I didn't watch the Rose Parade today. It's not the same for me since Monty Montana died. I have no idea who the Grand Marshall was, or which float won the Governor's award or any other award. I'll survive. I don't even care if most people don't know the difference between the Rose Bowl and the Tournament of Roses Parade. I used to care about things like that. Yet I never fail to think about Monty Montana on New Year's day. I'll always remember when Monty and his horse came to my elementary school, rode around on the blacktop and did a little show. Monty was a good horseman and really knew how to handle a lasso. I'd see him in the Rose Parade every year and recall how cool he seemed and how excited all the kids at Camellia Avenue School. Every year, until 1998, Monty Montana would show up in the parade. Through the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War, Monty was in the parade. Presidents and heroes lived and died, and Monty was in the parade. Wars ended and new wars seduced the unsuspecting. Technology encroached, computers invaded, TV morphed, the planet fought back, HIV, melting ice caps, Ebola, Spotted Owls, old growth, new pornographers, and still Monty was in the parade.
Happy New Year Monty Montana.
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