The Legs of Ballies Post #14

As I have said in some of my earlier posts, it didn’t take long living in Mobile for the locals to tell me about Mardi Gras; perhaps a few hours. Along with hearing about the parades, were stories of the balls, a concept that seemed so foreign to my Yankee experience. Perhaps that is because, during ‘Ball’ season (otherwise known as Mardi Gras) here, is hibernation season in the colder climates. The cold weather in the north drives people in doors for months on end. There are occasional balls in Upstate New York, but they are typically large fundraisers and cost about $250 a person, and I guarantee, they are no where close to being as fun as a Mardi Gras ball! As a matter of fact, I’ve heard they are quite ‘stiff’.

In Mobile, however, the balls encompass all that life has to offer, such as gaudy, glittery, blingy clothing and jewelry, royalty, all wrapped around the theme that each society chooses for that years parade and ball. And this is regardless of the size of the ‘Ballies’. Ballies is a name I made up for anyone who goes to the balls, be they a society member in costume, or a guest in formal wear, male or female.

Each ball has it’s ‘call-outs’/tableau where members of the Mardi Gras society, in full costume, are debuted to the non-member Ballies. These societies hold monthly meetings and have parties, dinners and events throughout the year, however, they live for their parade and ball – which are on the same night if it is a parading society. The first time we experienced the ball call-outs, it reminded me more of a Broadway production, only the actors were everyday people whom we live and work among. That’s what is so fascinating in Mardi Gras – is the fact that nearly everyone can have a shining moment! Their fat day in the sun!

Speaking of fat, there is something else I noticed about these parades, balls, and call-outs! It doesn't matter what size a person is, women are privy to wearing a skimpy costume just like anyone else, be it a Vegas showgirl style, or circus trapeze body suit. You see, in the north, overweight woman who dare to show their thighs, arms, or legs in public, are often the brunt of dirty looks, rude comments, and even laughing and jeering. I’m not necessarily a fat woman, but I don’t fall on the skinny side either. In New York, my legs -–which look more like hams – should they dare to don a mini skirt and take a stroll down the street, would more than likely be followed by a string of off-handed comments and jokes.

Not in Mobile, or at least, not during Mardi Gras! You could be 500 pounds and southern men will still open the door and smile at you, making you think you could compete with Sandra Bullock in Miss. Congeniality! It was at our 2nd ball, an extremely large one, when I got looking around at all the woman in costume and noticed something. Their legs! Lots of legs walking, dancing, and shaking around! These women know how to ‘shake a leg’! And some of these legs certainly shake more than others! There are short legs, long legs, thick legs, thin legs, jello legs, chicken legs, bull dog legs, thumb legs, pinky legs, pinky toe legs, and even big toe legs! Some are dimply, some are plain! Some are veiny, and some are smooth. Some are pasty, some wear fake tans! Society Ballie legs don short skirts, go-go boots, high heals, sparkles, bling, and any other outlandish thing one can think of! And all of these legs dance! They dance alone on stage as they make their call-outs debut! They dance in groups, they dance nice, some dance naughty! They dance gracefully, and some not so gracefully! The bottom line is, these legs dance! Fat, skinny, short, tall, straight or bent, they all dance!

I think of the years that my very own legs have held me hostage! These legs talk to me constantly, whispering instructions in my ears! “No skirts higher than just above the knees!” “Definitely must wear a swim suit cover!” “Be sure to choose clothing that minimizes the upper thighs!” “Uhhhh!! Knee fat!!” “Geez! Boney ankles!” “Crap! More Cellulite!” “Uh Oh! Call Dr. Michael Lyons - 911! Must get lipo!!! Now!” These legs are quite the talkers, they are. But here in Mobile, particularly at the balls, my legs have met many new legs! The new legs talk much, much louder than mine! They sing leg songs to my legs like, “These legs are made for dancing! And that’s just what they’ll do! These legs will just keep dancing, as long as they are able to!"

At some point, we will visit New York again. And you can bet, my legs will dictate much of what I wear and how I behave. However, the older I get, the more I realize how short life really is. I think of the many years of dancing my legs have missed, simply because they were too embarrassed to be seen. I think of my leg’s new Mardi Gras leg friends and of all the years they have danced, paraded, showed themselves off, right up to the butts! Various sized and shaped legs waving various sized and shaped butts in the air, as though they are flying flags of freedom! And perhaps they are!

