Keeping all that in mind, when some new residents suggested it, I was delighted to take a tour here in New Orleans. Spirit Tours New Orleans offers tours that address the more mystical aspects of the city, including graveyards, Voodoo and hauntings, without ever departing from a rigorous attention to facts and history. We took the “Cemetery and Voodoo” tour.

The group meets in a courtyard coffee shop in the French Quarter before being led like ducklings to St. Louis Cemetery #1. If you’re a fan of Easy Rider, you already know the place. Without permits or permission, Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda, playing counter-culture bikers, brought Toni Basil and Karen Black, playing prostitutes, to film a long segment in the cemetery where their character drop acid. Maybe it’s wrong or sacrilegious, but I’ve always liked that scene, even the image of Fonda tripping in the statue-arms of the regal Italian Benevolent Society Tomb.

The cemetery came into service in 1789. Of the thousands of bones laid to rest in this one city block, several belong to notable figures including Homer Plessy, the free man of 1/8 African descent who Rosa Parks-like, sat in the “Whites only” section of a railroad car in 1892 spawning the debate that led to Plessy v. Ferguson. Also laid to rest there are Bernard de Marigny (after which the Faubourg Marigny section of NOLA was named), who brought the game of Craps to the United States, Paul Morphy, one of the first world champions of chess, and Benjamin Henry Boneval Latrobe, architect of the United States Capitol and the Baltimore Basilica, the first Roman Catholic Cathedral in the U.S. There’s a tomb for those who fought in the Battle of New Orleans, the greatest and final land victory of the war of 1812 against the British. The bones of  Etienne de Boré, the first mayor of New Orleans and “Dutch” Morial, the first African-American mayor of New Orleans also rest on the property.

But, perhaps the most well known resident of the cemetery is Voodoo priestess Marie Laveau, the NOLA-born free woman of mixed descent who died at 99 years old in 1881. Like Jim Morrison’s grave in France, the tomb is a destination for many and is defaced daily. Apparently, someone a few decades ago spread the rumor that inscribing 3 X’s on the tomb gets your wish granted. Yes, it’s a silly as it sounds and both the defacing and the constant cleaning degrade the tomb. That said, the power of the tomb is palpable. Many leave offerings from candy to coins and, as we waited, a young man came to practice his religious rituals and make his offerings. Like Catholicism, Voodoo believes that there are spirit go-betweens who can help us confer with our God. Catholics call these “Saints” and Voodoo calls them “ancestors.” And like Catholicism, it is believed that we need priests to help us curry favor with these go-betweens, to petition the dead for help. Though Marie Laveau’s mystical powers may have derived more from her time spent as a hair dresser to the rich (and an ear for their secrets) than from our ancestors, she remains perhaps the most famous Voodoo priestess.

Our guide, Adam, did a wonderful job of explaining the local approach to burial traditions. He explained about above-ground tombs and how so many, many bodies may fit in a single crypt (hint – no metal coffins). He especially drove home the local idea that our dead are with us. This idea was especially evident with the tomb painted blue and decked with silk flowers. Apparently, the doting son of the woman laid to rest there changes the tomb regularly to please his mother. The latest incarnation is a tribute to her favorite color.

After a fairly thorough investigation of the cemetery, including its sparse and bland Protestant section and the Musician’s tomb, we wandered over to Basin St. Station, a former railroad station now used as a cultural center. As we regrouped in the air conditioning (it was a 78 degree January day), the tourists were treated to our version of scattered showers, which is to say, it was raining on one side of the building and sunny on the other. After a brief history lesson, we left through the sunny side and headed out to Armstrong Park.

While I was living in Los Angeles, my junk mail decided I was a black woman (though my TIVO remained convinced I was a gay man) and I started receiving catalogs for wigs and monochromatic church-going outfits (fabulous, I must admit – loved the hats). At some point, I received a plea for a contribution to the Martin Luther King National Memorial. Once I got past the shock that there wasn’t already a memorial, then the shock that anyone would need to plead to private citizens for the money to build it, I wrote a check and looked forward to receiving my complimentary “Build the Dream” lapel pin.

