Mardis Gras

When I walked down to do my Tai Chi on the deck this morning, I was stopped in my tracks by an astonishing sight:  there was a light mist of rain just barely apparent in the air, and the golden light of a sunrise peeking under clouds to the east, and to the west a huge rainbow, spread out in a tall arc in the sky, disappearing behind the houses west of the condo.  I hurried back inside, grabbed my phone, but by the time I had returned this magical but evanescent rainbow has completely disappeared.  It had instead begun to rain harder, so I was content to go through the familiar forms under the protection of the building.

We are exactly one week away from the half marathon now, so the plan today was to run five or six miles at an easy pace.  Martha ran six miles, finishing up on the beach at low tide.  I decided to do a traditional workout I like to do one week before a distance race, five miles at projected race pace.  The stiffness I had felt on Thursday was still there in my right leg, but with each mile it faded more and more (I had decided to stop and walk if it did not diminish) and I ended with an average of 10:47, which was just perfect, good enough for a 2:21:00 marathon.  But of course I realize I cannot sustain such a pace these days and would be happy at this point merely to finish.

After lunch in the condo, we drove to Beaufort.  I know that Mardi Gras was on February 13, almost two weeks ago, but Beaufort celebrates Fat Tuesday on the last Saturday in February with "Mardis Gras on Middle Lane."  We sampled some local jambalaya and gumbo and enjoyed listening to the mellow sounds of Blue Moon Jazz.

The parade down Middle Lane began at 3:00 p.m. and incorporated all of those New Orleans features but with a Pirate twist.  The trumpet player from Blue Moon Jazz had left the stage and was marching in the parade playing "When the Saints Go Marching In."  And this Blackbeard led the way, cracking a frightening bull whip loudly as he walked along. 

Then came the scary, painted faces of the "dead," handing out beads and wearing outrageous flowered hats.

And the towering giants, head and shoulders above the onlookers, high-fiving children along the way, turning this way and that.

And we remembered this motorized little guy from last year, scooting along with a natty hat upon his skull.

The parade ended, and a new band began setting up on the stage, The Wicked Mojos, whom we also remembered from last year.  The lead singer could really belt out those Delta blues, and the lead guitarist with his scorching hot licks could match Stevie Ray any day.  He used three guitars, each of them set up differently (one for a pick, one for a slide, and one for a unique fingering style without any pick).  We stayed until nearly 6:00 p.m. watching children and adults alike dancing and celebrating.

So this was the first day of the rest of my 69th year.  And 40 days of Lent.