Today's weather is an anomaly everyone in this city who notices "holidays" will note. Personally, I couldn't tell you what the weather was last St. Patrick's Day, but Mardi Gras, that floating holiday based on the planets' revolutions/rotations, was kill-me-now cold.
All the brandy from all the snow-rescue St. Bernard dogs in the world couldn't get me even to leave the house last year. Les Mardis Grasses (yup, there is a grass especially pour le carnival, and I have lost all French language ability) of 2001, 2002, etc., were cold.
They proved what a wimp I am, as other women only slightly younger paraded around in wind-chill teens with bare legs, bare heads, skin everywhere and not even chapped. What were they worshipping, I wonder, to escape so unscathed?
Kay Barnes came to the festivities once, which was disconcerting. She was wearing clothes and left before the sun set.
Today this northern place is breathing a muggy undertone much like I remember New Orleans on St. Patrick's Day. March in Louisiana is balmy. I salute the blue tarps as the cruise ship evacuees are kicked off their boats and toxic waste is every-freaking-where.
I'd show you my bead-getters, but you can't send me beads over the Web. I'm wearing too many clothes, anyhow, for that to work, par d'habitude.
Good times? You rollin' yet?