Monday, July 2, 2012

Walkin' to New Orleans

After a hectic spring full of family feast and feria, our children got together in conspiracy and asked us where we wanted to escape. It was a trip away for two oldy-weds with no stopping at Pepto-Bismol coated jewelry stores for little extra plates for lunch and shopping in teenage friendly dress discussions on the street of where to go or what to do amongst anyone but the two of us.
A relaxing weekend!
{Clock and window in the historic Hotel Monteleone}
Now, I don't know about all you other oldy-weds, but when we are given the option of going wherever we want, it is the season to freeze-up.
Where does one go?
Our children's ideal was a relaxing Bed and Breakfast; my reality was in the middle of harried, historic New Orleans.
I mentioned to my husband that maybe my parents would enjoy going to New Orleans with us. Afterall, they were celebrating 50 years of togetherness this June.
My husband's logical reponse was, "Wait a minute, you just said without any of the kids to slow us down, we'll be able to go and do whatever we want. Now you want to bring your parents?"
What was stated without saying was that we would bring with us an 80 year old father who tends to wander at will and who has essential tremors, as well as a mother with a bad back. It was like saying, we aren't bringing kids with us but we'll take a couple of old people along for the ride? We've cared for old people; there's a remarkable degree of childish needs involved there.
That being said, we're very lucky that my parents are still very independent and handle their own affairs. My dad still golfs and has a family lineage equal to Rip Van Winkle. My mom is much younger than he and is able to tend to needs that the tremors hinder. Their minds are both clear and sharp.
I knew my dad (who turned 80 last September) had been craving to walk the streets and alleys of his youth days, to breathe the sights and sounds with the same freedom he had as a teenager, to see the old through eyes of equal remembrance.
What wasn't said is that when one is 80, it could be one's last merry-go-round.
My husband knows this. His parents are now gone. He knows the length of days. He knows the essence of parents.
There was a certain degree of laughter over my husband's statement when we shared it passing over the Atchafalaya Basin. It was agreed it was more fun to take parents on a merry-go-round than not.
And so we went, along with my parents and my brother and Jen.
It was a weekend for the memory book.
We had a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful time...just us grownups.
{To be continued...}
{Old Letter Box inside Hotel Monteleone}

{Chandelier inside historic Hotel Monteleone}
{Bourbon Street is mostly made of tourists from all walks of life.}

1 comment:

  1. LOVE this post...the way you spin your tale and draw in us readers with the lure of what's to come. ;) Can't wait to see Part Deux!


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