My friend Amy wrote a few days ago: “It’s my 2 favorite times of year, the bookends of Mardi Gras and Lent. King Cake and ashes. Shouting and silence. Decadence and penitence…”
And also, this post, which I share this every year, because every year it’s still true:
“I imagine myself in life, how I must appear to God, like that street. The aftermath of Mardi Gras knocking on the door to church on Wednesday morning. I’m (metaphorically, of course) sloshing beer and dripping gumbo all over the place, dragging a string of broken beads caught on my shoe, dressed in an Oyster outfit, fat off of King Cake, momentarily sidetracked by tiny little ponies and fire blowers. And God opens the door, and I see him, then I see me. Then I see him, then I see me. And I’m like, Maybe I should wash my hands.”
Post: Love. Trash. Mardi Gras.