The day began early after a long night. Some days are that way. The snow is melting slowly in the below-freezing temperatures. More cold weather is coming tomorrow and the weekend. The kind of cold that hurts when it hits your face. A cold that is difficult to shake off when you enter the warmth. When summer arrives, we will reflect that we had a true winter this year.

Snow flurries are forecast for New Orleans on Saturday. It was warm earlier this month. We walked about as if in a dream. A bit like a cruise ship on land… a land cruise. The French Quarter had a Spirit of Light. Colors were brighter. Energy was at its zenith. Hope replaced fear. Dread had no spot to set down roots. Worry came out of the shadows and melted in the bright sun. A woman peddled a tourist cart with two people in the passenger seats. She looked happy, and they were in bliss. The means of conveyance was slow and just right for the French Quarter.

‘I have come seeking the Light,’ the Man In Black said. ‘I have searched my entire life for its meaning, and now I am here to see if this is the answer,’ the Man In Black continued. ‘A Shadow follows me,’ the Man In Black explained. ‘When I watch the political horror show of our country, the Shadow looms large over my shoulder and obscures the Light,’ the Man In Black whispered. ‘Many tell me that such is life with the Looming Shadow following each of us until we die,’ the Man In Black noted. ‘It is said that here in the French Quarter people have learned to live without the Looming Shadow,’ MIB said. ‘The legend, if it be myth or truth, is that the angels play music with the happy folks of the Quarter and sing of their soul connection with Heaven,’ the MIB laughed as the Looming Shadow shook and frowned. ‘As I listen to the music, I feel lighter and free,’ MIB witnessed. ‘Sadness followed me, I wore it like a cloak…” Now I feel joy and peace,’ MIB laughed.

‘I told you of the joy of the French Quarter,’ Jennifer said. ‘MIB, there is hope for you too,’ Jennifer continued. ‘There is light throughout the Quarter as people seek the angel’s participation,’ Jennifer noted. ‘Light comes from a quest for it that begins within our souls,’ Jennifer said. ‘The Looming Cloud will disappear in the light of the angels dancing to the brass band,’ Jennifer laughed. ‘Look at the stairs ascending to Heaven and the happy people dancing on them,’ Jennifer laughed and pointed.

The Looming Shadow looked afraid of itself. LS was accustomed to having his way with the MIB. He had been with him for a long time. Suddenly his services were no longer required as MIB became Man Of Joy or MOJ…

So the Old Man visited the snowy woods. What a sublime sight. A blanket of white under a sky of blue. The quiet of snow is special. The peace of winter is complete. Our New Year is well underway. Can we see what is just beyond our vision? Can we grasp what is beyond our reach? We are born into an earthly plane that is surrounded by spiritual mysticism. We know there is more there than what we can see, feel, and smell. A hint of the other world breaks through to our world from time to time. A bird sings a lovely song that reminds us of what we need to focus on. A deer looks at us with questioning eyes, wondering why we do not see the wonder. We are members of the Club of the Magnificent hidden by the plain.

The Old Man experienced the hidden world in the French Quarter earlier this month. People were connected to the ethereal. I am currently reading Lincoln In The Bardo. It is fascinating in its story of life after death and President Lincoln’s love for his deceased son. We fear what we do not understand, and yet our souls hunger for the world that they instinctively understand and want to lead us to. We seek adventure and color excitement in life. This is what our spirits are accustomed to. This is what our souls remember. Our hearts long for the joy of remembering their home.

