Author: alohawild

Thursday started at 4, and despite trying to sleep, I rose at 4. Time zone issues for me. But it was good to have a long day from an early start, as there were naps in the afternoon. I found the coffee, made it, and soon swallowed three cups and had to stop (I was already bouncing from three!).

I checked that the Apple laptop was backed up. Time Capsule is always running, and when I return, it catches up and keeps a current copy. I am also making manual copies of important files, but I learned last time I was using Apple File System, and that is not too useful for Linux; I have reformatted one drive to MS format. Crazy to go so old-school, but it will work on non-OS operating systems. I use solid-state 1- or 2-TB drives with a fast USB-C connection. I cannot copy everything this way; my picture library is too large, but it saves all my writing and gives me a backup to put away for real disasters.

I, drinking coffee, remember yesterday and record what happened on Tuesday, a travel day for me. And while I do not take notes or write the blog text during the day, I do take photos with my phone, and sometimes I even check my expenses on my credit cards to get the story back in my mind. I have looked through the kitchen to remember what I made or had for breakfast. It is not always easy to recall everything. I do drop some items that are too personal or boring. I also still forget some things. When I reread, I often remember and then decide I should include it now that it floats back to my mind. I decide based on the emotion and whether it impacted me or others. Otherwise, it is just words, and a few fewer are OK.

Which takes me to a missing part of yesterday’s story. Yesterday, I was on the mule cart with Chris, our driver, yesterday. We were doing the tourist carriage tour. As we turned a corner, a cop pushed an obvious squatter out of a building across from my hotel. The homeless guy fell onto the street, then jumped up. From his body language, the cop was obviously angry, and it was a full-on confrontation. I was glad to see that the clearly upset squatter wasn’t a threat and that the cop didn’t reach for his gun. The police man was shouting, and Chris quickly got past the street theater. More police were on the way. Again, the police did not draw guns, and we did not see the ending.

The homeless guy was clearly upset and confused. The officer seemed overly aggressive for the situation, but I understand how hard it is to be ignored and dismissed by someone iwhen you are in a position of authority in a street situation. Been there. It is hard to stay calm and talk people down.

Still, it was sad and upsetting for us in the cart. The kids and their parents were very quiet for a while while Chris tried to restart his spiel and get us away from the action. My situational-awareness training acknowledges that police may push you or physically move you when things go wrong. Accept it, don’t react, and run away from the action. Get Safe.

Returning to Thursday, I wrote the blog (missing the detail above) and finished around 10. I opened up my travel bags; I found no search note from TSA (I hate those), and soon was running loads of laundry. I also unpacked a few items for friends and some books purchased from the Frechman Street Bookstore (open late most days).

I took a shower, and my right leg hurts. There is a heat rash, and my feet seem a bit swollen. I wore heavier socks, and I think that, combined with the hot weather and over 20,000 steps over two days, might be the cause. I will rest today and switch to different shoes and lighter socks for a while. It is also cold and wet here in Oregon. The issue is fading now on Friday.

My Skirizi self-injection for psoriasis arrived, as did my held mail. I sorted the week’s mail and found my ticket for running a pink light, but I am surprised that the ticket is for speeding, 15 over, and $165 (plus a small handling fee), and not for running a light. I remember speeding up as the light changed sooner than I expected. Instead of slamming my brakes, I hit the gas, and that was my mistake. I was ticketed for the speed. I went to the website and paid the fine non-contested. Another donation to Beaverton’s courts. We will see if Allstate complains. Subterranean Press was having a remnant sale, and I got a signed book for 1/2 off (and about the same charge in shipping): H’ard Starts: The Early Waldrop. I don’t know this author, but it was cheap, signed, and some of the story titles interested me.

The morning started with the sunrise, and then it turned more and more grey as the storm approached, our first wet one since summer. The winds blew, and leaves were everywhere. Fall is here, but it will stop again. It is still September, and we still get sun breaks. They get shorter and shorter as we enter October, and November and December are dark, with all-grey weeks here in the Pacific Northwest. Later, I will fall asleep to the gurgling of water in the evedrops and the wind blowing.

