Conversations With the Old Man of Kenner N'Awlins #5

      One day I was sitting with the old man of Kenner on the porch.  It was the usual hot, muggy day that you find in the deep south most of the time.  On this day there was a mild breeze and you could smell the po boys at the local store.  We were sitting there drinking our beer, when the old man started getting nostalgic about his home town of N'Awlins.  He started  to reminisce.  

     "Ya know N'Awlins is where I was born and raised. It is where the living is easy, where dem pants be hanging low, and that music playing loud and proud. Where my cousins only drove cadillacs way down in Venice.  We got the Saints and sinners.  You know I once posted a sign said, To all true dats, keep ya mumbling and grumbling about de Saints to yourself in your house.  If any outsider says something bad about de Saints bust em in the chops. Any fair weather fans put da bag over dey heads, bust them in dey chops.  We true dats go down with the ship. USS Saints, black and gold."

     "Wow, you are a true Saints fan. "

     " Yep, and ya know what else I love bout N'Awlins, all dem parades for everything.  Ya should of seen it yesterday. Dere was a garbageman parade.  Must have been like 30 garbage trucks roll by, blowing dey horns, flashing lights.  The guy on back of the truck threw beads, dabloons, stuffed animals, bones, etc.  When dey ran out, dey reach in ther crusher for more.  They had bands marching in between trucks.  The best one was the Trashman Band.  Their instruments were horns made of plumbing pipes and curtain rods.  Drums made of ole tin metal trash cans, cymbols was the lids. Dey played songs like Tiger Rag, Down by the Riverside, Basin Street Blues.  Damn dey was good.  Always something out dat door. "

     " I must have missed that one, " I said. 

     " Well, I know you been to the Mardi Gras, now that is the mother of them all.  Heck for some folks, dey let loose pretty bad.  Next day is Ash Wednesday.  Dat's when the minister puts ash mark on your forehead, in case ya cut up too much on Mardi Gras.  God can find ya in a hurry and smack ya real good.  It's called a God smack or bust your tater top."

       'Ya know, I lived through 3 major hurricanes here.  Baxter, my dog, and I sometimes remember hurricane Katrina by stealing brand new cadillacs off sales lots and looting stores, shouting at helicopters, ooooeeee, good times."

       "Hey, I know that isn't true," I said. 

     " Well maybe, I exaggerate a bit. Like Baxter says, it's a rough, rough life, but ice cream is good, when life sucks."

       "Ditto that."

to be continued #5 of 7