But life is too short to allow my legs to tell me how to live! We’ve all heard the saying, “Dance like no one is watching!” I think of all the legs' Ballie's and how brave they are to don them regardless of their shape and size. I marvel at the fun they are having, that which I, like many northerners, have never allowed myself to have. The cost of dignity is a high price when one becomes the brunt of rudeness for wearing shorts on a roasting, hot, day simply because he/she is overweight. Or when people won’t dance simply because they fear they won’t look good. Today, I make myself a promise! When life hand me an opportunity to dance, these hams are gonna dance!

A Dream of Parades Post #13

I’m lying in bed in that paralyzed state when you can see, smell, feel, and hear everything you are dreaming about. I’m convinced that, it is in this state of consciousness that many believe they have been abducted by aliens, simply because the dreams can seem so real. I’ve had many dreams in this state over the years. Some are just about ordinary days and what I would be hearing if I was napping in the middle of the day, perhaps on the couch. Yet in reality, no one is around to make those ordinary sounds. Other times I am being chased, or hear some type of very strong buzzing or mechanical sound and I feel heavy vibrations, as though someone were using a power saw on the bed I am laying on. This night, and many since, I have had this new, recurring dream where I cannot tell dream from reality.

As soon as I close my eyes, there are moonpies and beads flying through the air. Then there are stuffed animals, plastic cups, and “Ouch! Damn! That one hurt!” That, was a bag of beads! “Darn it! That wad of beads hit me right in the eye!” Thoughts would run through my head, like, “”Excuse me! Sir, I’m not the batter-up in the Yankees series and, You Sir, are not the Red Sox pitcher!” A northerner may respond to my having these dreams by saying, “Hmmm! What kind of male issues do you have, Mary?” A native Mobilian would say, “Those are no dreams, Silly!! You are at a Mardi Gras parade!” And if I were to have to choose sides, I’d say the north would be wrong and the south would be half-right.

The northerners would get it wrong because most of them have been to the same parades I have – or to the likes of them. There may be a few things thrown and it is the children who catch them. So little is thrown in fact, that most kids don't catch anything. Something you rarely see in the north, or perhaps any parades besides Mobile and New Orleans, are grown adults screaming for beads – or anything for that matter! In the north, if an adult did that at a parade there would be three reasons.

First, a personality disorder and/or no brain filter that tells them to conform or they will look like idiots! Second, they have no money and the only way they can provide toys for their kids is to bogart the extremely few candies and toys that are scantily thrown at the parades. Third, the person is simply a cheap-ass! They can afford the toys and they have no personality disorder but are too cheap to buy them. They will run down little children, and snuff the life out of very small pets, such as Chihuahuas, that may be in their path just to get the stinkin’ toys! They are often the ones hauled off in hand-cuffs or on a stretcher because someone beat the crap out of them for killing their little doggy, or simply out of secret envy that they, themselves, had not gotten the toy.

So, basically, I was brainwashed to believe that it is socially unacceptable to catch anything from a parade, unless it came right to me and then I must immediately hand it to a nearby kid. In the north, that is the protocol! As far as I knew, it was stupid to scream, howl, yell, raise up your arms, and beg for things at a parade! That was all there was to it!

At our first Mardi Gras parade, I marveled that people of every age stand on the sidelines with their arms in the air screaming for throws! At the first one, I was just too embarrassed to do it! At least until one of the riders apparently spotted me and said to himself, “Now that there is a Yankee if I’d ever seen one! Now, we’re going to teach her how to go to a parade!” That was when I got hit in the head with a bag of beads! I looked up to see the masked man looking straight at me, as though to say, “Yes! You, grown-up Yankee!” I then picked up the bag and happily tucked it under my arm, only to have a wad of beads land on my head, draped down my face! It was then that I realized that, to not have my arms up, could be a hazard to my health.

The parade kept rolling and it took about three floats to figure out why everyone carried bags with them. They were being stuffed as quickly as throws were being caught, but we were dropping our moonpies, beads, cups, fresh peanuts, stuffed animals and toys all over the ground until sympathetic natives gave us a few bags. At home we dumped the beads in the dining room and hundreds moonpies in the kitchen. We decided to continue piling the beads all season just to see how big the pile would get. After coming from Weenie-Parade-Land of the North, we were in shock of how much everyone could catch!

As the season went on, our pile grew and people compared notes on facebook as to how much they were getting.

The most ironic thing about detoxing from Weenie-Parade-Land of the north is, not only the huge amount of stuff thrown, but the adrenaline rush that one gets from catching it! Even when I'm exhausted and would prefer to stay home, I can barely resist a parade, just for the rush of catching the throws.