I’m old enough to remember “bussing” but my mother is old enough to remember Jim Crow laws. When she was a small child, she saw 2 drinking fountains and ran excitedly to the one marked “colored” then was disappointed to find, “This water’s clear just like the other one.” I thank goodness I was raised by someone who saw the absurdity of Jim Crow. I’m the next generation and I’ve been called “color-blind.” I’m not. I see color, I just forget sometimes that it matters.

My friend caught her 5 year old daughter watching The Color Purple recently. When she walked in and found her daughter taking in the PG-13 film, a white woman was screaming, “Black, black, black,” onscreen. My friend’s daughter turned to her quizzically, ” I keep looking but I can’t find anything black.” I see now that we could live in a world where that 5 year old never finds out that we call people “black.” She won’t, but she could. She is the dream. She judges people by the content of their character (and which toys and snacks they’re willing to share), not by the color of their skin. Our country’s history with the Africans it dragged here in chains is filled with horror, but our future may be bright.

I’ve been to several plantations and taken a number of tours. Because most of the wooden shacks provided to the slaves have fallen to pieces or been destroyed over the years, I often get away with not thinking too much about how the magnificent manor homes were all built and who kept the land prosperous. Since my youth, I’ve known that in my own family’s history, there was one particularly wealthy land owner who had over 300 slaves. There was also a daughter who married an overseer and was disowned. I can’t claim the blood of the woman who followed her heart and rejected the ill-gotten gains without claiming the blood of someone who was a slave overseer as well as someone who owned over 300 human beings. It’s a lot to reconcile.

The Evergreen Plantation tour starts at the lovely manor home with its symmetrical double staircase adorning the front since 1832 when the French Creole farmhouse was redone in the Greek Revival mode. Lovingly restored, the house is bookended with garconnieres and pigeonniers on either side of the home. Garconnieres are bachelor pads for the adult sons to live in once they’ve become men and pigeonniers are giant bird houses to harvest eggs and birds for food and dung for fertilizer. It is rare to find them still standing, much less in such beautiful shape. The garden behind the house is maze-like and grand. Symmetry clearly ruled every design decision during the 1832 Greek Revival overhaul.

I enjoyed hearing about the evolution of the house and the various families that owned the property. There were some people from Hermann-Grima and Gallier Historic Houses who nodded their heads knowingly, but it was fun watching the tourists try to understand the local definition of “Creole” (meaning mixes of all kinds, not just “Creoles of Color”) and reacting to the idea of Voodoo (the guide had to explain, “It’s not bad, it’s like being Catholic. It’s just a religion”). We learned a lot about the house and its occupants but my favorite fun-factoid was actually about the tour guide. She’d already been working at the estate for a couple of years when she found out that her own 11-generations-ago grandfather had designed the home.

Of the 37 buildings on the property, 22 are slave cabins lining either side of a gorgeous alley of 82 Live Oaks. At first look down the alley, I half expected to see a mansion standing proudly at the end. The tunnel of trees dripping with Spanish moss was stately and bucolic at the same time. Instead, behind the trees on both sides of the lane, I found small one-room cyprus duplex shacks meant to hold 2 entire families. Like Oak Alley,  documents regarding the property are on display, including an inventory of possessions. Whatever visions I may have had of children playing in the lane or people sitting on their porches comes down to this – “West, 36, Mulatto, excellent blacksmith and engineer and good subject, estimated $1500. Joe, Congo field hand, $300. Eblany, 21, American negress field hand with her two children, $1000.”

“Free people of color” lived in the shacks until the 1940′s when they were removed by a new owner so, unlike most plantations, the homes were cleaned and maintained into the 20th century. As such, they are amazingly well-preserved. There may be other plantations that offer great tours, but only Evergreen Plantation offers 22 residences of over 100 slaves. My guess is that more Africans and their descendants can call Evergreen home than all the owner families combined.

It’s difficult to reconcile the complicated history of mammies and clandestine lovers and children playing together until they are told that one is “to the manor born” and the other is property. The story of how the African population came to America and Louisiana (which was not part of the United States until 1803) is beyond horrible. Can you imagine being in your own home and having invaders drag you off in chains to endure a months long trip in a boat only to be sold upon arrival in your new country? Imagine not knowing the language, not practicing the same faith, being stripped of all of your possessions and then finding yourself farming at the end of someone’s whip. Maybe one day it won’t matter how any of us came to these United States, but as Martin Luther King’s dream trudges toward reality, I think it’s important to see what has come before.

