Parades, Pies, and Pipers.

When we lived in Starkville, I had heard of Mardi Gras. I thought it was something that only happened in New Orleans. I was wrong. Mardi Gras is a big deal here - all along the Gulf Coast, most definitely not just in New Orleans.  And we are now deep in Mardi Gras season. 

I don't think Dad ever went to any of the parades that roll through our little town, but he certainly enjoyed the spoils of our attendance. For those of you not familiar with the lingo that is now so familiar to us, let me explain a few things. Mardi Gras parades are done by societies or "krewes" who dress in elaborate costumes, ride amazing floats, and shower those lined along the parade route with "throws." In addition to the ubiquitous beads, "throws" can include anything from tiny plastic toys to enormous stuffed animals to candy and other edibles. Here in our area, Moon Pies are legendary. 

In years past, my daughters would gather up the Moon Pies they caught and proudly present them to their Poppa. Dad loved Moon Pies. He almost unfailingly made reference to "an RC cola" as the perfect accompaniment to them (though, not surprisingly, he usually actually ate them with a Coke). Last year, I wondered what we would do with the extra treats, only to discover that Poppa's grandson shares his love of the Moon Pie.  In fact, even the girls have come to enjoy them, especially given the flavor that has just debuted: Peanut Butter.

Peanut Butter was more than just a staple in Dad's diet-

it was a food group. I can't believe Dad died before the advent of the Peanut Butter Moon Pie. They would have earned a special place in Dad's heart. That is, if he ever got to try one. The kids aren't so generous with these - Poppa would have had to catch his own.

And another thing about our parades: there are bagpipers. Dad planned to learn to play the bagpipes one day, but he never did. Last year, I reached for my phone to dial Dad and let him hear the pipers as they passed us. The reality that I couldn't do that anymore was simply overwhelming - not just for me, but for all of the friends standing with me when it happened. The sound of those pipes tore through me much as the trumpet playing taps at Dad's funeral had. I thought then I might never enjoy hearing bagpipes again. 

Mercifully, I was wrong. This year, I could not only smile, but shout in support as the pipers passed. And just as they joined me in tears last year, my friends joined me smiling and shouting.  Dad's oldest grand-daughter noticed a woman among the pipers the other night, and she says she wants to play the bagpipes one day. Poppa would be so proud to have a piper.