I saw a bumper sticker in California on a beater car that said, “The Meaning of Life is to Live It.” And I must say I buy into that philosophy hands down. Today, I had a stack of paperwork on my desk, I had phone calls to make up the wazoo, I had all sorts of reasons to just stay inside, bury my nose, and not look up. And then I received a note about a friend who is going through chemotherapy, who is not feeling well, who is peaked and having a hard time with the treatment and I said to myself, you know what, fuck all this stupid stuff on my desk and all the rest of it, life is for the living and today while I’m healthy, and feeling good, I’m taking my son out to hear some music at the French Quarter Festival and so we did, we ran to the Quarter, mother in law, nanny and child in tow to hear a zydeco band.
The musicians had their fiddles, their washboards, and their guitars and they were going for it by the Mint and Tin and I danced in front of the band and then we sat in the shade and had a bottle while the adults ate a crawfish eggroll. Then we took a long loop back to the truck and Tin projectile vomited into the Ergobaby where I was carrying him.
So with the smell of vomit all around me, we joyously waded through the crowds of the Quarter and were able to get home to have a nap for Tin, to address some of the priorities on my desk for me, and to wash all of our stinky clothes.
I love you stinky face and today we won’t remember it as a day where you upchucked on me, we’ll remember that we took advantage of an opportunity to get out and live life.