Bless You Boys for a thrilling season full of victories and excellence without peer. We finish the season with the best offense in the history of the NFL and, MVP politics aside, the best quarterback in the league. So many players broke so many records, it would take forever to recount them. Even the Twelfth Man set a record for attendance. We have so very much to be thankful for, so many memories to look back on, it hardly seems like the time to sulk.

That said, I’m losing another Sunday tradition. When I lived in Los Angeles, I used to have what I called, “Craft Sundays.” Angela, my friend since high school, would come over and we’d crochet or knit while listening to 70′s rock, funk and pop while sitting on my tree-shaded patio in the hills.

At some point, we started being invited to a friend in Malibu’s house every Sunday. We’d go over and hang out poolside or in the jacuzzi for hours while being served wonderful snacks. Sometimes, we’d walk on the beach but mostly we’d relax, enjoy the day and hang out with whoever stopped by. Maybe a random movie star like Liev Schrieber along with his adorable dog, Chicken, would pop in for a swim. Or maybe a Kennedy. You just never knew and that was part of the fun. Then we’d all eat pizza while we watched a current movie projected on the wall from a booth with an operator. This went on for about 2 years, even after the open house had moved from Malibu to the top of the Hills of Beverly.

After it ended, Angela and I, seeking to keep our Sundays relaxing, doubled-down on Craft Sunday. For awhile, her sister joined us and we added another kind of crafting. We filmed a silly short film, a spoof of the Charlie’s Angels TV show, Larry’s Angels. Along the way, Angela had a baby and little Julia became part of our day. Our friend, Janell, started having children and Craft Sunday became more of a children’ play day. Sometimes we’d make something despite the kids, sometimes we’d make something with the kids, sometimes we’d just laugh while they’d put on lip gloss and I’d videotape it and turn it into a highly edited home movie. Sundays were almost always the best day of my week.

We made a lot of beautiful things over the years, expanding into our fussy little Christmas ornaments at some point. I’ll be honest, Craft Sunday was the one thing I feared losing most when I moved from L.A. to New Orleans.

And then I fell in love with the Saints. Now, Sundays are game days. I dress up in my Who Dat gear and spend the day getting ready for the game, watching the game and talking about the game. I’ve even gotten to attend many games. This year, I only missed a few home games including pre and post-season.

Now, the season is over and our heroes have returned to grateful crowds holding signs at 2 am. Thank goodness Mardi Gras is right around the corner. I’ll find more than enough to fill these Sundays in a town this full of festivals and celebrations, but I’ll miss game day until next season. And then… I Believe!

Who Dat! 2 Dat 2013!

And yes, I made the hat and sweater.

As we headed down Bourbon Street toward the Dome in upper 70′s weather, it was like Mardi Gras with every hotel room booked, people throwing beads off balconies and brass bands every few blocks. New Orleans is home to 2 big games this week, the Saints first victory in the playoffs and LSU’s rematch with Alabama for the BCS Championship. Though our shirts aren’t all the same color, the city has literally been wall to wall football fans for a week.

The chants of Who Dat!?! started on Bourbon St., continued in Champions Square, in the ticket line, in the lobby and on the escalators. The Twelfth Man had come to win. I’m not usually in a seat early enough to watch Drew Brees lead the team in his “I’m in My Own Zone” chant. I love that our team gets fired up by dancing. It’s very New Orleans.

