Only in New Orleans are you likely to run into a gang of Indians promenading down the middle of the street past the cemetery on Sunday afternoon.
A gang of Indians, followed by their bone-yard back-up band.
Only in New Orleans would you decide to set up your grill and have a picnic by the cemetery while you watch the Indians and their back-up bands promenade past.
Or decide to dress up like a Baby Doll and dance in the street to the music blasting from the impromtu DJ set up on the coardner. Yes, I said coardner.
Only in New Orleans would your neighbor host an “Improbable Cafe” most Friday nights, where you could just drop by and learn to play dominos.
Or would that neighbor be Rebecca Rebouche, a rising star in the visual arts with a generous spirit — willing to talk strategy about MY artwork — on the coardner, around sunset.
Only in New Orleans do your friends become art imitating life — or is it the other way around? — with such colorful results.
Only in New Orleans do you look at a house like this one…
and think “if that house were mine, that kudzu would really cut down on the exterior surface I’d have to paint.”
Kidding.
No, only in New Orleans do you think “with a little TLC I could have that house looking like this house in no time….” (Oh yes I could.)
Only in New Orleans do I feel so completely at home that I often catch myself thinking — “What a wonderful world!”
