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!!)


Tuesday Night at Dinner – Fiction

Here is my submission for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.  Thanks to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge.  Click the lil froggy for more stories.

This week’s photo prompt is provided by (free to use photos)


Tuesday Night at Dinner

I’d spent an hour out in the woods picking mushrooms to smother down with the evening’s chicken and onions. The supper looked marvelous – all laid out on the table with Wally’s knives. The knives had old cracked ivory handles. The taters were mashed to perfection. I was drinking cheap Spanish champagne. Wally was drinking Two Buck Chuck wine.

“Hazel! Look out there!” Wally exclaimed.

“Look at what, Sweetie Pie?” I asked.

“Who’s gone and decorated our god danged palm trees with lights the color of Mardi Gras?” Wally rushed to the window and pulled back a delicate lace panel. “Look at that Hazel!”

I still don’t know what got into Wally that night. I’d cleaned off the mushrooms.

Ellespeth 😛

The Krewe of Boudicca – Fiction

I’m late with my entry for the last Sunday prompt.  Out of my control but….here is my story for Sunday Photo Fiction week of 2/8.

Since it’s Mardi Gras week-end, I dedicate this to my family and friends in New Orleans 🙂

Boudicca – Celtic warrior queen who led a revolt against Roman occupation

 The Krewe of Boudicca

Claire, Queen of the Krewe of Boudicca this Mardi Gras, untied the purple silk ribbon and unrolled the piece of parchment paper.

Your Highness, the Court acknowledges the petition, of Mr. Jones, asking to become a member of the Krewe of Boudicca.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Harold.”  Claire dropped the petition onto the floor beside her throne.   “Is this going to be an every year thing with you?  This is a private club for women.  Only.”

“Listen to me Claire -” Harold began in his own defense.

“Shhh!”  Claire waved her wand in the air.  “Please address me through the proper channels,  Mr. Jones.”   She motioned to one of her pages.

A few moments later, the page approached Claire and whispered to her.

“Yes, Harold.  I shall put your name on my dance card.  And you’re right,” she smiled in his direction, “that’s the least I can do.”

Later that evening, in bed, Harold whispered to Claire.  “I didn’t know, when I put in my petition this year, that you’d be Queen.”


photo prompt Statue of Boudicca (Boadicea) in London, UK © Al Forbes

That Henderson County Mardi Gras- Fiction

I wrote this for this week’s   Friday Fictioneers led by Rochelle     A 100 word  (or so) story based on the photo prompt below.  Come join us!

That Henderson County Mardi Gras

Buck spent a long time designing a skeleton bust of Bacchus. Then, a group of us met several nights a week for weeks putting a paper mache personality onto the party god.  We festooned a Ford flatbed with LED lights.  By the time the bust was put on the flatbed, we had created a temple.

I costumed with  pink foam rubber curlers in my hair and fuzzy bunny slippers on my feet. “Sissy, you deserve a costume award for looking so beautiful in those slippers,” Buck teased.

That Mardi Gras, we drove through the streets throwing beads we’d hung from the crown of Bacchus.


photo prompt copyright claire fuller

Whifts of Home – Prose and Poem to be Title

When I moved out here (13 years ago),  from New Orleans,  50 years and pieces of life and memories of places and events came along with me.  One of those memories is this one…it goes with this song:

It was Mardi Gras day.  Even though all of us kids were grown and moved away from home, we still all lived in or near the French Quarter.  The custom was to gather at my parents’ place each Mardi Gras.  That was great.  We were still of the age where that meant good company AND FREE FOOD WITH MAYBE LEFT OVERS!

My parents lived in a rented raised Creole cottage.  They lived in the larger back area.  The people renting the front area were from California.  The husband had been one of the writers of Close Encounters of the Third Kind.  He was taking a sabbatical from movie stuff.  (Poor guy.  He agreed to read one of my most morbid – at that time – short stories.  Hahaha!  He was sweet and encouraging…I was probably in my early 30’s.)

When I arrived, that Mardi Gras, this song, Cabaret, was blaring into the street from speakers set in the window of the front rental.  About 100 ft away, at a corner – near Cafe Lafitte in Exile (a bar) – gay men were beginning to gather for the annual ballroom gown contest.

The wife stuck her head out of one of the open front windows and laughed and asked: “Isn’t this a great soundtrack for today?”

I was sad when they moved back to California.  They ‘seemed’  so different and interesting.  Now that I live out here, in California, I play this soundtrack every Mardi Gras.  It’s a memory…something I can maybe write a poem about….I’d have to be able to name the emotion this memory brings.



The World at Our Feet ( A Poem for Mardi Gras)

I posted this poem – on another blog a while back.  It seems I’ve never posted it on my blog.  Since it’s Mardi Gras in my New Orleans, I’ll post it again here.  It’s odd, living now in Silicon Valley, that people actually WORK on Mardi Gras.  I hope you enjoy this poem…

The World At Our Feet

Let’s have a party on our balcony.
Let’s invite the world.
Let’s show people
how to make fun
of politics, politicians,
and all those things
mother told us not to ever do.
Let’s laugh again
when we thought
we’d never stop crying.
Let’s do it wearing a tutu
or less.


I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight (A Poem)

I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight

Let’s go to
the Mardi Gras Ball
and masquerade.
I’ll wear a corset
and fish net stockings
and spiked heels.
You’ll wear leather
chaps with nothing underneath
and a black satin vest.
We’ll be masked against the world.
Scarlett and Rhett all grown up.
When we get home
you’ll tie me to our bed
and feed me chocolate pudding
with whipped cream.


**I’ll be submitting this to the Community Story Board’s Weekly Prompt for Erotica – more poems may follow this wee.k  Check out all the great posts at:**