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La Naissance de Belle Brock
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Luckily my lovely wife was less pregnant than in September of ’02, with four months still to go. Anxious to avoid hurricane season, our exact, laser-like family planning honed in on carnival season instead. Belle Brock, sister to Russell Skipworth (Noah) fell into earth on February 10th, and has a lifetime of parade-side B-day party possibilities. On the night of her birth, her powerful mom was drug-free as a Whole Foods cow, and as serenely focused as a Hindu one. So Belle’s got some catching up to do.
Her first party was at the Saturn Bar on its grand re-opening celebration, which featured readers from a hot trendy (and excellent) post-K anthology from which her awesome dad read. She was six days old and, like the book, well received. She wore her mom beautifully. Two weeks later she was inducted into the order of Les Enfants du Nod—the eccentric Marigny carnival krewe made up of infants, toddlers and their attendants. She came into the krewe at the rank of Princess, due to the pull of her brother, Prince Russell. Not yet upright enough to wave from a sedan chair, she was carried by attendants the length of the parade route. But she wore her first crown (even if she doesn’t remember). Other than the crown, she was dressed as a red bean. Prince Russell was the rice—Mahatma. Fitting, since the fine royal mom sometimes resembles the icon on the Water Maid bag.
Then Belle’s first Mardi Gras, her first tour of the French Quarter on its finest day, came and went (she was a carrot).
But she had yet to be officially bestowed with her Hebrew name. She wasn’t a hurricane baby, but a carnival one—it had to be Esther, and she had to be named on the feast day devoted to her namesake, Purim, aka Jewish Carnival.
The theme of Touro Synagogue’s 2006 purim celebration was “Survivor New Orleans.” A skit lambasting FEMA, etc, congregants dressed in beach party clothes, cabana wear. We rattled the noisemakers and blew the horns when they said Haman, then proceeded to the reception to imbibe a brand new grog—Belle’s Bourbon Punch—in compliance with the injunction to get so drunk that you can’t tell Haman from Mordecai (the good guy).
Since then, Belle’s been resting up. Lying around and getting fat on mommy milk. But looking at everything, soaking it up. Being gorgeous, like her name says, and like her hometown. She also throws up a lot. But smiles big, even then.
C.W. Cannnon is a regular contributor to NOLAFugees.com
photos courtesy the author.
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