When I was a wee lass in New Orleans, I would ask my daddy to take me to all the Mardi Gras parades that he could stand. It was so much fun, watching the trumpeting marching bands sashay in rhythm, catching beads and doubloons from the floats. The sights and sounds were incredible. There were day parades in the innocence of sunlight and candlelit parades at night. It all went down in New Orleans, where there is an eagerness to celebrate anything, including the last day before the Catholic season called Lent.
Lent is a grim time when one is supposed to give up favorite foods and drinks, ahem, and behave. So to make up for lost time, in advance of the 40 days and nights of deprivation, the revelers mask and costume, pretending they are someone else. This is a liberating notion, to carry on and act up while in disguise as a Hostess Twinkie, or Whistler's Mother. Whatever! Nobody has to know who you are, so it is a popular concept. The krewes of Mardi Gras always wear satin costumes and masks.
If I were to costume and parade around Alexandria, Virginia tomorrow, people might stare at me quizzically, frowning. But I guarantee that if I were magically back in New Orleans tomorrow, I would not merit a second glance.
As the French settlers declared back in the 1800's, Laisssez Les Bon Temps Rouler!
Let the good times roll, cher.
Let the good times roll, cher.
Your Imaginary Friend,
Patsie  |
| Mardi Gras Wreath on My Front Door |
No comments:
Post a Comment