Beware the Ides of March...tomorrow.

The Ides of March has been my favorite day of the year since tenth grade with Mrs. Delaney. That was when I fell in love with Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare.

Although I developed an enormous crush on Wills and his entire catalog, Juius Caesar was the one that really struck a chord. Brutus and Marc Antony--how can you choose between them? And the best line, despite what you expect me to quote here, is by Casca. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks! I freaking LOVE that line.

When I was a senior, our class took a day trip to see the local university's performance of ole Julius C. Lucky for them, lucky for us, and especially lucky for me was that the class had a celebrity director that term: Sir Richard Harris. *sigh* My hero.

He did Caesar like no one else ever could have. He was a presence. A master. A genius. And I stood up and applauded every time he spoke like I was a besotted school girl screaming in the audience. (Oh, wait. I *was*. Strike "like" and insert "because".) I'll never forget that day. I'll never forget him.

And, just to rub it in in case you're drooling with jealousy, it was only the year before that I saw him on the same exact stage  performing Camelot. You heard me. Richard Harris. In the King Arthurly flesh.

I like to think of those experiences as "that little thing" Sir Richard and I had.

Although Dear Richard is no longer around to satisfy my need to see him on stage, I do carry on my tradition or wearing a black ribbon on The Ideas of March. I wear it for my fallen Caesar and for my fallen Richard.

And I always will. God rest them.

When beggars die, there are no comets seen;
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. (2.2.30)