Slow Down Week!

 

Monday, March 3     Ah, the dreaded season has arrived. That inevitable time of year when the house is struck by illness, like an unstoppable force. When you’ve got a child in school, you can almost feel it coming—the germs, lurking in the shadows, waiting for their chance to invade. And sure enough, here it is: Type A Flu. It slithers in unnoticed, a silent intruder, wrapping its cold, invisible hands around everyone. Suddenly, the house is transformed into a place of constant coughing fits, groggy, feverish bodies, and endless hours spent on the couch, staring blankly at the television screen, just trying to survive. The cycle of sickness begins... and it feels like it will never end.

Tuesday, March 4    Fat Tuesday has become Rest Tuesday—the grand celebration swallowed whole by illness. Where we should be on the streets alive with music, beads, and the pulse of carnival fever, there is only silence, broken only by the occasional cough. The vibrant chaos of Mardi Gras is reduced to blankets, tissues, and the hum of the television. And so, Winter Break drags on, each day a blur of fever dreams and restless slumber. The spirit of the season, once filled with joy and anticipation, now lingers like a ghost, haunting the house. As we lay here, waiting for the fever to break, we can only sigh and remind ourselves—next year’s Mardi Gras will come. But for now, this is our reality. Next time, we’ll celebrate… next time.

Wednesday, March 5     Jim Crowe, License Number 6. A name that echoes through the annals of Alabama’s history, a legacy carved into the very landscape he’s shaped. He has dedicated decades of his life to the craft of landscape architecture, making him the longest-practicing professional in the entire state. His expertise isn’t just marked by the designs he’s created, but by the quiet confidence that comes with years of experience. With License Number 6, Jim has been a part of the state's evolving landscape, one project at a time, watching the world change while he continues to leave his indelible mark on the land. His work is a testament to patience, mastery, and a vision that stretches far beyond the horizon.

Thursday, March 6     Two trumpets were simply not enough. The need for a grander sound, a richer tone, something that would shake the very air with its bold, brassy resonance—this desire could not be contained. So, in a burst of creativity and sheer will, Barrett and PaPa built their own. Not from gold or silver, but from humble PVC pipe. It was a strange sight to behold—an instrument constructed from pipes, joints, and fittings, cobbled together with makeshift ingenuity. The sound might not have been polished, but it was full of heart, full of fire.

Friday, March 7   The last day at Mardi Gras camp at Lavretta Park—an ending soaked in nostalgia and vibrant memories. In the photos, faces are painted with the remnants of glitter and beads, smiles wide and eyes bright with the thrill of Mardi Gras celebrations. Hands clutch brightly colored masks, and the last remnants of confetti swirl in the wind, captured forever in snapshots. The final day may be wrapping up, but these images will live on, preserving the magic of Mardi Gras, and the friendships and laughter that made the camp unforgettable.

Saturday, March 8   The USS United States—a symbol of American maritime might—now rests quietly in Mobile, her once grand decks weathered by time, her towering presence slowly fading into history. Built in 1950, she was a masterpiece of engineering, the largest ocean liner ever constructed entirely in the United States. For years, she glided effortlessly across the Atlantic, her record-breaking speed still unmatched, holding the title for the fastest crossing in either direction. But now, this majestic vessel—her glory days behind her—has come to find a final resting place, not in the dry docks of a museum, but beneath the waves, set to become an artificial reef. Her steel hull, once a symbol of luxury and strength, will soon be home to marine life, a new purpose in the ecosystem of the Gulf. Though her days as a passenger liner are long over, her legacy lives on in the currents, where the fish will swim through the remnants of her once opulent halls. It is a poignant chapter for the United States—from the high seas to the ocean floor, she leaves behind a legacy that will continue to shape the waters of history in a completely new way.

Sunday, March 9    The earth is waking up, and with it, the promise of spring. It’s that time—when the soil, still damp from the winter chill, is ready to cradle the seeds of new beginnings. The hands dig in, turning the soil, preparing the beds with care, as if coaxing life out of the dormant ground. Bright blooms are on the horizon, their vibrant colors already dancing in the mind’s eye. The air is filled with the scent of fresh earth and anticipation, the promise of petals about to unfurl. Each flower bed becomes a canvas, ready to be painted with the hues of the season—tulips, daffodils, and primroses, each one a small miracle waiting to happen. The process is more than just planting; it’s an act of hope, a quiet ritual that invites spring’s beauty to bloom. As the flowers settle into their new home, the whole garden seems to hold its breath, waiting for the warmth of the sun to coax everything into life. And soon, with a flourish, the beds will pop—bursting into color and filling the air with the pure joy of renewal.