There are a lot of “only in New Orleans” kinds of things. We have second lines and the umbrellas that go with them. We get “Crunk” after every touchdown and there’s never a bad time to hear that song or wear a Saints Jersey. I’ve shared before about the recently departed Archbishop Hannan, but I’ve stumbled onto another Catholic priest leading his Who Dat Nation flock to victory of all kinds. Pastor Rev. R.Tony Ricard of Our Lady of the Star Sea Roman Catholic Church is a graduate of St. Augustine High School, has a B.S. from Loyola and a Master’s from Xavier (as well as one from Notre Dame Seminary) who taught public school before becoming a Core Instructor of Church Doctrine at Xavier and preaching in 18 countries. I even saw a photo of him as a Mardi Gras Indian. He’s also the Saints’ team chaplain. After the Saints won the Super Bowl in 2010, this video was shot of Pastor Ricard  as a jersey-wearing, Who Dat chanting, Crunk-dancing, umbrella-wielding, joyous NOLA native leading his congregation in giving thanks for the team’s victory. Seeing is believing (though I wish you could hear the music better).

The Saturday night game was introduced by the LSU Tiger Marching Band and chants of “LSU.” NOLA native, Mad Men‘s Bryan Batt, sang a beautiful rendition of the National Anthem. Then it was on. I watched the game at home later (New Orleanians love reliving glory and I am no exception) and it was a real nail-biter, but in the Dome, it felt like nothing could stop us. Pierre Thomas played the game of a lifetime. The team set yet another bunch of records including the most yards ever in a playoff game (626).

The last quarter of the game was an offensive field day. We fans hardly had to do our jobs as human noisemakers and kept getting more opportunities to dance. We get our tickets online from NFL Ticket Exchange and, just like in the “Pain & Fortune” commercial, in order for us to enjoy the experience of cheering on our beloved Saints, someone else has to give up their seats. Sometimes we find out who’s missing the game from the season ticket holders around us. Janelle, who sat with us, introduced herself by saying, I’m so glad you’re Saints fans” then told us we had her father’s seats. He’d fallen ill before the holidays and, though he was finally home, as a Twelfth Man, he was on injured reserve. The game wore us all out. We stood most of the time and never let up on the noise that’s been compared to jet engines and freight trains. Plus, there was all that dancing. I’m sorry Bob Anderson missed the game, but what a time we had!

And as seats go, section 611 had it’s advantages. First of all, there are top-tier bathrooms right there with no lines. And, it’s right next to the infamous section 610, birthplace of the 610 Stompers all male dance troupe. I didn’t realize we were sitting there until I ran into founder, Brett Patron, who later gave our sections a bit of the Stompers’ signature Crunk dance routine. What a treat!

This was my first time attending a playoff game. It had all the charms of every game in the Dome but the team and its Twelfth Man hit a whole new level of energy. I’m so very glad I was there to be a part of it. Now, Geaux Tigers!!!

Beginning with the words, “First your husband has to die,” this book is filled with humor, insight and inspiration. It helped me through my divorce as well as some of the lower moments of my career and I’m certain I will refer to it throughout my life. I hope you’ll take a moment to check out the preview.

Also available on Amazon.

The fireworks were beautiful but what brought tears of joy to my eyes was when the fireworks were working their way toward the inevitable crescendo, someone started chanting “Who Dat? Who Dat? Who Dat sayin’ they gonna beat them Saints!” over and over as the sky glowed and sparkled with bursts of color. I cried because I am head over heels in love with New Orleans and 2011 has been one of the happiest years of my life.

The first day of 2012 started with the Saints last game of the regular season. The Mercedes-Benz Superdome filled with the 3 super-loud pre-game chants of “Who Dat? Who Dat? Who Dat sayin’ they gonna beat them Saints!” followed by U2 and Greenday’s raucous The Saints are Coming. If you’ve never had the privilege of going to a game in the Dome, enjoy the traditional chant after the coin toss in this video I found.

Saints fans are always dressed in gear, but with the recent Christmas, there were new additions to everyone’s wardrobes. I even saw 2 guys in the Saints pajama bottoms I just got from Santa (and the Black and Gold Sports Shop). The day was gorgeous, 76 degrees and sunny, a great day to Finish Strong!

We were only a minute and a half into the game before the Saints got their first touchdown and we did our victory dance to (Halftime) Stand up and Get Crunk. That’s when it became apparent how many people were hungover from last night’s revelry. Many were too pooped to pop.

Then records started getting broken all over the place. Drew Brees had already set the record for most passing yards in a season last week, so his 389 yards today set a new bar, though he sat out most of the fourth quarter. He also broke some of his own records as well as Peyton Manning’s 2010 record for single-season completions. MVP!!!

