It snowed all night. The kind of snow that accumulates. It is still snowing. Jennifer is happy in the winter wonderland. She comes from Alabama with a banjo on her knee, according to Old Susanna. Today, we are a land of Snow. New Orleans was a land of snow last January. I saw those photos. The advent of Snow in the French Quarter was a memorable event. I thought about it each day that we were there two weeks ago. So we rejoiced in the unseasonable warm weather. The French Quarter is full of my kind of people. People of the Earth. People with a sense of place and home. Folks who meet you where you are. They are there with you. Joy in the face of adversity. Hope in the teeth of the Brooks were enjoying a goodbye drink in the
Carousel Bar. The Old Man was already planning his return engagement.

Sureal is the description of today’s events. There is the past of snowstorms of Southern Illinois and the present of the French Quarter earlier this month, and their remembrance of last January’s historic event. The Doorman at the Hotel Monteleone told us to keep the cold weather ‘Up There.’ He laughed at my term for Southern Illinois as if I were attempting to distinguish Illinois as a southern state. He had a scarf around his neck, ear muffs, and gloves. He noted with aplomb that when it gets 60 in the French Quarter, it is cold.

The National Guard eyed us suspiciously as they walked through the Lobby of the Hotel Monteleone each day. They carried the air of authority with them. We, tourists, wondered what was up? How were we a danger to the Republic on our Holiday? Certainly, the poor people of the French Quarter were not a danger to anyone. Happy, singing, and playing their instruments, they were focused on enjoying the life God had given them. The Homeless were no danger in their abject poverty. They were hungry.

So here we are in the Snowstorm of 2026. No longer in New Orleans for now, but thinking about it. It is mystical to have been thinking about the historic snowstorm of the French Quarter in 2025 and return to Southern Illinois to a historic snowstorm. Perhaps we are traveling the groove of Times Phonograph Vinyl Record. What a mysterious journey life is.

I felt at home in the French Quarter. I knew I had been there before. The rhythms of the jazz music were familiar. The genuine heartfelt smiles and greetings were home. The bartender who told me that he knew we were good people, I felt that I had met before. He was family. How to explain such a magical, mysterious journey?

Neva J was a dedicated Christian, but she knew Edgar Cayce was on to something. She saw visions and lights that could not be explained. Neva J had an innate sense of people that I have as well. Years ago I knew that a minister was a thief. Many said that God had told them he was to be our minister, but I demurred. It is a trepidation and excitement to hear from across the Veil.