Celebrations public and private.

When I lived in Louisiana, the Jazz Festival in New Orleans, held on the grounds of the racetrack, was a much-anticipated event we attended every year. There were ongoing performances at many stages but my favorite stage was the one where the groups known as the Mardi Gras Indians sang, played, and strutted in their fantastic bead and feather costumes.

The New Orleans tradition of African-Americans masquerading as Native Americans dates back to the early nineteenth century. During dance performances in the Congo Market, the only place Blacks were allowed to congregate at the time, they sometimes added feathers, animal skins, ribbons, and bells to their costumes and acted as Native Americans. This was a form of emulation and identification with the local indigenous people.

In the 1880s, after emancipation, African-Americans formalized this practice by creating tribes and parading in costume. Now the costumes, handmade over the course of a year, resemble giant birds of paradise, outfitted with colorful billowing ostrich feathers and intricate beading (see cover). Though the regalia are primarily made and worn by men, often entire families or other groups will appear in coordinated costumes. My favorites are the ones worn by tiny children.

The extent to which Mardi Gras will be celebrated in New Orleans this year is uncertain as I write this, but I have absolutely no doubt it will go on and include, as usual, the Mardi Gras Indians. Mardi Gras, known in New Orleans as the Greatest Free Show on Earth, may be the most jubilant celebration of Carnival in the United States. It is not about to admit defeat to the forces of nature.

Another proud survivor of the hurricanes is the New Orleans Museum of Art (NOMA). Its staff refused to leave the museum unattended; the only damage that resulted was to exterior sculptures. This was news I was very glad to learn. About twenty-five years ago, I drove through the night to stand in line for twelve hours to see the King Tutankhamen exhibition when it appeared at NOMA. Many of the same artifacts are once again traveling in this country. The iCARNAVAL! exhibit, detailed on pages 22-23, was originally (and fittingly) scheduled to appear at NOMA and the museum has confirmed those plans.

My father died last June, nine months after my mother. In going through his belongings, we found a small, rusted tin box filled with ancient black-and-white negatives, some of which had to be at least seventy-five years old. My thoughtful brother-in-law was able to make amazingly good prints of them in his darkroom. The one shown here is a photo of my father as a young boy, dressed in a homemade pirate costume and looking very pleased with himself. None of us (I'm the oldest of six) had ever seen this image before, but we were so happy to find it during what had been a very sad time. It helped us focus on celebrating the long life of eighty five years--this man who was married for over fifty years, the father of six children, a gardener, a builder, a constant reader, and a lover of all things chocolate.

Birthdays, deaths, marriages, anniversaries, graduations, and other symbolic recognitions celebrate what it means to be human, often through art, music, and dance. In New Orleans, many people drop what they are doing and join a parade or jazz funeral when they hear the music in the street. They do an arm-swinging dance called the "second line," often waving an umbrella or handkerchief overhead. If you find yourself in New Orleans sometime soon and come across a parade, drop what you are doing and join the second line. Celebrate the art and joy in your life and dance down the street to the music.