欧宝娱乐

“Isn鈥檛 that momentous? Women! A krewe of women. Turning the tide on men! We are making history here. Yes, this moment! Making history.鈥� The woman had barely taken a breath. She tapped Constance on the arm and picked up her fork to begin her hors d鈥檕euvre of boudin-stuffed mushrooms.
Constance leaned toward the woman as if wishing to speak more directly. In truth, she wanted to see the name on the place card. She had time to make out only the first name: Marianne. 鈥淎h, yes, Marianne,鈥� she said. 鈥淚t is history, isn鈥檛 it? You are so very right.鈥�
鈥淚t is time that women spoke up for themselves, did for themselves, and we are part of that wave that will surely come to shore when we get the vote. But for now, having our own ball will have to suffice.鈥�
The woman turned to her neighbor on the other side.
鈥淚ndeed.鈥� Constance finished the last bit of mushroom, speaking to the air. Her fork clanged on the plate as the uniformed server whisked it away. It was replaced immediately with a sumptuous, but unpretentious luncheon plate of shrimp and asparagus, with a decorative sprig of green grapes.”
― Diane C. McPhail, The Seamstress of New Orleans

“Just as this female krewe had turned the table on men, now they turned the table on convention. Not one queen, they agreed. No. Why should there be only one? 鈥淟et us have four, one for each point of the compass, to include the whole of womanhood. One each of the various symbols of female identity鈥�-Semiramis, Pocahontas, Juliet, and Brunhilde. All womanhood included in royalty!鈥� they declared.”
― Diane C. McPhail, The Seamstress of New Orleans

“Constance leaned over the parchment and ostensibly studied in detail all the complex symbols worked into the design: the compass with four needles, each needle a scepter; the red poppies worked into the gold-embellished borders; the mythical figures, each veiled face a woman鈥檚.”
― Diane C. McPhail, The Seamstress of New Orleans

“There was Brunhilde, a star shining high above the hillside behind her, dark, rippling hair hanging below her waist, standing in full command, spear in hand. Constance could not help thinking the star so large and bright might have shone over Bethlehem. She was momentarily grateful for her veil, not only for the concealment of her identity but also of her amused response to the scene before her.
She struggled to contain herself as her eyes moved to the second vignette: here was fair Juliet, standing beneath rather than on her balcony, garbed in simple lines, her head wreathed in flowers, a cross of stars high above her. Ah, those star-crossed lovers, thought Constance. Again, she was glad that she could hide her amusement. How clever these women, she thought. The third was Semiramis, a quarter moon low above the exotic turrets behind her crowned head, a long-handled fan in her hand, like the fan of a servant. How should Constance interpret this? At once she noticed the replication of the shape of Brunhilde鈥檚 spear, but it was enlarged. Semiramis, the queen who had served for her son yet had conquered her foes and enlarged her kingdom. And was this moon waxing or waning? Rising or setting? Or perhaps the enigma of a waxing moon rising. Ah, somehow that was comfort. Last, before a rising sun, framed by trees that reached out to touch one another, stood Pocahontas, her costume appearing authentic, a feather in her headdress, the emblematizing dawn of a new age, a new woman in a new world. May it be so, thought Constance.”
― Diane C. McPhail, The Seamstress of New Orleans

“Mobile鈥檚 reputation as the birthplace of Mardi Gras in North America does not rest solely on the fact that a few half-starved French colonists observed the pre-Lenten feasts here 300 years ago鈥� In 1852, a group of Mobile "Cowbellians" moved to New Orleans and formed the Krewe of Comus, which is now that larger city鈥檚 oldest and most secretive Carnival society.
鈥ll of Mobile鈥檚 parading societies throw Moon Pies along with beads and doubloons, providing sugary nourishment to the revelers lining the streets.
The crowd is very regional, mostly coastal Alabamians. Everyone seems to know each other, and they are always honored and often extra hospitable when they learn that you traveled a long way just to visit *their* Carnival. Late into the evening, silk-gowned debutantes with their white-tie and tail clad escorts who鈥檝e grown weary of their formal balls blend easily with the street crowds鈥�”
― Gary Bridgman, Lonely Planet Louisiana & the Deep South