Laissez les bons temps rouler!!!

When there isn’t a myth that suits your needs, by all means create one. (Ellespeth)

Today is Mardi Gras. Where I live now, it’s simply Tuesday. There aren’t any throngs of people yelling and singing and waking me up at the crack of dawn because they decided not to go home the night before. No. That was the first 50 years of my life. And here I am now, in Silicon Valley…sitting in my living room thinking about how fantastic it would be if everyone, in Mountain View, put on a costume and pranced around down El Camino Avenue on Fat Tuesday. And kids would have their faces painted and eat unhealthy corn dogs on a stick and cotton candy. Adults would drink milk punch laced with brandy 🙂 How fun!

We made milk punch this afternoon and gumbo for supper and listened to the sound track from Cabaret. I made an old-fashioned banana cream pie for dessert.

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. The beginning of Lent.  40 days of sort of fasting.  I’m going to burn a smudge stick tomorrow and tap the ashes into a special bowl and smudge them across our foreheads and our palms. “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” (Genesis 3:19)

It’s not midnight yet though so…Laissez les bons temps rouler!!! (Let the good times roll!!)


Ash Wednesday – Fiction

This is my submission for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers this week.  It’s really nice to be back.

Thanks to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge and to Sonya for our photograph.  I’ll put the froggie on for you to read other submissions.

tombstoneAsh Wednesday

Daddy had been dead well over a year before I visited the family crypt in the Odd Fellows Cemetery. An urn, with his ashes, was centered within Cousin Lucy’s bones.

“Are you gonna come in with me?” I asked Buck.

“Aww Sissy. Come on now. You know I don’t even visit my own family’s crypt.” Buck was just sorta staring into nothingness.

It was February. Trees and earth barren and brown – waiting for spring. We’d driven up, from Bayou Teche, to spend Mardi Gras week with my family, and were hung over from celebrating.

I didn’t go inside either. I just peered into the death chamber. It was dusty, just like the bible says.

“I’m glad he’s close to Cousin Lucy,” I said. “And that an angel guards them.”

On the ground, just outside the crypt, Buck laid the cheerful daisy bouquet we’d brought. He put his arm round my waist and pulled me closer to him.

“I guess I don’t have to forgive him.”

“You don’t,” Buck replied.


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