"At last he put away the saw and took up his fiddle. 'Lent begins tomorrow,' he said. 'Let’s make us a little merry, for tomorrow is ashes.' A jug of new wine was brought out. It made its way around our camp where it was met with thirsty mouths that pulled and then were wiped on the backs of hands."

Those who have read Living Among the Dead know what will happen next. Things happen that will take one life and shape another forever.

But first, Honore Mouton says, let's make us a little merry, for tomorrow is ashes.

It's time for us to do things we normally wouldn't do, possibly with people we normally wouldn't do them with. It's time to put on the mismatched colors of purple, gold, and green. It's time to put on masks and pointed hats and chase chickens, receive painted coconuts, throw beads at gorillas. It's time to decorate floats with pink flamingos and satire and ride them through town.

It's time for foolishness, and, as anyone who's ever stepped in a voting booth in Louisiana knows, foolishness is one of the things we do best. It's time to whip out our craziness, give it a cocktail, and perch it up on a ladder in the neutral ground.

It's time to make us a little merry, for tomorrow is ashes.

I've heard a story that supposedly happened in Mamou or Church Point or somewhere out on the prairie. I say supposedly happened when what I really mean to say is certainly happened. Those who are familiar with Louisiana know that without a doubt this has happened hundreds if not thousands of times.

Here's what it was. A young man of fifteen or so was finally granted the privilege of riding with the men in the Courir de Mardi Gras. They spent all morning riding on horseback from house to house and drinking. Finally, around noon, the neophyte rider had passed out in the saddle, slumped forward on his mount and fast asleep. Dutifully, the procession made a short detour to bring him back to his mama. She came out into the front yard to collect her boy. As le capitan gave her the reins, he told her what would make many a Cajun mama proud.

"Madame," the capitan said, taking off his hat in a salute. "Mais, he was hell while he lasted."

And with that, let me wish you a Happy Mardi Gras. Make a little merry, for Wednesday is ashes.

C. H. Lawler is the author of Living Among the Dead, The Saints of Lost Things, and The Memory of TimeLiving Among the Dead. Follow the links to read an excerpt of each one.