Where you left your heart
I can't write what's in my heart about Mardi Gras. It makes me too proud, and it hurts too much.
Besides, it's already been done better.
Editor B explains that it's a lot bigger than the chestbaring boozefest you see on TV.
The Krewe du Vieux parade says it all to me... check out B's post about it, and he points to a great pic at The Third Battle Of New Orleans.
And Robert Tallant said it pretty well in 1948 too.
Bill Joyce put it in a picture instead of words, but since the White House Press Corps got its knickers in a twist, you have to go there to see it.
The Post kind of gets it, God bless them, and they represent the spread of the loss too.
Public radio gets it too, from Morning Edition's story about Lundi Gras to Weekend America's painful soundscape of New Orleans.
Maybe the message is just that I hate, hate, hate, hate TV news.
Leave it here, cher: none of these Yankee Puritans with their incredulous tones on CNN or ABC can come to my Irish wake either. (Because that's a likely problem.) If you don't know why community ritual is vital to healing, well, hell Jed, I don't even want to know you.
(Which is not to say that I don't understand the people who don't have it in them to participate. I do. I hope that, if it hurts too much this year, it won't next year. And if you never do come back, I sincerely wish for you that it doesn't hurt to watch it from afar.)