When the Saints Came Marching In

The good times rolled, skipped, and sprang a few cartwheels in Yokosuka today when the Japanese and American Wives celebrated Mardi Gras. Valerie's jester's cap identifies her as one of the four party coordinators. Matt was very excited when he found out I get to keep my cap. He was less excited when I mentioned wearing it to his graduation come June.


Strings of beads were presented to each guest as she arrived. The guests were assigned to teams according to bead color (and there you have fifty percent of my contribution to the party planning effort).



We sipped chickory coffee from Cafe Du Monde in New Orleans. It tasted better than I remembered but that might have more to do with youthful indiscretion (ie, hangovers) than the coffee itself.



We gorged on beignets Valerie baked from a mix provided by -- you guessed it -- Cafe Du Monde in New Orleans. "How are they eaten, Kathy-san?" "Oh, let me show you. Mmmmm. Did I eat that one too fast? Allow me to illustrate the beignet-eating procedure for you a second time."



"Let's decorate masks for our Mardi Gras parade." The Japanese ladies take these craft assignments very, very seriously. If you enjoy planning birthday parties for five-year olds, planning a JAW party could be your nirvana.




The completed masks were positioned on a radiator to hasten the glue-drying process. Please place your right ear on your right shoulder to see this lovely work of art. Can you scroll down a little without moving your head?



The pompoms add a note of frivolity, n'est-ce pas?

Okay, you can straighten your neck now.



This is my other contribution to the party, the Pass the Beads Without Using Your Hands Relay.

Japanese women get pretty darn competitive when they hear the magic words, "Prizes will be awarded to the winning team." You can see why I like them much.

There were one or two other games but I didn't get to see how they played out because I had to slip over to my house and add shrimp to the jambalaya, ice to the non-alcoholic hurricanes, and rice to the gumbo bowls. Gosh, I was acting so mature I barely recognized myself.




I was frantically searching for one more tablecloth when I spotted the Mardi Gras parade marching up my front sidewalk. Eek! Naturally, I popped a couple of mushroom-shaped cookies into my mouth and calmed down immediately.


Look who's bringing up the rear! Hi, Mimi! Thanks for loaning me your rice cooker.










Aren't Yuko and Anne cute? The person who comes closest to guessing the ages of Yuko's three children on or before February 1 will win a prize. This is a hidden puzzle, a reward for loyal family members and friends (the contest is also open to total strangers) who have endured this monologue thus far.


After a leisurely lunch, we sent our guests on their way with gold doubloons, moon pies, and a description of Mardi Gras traditions.
And their masks, of course.

The hugs were unexpected, effusive, unrelated to nationality (American women I barely know were clinging to me like Matt on his first day of kindergarten), and I must confess I gulped down 10 ounces of punch the minute the last guest departed because it crossed my mind someone might have spiked the hurricanes.

No such luck.