In February of 1997, my boss Jaimen at NAMC made an offer for me to pick a dream spot to train at, and he would send me in early and allow me to take someone as a reward for the hard work I’d done on the project.
I chose New Orleans, and my mother.
At the time my stepfather was slowly dying of heart disease and my mother was his full time care provider. My brother and I were concerned for her welfare, she looked very tired, so we arranged for family and neighbors to care for my stepfather and I took my mom to the Big Easy.
My mother has been to New Orleans, but not me. I remember giving her the window seat on the plane and her sweet excitement. It was a nice flight and I was thrilled to finally be experiencing New Orleans.
The corporate travel agent booked us a room at the Ramada Plaza The Inn On Bourbon. It was like stepping back into another time. A sharply dressed doorman met us at our car and offered to park it. They handled our luggage and treated us like royalty. I was pinching myself. It was Thursday evening and I was living a long held dream.
Our room decor was antique french with beautiful floral bedding. It is definitely a room for two women. It was 9:00pm when we checked in, then unpacked and went down to Bourbon Street to explore and have a glass of wine. Tradition, elegance and consistency describe the buildings that line these narrow streets of the French Quarter. Bourbon Street is famous for parties and wild times, but this is only a part of this elegant town.
Nothing can fully describe the sensation one feels when stepping out onBourbon Street for the first time. It's a clear night, and with my mom as the tour guide we start up this historic street. Erotica, music and alcohol...my kind of street. We stroll the length of Bourbon Street and stop fora glass of wine. I can't get enough of the sights and sounds of New Orleans. Tired from our traveling day, we make it a early night - well early by Bourbon Street standards.
My mother is the type of traveler that likes to utilize every minute of the light of day - so she is up at dawn. I, on the other hand am more of a carefree traveler - up 'whenever'. At 6am my mother is pushing me awake "Come on! Let's go get some strong coffee and beinets at the Cafe DuMond!" "Ummmm...the what...where...right now?" There is really no saying no to my mother.
We leave the hotel and walk towards the Mississippi river to this large outdoor cafe at the banks of the river. We find a seat and are served delicious strong coffee and a plate full of what looks like italian fritters to me. So these are the famous beinets... amber colored, light, fluffy, and beautiful. We have this breakfast overlooking the downtown square and the river. Street peddlers, musicians, fortune tellers, voodoo specialists set up their wares around the square. Friday in the Quarter is coming alive.
We spend the day exploring the Quarter, from riding on the Natchez Steamboat up the Mississippi; to having lunch at Chef Paul Prudhomme's K-Pauls Louisiana Kitchen watching Chef Paul sit and cook; to shopping and walking every street of the Quarter; to dinner at Michaul's Live Cajun Music Restaurant on the St. Charles streetcar line in the Central Business District where my mother (a great dancer) proceeds to teach me cajun dancing. God my mom is exhausting.
Saturday she bounds from bed ready to take on another day. Today she has something special planned and she won't tell me what's up. We start the day at the Jazz brunch at the Court of Two Sisters. From there we walk towards the World Trade Center and board a tour bus. The tour takes us around showing the city, from the cemeteries to the parks, to the stadium to my mother tapping me and saying, "We are getting off here". The driver announces the Garden District. I have no idea what we are doing in this breathtaking neighborhood...off the bus we go...
My mother tells me we are going for a walk. She is giving me her personal tour of the Garden District. I love gardens and estate homes, so I am in my element. My mother guides me along, chatting about this and that, until she stops in front of this large purple house. "What was that author you read her books... on vampires?" "Anne Rice?" I answer. My mom smiles..."This is her house" and looks up at this lovely very purple home. My mom is cool.
I am standing in front of a famous author’s home. It was as if my mom was telling me that this could be me. I was hoping Ann Rice would come out on her balcony and water some plants....but no such luck. After absorbing Ann Rice's home for a while, we finish our tour and hop a tram back to the French Quarter, right at the World Trade Center.
It's 5pm and my mom says "Let's go to the top of the Trade Center and have a glass of wine". We ride to the top of the center where there is this 360-degree circular rotating restaurant-bar. We sit and watch the sun set as the building rotates, displaying the vast landscape of Louisiana and the gulf below. It is odd to drink and have the building spin on its axis.
We leave the trade building at sunset and my mom is hungry. We walk up this street towards our hotel when we spy O'Flaherty's Irish Pub. My mother wants Sheppards Pie and a pint. Here in the French Quarter, we step into Ireland. Little did I know what a fun place this would be. We get seats at the bar and order dinner. An Irish band is playing and irish dancers are dancing. My mom is in heaven.
As we finish dinner I notice Rugby on the TV. My x husband played and coached Rugby for 21 years, so I am aware of Props and the Scrum. It is Scotland verses (I think it was) South Africa. Next thing I know we are surrounded my the US Navy Rugby team who have come to watch the game. Suddenly men who are talking to my mom encircle us. To my mother's right are two brothers who begin explaining the game of rugby to my mother...I have lost her for the night.