Wide receiver Marques Colston surpassed the 1,000-yard mark for the fifth time in 6 seasons. Running back Darren Sproles broke the NFL record for most all-purpose yards. Tight end Jimmy Graham broke the record for most receiving yards by a tight end, a record that had stood since 1980, only to have his record broken later that day by New England’s Rob Gronkowski. For a guy who’s only been playing football for 2 years (Graham was a basketball player), I’d say he has a brilliant future.

One of Raintree’s many services is a group home for teenage girls who, after being placed in foster services, still find no home. The Newcomers supplied the girls with giant Santa sacks of goodies like jackets and teddy bears. We sang carols, Santa arrived to hand out the gifts, then we ate like kings and queens on the tasty food made by the women who cook for the girls. The turkey was outstanding and the praline dipped cupcakes were a big hit. And speaking of queens, this year’s Queen of Iris attended in her tiara. I gotta love a town where a tiara is appropriate attire at so many events. The women of the 95 year old Krewe have been very generous in their involvement in Raintree. May all the Raintree girls’ Christmas wishes come true and bless all those who do what they can to help.

Next up was a gathering for food and football in Musicians’ Village. Musicians’ Village, conceived by childhood friends, Harry Connick, Jr. and Branford Marsalis, provides low income housing in the Upper Ninth Ward for musicians displaced by Katrina. A pretty, Carribean-colored batch of 72 single-family homes, the village was built by volunteers, donors, sponsors and low-income families.

Santa and Saints converged as we munched on spicy fig jam poured over cream cheese and served with crackers and other Christmas-flavored treats while cheering on another Saints victory. Geaux Saints! Who Dat! There were oysters on the porch waiting to be shucked and our lovely hostess, Margie Perez, was heading out to sing for us all at a local gig but we headed to the French Quarter for a new favorite annual event, caroling in Jackson Square sponsored by the Patio Planters du Vieux Carré since 1946.

Like last year, Councilwoman Jackie Clarkson (actress Patricia Clarkson’s mom to the rest of the world), Mayor Mitch Landrieu, General Honoré and other local luminaries led the festivities, but the recently passed Archbishop Hannan was missed. The favorite local priest, he was best known for wearing his jersey with his robes on game days and dedicating about 20 minutes of those day’s sermons to asking God to help shore up the Saints defense and help Brees find the blitz, etc. His favorite song, out of a plethora of songs about our savior’s birth, was by-far Jingle Bells. He loved it. We sang it double-loud to reach his ears.

I loved the homespun hurricane lamps made of water bottles and 2-liter soda jugs. Some were even decorated. It’s hard for me to ignore an opportunity to learn a new craft so I think, next year, I may start adding the tradition of making a hurricane lamp to the tradition of joining over 8,000 of our city’s residents in song for an hour while standing in front of the stately St. Louis Cathedral.

Last year, I went for a walk around the Garden District a couple of weeks before Christmas and was surprised to find so few houses decorated. This city loves any excuse to bling their houses and the neighborhood has the expendable income to do it up right. A week before Christmas, I took another walk (without my camera) and found the neighborhood fully festooned. Turns out that “doing it up right” in the Garden District often means using real boughs to decorate, so the trimmings and wreaths have a short shelf life.

This week, I brought my camera for a walk on a warm and sunny day. The Sweet Olive was in bloom and the air was thick with the perfume. There are moments in this city when you can block out the power lines and parked cars, focus on the sound of a horse and carriage rolling by, and just be in the 1800′s. Looking around at the giant red bows fastening ropes of pine branches to balconies and doorways as the gas lamps burn continuously (for over 100 years), it was easy to be transported to a time before iPods and e-mails.

On Magazine Street, I make a constant point of passing Rick’s place, a beautiful old home with an ever-changing front porch display of whimsically frightening vignettes. Motifs include motorcycles and skeletons, even child-sized ones usually posed catching beads or cheerfully waving. Rick’s porch welcomes photos and I love taking them as often as I can remember to carry my camera. This video shows many of his displays over the years and features a porch concert with the recently passed Coco Robicheaux.

