As I'm skedaddling out of town for some artsy matters for a few moments I thought I'd leave you another post, a juicy succulent glimpse into my complex and convoluted psyche. Yesterday I photographed a hoopla-rich parade and, as usual, found myself in tears. I told some people recently that parades make me cry and someone suggested that perhaps I was a majorette in a past life. Another offered a kind, sentimental comparison - she cries at the first hint of "Silent Night." I've cried at parades in Japan honoring spring, Mardi Gras in New Orleans, NYC, wherever. I think someone (H) should do a picture story of me teary-eyed at these grand occasions.