And so the last of the nighttime parades have rolled, the penultimate spectacle. The frazzled groggy kids have been tucked into bed. Tomorrow morning: up early, snacks and bevies packed, out of the house by 7:30,1 on bicycles, through the neighborhood, over to catch Zulu — one of my favoritest of all parades — as they roll down Jackson Ave. at 8:00. Then over for a bit of Rex. And then who knows where. Hopefully catch some Indians somewhere. And then, by early afternoon, everyone is stick-a-fork-in-me done, and things shift into low gear: gather at a house, low-impact socializing, nourishing, rehydrating. And eventually home, to collapse, veg out. A scrounged together evening meal. Then much needed sleep.
1 Well, we're usually running a bit late, but Zulu is usually running later. And then they always break down. So even if we miss the first couple of floats, we still get to spend most of the morning with them as they draggle by.