I met Scott W at McMenamins Cedar Hills; it is a two-beer lunch, and we talked about travel, and Scott W has been following along on the blog. Scott W did a Danube River cruise in Europe (I saw the fun shots on Facebook) with his wife and friends I know. The river was too low in places, and the balconies were less useful than expected, as the boats tie up together, and thus the view is another boat. All interesting, and I will not look for a balcony if I do this, and I will check the river levels too.

We talked about the current administration’s uninspiring fiscal policies and their obvious impact on yields, and the news is already filled with interest-rate-hike expectations. Bond (debt) markets are going to make it easy to keep our fixed income have, well, income. We chatted about upcoming travel and that we are both traveling on and off all month.

We headed out–me for a nap, and Scott W to start catching up on the lawn and plant work. I was home soon after, coughing again, so I decided it was best to rest. I did invite Emma for a game and food in the evening. Corwin also needed something printed on my color printer. All done and nap taken. Laundry was also completed. I felt better, and my cough slowed. I also started season six of Slow Horses on Apple+. I finished half of it before heading out to get Emma. I had the board game Istanbul in the EV and reviewed the Mocha and Baksheesh version.

I picked Emma up in Air VW the Gray, and we headed to decarli restaurant (lowercase). It was happy hour, and they had just opened. I think it’s the best food in Beaverton, and we added almonds and meatballs to the Happy Hour menu. We had their signature drinks and a quick snack, and then took the EV to The 649.

Crystal bartended, and then Kyle did. We got a round table (a party was coming and some tables were reserved) and some beers, picking smaller ones, then set up and played a game of Istanbul with Mocha and Baksheesh. This addition adds many options and a new commodity, coffee, to the game, and an alternative turn action through guild cards. The game is now more complex, and the play area is larger. The choices each turn in the game are no longer simply about race and efficiency.

I managed to explain, and soon Emma was ahead, and I played my usual game of racing, plus using coffee here and there. Emma blocked me and shot ahead. But the easy wins were soon gone, and I kept building up and ended the game. But Emma had one turn to match me, and she did. Unfortunately for me, the tie is money, and Emma still had a pile. She won.

We finished with an OK flight of little cheesecakes. I also had coffee and a shot of Amaretto, which was new to Emma. She loved it. With desserts inside us, I took Emma back and then headed home. I read more Accidental Alchemist and was laughing through it. I got tired and soon slept.

Thanks for reading.

 

 

I rose at 6:30ish after the 6 alarm that I rolled over for. I had packed the night before and was amazed that everything fit. I added my PJs and a few last-minute items to the roller bag and was once again surprised that the zipper could take that kind of pressure. Done. I then, having decided only to walk the ten blocks to the other side of the Quarter once today, checked out and stored my bags. I did take my laptop. It was another hot day, and the light rain was now a miasma of humidity that settled on you as you walked the streets of the Quarter.

Parts of Decatur Street are in pieces, and even parts of the sidewalk are being swallowed up in a rip-and-replace process that I am sure is not improving the business climate.  I walk past Cafe Monde and head past Jackson Square to Cafe Beignet for my hit of powdered sugar and fried dough. No mules are out for tours, and the cafe is not open until 8; I write the blog until it opens. I let others try the first batch and finally get mine. I think they’re still a tiny bit undercooked and explode white powdered sugar all over me, the table, and the ground. Too chewy for me, but I slowly enjoy them as I write the drink their coffee without chicory.

I later learn from Chris, my driver for my carriage ride behind a mule, that his choice would be Loretta’s Authentic Pralines for Beignet. When in season (I did not know they had seasons), fresh crawfish savory beignets are the best there (though Chris thought the frozen ones were not bad).  Also, they stuff pralines in the beignet, and Chris thinks they are the best for sweet versions. Something to reserve for the next trip. I am already thinking about late January 2027, dear readers.

I wrote and wrote. Cafe Beignet, this one, is also on Toulouse Street, which leads to the Greyline tours. I often look up and see Ubers and Taxis dropping off people or slightly lost tourists heading toward the river to find their bus. Here, I headed to the plantations before. I planned not to return for this trip.