What I hadn’t anticipated, however, was that the parades would show up in my own bedroom, in the middle of the night, in my dreams; tossing beads and various throws at me while I was trying to sleep. Night after night last year, throughout the Mardi Gras season, and for a couple weeks after, as plain as day, I would see beads and moon pies flying through the night air, often hitting me, as I was falling asleep, and later, in my alien-abductable state. I had forgotten about those dreams! At least until they started again last week after going to the first few parades this year. And I often must ask myself during those nights, “Is this just a dream or am I really at a parade?”

Where is The Parade? Post #12

Last night we went to yet, another parade. We had gone to Serdas, my favorite coffee shop, where the parade would pass by their door. It was mildly chilly, which is why we opted to buy coffee in exchange for a warm place to wait. It wasn't long ago, only two years, that my winters were spent in a suspended state of automation while I barely left the house, waiting out the cold temperatures and snow. Those were years of waiting and wondering if my parade would ever arrive.

          I thought back to my first Mardi Gras parade.  It was in the 50’s and somewhat windy. It was my first winter in the south so I kept telling myself, “You are NOT cold!” We showed up an hour early to claim our spot. I had heard about the traffic and parking and was determined to find a strategy – which I did eventually – to bypass all that. We stood waiting, noticing, for the first time, the sounds and smells that are only experienced during Mardi Gras, while we chatted happily, as most Mobilians do, with all of our new best friends that we just met there, as they shared with us their own perspectives on Mardi Gras.

         The parade was to start at 6:30. At 6:00 the first teaser came as police cruisers rode the route, lights on, sirens wailing. Shining, new tow trucks passed by carrying cars that were parked in the “No parking 2 hours before or 2 hours after a parade” zones. Then the proverbial dog showed up – McGruff, who rides in a police cruiser with the Youth Police Corps traveling behind. We discovered at a later parade that when this crew hits Bienville Square, McGruff gets out, along with all these teens in their police uniforms, and dance while the crowds go nuts!  

       6:45, 7:00, 7:15, 7:30, Still, no parade!! Coming from the north, where life is lived in fast forward, I could not fathom why they would say a parade starts at 6:30 and then make everyone wait. I was amazed that people did not get angry and go home. At 7:30, more people began arriving. “Good thing it’s starting late! They would have missed it! I thought! Still, in spite of the delay, the happiness of the crowd did not waver and nobody else seemed annoyed. After all, this is the south and they have learned the art of enjoying life as if on Quaalude. I have never seen people whose lives are so full of wonderful, cultural activities, yet they move in slow motion and don’t seem rushed or harried. It was nearly 8:00 p.m. when the parade finally arrived but it wasn’t until later that I figured out why that one, and every one since, are late.

          The reality is, the parades are not starting late. As a matter of fact, they start right on time. However, the route is soooo long that  The parade is not late, it is going on somewhere!   Two days prior to that day in the coffee shop,  my son and I were at another parade. The city was jam-packed and we were pretty early on in the route. When the it was over, we stayed put and waited for the crowds to die down for about 20 minutes, then went to our car and sat another 10 or 15 minutes waiting for the cars to clear. We decided to grab something to eat and drove to Bienville Square and parked. We walked a few blocks to Joe Cain’s Grill and ordered a pizza. It was crowded but there was a lot of excitement so we didn’t mind the long wait.

          Our food came after about 30 minutes and we ate it there. Afterward, we walked the three blocks to the car and headed home. When we got to Government Street, nearly one and a half hours after the parade had ended (or so we thought) we ran into the beginning of the parade, that was just hitting that spot. I knew the route was long, but had not realized, how long, until that day!

          I thought about my life before moving south. I had always known I didn’t belong in the north, though I have many loved ones there. It seemed that just as life would get going, winter would come and chase me back into the house for another 6 months and everything else was put on hold. When I worked outside the home, I remember huddling in my office with an electric heater, feeling the cold breezes from the windows and dreading the 1.5 mile drive home. I thought of the many nights laying awake and thinking about a warmer place where I would be better suited.

Never having been to Mobile, or even having a clue there was actually a city that did the things I thought I had created in my mind (balls, beautiful galas and events with excuses to dress up), it was only fate that brought me here. Or perhaps some cosmic matchmaker took my interests and personality and matched me to Mobile. So now, whenever I am waiting for a parade I think back to those years of waiting and wondering if I would ever be in a place that I could call home. I realize now, the parade was not late! The parade was going on somewhere! It had just not gotten to me yet! Or perhaps I hadn’t gotten to it!