Ain’t No City Like New Orleans

Over the weekend I was very lucky to enjoy a beautiful weekend with great people in New Orleans, Louisiana.  Not only was I so happy to be enjoying  a friends birthday, but I have been wanting to go to New Orleans for as long as I can remember (and not just because I watch Treme religiously).

In case you haven’t noticed, I love music.  No, I love good music.  The very first song I learned the words to was “Hey, Jude”. The Beatles were regulars in my household; my mother even used to put a walkman around her waist and play them to me. My father was more a Johnny Cash man, my aunt dug Motown, my uncles would vary from Bill Withers to the Rockie soundtrack and my grandparents blared Italian tracks. Eclectic.

My mother can play accordion (she will not love that I revealed this) and my father proved he can play guitar one afternoon when I left my new guitar on the living room floor like a tossed aside toy.  Folsom Prison and San Quentin woke me out of a nice afternoon nap, and nearly scared the fur off my cat.

Basically, music is in my blood and circling my house always.  So, New Orleans seemed fitting for this love affair (birthplace of jazz…).

I loved it. Plain and simple.

The music, the people, the food, the weather, the architecture… I was having sensory overload.


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