The blog is long and published around 10-ish, and Chris, with his mule who fears tubas, heads out for $30, plus tip, for a 30-minute tour. You can get a private tour for $150 for 30 minutes. I joined the standard fare, and a family filled the other seats. Chris is local and has lived nearby all his life. He tells his story well and covers the usual stories. I know all the stories he tells, and between his spiel for the tourists, I learn that he has a food cart with his wife, is licensed even in Oregon, and has family in Brooks. He was there recently and ran his cart there. Chris says he covers the Southwest states too.

I reminded him of Muriel’s Jackson Square Séance Room as we passed by. He then told the story of the set table and how they keep it up every day with a glass of wine and a piece of bread to make the former owner, long dead, happy. Chris also says he believes Muriel’s (business casual is required) has the best food in the Quarter (he has held family events there). Another item from Chris for next time. Chris pointed out the LaLaurie Mansion, which some call the most haunted place in NOLA. I later learned it was mostly reconstructed, not entirely rebuilt, and not open to the public.

I also learned from an Uber driver that New Orleans has an excellent Civil War battlefield area. I will add that to the list of things to do. And the WW2 museum someday too.

With that short visit done, I walked through the Quarter again. Checking the historical markers, I noticed I had missed something. Jenny Lind stayed at a manor (now replaced with a modern building) off the square—I first learned of her in the musical Barnum. I also checked my memory, and I had the correct place where the Good Friday Fire started.

I stopped at the Cathedral as it was not quite 11, an early lunch for me today, and gave three dollars by Apple Pay and lit a candle “For the Future” as part of the support for the building (I tried PayPal twice, but it did not work). I always like church buildings, especially ones with Stations of the Cross between the stained glass. The Archbishop was getting ready for Mass and said a friendly good morning to me as he went to the confessional for any last-minute items before Mass. Not being Catholic, I didn’t partake.

Napoleon House was my last meal for this trip in the Quarter. I also had a Primm’s Cup with my muffuletta quarter sandwich, plus a side of jambalaya. It was then a long walk back to the hotel in the heat, and I regretted the booze in the drink. I arrived without issue, and soon a driver took me to the airport for a set $36 plus tip. The bag drop was without excitement, and I remembered my iPhone and put my ID away.

Security was just a metal detector, and I had to take off my suspenders. It took no time at all. Laptop out this time, and no additional checks for me. I read, sat at the gate, and soon watched Wrath of Khan, then The Search for Spock on the next plane. I had a three-hour layover in LAX and spent most of it reading and drinking overpriced drinks ($47 with well booze!). I had a sandwich on the plane to LAX that I got at the New Orleans airport, just a pre-packaged ham and cheese (they are usually good, and this one was fine).

(Watching my gate with a finished drink)

Corwin found me waiting at PDX. My plane was 20 minutes early, and he drove me back in the EV — he picks me up in my car. The mail hadn’t arrived (the hold ended today), but a large box did. I thought it was a book. It was a Kickstarter. I opened the box and the game. It is another figure-based Viking game, Vahala. A new game and also an add-on to the board game Blood Rage. Lots of figures to paint. Hmmm.

Then I went to bed after taking my meds and unpacking a few items. Most of it will be laundry on Thursday.

And I soon fell asleep until about 4. The time zone change is getting me again. Thanks for reading!

Tuesday started with Jesse improving, me starting the blog, and me sleeping in until 7ish. I did the usual things in my room at Le Richelieu Hotel, including reading my email (mostly deleting and unsubscribing from various Democrat candidates who must have gotten my email from the bleeding-heart liberal list of supporters; I do qualify, but now that I am not working, I am more careful with my spending. I made in-room coffee and missed waking up with Deborah and bringing her coffee in bed. She would wake before me and play word games until I finally woke up; then I would make the coffee and bring it to her. Instead, I make coffee for one here in New Orleans’ French Quarter, read email (as I said, mostly deleting), update Quicken transactions downloaded from my various accounts, and read the news from the NY Times and Semafor.

