Last Sunday 2008
The Lump (our 11-1/2-year-old spawn) reads during Jazz Fest. I have found this humiliating and/or embarrassing over the years, and make pains to point out her bobbing or tapping foot. This year, though, people were quite charmed. One man talked to me at length about her liking to read, about that keeping her “mind off all that mess” and away from too much TV. He was also charmed at how I “took care of her”–adjusting the umbrella and her circle of shade, spraying cold water on her legs to cool her off, checking in with her every song or break or so. She’s my child. That’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s just not that common to see. One day, she will be grown and gone. And I want her to miss the loving care she got from us.
Every child, especially the toddlers, reminded me of my Lump back in the day, the days of “Jazz Fest braids,” red shorts, no shirt, one quick diaper change, lots of mango freeze, jama jama, snowballs, lemonade and herbal tea and a 3-wheeled stroller that parted the crowds.
But I have gotten old. It took 3 days to get my Jazz Fest legs. And now, I am done for a week even though Monday is tomorrow and the race begins.
Happy Fucking Jazz Fest, y’all. See you next year.
G Bitch (still down!)
NOLA
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