Love Letter Number 3
Darling,
We are celebrating Satchmo this weekend, one of your most famous peeps. I was sitting in the den earlier before the food and music and second line started and I was thinking about last year and the Satchmo Summerfest. I started blogging for the first time ever that weekend because I got run over by some fat ass on a Vespia. Gee, that feels like one hundred years ago but at least I can laugh about that now.
This is when you normally shine. When your worker bee’s decide to have a get together, a bash, a festival or a soiree’, you have always been elegant, a shining light that brightens us all. This weekend was no different but it was different at the same time. You held up fine but there was no one here to see it and it breaks my heart.
Thinking back to last year’s fest, the crowds were everywhere. The radio station ran out of paper fans because so many people came to see you. The temporary food booths had lines for days, the money was flowing and the music, oh the music!
The Rebirth Brass Band brought it like they always do. The Japanese guy who sounds JUST LIKE Louis Armstrong made me think of re-incarnation and you. Trombone Shorty got everyone dancing, it was a thrill and a sight and much needed but we need more people, more blood for you to get better and while the music helps, the people are what make you. It’s always been that way and every one of us knows it.
But this year was different. The music was here, as glorious and uplifting as ever. The food was ready to flow, and trust me it tasted as good as ever, maybe even better. But the people were not here yet. There were some, the die-hards who will be here no matter what, but the crowds that you feed off must have missed the memo and it was discouraging to say the least.
The festival was set up right outside the front door to the loft. I brought my chair down, sat right in the middle of the sidewalk and just soaked you up like french bread and BBQ shrimp sauce. I just sat there for hours, watching the people stroll by, the music from the two tents filling French Market Place with life for the first time in a very long time.
Remember when I would watch the second line’s stroll down Roman St at the old apartment? 2 o’clock in the afternoon and hundreds of people celebrating the life of someone they loved. Those are some of my favorite memories of before, of the spirit before the pain.
When the Satchmo Second line made it’s way down French Market Place I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to sneak inside so no one would see the tears. I hate when the tears come but I know they will continue. We’re coming up on a year since the pain and with this deal all time is doing to me right now is bringing the pain back. I know we’ll make it through this, if we stand together with you, fight for you and remember what makes you our joy, our life.
Love,
DKF
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Love the love letters, Dan. Iwish I could find the words to write my own love letter to the city I love more than any other place on the earth. I’ve linked to your #2 and #3 letters on my blog, and I hope others find them as interesting and enjoyable as I do.