Of course the Navy Ruggers are talking to me and buying my mother and I pints with every round. Oh dear lord, I don't want to get drunk in front of my mother. The Ruggers are yelling and laughing asking many questions about California. The two other men are deep in conversation with my mom over rugby, engineering, Latvia...yes Latvia.
As it turns out theses two men are brothers working for a company that monitors the emissions from refineries. Their Grandma is from Latvia and my mother worked for a Latvian doctor (my favorite) for 30 years. My mother has been to Russia, Europe, China, every state in the US, Canada, Hawaii, South America, and Alaska. These two men were enjoying how much my mother knew about Latvia and the world at large. They don't even notice me.
Now the rugby team is another story and they are trying to get me to join in to their rugby songs. My mom gets two gentlemen and I get ruggers...oi... exactly how did this happen? The rugby game ends with Scotland losing, and my mother decides it is time to go. By now the Ruggers are getting wild so I am ready to leave before trouble starts. The two brothers get up with my mom and say they will walk us back to the hotel - FINALLY maybe one these two hotties will notice I exist.
Not a chance.
They walk out with us and down the street to our hotel. Once at the hotel they pause, smile and say "Mrs Beebe, we would like to send something home with you to tell your doctor friend about..." With that said, they begin to sing a "ŠŪPUĻDZIESMAS" (lullaby) in Latvian. It was a lullaby their grandmother sang to put them to sleep when they were boys. I wish I had a picture of the expression on my mom's face as these two handsome 40ish men stood singing to her on the streets of New Orleans in Latvian. I thought I was going to die of pure joy. She places her hand over her mouth, and when they finished, each reached forward, took her hand and kissed it saying goodnight. It was priceless.
Again they did not acknowledge me except for a "Good night Catherine"...no hand kisses for me. Geeeesssshh. With that my mom and I turn to the doorman who is holding the door open and grinning. We walk in and I look at my mom "God Mom - you are the BOMB!" With that, we both laugh and go up to the room. What a night.
I can't ever thank those two men for what they did for my mom. She was caring for my stepfather for such a long time. Once again she was slowly watching a husband die. And these two men gave her a sweet gift. It was a special day and I was in love with this town.
The following day we went to church in the catholic cathedral in the Square of the Quarter, with my motherinsisting we take the tour and buys me a St Jude medal. I think she knew something - even back then. Sunday signaled our last day in New Orleans...Monday was work and then our flight home.
Our last day was spent in Slidell where the NAMC branch office was located. The branch personnel were wonderful and my mom sat doing needlepoint in their lobby with all the employees coming out to chat with her. In the end they sent us to eat lunch at the best crawfish place in Slidell. Little did I know that crawfish is ordered by the pound with a pint of beer. This was our last stop before going to the airport.
Every time someone mentions New Orleans I think of this fabulous trip I took with my mom. My stepfather died the following year, and I am glad I was able to provide my mom with a little break. New Orleans treated us in grand Southern hospitable style and now that place is under water, devastated by the name my mother called me when I was youger and she was irritated "KATRINA!"
It breaks my heart to see the city under water. I don't even know how Slidell is faring - out there on the gulf - on the water. The world thinks of New Orleans as this big party place because of Marti Gras. It has it's moments, but the obsession with Marti Gras and Girls Gone Dumb reflects little of the style and grandeur that embraces this southern bell town.
I think of all the people that made this trip so wonderful for us. The way the south still treats women, especially my mother. My heart and prayers go out to this place that means so much to my mom and me. I had always hoped to take Brian and my mom back again. Now, what is left of this amazing city...?
I pray the President does something soon to help these desperate people rebuild their magestic city...or accept the aid offered by the other countries. It is obvious we aren't doing it well on our own... I am shocked at what unfolds before me on TV every night. I am also angry that we are still so ill prepared to handle a disaster of this scale. What exactly does 'Homeland Security' do? Where is 'Homeland Security' and why aren't they there?
And why does it seem that the poor and sick were left behind in the evacuation? I notice the race seems to be terribly one sided. As Americans we should feel ashamed that this has happened. With the Indonesian disaster, we had food there in two days. Why isn't this happening in Mississippi and LA? Why does the Governor of LA have on her jewelry and fine clothes in the midst of their disaster? Does the woman have no jeans and no ability to pull up her sleeves? Unfortunately there is no Major Rudy Guiliani in this situation. Instead, the corporate marketplace will see to it that it profits at the gas pump, even though in California our gas supply does not come from the region.
How sad it seems we can fly to rescue other countries, but cannot rescue people stranded from a horrific disaster. Meanwhile, beloved New Orleans, and surrounding areas sit in their own dirty bath water full of dead decaying bodies...destroying a rich history...because levys that should have been repared didn't hold. The monies meant to support America's infrastructure went to rescue a country that had 'weapons of mass hallucination'. How ironic that we spend billions of dollars to fight a precieved threat that never happened in lieu of the fight for rebuilding infrastructure in the US.
Mother Nature has a wicked sense of humor... and a way of forcing a nations sins to the surface.
Until next time-
C
