It's Ash Wednesday, nominally time for revelry to end, hangovers to be nursed and a season of contrition to begin. For a kid like me who was brought up in the all-Latin Catholic Church, it's that mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa time of year when we got so sick of fish sticks for dinner we would have to sneak into the local burger joint (White Castle for us back then, not McDonald's), but certainly not in our parochial school uniforms.
Rex here, in our local parade, looks like he's already past his party peak. Perhaps he could take a lesson from years gone by.
And happy birthday to my grandson, Atlas, four years old today. The boy lives up to his name.