When the Saints Go Marching In

What a beautiful week it has been, weatherwise and otherwise. And, we experienced the most captivating (literally) St Patrick's Day parade ever. In the Garden District of New Orleans on Saturday, it started with a Mass at St Mary's Assumption and then, Micks and Wannabes (I can say that because I'm a "Mick") in morning coats and floats as outrageous as those for Mardi Gras started from Jackson & Magazine and walked in a square down St Charles and back up Magazine to end at Jackson & Magazine, effectively boxing in any car which happened to be within those couple of square miles of blocks for hours.

Brenda had let the cat out of the bag in her e-message to our loyal followers, about our taking the City of New Orleans from Chicago to New Orleans. I don't like to talk about where and when we plan to be away from home until after we have returned and of course, you know that he-who-shall-not-be-named just doesn't like the attention. There is a website which had been tut-tutting the constant updating of one's whereabouts. I agree with the espoused concept that the wrong people can end up knowing where you are and where you are not when you "overshare."

Tony & Beth Fiorini's visit coincided and excitedly, they got in touch. We spent most of Saturday night sending text messages to each other. Rather, Larry's phone kept beeping the "you got mail" beep and he kept handing it over to me to do something. I swear, "texting" is going to ruin language as we know it, simply because it takes too darn long to find letters (let's not talk about capital letters) and punctuation, and to write out, "Music is just so-so here and anyhow, by the time you arrive, the set will be over, so don't come here. Where are you now?" The message gets reduced to "no where r u." I figured, though, that in this case "texting" was the best means of communications, so as not to disturb the music audiences and still be "heard."