Aside: For those who believe what Trump says about the NY Times, I read it not for the political stuff (though I like it), but more for their reviews and stories. The writing is well edited, and stories are delivered in ways that make you want to keep reading. Every day, the NY Times is a study in how to write. I believe in the saying “steel cuts steel”; to be the best, you must experience the best and try to reach its level. Imitate the best, learn it, own it, make it your own.

Linda (my sister) and Jesse (her husband) contact me; they check out, and we walk to Envie for breakfast. Jesse is smiling again, but ready to head home. Jesse was sick from the food yesterday and has made a recovery after a terrible afternoon and evening. He suggests it was the vampires. He did not sparkle or catch fire in the morning light, so he seemed recovered.

I had the traditional breakfast with bacon and grits. Linda and Jesse found their favorites, and we were soon happy to drink coffee and eat again.  An Uber was ordered, and soon Linda and Jesse were off in a black SUV that any mob or ICE person would be proud to use to the airport. They would return home on a direct flight to Detroit, with no recurrence of Vampire-caused illness.

I had a demo class at the New Orleans School of Cooking on the other side of the Quarter at 10:30, and there is a coffee place around the corner (not that I have been here enough to know all this). I got a Londo Fog for too much and drank it slowly while I wrote the blog. I had just about finished when my phone rang. My class was starting early–oops–and I walked around the corner and was the last person. I missed the intros, but not much more.

Chef Dianne was cooking and had a few items started so we could finish and eat before 12:30. I was sitting next to some folks from Wisconsin, but they were none too friendly, and I think I annoyed them more by sharing their table. C’est la vie.

I watched, listened, and asked a question or two. I timed the rice for the chef for the jambalaya, and like every time I’ve made it, it took twice as long to cook as the recipe said. I felt better about that! Once again, I envied the induction stove for keeping the heat steady while I made the roux. My electric stove is old-school and pulses heat, which can make this exciting–and not in a good way. Sigh.

The gumbo without seafood was excellent. One of the Wisconsin people started to talk to me; she is a retired cook and smiled. Better. The jambalaya was not spicy enough, but the rice was perfect, and there were plenty of spices ready to fix ‘r up. The Banana Foster was too small a portion, but excellent and flamed, of course. The pralines were nothing I liked, but there was too much sugar by that point after the banana stuff.

With that done, I walked the ten blocks to the hotel in increasing heat. I had published the blog, returning to the coffee place for a few minutes to finish up. It was hot, and it was heading into another 91ºF (32ºC) day. I dropped off the laptop, got a bottle of water (another one; I drank one as I got to the hotel), wrote down my plans in a small notebook, and headed out. I ordered an Uber to Metairie Cemetery.

The driver was surprised, I could tell, as he does not get many trips there. This is not one of the tourist stops and not near the Quarter or other well-visited areas. I wrote down the names and locations (but I found that the cemetery, like many, does not have signs for sections) for the driver.

I found Anne Rice, of vampire fame, not far from the entrance in a newest but old-style above-ground mausoleum. My driver said it was a rich person’s cemetery and was not covered with Katrina. He was here for that and lives not far from there. He remembers the lesser cemetary nearby was flooded and the caskets poping out of the ground and floated. He said it was unreal to see caskets all over the area.

I wanted to end my American Civil War odyssey with General Hood. His remains were there in an above-ground traditional New Orleans tomb. I walked and walked. I went to the pictures in Find-A-Grave and noticed a tall statue on a base and soon spotted it. Then I spotted the monument to Louisiana Confederate Troops. On the other side was a small, older tomb with a few flags, and someone left a boot with a sock (Gen. Hood lost a leg in the war and was strapped to his saddle when riding). It was a very plain tomb with a vase with ‘HOOD’ carved in stone in front, with a few rebel flags. It was his wife’s family tomb. He died bankrupt when Yellow Fever shut down the local stock market and then died from the same scourge. He lost his wife and a child before succumbing himself. A sad story. His nine remaining orphaned children were then adopted by nine different families.

Still, it felt like I had completed my ACW tour now. The battlefield, and now the grave of the man who defined, though bloody, the last action for the Confederacy. Here, within sight of a monument to the men he expended and failed.

