Retirement Diary

We spent 10 days immersed in Cajun culture during the Mardi Gras festivities. Rural Mardi Gras is very different from New Orleans, we were told many times and it was wonderful. Our hosts were Fred and Sherry who love dancing returning to this area for about 15 years for the festivities.

We danced often at various spots, Mulatt’s in Lafayette, Randol’s in Breaux Bridge, and street dancing in Eunice. We ate wonderful food: gumbo, boudin, crawfish, crab cakes, pralines, bread pudding. Boy we were full! We met warm, friendly people who love life.

We learned about crawfish farming and how its close association with rice growing. We made pralines with the Iota Homemakers too, about 900 in one afternoon. We attended wonderful jamming sessions at private homes and studios, and enjoyed a great meal with some local folk.

Other events included an Atchafalaya swamp tour boat ride complete with band. The Eunice Mardi Gras parade featured the courirs de Mardi Gras riders who visit from farm to farm accompanied by a band while they sing, begging for the ingredients for a gumbo. A chicken is released at each place and a race ensues to catch it!

The Mardi Gras street dance in Mamou was complete with a chicken in a baby carriage. No one’s putting this one in the gumbo! We’re entranced. A purchase of a DVD demonstrating how to dance Cajun style will keep us entertained over the year so when we return next year we will dance like the locals as we 2-step, waltz and jig with all their special moves.

Baked oysters smothered in fragrant, tasty sauces, etouffes that invite your mouth to party and bourbon to satisfy it were part of our enjoyment. We walked the French Quarter and of course, Café Dumont’s beignets and café au lait were part of our trip. We also toured.

I’m glad you’ve come on the Katrina bus tour,” said Marie, our gray haired tour guide. “What you see today may disturb or distress you,” Marie continued “as I describe and show you what living in New Orleans has been like since Hurricane Katrina and the flooding hit my beloved city.”

She expertly wheeled the bus down the narrow streets of the French Quarter, then turned north onto Canal Street.

“Under this bridge of Interstate 10 is Tent City,” Marie announced. About a hundred tents are packed into the space, the few belongings stored neatly. No one is out in the cool rainy morning even under the shelter of the bridge. The day before on Christmas Day my husband and I drove out of the city, and saw a temporary kitchen set up here.

“Here on top of this overpass, like so many overpasses, is where my people gathered as the water rose,” Marie continued, “here in New Orleans, these were our mountains.” I imagine the water rising higher, knowing there’s nowhere else to go and I could hardly breathe.

The window scenes continue as we move through neighborhoods where a brown line three quarters of the way up the houses indicates the flood depth. Marie pointed out the roofs with gashes where people punched holes to get out. She interpreted the markings on houses that identify what crew searched the house, what day, and if there were any bodies inside. All these areas are empty of any signs of life, no people, no dogs, and no cars. My chest and throat were tight as I held back tears.

“Yet” Hugh said when I told him what I’m feeling, “look at the difference since our last visit. Remember street lights hanging from a single strand, the pavement heaved and buckled and the road signs gone? They’ve made tremendous strides.”

Patched levies, the darker concrete intermingled with the older, paler wall sections came into view, as we move by canals and up to Lake Ponchetrain. We turned into City Park.

“This area was all under water and the wonderful plantings all destroyed. We were blessed by several universities who came and replanted these areas for us,“ Marie informed us as we leave the bus to wander through gardens of roses, hibiscus and azaleas.

Back on the bus, we moved through other neighborhoods that have signs of people returning. Some Christmas decorations are up, groups of teenagers walk down the sidewalks, and cars move down the streets.

What incredible spirit the people of New Orleans show, to accept the happenings in their lives, to release the anger, to move away from feeling like a victim, to be willing to let the grief wash over them. It’s huge but necessary. To get stuck in anger and self pity prevents us from living fully.

A story in the New Orleans newspaper described the traditional Christmas Eve bonfires on the banks of the Mississippi that light the way for Papa Noel. Those who meet challenges, who adjust, who live fully light the way for me. So, Marie, our bus driver, I want to tell you that I’m left with the feeling of awe by what I saw. My soul is stirred and uplifted, in fact it needs these examples of love and hope and possibility and growth.

65 acres of lights to explore, what fun. It was a cool evening but worth every step!

Summer 2007

The most beautiful scenery we’ve ever seen, and the warmest, friendliest people we have ever run into describes our experience in Newfoundland. Add to that icebergs, whales, Atlantic puffins, gannets, moose for wild life and the magnificent seafood of Atlantic salmon, cod, crab and shrimp and we knew we had found heaven.

We were only going to go for a few weeks, maybe leaving our motor coach in North Sydney and using bed and breakfast places as we visited a few places. But we didn’t, instead, we boarded the ferry at North Sydney, Nova Scotia with our motor coach and car in tow.

We used the short ferry to Port Aux Basques, Newfoundland a 5-7 hour ferry ride, depending on the weather. It was cool and damp, though the seas were relatively calm. At the visitor’s center about I mile from the ferry terminal, they told us the weather was beautiful just 25 miles down the road, though it was hard to believe with the winds blowing quite fiercely, and the clouds hovering.

But it was true! The temperature rose substantially in the distance and we warmed up both physically and emotionally to this wonderful wild, incredibly beautiful land. The North Atlantic Ocean invades the shore aggressively everywhere along this beautiful island, creating coastlines that take your breath away. Wild irises and pitcher plants grow here and wild blueberries, raspberries, wild strawberries, bake apple, and partridge berries.

When looking inland we saw lush forests, fast running rivers and streams and blue lakes and ponds.

Newfoundland claims 3200 outports, fishing villages that have a history of 500 years of use by Portugese, French, English and Irish people who came to prosper from the bountiful sea. Their descendants and those who came later delighted us with their kindness, friendliness and their sense of humor. Lizzie and Harvey Compton are an example. Hugh and Harvey started chatting in the grocery store and Harvey insisted we come for coffee. By the time we left, after a gorgeous lunch, we were shown where the key to the house was in case we came by when they weren’t home. Awesome.

We were besotted. After the first week, we knew we needed a piece of land so we would have a reason to come back. (Most of our family and friends live in the west) We looked in each of the communities we visited, wanting waterfront property. At Pool’s Island we found the perfect place, a gorgeous home on the ocean in the midst of many islands. We love the topography here and hiked the area enjoying the bog, rocks and views.p So come and see us. We are continuing the bed and breakfast business and our retirement seminar work. We see this wonderful spot as a delightful place to work and live.


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