Today, in addition to being Jane’s birthday, it is also Mardi Gras. While marking the beginning of Lent, Mardi Gras is also a last hurrah. This year it falls in the middle of February. Traditionally, before the advent of modern 24-hour shopping centers, food stocks have waned by now. The Catholic church introduced Lent to paper over this seasonal time of hunger. Offering your suffering up as penance to God.
Before we cinch that belt though, let’s party one more time. New Orleans is carnival central here in America, but Saint Louis like to chime in too. Soulard is our French quarter, where crowds convene to celebrate. Back in the day, we would bicycle downtown to watch the parade. Parking was impossible. Revelers were all about. We are more laidback now. Tonight, we will meet for dinner with some of our old bike buddies and party one more time.
We met for dinner at Massa’s, an Italian restaurant and first impressions aside, what with this tarted up bit of art that first greeted us, also a family restaurant. There were six of us. One fewer than had last gathered. It was a cold night, but the company was warm. The food was good, and we went away with enough for another meal. I realized afterwards that Anne and I were the only couple who were still married. Time had taken its toll. I guess that is why we were able to command the stage and recount the story of our first date.
Anne and I were seniors in high school. Now we are just seniors. It was January. Anne and I were taking a computer programming class together. I have often referred to her since as my computer date, because of that. Our date was a rock concert at the high school that featured Bob Seger. He was a high school alumnus too who at the time was making a living playing local venues around Detroit, waiting for his big break, which came a few years later.
Well, that went about as well as you might suspect. Whether you yell fire in a crowded theater or announce Covid just before a dinner party in this winter of our discontent, the results are predictable, and they are not pretty. First one set of dinner guests begged off, offering to Door Dash their potluck dish before the party. We took their hint and informed everyone that we would not be attending after all. Still afterwards, another couple piled on and voiced their discomfort. Our hostess suggested that we need not worry about the fruit salad dish that she had assigned us. More’s the pity, it was a beauty, persimmon and pomegranate salad, leavened with Harry & David pears. Alone, we supped, and it was grand.
I know that I sound bitter, but that is because I am. In truth, no one is to blame. There was no sin committed, but from this experience I keen how illness has been equated with sin in the past and why it was shunned. Since the pandemic, modern medicine has acquired a medieval aspect. At first, unable to grasp, let alone handle the coronavirus, medicine resorted to often bizarre and ineffective remedies. Then like a miracle the vaccines arrived. Like manna from heaven, they saved us. We have availed ourselves of every vaccine opportunity and are up to date. We feel fine and tested negative. Anne and I have never had Covid.
After about a two-year hiatus, due to the pandemic, we got back on our bikes again. We stopped riding, because we didn’t want to have an accident that landed us in the ER during Covid. Feeling more confident now and accompanied with warmer weather, we decided that it was time to ride. Our planned course was as easy as we could make it, just across the park and back again. I felt a little wobbly when first I mounted my bike, but it soon came back to me, like riding a bicycle. We headed out, crossed the park and headed to the central west end, where Anne had an errand. Afterwards, turning around, we decided to stop for an owl prowl. The front page of the paper featured a photo of this year’s two new owlets. It was a great shot. In the article, we learned that they had been named, Betty and Sidney in remembrance of Betty White and Sidney Poitier, who have both recently passed away. We didn’t see either of the owlets, but we did see Charles, their father. Always a creature of habit, he was easy to find, sitting in his current favorite tree. After searching for the owlets some more, we decided to bag it and head over to the boathouse for some liquid refreshment. It is still only open for outdoor seating, but the weather was warm enough to enjoy that. In fact, it was warm enough to seek shade. We joked with the other patrons that if it is this warm in March, how hot will it be come July? It is scheduled to fully open next month. While sipping our drinks, we watched a seemingly out-of-control controlled burn, across Post-Dispatch Lake, on Wildlife Island. At least there the fire would halt at the water’s edge. Mounting our bikes for the ride home, we both began to feel the aftereffects of our two-year biking hiatus, while we slowly, but surely limped home again.
