. But we know the Truth she knows. This will pass, like the water of the Mississippi does our city, everyday. What comes next is up to us. Whatever it is, it’s gonna be better. And we’ll go on. Like the endless story of the City of New Orleans, the Best Place in the World. Love you, girl. Yes I do. Lord David Skull Club New Orleans