FAT TUESDAY
February 17, 2015
Fat Tuesday is one of my favorite celebrations. There's something about family feasting and laughter prior to 40 or so days of spiritual contemplation. And I love the color - GREEN GOLD PURPLE - you know the saints must go marching in when you see those colors in abundance.
I was in New Orleans for early mardi gras in February before Katrina. Parades, pageantry, silliness and music; oh the horns! At this time it was family fare, wet streets with a gentle hot rain, colorful umbrellas, beads forlorn in drain pool on glistening sidewalks. It was fun.
This day I'm near the heart of mardi gras. Mobile, Alabama is where it originated in the US. Many would dispute that but Greg, class of 1975 and Jackie, his vivacious bride, 15 years his junior, insist it's Mobile for Mardi Gras. Also for shells, Jackie scoffed at the idea of shells here on Santa Rosa beach. "Big shells, in Mobile, real shells!"
Sean, grinning bartender with spectacular charisma and drawl, has suggested I go to Destin to Bay City? for the Fat Tuesday festivities. Yet as I'm unaccompanied and a bit lazy about driving along 30A at night, I believe I'll create the meal of boiled shrimp, corn-on-the-cob, red potatoes and maybe deviled eggs for my new friend and I to share. Once she heads to her sweet casa of th royals, I will go to Great Southern for a cocktail and an hour of eaves dropping on the fun of strangers. It's how I know a place, this alert listening while watching ESPN basketball as we enter the month prior to March Madness selection.
And so I return to my original thought, the beauty of sunlight through a rose window in Santa Maria Minerva duomo is a place I return often when in contemplation of Higher Ideas and Good and Love.
Safely celebrate all the beauty you've known and maybe spend 40 days writing a gratitude or two on your mirror with a vis a vis each morning.
Grazi!!
I was in New Orleans for early mardi gras in February before Katrina. Parades, pageantry, silliness and music; oh the horns! At this time it was family fare, wet streets with a gentle hot rain, colorful umbrellas, beads forlorn in drain pool on glistening sidewalks. It was fun.
This day I'm near the heart of mardi gras. Mobile, Alabama is where it originated in the US. Many would dispute that but Greg, class of 1975 and Jackie, his vivacious bride, 15 years his junior, insist it's Mobile for Mardi Gras. Also for shells, Jackie scoffed at the idea of shells here on Santa Rosa beach. "Big shells, in Mobile, real shells!"
Sean, grinning bartender with spectacular charisma and drawl, has suggested I go to Destin to Bay City? for the Fat Tuesday festivities. Yet as I'm unaccompanied and a bit lazy about driving along 30A at night, I believe I'll create the meal of boiled shrimp, corn-on-the-cob, red potatoes and maybe deviled eggs for my new friend and I to share. Once she heads to her sweet casa of th royals, I will go to Great Southern for a cocktail and an hour of eaves dropping on the fun of strangers. It's how I know a place, this alert listening while watching ESPN basketball as we enter the month prior to March Madness selection.
And so I return to my original thought, the beauty of sunlight through a rose window in Santa Maria Minerva duomo is a place I return often when in contemplation of Higher Ideas and Good and Love.
Safely celebrate all the beauty you've known and maybe spend 40 days writing a gratitude or two on your mirror with a vis a vis each morning.
Grazi!!
Rose Window Santa Maria Minerva