This is the 900th post on this blog. That's a lot of bytes.
With the amount of ink that's been spent trying to describe New Orleans, you would think the whole city would be referred to as Storyland. In fact, Storyland is a special nook in City Park dedicated to bringing children's stories to life, or at least to three dimensions. It is full of whimsical statues brightly painted. Today's photos were taken the other night during Celebration in the Oaks. There are twenty-five exhibits.
|Pinocchio atop the whale, a particular favorite of mine.|
Though I am 45 years old and have little patience for children (though that's changing the older I get), I have a fascination for toys and cartoonish things. I have no patience for Sponge Bob or whatever is popular now but, as someone who loves old things, I find a stroll through Storyland charming.
I may be crotchedy but I am also whimsical, subsisting on a steady diet of daydreams and poppycock (a word with very off-color Latin roots). I am an honorary citizen of the Land of Cockaigne, having spent many an idyll on Rock Candy Mountain.
Of particular interest to me was this frog. An exact replica of the one in the Ryan Playground in my beloved Dorchester, Mass. the biggest and best part of Boston.
I spent many a moment with this frog's Bay State twin. It was the only sculpture in the park, tucked away in a corner painted an identical shade of green. When I eventually move into my new home I hope to find two siblings to guard my front door. I will call them Patience and Fortitude in honor of a couple of lions I know.
Speaking of moving, there seems to be some kind of snafu (another word with off-color roots, these an acronym) at City Hall. I read about this in the paper a week or so ago, so I expected it. No one knows when the closing will take place because there is some trouble researching the deeds and conveyances. I'm told few things go smoothly in New Orleans unless you get involved with your City Councilperson. I don't know about that and I prefer to think things will work out for the best. After all, I'm a citizen of Cockaigne, expecting freshly baked pies to fall off of trees and fully cooked pigs running around with a knife in them, offering an easy slice of ham as they pass.