With that done, I had to find my way back, as I had come by a meandering trail. I found a straighter way out when I heard the highway next to the graveyard (and was careful to locate it, since my hearing is only on one side). I passed Anne Rice again and then called an Uber that, for another $30, would get me back. It was slightly cheaper to get here. Hmmm.

Back at the hotel and calling Deborah, I am ready for a nap. All the granite in the graveyard was radiating extra heat. It is not a place to go on a hot, sunny day!

But housekeeping is running late, offers to get the room in shape, and I head out instead. I walk to Frenchman Street without my hat, and I soon was missing it. The Spotted Cat was open and the band had just ended a set. I got a Sazerac in a plastic cup and nursed that through the set. They were lead by a trumpet player and he was loud and fun. The music was wonderful and I was feeling better.

Aside: The streets in the Quarter are lined with stone or newer concrete. But Frenchman Street had a different look; there was even a tiny plaque for the steel-and-cement curbs from more than a century ago.

I was next to some women and we chatted between sets. They knew jazz and was enjoying all the bands. The next set, and a Gin and Tonic, was my next choice. After that set I headed to a local Italian place.

This was the kind of place for high-spending folks and I just wanted good food. I had OK food. I’m sure Olive Garden could have done as well or better. And the price tag there could have been a few meals at OG with friends. But the coffee and dessert was great. Their bread was fantastic too.

Next, I walked back into the Jackson Square area, but the carts were gone. I saw they were now used for Ghost stories, which I would have needed to book in advance. Hmmm. Instead, I walked to Napoleon House and had Primm’s cup. It was excellent, and unlike anything I’d had before there. Refreshing. I remembered Dondrea had one and thought it excellent when we were here together last time.

After that, I walked back to the hotel, enjoying the streets. I stopped to look at a corner building, heard a voice say, “You all come this way,” was startled, and realized I had stumbled into a tour. I smiled and left. “You never know which buildings are haunted here,” he said, smiling.

Back at the hotel, I said good night to Deborah on a call and then read. I packed almost everything amazed it all fit. I double-checked that I had not missed anything. I then tried to sleep. I woke up uncomfortable at 1 but managed to sleep again.

Thanks for reading!

 

While I walk here, I can feel a small caress on my shoulder or a polite poke on the street. It seems the spirits of NOLA remember me and welcome me. I can almost hear the “good morning/evening” from the streets as I walk them this morning alone. I am not alone in my thoughts. It must be why I like it here. Even the spirits smile. Or it is the booze, but I think not.

The morning started with me up early-ish to write the blog and start my day. Today I have only Preservation Hall at 5 for the three of us. Jesse is looking a bit worn after five or more bars and as many places to eat (some overlapping) yesterday. Sadly, Jesse will be taken by the food demon, and Linda will stay with him, missing a good show at Preservation Hall. This is back to the original location, now updated with an expensive bar, but the best Sazerac I have had so far. The day ends with Linda ordering two pizzas (buy-1-get-1-free) and a salad. Though a person ordering from Michigan a salad after their salad crisis was a surprise to me. I took a break from endless booze and music too and read my new book on my Kindle app until I heard that Jesse was improving and then went to bed and slept well.

We started with breakfast at Toast of Decatur Street. I had the ratulli omelet, sticking to some cooked veggies and protein, except for the grits. Linda and Jesse split three breakfasts between them. They wanted to try about everything, but did pass on the King Cake stuffed French-style toast with Madi Grasse sprinkles. I saw one delivered. It looks as described, wow!

This lots of breakfast in us (unfortunately for Jesse, as it would return unbidden soon), we walked lots of blocks to the other side of the Quarter to the Vampire Café, and there Linda had a blood bag (juice), and Jesse a soda (he was already pale), and I a wicked O+ (my blood type, A+, is a too-sweet drink; A+ is sweet): Mezcal Tequila margarita with jalapeno. Smoky and burning. We were bitten (given a sticker of bite marks to put on your neck, and given a pass to Potions above Fritzel’s, but we would not make it).