And, it’s the season of the tree for me. I put mine up for Christmas, change most of the ornaments to Mardi Gras ones after Twelfth Night, and leave it up through Fat Tuesday. I made most of my ornaments out of Sculpey clay or beads and each year, I like to add a Baby New Year and  few ideas inspired by the year I’ve had. This year, I added a Mardi Gras Indian and a second line umbrella, among others.

Santa was kind, bringing me lots of local treats including the 610 Stompers 2012 calendar with a movie theme and a signed copy of Cornell Landry’s new children’s book, Happy Mardi Gras as well as Saints gear from the amazing Black and Gold Sports Shop.

As if my pile of presents wasn’t enough, I received the gift of yet another Saints victory last night! This win against the Falcons secured the Saints the title of 2011 NFC South Division Champions. The big red bow on top was Drew Brees breaking Dan Marino’s 1984 single season passing record with the final touchdown pass to Sproles. What  a game, what a team. Who Dat!

Enjoy the video of caroling in Jackson Square and the photos of the Christmas season in NOLA.

You may recognize second line perennials, DancingMan504 and Jennifer Jones as well as Big Chief Alfred Doucette and several local musicians. The lengthy procession winds down Frenchman Street and into the French Quarter as bands play dirges like Just a Closer Walk with Thee and upbeat traditionals  like I’ll Fly Away. A highlight is the parade singing along to Li’l Liza Jane. Though it wasn’t a game day, many dressed in funereal black… and gold.

I found this video to be a fairly comprehensive covering of what a memorial second line is. This was not the funeral, just a moment set aside for the community to mourn and celebrate the life of  Coco Robicheaux. The last shot shows how many blocks long the second line is. Robicheaux was a very well loved man and the turnout is a testament to his impact. He will be missed.

Established in 1905, the line for Galatoire’s Friday lunch is legendary. The Fridays before Christmas and Mardi Gras are so coveted that people used to sleep in lawn chairs on the sidewalk to get a table. Since Katrina, the tables for those Fridays have been auctioned off at a minimum of $100 per seat, raising more than $630,000 for local charities since 2006.

This year’s recipients of the proceeds of the auction are Crimestoppers and Raintree Children and Family Services. I’m as excited to reduce crime in the city as the next citizen and, as readers of this blog know, I have a sweet spot for Raintree. Raintree offers a variety of services but specializes in foster care services and has a wonderful group home providing a haven for a dozen teenage girls who, after suffering separation from their family of origin, were unable to find a home in foster care. As we all spend the holidays with our families, my heart goes out to children who, after being abandoned or ripped from their homes for their own welfare, find no relief in foster families. What a lot to overcome everyday.

Mr. Ashton Avegno, the president of Raintree’s Board of Directors gave a great speech and truly puts his money where his mouth is, having adopted 7 special needs children along with his wife of 40 years, Royanne. Then, wonder woman Lana Duke shared a bit of her story. An amazing marketer, she has accumulated several Ruth’s Chris Steak Houses and is the co-owner of the Palace Truck Stop and Casino in NOLA. But, she started life as a foster child. I admire her greatly for all she has built for herself, for her many contributions to the community and for the stamina it takes to come from so little and become so much for so many.

The auction was like the ones my parents took me to as a child but with fancy hors d’oeuvres and plenty of champagne and cocktails. Some kind soul spent $800 for a 2-top table, a 4-top went for $1600, a 6-top for $2600, but the real cash flew for the 8 and 12 seat tables. I heard numbers like $5000! That’s before they spend one penny on the delicious food, beverage and service they will enjoy that Friday night before Christmas.

There were also some wonderful pieces generously donated by local artists, including one of my favorite’s, Louis Sahuc. All the photos on the Galatoire’s website were taken by Louis and are available for viewing (and sale) in his Reflections of Gal’s collection. I was privileged to spend much of my evening with him and his friends, including charmer Christine Breaux of Wedding Style Magazine, best known for her spectacular parties.

The tables have been auctioned and all those who won bids promise to have a legendary night, but you can still help the children of Raintree to have a wonderful Christmas. Make your tax deductible donation to this wonderful 85 year old institution here.