Beads, Beads and More Beads
Notes from Muses Bead Order Night
Muses Bead Order Night -I enjoy this evening each year. In a few hours, the deadline will arrive for Krewe of Muses members to submit orders for beads and various other “throws” to toss from their floats in next year’s Muses Mardi Gras parade in New Orleans.
My wife, Lisa, a “riding member” of Muses, enjoys this task and is particular about it the manner a toddler at the beach might tediously arrange a collection of seashells in just the prettiest way. This order form is not for cheap, generic Mardi Gras beads, the kind you are thrown at every parade; this is for krewe-specific items that must be ordered months in advance. These throws will have the Muses logo on them and some will be designed to illustrate the theme of the parade. The grand total at the bottom of the order sheet, which must be paid tonight, will not be a matter for those who are behind in taking their heart medication.
The collecting of Mardi Gras throws for the next parade won’t stop tonight. Once krewe-specific throws have been ordered, consideration of supplemental goodies begins. Lisa tends to develop her own themes for her rides. One year, she was to ride in the Mama Duck float. For months before her ride, she scoured the Internet for every available type of rubber duck. She bought hundreds of them, including the rare, light-up Duck on a Stick. During her ride, she yelled, “Duck on a stick! Who wants Duck on a Stick?” Everyone did, with all their hearts.
About a month before a parade, Bead Distribution Day arrives – we drive to some far-flung warehouse in New Orleans and pickup everything Lisa ordered. It’s one of my favorite days of the year. Lisa goes through every box in her order, making sure nothing is missing. We buy extra Muses merchandise there, just in case. We visit Beads by the Dozen to buy bags and bags of generic beads and feather boas in multiple colors – you can never have too many. The right way to ride on a Mardi Gras float is to “throw ‘til your arm hurts.” The more a rider throws, the more satisfying the experience. You reap what you sow.
Popular Muses throws, such as their light-up rings, show up on the list every year, usually in colors different from the previous year. New items designed by a Muses leadership committee are the ones everyone is anxious to see. Lisa studies pictures of everything available and decides which ones she wants and how many of each. It is deadly serious business, with many a bitten lip and in-depth discussion of what would be too few or too many; costs matters, but not as much as it should. Oh, the decisions. The fate of the whole parade, nay, Mardi Gras itself, hangs from a string of plastic beads. The irony of my delight in being all-in with this absurd, extravagant affair – the irresponsibility of it all – makes it all the more fun. On the surface, the whole thing is indefensible. In heart and soul, it is priceless.
I provide advice about which throws are popular from the perspective of paradegoers on the street. I mansplain about how best to distribute beads during a parade, which gets me peered at in disbelief from over Lisa’s glasses. She is, after all, a seasoned pro. I am not.
From tonight’s session . . .
Lisa: “You think I should get two gross of these ________ (super secret) throws?”
Me: “Two gross?”
Lisa: Giggles start small and ramp up.
And,
Lisa: “I’m cutting back on all these and adding a lot more of those and supplementing with these.”
Five minutes later:
“I’ve changed my mind.”
On and on. Adjustments. Subtotals. Readjustments. Studying drawings of the floats. Reliving past parades. Caring a lot about the people who come to see parades. Remembering the faces behind all those outstretched hands. And, finally, going over budget in a ridiculous celebration of beauty, life and love.
Guy D. Johnson is a writer and marketing communications professional. Previously an animation studio owner, daily newspaper editor, reporter and photographer, volunteer fireman, railroad bridge gang helper, FM radio station underling and cave guide. He has lived on farmland trusted to the sun and rain; atop a wooded hill; beside great rivers; upon an arid, high plateau; and at the subtropical coast of the Gulf of Mexico. For 20 years, he worked and wrote in New Orleans.