Have I ever mentioned that I LOVE jazz? I do. I always have. I just get it.

For a period of time, my mother worked as a secretary for a landscaping firm. It was owned by two business partners, both were kind and intelligent men; one of them, an architect and savvy engineer, was particularly generous and warm. He and his wife, a school counselor with her Master’s degree, blossomed a great friendship with my parents and they often hung out together outside of the professional realm. On Friday nights, the whole (small) office team and a few friends would go out after work. And every Friday night they would talk about going to breakfast at Brennan’s in New Orleans- where they would enjoy a five course meal including eye-openers served by waiters in tuxedos. However, there was always someone that for whatever reason couldn’t do it so, they would just scrap the idea, until the following week. On a particular Friday in February of 1977, the subject came up and went around the table as usual, except this time everyone said they could go. For a second they all looked around at each other kind of stunned, wondering if they were really going to do it… Six out of the eight said they would. So, one of them quickly booked the red-eye and off they went- home to pack in a rush and meet back up at the airport. Once on the plane, they realized that not a one of them had any major cash to pool (banks weren’t open on weekends and ATM’s weren’t a thing), until my mom looked in her purse and realized she hadn’t made the bank deposit that day, giving them a few hundred in petty cash. They were all such a jovial group, that I can just feel the joy and almost hear the laughter when my mom tells the story how it all just worked out. I love it when she describes her craving for the fried oysters that she could smell from the open bars as they walked around the city… The jazz music they took in at the Preservation Hall… And the snowflakes that dusted New Orleans in a record-breaking cold winter. Of course, they were all dressed in their Michigan clothes, so that didn’t bother them either. Unexpectedly, Brennan’s was full with a convention, but they were assured that Court of Two Sisters would be a comparable breakfast- and it did not disappoint. Drinks were bloody Mary’s, mimosas, or screw drivers, etc., and they feasted on fresh baked breads, coffee, an appetizer of baked apple with cream, an entrée of Eggs Benedict and ended the breakfast with Bananas Foster flambé…

I love that story- of close friends flying out on whim to eat breakfast in New Orleans. And I take a little pride in knowing that I was there too… albeit in my mother’s womb. (Obviously, that is where I inherently fell in love with jazz… and possibly food.)

That same man and his wife, not able to have children of their own, would ask my parents if they could be godparents to me and later my sister. And through the years they were very good to my sister and me. They would take us to the theatre at The Fox, the Fisher, The Gem, and to see the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. I was enamored with their Frank Lloyd Wright inspired home, their art collection, and the Shirley Temples my godfather would serve me with my very own cocktail napkin. I’d listen to their stories, their records, and imagine them dancing the Jitterbug. I can safely credit them with my love of the arts (and so much more).

My godfather passed away before I graduated from high school, but my godmother passed away very recently. As an homage, my sister and I were given several pieces of their art collection and I now lovingly own much of their record collection…

So, please excuse my absence… as I reflect on their memory and love of life, listen to great music and tell their story to my children. …And who knows, maybe I’ll even fit in an impromptu flight to New Orleans. 😉