Well, I didn't feel like posting a blog moaning, groaning, crying, praying, shouting, celebrating, chortling, crowing, or even frothing at the mouth today. I wanted to say not one word about how I felt about the events of yesterday.
Yet I wanted to publish something, and so I went in search of a topic. I found one!
I know Halloween is over, but Slate's post of two days ago (which I just read this morning) describing Halloween in New Orleans, reminded me of when I lived there in the mid 70's. I have a neat story to share with you.
I was playing a lot of duplicate bridge at the time ... was, in fact, doing a whole lot of things besides working for a living ... and one of my favorite bridge partners was a fellow who lived in the French Quarter. It is he who told me this story, actually. It's about him.
It seems that this one morning he woke up, belatedly realized it was Halloween and he didn't have a thing to wear! (Now this might sound utterly ridiculous to some of you who have never known a native New Orleanian. Read Slate's post to get even more of the background.) He thought, "Oh my God, I won't be able to leave the house. I'm a disgrace!"
And so, in a frantic search for a costume (he wouldn't be 'caught dead' on Halloween without a getup of some sort) he came across his almost long-forgotten grandfather's long flannel nightie with matching 'cap'.
He grabbed a toothbrush, donned his favorite slippers, and out he proudly went!