“There's a Second Line funeral parade that's going to come down Poydras in about five minutes.” Most of us abandoned our computers and rushed to the corner. Sure enough, there were two feathered and bedecked figures leading a brass band and a funeral procession. Dancing and joy, down the main street of downtown New Orleans. The clutch of us circled the front of the parade with our pro cameras, and another dozen tourists took pictures with their small camera and their phones.
I felt the rush of joy and energy as I danced in the street. Then the funeral procession came by. My heart was open, and I felt the wallop of grief from the back half of the parade. This dancing is commemorating a death, and I teared up instantly. I had to turn into the parking lot behind me, where no one would see, and openly weep.
I am emotionally labile these days. Last night I reveled (how many mood swings can I fit into a single day?) in how the opening two scenes segued perfectly. I started to see the rough outline of my piece, with what remnants I could scour that were actually held still for more than 2 seconds. I did my interview and one musical piece on tripod, and everything from Tipitina's on Sunday was on sticks. There's a sweet clip of Bruce playing accordion with his third grade daughter, on guitar, with 10 usable seconds. Now though, I've been at it for 13 hours now, and I am starting to make significant errors. I'm trusting that my sleeping self will tell me how to fix all the problems with the piece by morning, and it'll be in some form resembling finished by the 4pm screening.