I love a parade

I've been trying to convince ward that all the parades that have been happening all over town are really in honor of us, not that silly rose festival. surprisingly enough, he is not buying it.



we've been to two whole parades in the last week and we're about to attend one more (the mother of them all, I'm told)-- the grande floral parade. this is big news at our house, since the only parade the kids have ever been to was a humble little fourth of july deal in downtown decatur, georgia. which was nice and all, you know-- kids with red, white and blue streamers sweetly woven through the spokes of their bicycles and wagons enthusiastically decorated with glittery ribbons and balloons. but there were no real marching bands, no big fancy schmancy floats. plus, there were about a hundred convertibles with such-and-such running for this office or that one, all of them dying to pass out a flyer, slap you with a sticker or pinch the cheek of an unsuspecting child. I was soured on parades after that. even though ava and ezra didn't know any different, even though I have marvelous memories of childhood parades.



when I was growing up, there was one big parade, once a year and always in the fall. october is a most excellent month for parades-- not too hot, not too cold-- crisp air, heavy with promise. I remember scrambling after candy thrown from floats that seemed to glide down main street like show boats. I remember baton twirlers, flashes of sequins and crepe paper in every color (wrapped around every possible surface). I remember the scent of popcorn and bonfires, the drums of the highschool band-- you could hear them coming long before they hit the center of town, you could feel it. it was everything that is good about small towns.

I think I might be sweet on parades again. I think I have officially de-soured. two good parades will do that to you. especially if you're watching them through the eyes of your children.