“I wanta eat it, I wanta eat it, I wanta eat it, Juanita.”
This is an old classic song, old school. The vegetable truck peddlers used to sing it. Mr. Okra did. Do you remember Mr. Okra? I have not seen his truck in forever. His daughter took over the operation, she had already been in the business, but it has been years since I saw her anywhere where Mr. Okra traditionally went.
He sang into a loud speaker. You could barely understand a word he said. R.I.P.
It used to be, within my living memory, that, when Mr. Okra and the Roman Candy cart visited your neighborhood in the same day, you knew the rest of day was going to be A-okay. I cannot remember the last time someone experienced this lucky omen and had the best night ever.
Maybe the Mr. Okra truck is like the Roman Candy cart and it, nowadays, only parks in front of the zoo. Like the gremlin in the Family Circus, I dunno.
An elderly gentleman was singing the Juanita song to himself, and to anyone else with ears, whether they wanted to hear it or not, as he walked past my house just as I was leaving my front door. I had already heard him a block away while my front door was still closed and I was indoors.
Happiness loves company.
Only a churl would complain about the classics. It is a song about dinner, or, if you are from the Midwest, it is a song about supper, a good meal well-cooked and prepared with love, the way Mrs. King cooks for me.
The population of Amish residing in New Orleans is zero, unless they are teenagers getting rumspringa out of their system.
There is no farmland to speak of in New Orleans. We live off seafood and the kindness of strangers. Every day is good.
We live in a city built on top of miles and miles of mud. We get our sustenance despite relentless subsidence. The cream rises to the top. Nothing lasts forever but at least we will have good memories, which, really, is all New Orleans is made of.
New Orleanians know how to live life. We could almost be French. Je ne sais quoi. Life is what you make of it in this wonderful city we call home.
I will tell you the rest about this, but, give me a moment. I need to pull the curtain.