The French Quarter musicians touch Heaven with their heartfelt music. There is an aural tone in life that we often do not hear with our fretting about who is President and who is American. Who is being purged by our Authoritarian Government in the name of Christianity? Who shall remain for the blessings of a benevolent God who picks favorites according to our ministers and political leaders? The President decrys the end of Europe due to its welcoming of immigrants who are not white. I had a physician who told me that his colleague said you would not recognize Germany over the past few years. Hitler said the same thing…

Jesus was a dark-skinned Jew from the Middle East. He was not an Anglo-Saxon. The French Quarter understands that they are God’s Children. The feeling of camaraderie in New Orleans was palpable. As the lovely singer sang, we understood that she was our sister. She sang of love and loss of hope and disappointment. The words resonated with all within the sound of her voice…

‘Why would you continue to shoot a man lying lifeless on the street?’ the Preacher asked. ‘Pilate said I find no fault in him,’ the Preacher continued. ‘The throng demanded his crucifixion,’ the Preacher wept.

‘Then music is joyful and makes you want to dance,’ Neva J said. ‘I see my brothers, Dutch and Donald, and my dear mother dancing to it as they listen beyond the Veil,’ Neva J cried. ‘Grandma A told me not to be afraid of death as it is not the big deal we make of it,’ Neva J promised. ‘Grandma A said it is simply going through a door to a magnificent room prepared for your arrival,’ Neva J laughed with joy!

The Snow is melting. We believe we will reach a degree above freezing. Spring is not here yet. The Old Man remembers New Orleans. There was a different world in the French Quarter. A world of happiness and Joie de vivre. A philosophy of life-affirming rather than denigrating. Hope danced outside the windows of the Hotel Monteleone. The Old Man watched the revelry with keen interest. He was in a different place. Fever Dreams of Dominance and a Master Race were not to be found in the Quarter.

‘It is getting where I am afraid to go outside,’ Jane said. ‘Masked men are on every corner and arbitrarily pull people out of their homes and cars because of the color ot their skin,’ Jane explained. ‘United States citizens carry their papers with them to prove they are legal,’ Jane said with tears in her eyes. ‘People are being killed,’ Jane whispered.

‘Now this is the way to live,’ the Old Man said, with a broad smile and his pork-pie hat on his head. ‘There is a lightness of being in the faces of the people,’ the Old Man continued. ‘Mr. Meyer, the owner of Meyer’s Hat Store, was laughing with customers and enjoying having his picture taken with customers,’ the Old Man laughed. ‘He said he is 102 and still works each day in his store,’ the Old Man smiled. ‘There is a joy in living when you are not afraid,’ the Old Man mused.

‘Franklin Delano Roosevelt told us that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself,’ Chet said. ‘We fought World War II to free Europe from tyranny,’ Chet continued. ‘We took a turn sometime back and chose a road that looked safe,’ Chet observed. ‘We were fearful and saw ghosts lurking around every corner,’ Chet noted. ‘Now we are living with the results of our paranoia,’ Chet said softly.

‘Just listen to the wonderful band at the end of the Carousel Bar,’ Billy B said with a little dance. ‘I have seen shows on television about the French Quarter, but to be here in person is awesome,’ Billy B continued. ‘It is a bit like being in a movie,’ Billy B thought. ‘People come to America for the promise of ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,’ Billy B noted. ‘President Kennedy said to us, ‘ Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country,’ Billy B said with his voice cracking. ‘From the Kennedy Administration came the Peace Corps,’ Billy B thought out loud. ‘We were the Nation that thought of others less fortunate than we,’ Billy B said.

‘The lovely singer is singing from her soul,’ Neva J said. ‘She has lived the suffering that she is singing about,’ Neva J continued. ‘See how everyone who passes stops to listen to her song and weeps as the lyrics touch their hearts,’ Neva J observed. ‘Safety, security, and no fear are balanced on a tightrope,’ Neva J proclaimed.

Monday begins with below zero temperatures. The snow is pristine. The landscape is covered with a white blanket. Mr. January is on his way to completion. He began with a trip to New Orleans and ended with Cold and Snow. Once January is gone, it is a slippery slope. February is short, and March is spring. Then comes outdoor activity. Easter is early, and Memorial Day sneaks up on us. Before you know it, you light firecrackers. After. On July 4th, it changes from a slippery slope to a tall slide at the beach. Christmas Decorations will be in the stores and commercials on TV at the end of August. And that, my friends, is how the Old Man got old without even noticing.

