Just to balance out my cynical gloomfest over in IMHO, here’s a cheery, sappy thread about an incident it makes me happy to remember.
This past weekend, my wife and I took an anniversary trip to New Orleans. We are of the very strong opinion that New Orleans is not, and will never be, disposable. It is a touchstone for American culture that must be preserved at all costs. We love to spend time and money there.
Anyway, we were meandering down Royal, looking for a hat shop that my wife was fond of (no longer there. Katrina.) Suddenly, she looked down and said, “cool!” There on the sidewalk was a gigantic dragonfly. It was a gorgeous green darner, huge and sapphire-blue. I mean, this thing had eyes that looked like marbles, and its wingspan was wider than my outstretched hand. The scales on its thorax shimmered green and blue, and looked like medieval armor. Its body had to be 4 inches long.
Unfortunately, it was an old guy, and appeared to be very listless and probably dying. I reached down and touched a wing, whereupon it panicked a bit and tried to fly off. It only succeeded in flipping itself over on its back, legs in the air.
I’m a soft-hearted sort, and this was a magnificent dragonfly, so I naturally couldn’t just let it stay on the sidewalk to get squished by some witless passerby. Inspired, I brushed his upturned feet with my index finger, and sure enough, he grabbed (tightly, too. It was fairly surprising.)
I lifted him up, and he worked his way to the end of my finger, flexed his giant wings, faced into the wind, and sat there, content, like a hood ornament. My wife and I continued walking in the Quarter for quite some time, and let me tell you something: the French Quarter is a place filled with spectacles. Street performers, musicians, living statues, painters, oddities, weirdos, and fringe-dwellers abound. But the biggest attraction on Jackson Square last Saturday was me with my little dragonfly passenger.
We walked around Jackson Square. We walked down Royal. We came back down Chartres. I ordered a muffaletta at Central Grocery with the little guy perched on my finger. We sat there and ate it on the levee, enjoying the sandwich and an Abita. He still hung out there.
It started out when one lady we passed did a double-take, and asked, in wonder, “how did you do that?” Being filled with the magic of New Orleans (and being a bit mischievous,) I smiled and said, “It’s a secret.” She was thunderstruck. Pretty soon, rubberneckers started wondering what she was staring at, and after a few minutes, we had quite the crowd around us. Some folks even tried to tip, thinking I was a performer.
It was really delightful. All these singers and artists around, and all this French Quarter spectacle…and so many people were fascinated by this rather dopey guy from Alabama, walking around with a little bit of wild nature perched on his finger.
Now, I know and you know that it wasn’t magic. It was a grand old dragonfly passing his last few hours before dying. I eventually let him crawl off my finger onto an out-of-the-way oleander, out of the sight of any onlookers, so that he could die with a little bit of dignity.
Sappy and stupid? Sure. Did the insect ever feel any connection or gratitude to me? Nope.
But at least nobody mindlessly squished him on the sidewalk on Royal, which makes me feel better.