The French Market & a Cool Little Story

Last Sunday morning we were at the French Market, shopping, people watching, taking photographs.
 
Lots of food.

 Jewelry.

Artists.

Face painting.

It was raining, so lots of people took shelter there to wait until it cleared up.

Then a band came down the center aisle.




An older man danced with a younger woman .


It turns out she was his daughter, and they’d set up a chair for him near one of the posts. The band stopped there and played as if they were playing just for him.
The EGE was taking photos (getting some excellent hand shots for me to use in some projects),

and he was talking to the man when the musicians quit playing and came over and they all went nuts:  it turns out the daughter had arranged for her dad to be there. He’d been in the service with the musicians’ dad (they really were brothers, as least some of them) and the dads had fought together in WWII. So he had known the boys when they were growing up—he’d first heard them play together 40 years ago.


 Much hugging and touching and cheek kissing—that’s one of the many things I love about New Orleans—cheek kissing, even with men sometimes. Lots of affectionate patting and touching and hugging.
The whole thing just made me happy, and I heard the daughter  tell the guys how happy they’d made her dad.
It was great.