jazz fest.

Okay, I’m not one to over-romanticize things. (Wait, that’s a lie. I cry in my bathtub over books I’ve just finished and characters my imagination has turned into very real people. So scratch that.) What I mean is, I tend to look back on past events fairly realistically.

For example, I loved college, but I distinctly remember some really downright horrible, no good, very bad days. Therefore, I’m perfectly content in my life now. I’ve got no desire to go back to those three and a half years.

I guess you could say that my rose-colored glasses tend to sit in the back of my closet.

But the other day I listened to the Avett Brothers album, and I remembered: Jazz Fest was two weeks ago, and I am so not over it yet.

I’ve never been to an outdoor music festival like that before, so that could be part of my inability to let go.

That, and the little trip was part of an absolute whirlwind weekend. I feel like I didn’t have time to decompress. I didn’t get to gush about how good the food was, or the insane talent located in the gospel tent, or the fact that my calves were sore all weekend long from jumping up and down. (My brother definitely got all the family rhythm in his genes, but hey, even I can jump up and down on beat.)

Honestly, the whole experience was just so absolutely fabulous that I feel the need to tell all of you: Go. Go now. Go next year. Buy your tickets in advance; it doesn’t matter who’s playing. Just get in your car, and go.

I’d been begging and throwing hints at Jordan since our anniversary trip in January, and when out of the blue he said we should buy tickets, I thought he was joking. Turns out, he was serious, and I love him for it.

The trip was spontaneous and last minute and a little bit ridiculous: We had to be back home the next morning for my brother’s graduation, but we decided: If we can't do stuff like this now, when will we? 

Plus it turns out that the 2:30 a.m. arrival time and the 12 hours in the car were worth it.

We were packed in like sardines for Mumford & Sons, and they were so absolutely incredible that I forgave the scantily-clad girl behind me for not even knowing that the band is British. Poor thing. Maybe she was drunk.

Whatever their nationality, Mumford & Sons was, as Jordan put it, better live than on CD, which, if you have their CD, you know is saying something. Everyone was singing and jumping and playing air banjo, and it was amazing. And the Avett Brothers were energetic and fun and now I’m trying to convince Jordan how great he would look with a bandana tied around his head.

{See what I mean? Photo by Erika Goldring}

Maybe every outdoor music festival is like this. (In which case, what have I been doing my whole life?) Or maybe there's just something special about New Orleans and jazz music and perfectly sunny spring days and spicy cheese grits and people singing and dancing and just enjoying the moment. 

One of Jordan's coworkers said Jazz Fest was what he thought heaven might be like. 

He just might be right.