Suzan wrote: “Rise up…” And I did, today. What you must know about Suzan is that she is some kind of a shaman. The kind that make you hear the deaf speak and taste the sunrise. That kind of shaman. She was right. From the covers, and hats, buckets, tissues, mops, cool nest of the linoleum tiled bathroom floor soothing my clammy face – I rose up. Why? Because you rise from your patheticness when your 6 year old wants to go to the parade.

I felt like Sandra Bullock’s character in that movie, Gravity. You know the scene after her space capsule plunges into the ocean, and she escapes, nearly drowns (after almost freezing, drifting off into space, defying a million deaths), bursts through the surface of the water, claws her way onto shore, and lifts herself barely upright like the first biped from the swamp, shaking, trembling, on feet heavier than the earth itself? You know, that scene? Well, that’s how I felt standing up to go to the parade. Ok, ok. Yeah, I know. John already told me. Perhaps a wee bit overdramatic. I admit it. But – let’s just say – it was hard, very hard to get up.



We walked down the streets of Kalamazoo, or rather, I shuffled, To see the parade.

See, I’ve taken my boy to every parade he’s ever been to. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade when we saw Santa fly high above us and we walked right under his big round inflatable butt. And then from the 3rd floor of Stuart’s patient’s Central Park West apartment Spidey flew by horizontally directly out the window. We’ve also been to the Kalamazoo Holiday Parade where annually  Rudolf is dragged sideways for a block to avoid snapping wires.


And to NYC’s St. Paddy’s Day parade during which time men are apparently invited to pee freely in the subway. Despite the lure of the couch, despite my fruitless efforts to invoke the parade to come to me, Michael, John and I attended the 2015 Kalamazoo St. Paddy’s Day parade in all its …. glory.







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