I watched a clip of a popular English performer getting out of his car with two people assisting him and some difficulty. He, like I, is a member of the Golden Years. Age hits us all. The Old Man made it well in New Orleans. He enjoyed the French Quarter so much that he had an energy jolt. The joy of the area was invigorating. The Lobby of the Hotel Monteleone was lovely and restful. The ancient Grandfathers Clock was a dignified reminder of the Hotel’s grand past.

Snow has brought the Old Man inside. Games each day. I seldom win, but I keep trying. I enjoy playing Uno. Morgan Brooks taught us in Grand Rivers, Kentucky. Since that early December visit, I have been rewatching The Jinx. The show covers the antics of convicted murderer Robert Durst. When describing his privileged upbringing in New York as the scion of one of the wealthiest families in New York City, he mentioned playing Uno as a child.

So we sat in the Sun in the French Quarter. A lovely singer or a brass band could be found on every corner. The rich history of the French Quarter was absorbing. It makes you want to wear your Pork Pie Hat. The Old Man wanted to dance a little and sing. A bit like being in a Turner Classic Movie where there was romance and wonder in every inch.

‘Good afternoon, my name is Charles, and I will be your doorman,’ Charles said. ‘I will take your bags while you check in,’ Charles continued.

‘Where is the music coming from?’ the Old Man thought. ‘A Brass Band was leading a processional down Royal Street at midnight,’ the Old Man said to himself. ‘Everyone is happy and full of joy and peace…no fear or dread,’ the Old Man considered. ‘

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.

The following is a flash fiction story. Cold Snow and Hot Chocolate The snow fell as the man poured hot chocolate down his grateful throat. And there…

Cold Snow and Hot Chocolate

So the event of the weekend is clear. Snowapocalypse is here. It is starting slow, but the weather folks tell us not to despair, as it will increase. We Southern Illinois people get excited about snow. We see a little in winter, not a lot. When I was a child, it snowed more. At least that is my misty memory. We constructed large snowmen and had enough raw product to do so. The snow was plowed into sturdy walls on each side of the path to school, and we walked between them unseen from outside the fortress. I had snow boots with buckles that I wore each day. When I had those boots on, I was invincible to the effects of the white powder. I walked with the confidence of the young on snowy and icy paths. Falling down was part of the fun.

Snow removal belonged to a snow shovel. My uncle died shoveling snow. Nevertheless, the young and young at heart shoveled as a rite of life in the suburbs. Snow Days were few and far between in the ’60s. We bundled up and snapped our ear flaps, which were held on top of our hats, under our chins. Mittens were prevalent. Snow was part of winter, and we were tough.

The Old Man’s eyes look back in time to the French Quarter less than two weeks ago. Warm and no snow. The Fine Art Photographer spoke of the unprecedented Snow in New Orleans last January. He had some wonderful photos. We had no need for a sweater or jacket. We were warm with mirth and laughter. Much to see and more to do. Once or twice, it was nearly hot. Then there were the photos of what the French Quarter looked like under the 100-year snow.

‘So it is snowing in the French Quarter, and we are a part of the historic event,’ the Old Man said. ‘Bourbon Street is covered with a white blanket,’ the Old Man continued. ‘The doorman was sweeping the snow away this morning from the front of the Hotel Monteleone,’ the Old man noted. ‘People are laughing and dancing in the snow,’ the Old man laughed. ‘A jazz band marched down Royal Street playing Santa Claus Is Coming To Town,’ the Old Man grinned.

‘Wakey Wakey,’ MJ called out. ‘It is snowing,’ MJ said with joy. ‘I have baked chocolate chip cookies,’ MJ laughed. ‘Hurry before they are all gone,’ MJ danced on one foot and then the other.

‘Perhaps we can get some cookies at the Carousel Bar with our drinks,’ the Old Man suggested. ‘I think you must be referring to last January when the French Quarter received a historic snow,’ the Old Man suggested as he munched a chocolate cookie.

