Cathy and I took Henry and Annabelle to the French Quarter today to watch the climax of the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival; the Stella shouting contest.
Today was the perfect day–no humidity, no extreme heat–crisp air, a brilliantly sunny day–no clouds, blue sky–incredible day in NOLA. We looked at the street artists–we liked the mermaids–and had beignets at Cafe Du Monde. We climbed and played and got balloon animals and the kids had their faces painted. Henry was a wolf boy, Annabelle was a butterfly. Stella stood in a retro slip on the balcony of a Pontalba apartment while a group of aspiring Stanleys geared up to shout their hearts out and fall to their knees, all while tearing their shirts–just like Marlon Brando’s iconic scene in the movie.
Most of the contestants were guys who had too much to drink and happened to be walking by the contest, although one was a woman dressed as a pirate carrying a chihuahua. (It’s the end of pirate week in New Orleans.)
This is why I love New Orleans. I couldn’t help but wonder what the kids thought as they watched these grown-ups act out this scene. On the way home, they let me know: Henry started shouting Stella from his car seat and pretending to tear at his shirt.
I can’t stop laughing around here.
