Catharsis

Polimom is so glad New Orleans held Mardi Gras this year. If ever a town and its population deserved a break from unrelenting bad news, it’s NOLA – and get a break they did.
Is it smaller? Of course. Were there mixed feelings toward having it? Certainly. Is it wild, crazy, decadent, flamboyant? You bet! And is all of that raucous spirit a superficial mask? I don’t think so.
Polimom wanted to come for this year’s Mardi Gras more than any I can remember, and we certainly could have. It’s only time, after all – a coin to be spent as we choose. In the end, though, I decided not to. As strong as my support is for New Orleans, this seemed to me to be a year for locals; a chance to rail, satirize, lampoon, laugh, scream, and at long last, mourn.
So much loss, pain, anger, hostility – and in the six chaotic and frustrating months since Katrina, there’s been neither the time nor the emotional luxury to grieve. That does not, however, make this year’s Mardi Gras celebrations a funeral. Au contraire! The long-overdue release of emotion is a beginning.
No, the underlying sadness isn’t a masquerade, but a part of this most important year’s gestalt. The pain isn’t being covered, but integrated and embraced, acknowledged and finally accepted – so that people can finally begin to move on.
Catharsis.