‘We are home, and we are receiving a historic snow, Aaron and Jonathon said in unison. ‘New Orleans was nearly two weeks ago,’ they said.

The weather folks say be prepared to hunker down for three to four days when the snowstorm starts. Given the vastness of the forecast storm, I wonder if New Orleans will receive its second 100-year snow event? Exactly a year apart for the Big Easy.

There is bone-chilling cold in the air ahead of the Snowpocalypses. Mylo takes little note since he rarely goes outside. Again, I fondly remember the French Quarter less than two weeks ago. There was neither a hint of winter nor downcast faces. Beignets to eat and Cafe Dumonde. I have been to the famous restaurant known for its beignets. Confectioner’s sugar never tasted so good.

Lake Pontchartrain was visible during our Amtrak ride. I recalled Hurricane Katrina and the terrible flooding. We passed the Superdome, and again I thought of Katrina.

The dignity of the French Quarter could be felt. A proud, loving people inhabit the place. People focused on art. A place to be yourself without fear. Music that reaches the Angels. Hope of acceptance and peace.

Food from Heaven. Dishes are special and unique. We made a return engagement to our favorite restaurant, Coops, from our last visit in 2013. In 2013, we stood in line at the door, and a woman allowed people in a few at a time. We sat at the bar, and I asked the bartender if he made a good Dirty Martini. He responded that he made a very bad Dirty Martini. I quickly ordered the Bad Dirty. The food was wonderful earlier this month. I had fried oysters. Our server asked if we wanted a drink for the road.

It was a common sight to see happy people carrying their cocktails with them on the sidewalks and streets of the Quarter. They danced with them, expertly held in their hands. The French Quarter is an oasis in a rapidly changing nation. A place to laugh from your soul.

Have you ever had a Soul Laugh? A Laugh where your entire person rejoices. A Soul Laugh caused by a sense of place as a valuable human being and pleasure in your place in the Human Family. A glimpse into Heaven and the joy of seeing the Angels dancing to the jazz music playing.

The Old Man has observed people happy for no fiscal or material reason. People who greet the day’s events with laughter and mirth. Poor People who wink and make you feel comfortable. Happy folks who do not see a stranger because all are their family. Those who are not obsessed with the ladder of success. Many who never attained more than a rung or two. They are interested in the Stairway to Heaven. They commune with the Angels who constantly use the Stairway. God is looking at the Heavenly Ladder and often comes down to have a Soul Laugh with his family.

So we wait for the snowstorm. We have seen snowstorms before, but this one is forecast to be particularly severe. Each update is worse than the one before. There were long lines at the Grocery Store yesterday. We typically receive some snow each winter, but it is often not significant. This looks like the real thing.

A big change from the French Quarter just over a week ago. The weather was 70 degrees or more, and the living was easy. We mozed about with a feeling of spring. A bit surreal for midwesterners from Illinois who are accustomed to cold temperatures in winter. We were in another universe where music and dancing were the norm in a warm atmosphere. There was joy on a normal day. Singing on every corner. Hope in the manifestation of mirth.

MJ says next time we will stay an additional night. I wholeheartedly agree! Although many people told us of the historic snowfall New Orleans experienced a year ago in January. The City was shut down due to the unexpected event. Artists painted fine art to commemorate the 100-year event. Photographers took photos. They reflected on January 2025.

I saw our server at the Carousel Bar in a moment of rest and reflection. She said that she was enjoying the moment with fewer people and thinking of Mardi Gras. She went on to say that it is insane and a sensory overload. The French Quarter is full of tourists who are experiencing Mardi Gras.

