Well, the Ides of March (15th) are soon upon us and I have a recipe for you: Etoufee Brutus. Take Cajun-spiced shrimp and bathe in champagne.

And speaking of betrayal… how is the 9th Ward these days? Not too good I hear. Gee, you’d think with all the pork barreling done with government contracts, especially to make up for military contracts going to overseas bidders (instead of giving the contracts to Boeing) someone could have thrown in a few million dollars to put in pylons to rebuild the seawalls and make some level building areas above ground for those folks. You know like Holland figured out how to build below sea level before I was born, DUH!

But I guess while the candidates are out stumpin’ around they forgot to stomp through the swamps of Nawlins. It ain’t just Muddy Waters anymore, it’s Muddy Quarters. (Gee, other cities just drug, tax, gentrify or burn down their blue collar-ghettos, now Mayors across A’merca are all going to want to know how to start a flood.) This country has an attention span of, well, C-span. I’ve seen slugs on my patio pay better attention to cement than we pay to our own citizens’ sufferings.

But I digress.

March 17th is Saint Patrick’s Day. Fable says Pat was the one who chased the snakes from Ireland. We could sure use him in Washington right about now. Talk about a brood of vipers. I’ve decided whoever gets into the White House I want to demand a copy of a line item budget for every single department for the last 12 years, both projected and actual (I’m on full disability so I have LOTS ‘o time to read now). You know what? Let’s audit the government. Something similar as to what I am having to show my tax accountant right now…where every penny came from and where it went. (Ah, but I am giving away April’s thunder).

Back to March. Spring is coming to the southern states, give or take a Dallas snow storm. The snow drifts in Montana are melting to below the telephone pole tops and the ice is thinning on the lakes in northern Michigan just in time for the fish to surface for their three days of summer next August.

Ah, Spring! A time when a young man’s fancy turns to–well, if it’s his ‘fancy’ he’s probably turning to other men…if it’s his hetro-lust he’s hitting on young women. But for Boomer Couples of any persuasion it’s the time for that look of longing as they wonder if they can once more climb the steps together in that ritual-dance called ’scraping the house trim and cleaning the gutters’.

For me? I live in a condo. The only gutters I’m gonna see are the ones I’m face down in after a couple of Hurricanes for Mardis Gras. (I wonder if they changed the name of those suckers since Katrina? I really think they should considering the pain and suffering that word engenders. I know, how about Blizzard Blasts? Something the tourists from up north can identify with.) Drinking for Mardi Gras in March you say? Yes, I missed the actual Mardi Gras, granted it was last month. But since every Tuesday is FAT Tuesday for me these days, I figure what the hey. Now…where was I?

Ah, March!

In like a Lion out like a Lamb. The March Hare, The March (little) Women, March over here young man–now, March 2, 3, 4, Marching Bands, Marching to Zion, The March of the Wooden Soldiers and Marching to a different drummer (Tinnitus anyone?) .

Oh, I almost forgot, but fortunately a certain Scottish gentleman reminded me that American’s don’t like to wait for answers…you will find the 10 answers to the Saint Patrick Day’s Quiz in the Quiz and Survey section on the home page, side left. If you have no idea what I am talking about… go to the Boomer Blog, and check out the St. Paddy’s Day/Irish Trivia PDF!

Also, FYI, a charming British chappie just e-mailed to tell me that a SHILLELAGH is an Irish fighting stick (move over Jackie Chan). Yes, it looks like a walking stick, but beware! The top is a gnarl if wood and may have been hollowed out and filled with lead. The stick part was smeared with butter and shoved up a chimney to cure. I stand corrected and at several feet away at that! Thanks to Mike in the U.K.

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