In the early afternoons of late autumn days, the shadow of a fading sun creates a path from the cemetery driveway to the plot where my parents are buried. A little less than six weeks separated the deaths of my parents this spring.
My Dad died first and in the time my Mom had left I would take her to the cemetery.
Every chance she got.
I pushed her wheelchair through tall grass to the gravesite where seeds were waiting to sprout. Mom never got to see the headstone she was so curious about, but she did fire off a zinger to the headstone salesperson as we picked out the marble bookmark.
NEW ORLEANS—This is a Big Easy encounter that does not involve alcohol.
Well, I did have one Swizzle with my tofu banh mi at Latitude 29, a new tiki bar and restaurant tucked away near the Mississippi River. (The superb venue is named as a nod to New Orleans latitude on the map and has the same designer as Taboo Cove in Las Vegas and Le Tiki Lounge in Paris.)
After dinner I walked back to the Olivier House, my French Quarter stomping ground. A woman stood in the middle of Bourbon Street trying to hustle customers into an establishment. She wore a baseball cap that said “I Love Haters!” She had it tilted on her head like Cubs relievers [...]