A friendly woman placed a cream under MJ’s eye to illustrate how it tightens puffiness. When MJ saw her later during our French Quarter excursion, she identified the wrong eye. Until that mistake, MJ was pondering whether to purchase a tube of the magic balm. A young man stopped Jonathon and me to tell us that he was going to run for President and that, ‘My black ass better vote for him.’ His presentation captivated me when he identified me as black. He continued to tell Jonathon and me that we were invited to the
White House if he won, for a barbecue dinner, and all we needed to do was bring a side dish with us. He received a small donation from the Old Man just for the entertainment value of his presentation.

Steve and I were caught in a snowstorm many years ago when we worked together for a Janitorial Service and were on our way to Zeigler to clean the corporate offices of Zeigler Coal Company. I told Steve that perhaps we should turn around, as all I could see out of the windshield of the 1962 Ford Fairlane was a white sheet. He assured me that we would be fine, whereupon we landed in the snowy ditch. We pushed the vintage car out of the ditch and turned for home.

When I was 20 years old, I walked to MJ’s trailer to dig her Maverick Car out of a historic snowstorm. I wanted to impress her with my affection for her and what a capable man I was. She made me hot chocolate, and I was rail-thin. That day, I knew I had made fiance points with my beloved.

The year after I dug MJ’s car out of the snow, I had been recently hired at Southern Illinois University @ Carbondale and chose to drive to work rather than miss being there if they were open. A colleague drove up in Building Services, where I had just pulled into the drive and found the door locked and one light bulb burning. Elbert persisted in knocking on the door and calling out that Brooks and Covington were reporting for duty. I had made a fifteen-mile journey through what appeared to be a snow covered field rather than highway #51. Then Elbert invited me to go home, get MJ and come to his house, which was seven miles more. I assured him that if I got back home, I would stay for the duration of the Storm.

Margo and Jeff stayed with us a year later when a snowstorm occurred. MJ fed them homemade biscuits, and they accompanied us to Eldorado on a snowy road to take Neva J home. We laughed a lot and bonded in our lifelong friendship. It was a fifty-mile journey, and we made it with the help of Neva J’s strong black coffee.

So I knew what the Uber Driver was talking about in French
Quarter regarding Snowstorms. Much snow provides a significant challenge. It also provides an opportunity for lifetime memories.

Time flies even in winter. Soon it will be a month since Christmas. Time marches on. The French Quarter took a place in the Old Man’s heart. I did not expect it. We visited New Orleans in May 2013. It was horribly hot and humid. We took the streetcars from our Airbnb, and our clothes were drenched with sweat. The Hotel Monteleone in the French Quarter changed our perspective and our level of enjoyment. The cooler weather and lower humidity helped make our recent journey more enjoyable. A wonderful way to begin the New Year. We want to do it again.

We spent our first day in the Quarter walking nearly five miles around the area. That may not sound like a lot, but for the Old Man, it was fierce. We watched a military ceremony at Jackson Square. The brass band was inspiring. A homeless man checked each outside trash can for food. There is joy and sadness living side by side.

People are reaching for Heaven. Their music is joyful. Their faces are happy with seeking eyes. There is a commitment to living life on their own terms. New Orleans is a diverse community. The spiritual etheral environment is compelling. Different is good, and the French Quarter proves it. We live in a homogenized country if we accept what many fundamentalists tell us. They tell us that we must be like them, and they have stolen the title Christian for only their narrow, biased views. Churches are loseing people because those who are looking for meaning and purpose do not see it in the gathering of politics/religion.

New Orleans is authentic. No masks of holiness over others. The common denominator is humanity. The point is love and acceptance. The Monteleone was our Cruise Ship of rest when the excitement became too much. I can see why Truman Capote and Eudora Welty liked it so much. The French Quarter is a release valve on the pressure cooker of life in Authoritarian Times. An oasis to be yourself and not fear the judgmental eyes of the religious and political elite. I am, in my unique humanity, so let us be friends.

Spirits watch their ancestors and their loved ones. Angels rejoice with the joyful noise of the jazz bands and singing. Ghosts dance alongside the party of happy people. There is a pulling away of the curtain that separates this world from the next. What is seen is beyond imagination or words.