Recovery

This was Brown Brown's first sober trip to New Orleans (give me a break--I didn't know I was pregnant when we were there last December). Even without the alcohol, New Orleans kicked my butt. The late nights, the overeating, the heat--oh, the glorious heat! Highlights of the trip were Jazz Fest itself (saw Los Lobos, Jimmie Vaughn, The Funky Meters, LL Cool J, The Holmes Brothers, and few other assorted acts that I didn't know, including time in the amazing Gospel Tent), the Neville Brothers at Tipitina's (Michael hooked four of us up with passes to the sold out show--the Brothers first time at Tips in eight years), breakfast at Elizabeth's (where I discovered the magic that is callas--rice beignets--and drunken bananas--which is like bananas foster without the ice cream) with Daniella and her new fiance John, just walking around Magazine Street, and of course, hanging with the gang. I was going to write a long entry about each day and who I saw and what I did, but really, so much of my time was spent doing things that just don't translate well to the page (how many times can I mention how wonderful the sun felt and how sticky Bourbon Street is and how much fun it is to spend time with my Seattle friends?). Friday was marred by a touch of sunstroke (those mister tents--tents that spray a mist of water--were heavenly but too far from the stages to simply camp out in, although I considered it anyway). The odd thing about the trip is that I didn't miss the alcohol--I found the heat stroke gave me a similar feeling to a hangover, so it was just like every other N.O. trip. Granted, it wasn't the exactly the same. We were a larger group this year, which made it easier to often split up into smaller gangs, which was fun because more of us got to do exactly what we wanted (Sandra finally got to take her plantation tour). This trip--where six of the seven of us are either married or in committed relationships--felt different from the trips in year's past where only one or two of the gang had beaux. Made for a tamer time all around, although it could also be that we're just older than we were on our first trip four years ago. Then again, it couldn't get more wild than the last time we were all down--for Jen's bachelorette party--and I don't think any of us have it in us to repeat that adventure.

But it was phenomenal to go and to see the KAG again. As I said to one of them, "I love going to Jazz Fest. I love being at Jazz Fest. And I love going home from Jazz Fest." Good thing we only do it one weekend a year.