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.
Then Lent.
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