Jesse and I went to the other Vampire place, The Vampire Apothecary, and I had some food, as I was left a bit uneven after crossing blood types. Linda stayed at a pleasant Voodoo place and had her cards read. Linda stayed with me for a short walk in the Quarter; Jesse headed back, and Linda headed back and invested the afternoon in caring for Jesse, who later claimed he was possessed by a lower demon, very low, and was ill until the late evening. He mostly recovered on Tuesday, and they took their plane that morning.

With a few hours free until the show, Fritzel’s European Jazz Club was wonderfully AC’d, and the music was good. I was almost alone on my side, as Monday afternoons are not big days here in the Big Easy. I talked to some young men who were enjoying the show and shared my bench. The band playing was confused as it added various folks to the lineup and seemed to be switching music at the last minute. One comment: “We are working out the keys, so we will suck less.” It was excellent, and the tryouts were good. To me, it was fun to be part of the workings of New Orleans bands, even as just an audience member. I could see they started out slow and careful, then let the music find its groove and rip. Excellent.

Preservation Hall opened, and I switched to their bar and had more food: ham and pimento cheese with toasted bread. That was perfect with the almost sweet Sazerac–again, the best so far on the trip. I found my seat; being almost the last person in the front row, I got the bench on the side, but the band plays into the crowd, and the trombone reached in front of me. A bit close. I liked the bench. I told the staff I had two unused seats in front and asked them to give them away. Two people from the UK, one of whom did not have a seat, got Jesse’s seat, and his wife got the upgrade to Linda’s seat, a perfect ending.

(From earlier in Fritzel’s)

The music was loud and fun, and I did not know any of it. I have nodded off in a more technical concert a few years ago. The singing was fun, and it was all fast-moving or lovely.

And with that, I have made a full circle of the day. I have left out meeting some folks at the hotel, and the tiny Chevy sounding like a huge truck (why?), and police raiding the building across the street from the hotel, but all of this is the spice of New Orleans, and like the gumbo, you have to taste it to get it.

Thanks for reading.

We ended Sunday listening to a woman sing ballads, with too much drum and plenty of keyboard, at the BMC around the corner from our hotel. My watch warned me it was too loud — something that would happen all night — and with her last notes (with a musical kufuffle as the song tried to end a few times, but one of the players just went on), we left, and Linda (my sister), Jesse (her husband), and I returned to the hotel. There, just before Sunday ended, I climbed into bed with music, food, and my room over-AC’d, and it all sent me to sleep.

Before that, we stopped at various places for music and more food on Frenchman’s Street outside the Quarter. While it showed many signs of too many tourists, the giggles of screaming girls (my plural invention) and gangs of guys expensively dressed do not migrate to this street. The music ranged from their own concoction of jazz, like we heard at the only show we bought at Snug Harbor, Kim Prevost & Bill Solley with Amina Figerova, to old rock and hilly-billy rock at another Bamboula’s, to screaming mixes of all at 30°90°.

(BMC still in Quarter but on the line)

(30°90° on Frenchman Street)

(Snug Harbor, a pre-purchased ticket, but grab a seat fast as those are up for grabs)

(Bamboula bouncing non-stop energy)

At Snug Harbor, there is always a mad dash for seats. You line up before the doors open and get what you get. I snagged the last two good seats, and Linda and Jesse found a good view behind me. The tables are in twos, and I gave the spare (Linda and Jesse together) to a local, Rebecca, and we enjoyed the show together.

30°90° starts with the last set of a slow, familiar mix of old rock and rockabilly. I get appetizers, and the bartender tells me, “Best of luck; it is a new menu,” and he has no idea what is good. Bartenders are very honest here when it is about the food (they want that tip). Linda and Jesse find me; I send out my location, and they find me, but walk past, and I and the security welcome them back (Security love to do something besides sit there and nod people in, sometimes checking IDs, but the early people like me have mostly grey hair and are “looking through windows,” as the song says. We then enjoy Frenchman Street.

I also purchased from the bookstore; theme of the day for me. This was my third bookstore, the Frenchman Bookstore. There, you must use hand sanitizer before touching a book. If you take a photo of a book to order elsewhere, they charge $1. Seriously. I found a copy of a book I almost bought earlier, but this one is signed. I missed the signing yesterday here. I also got a book recommended by a local author on above-ground local burial processes here, written, it says, with scholarship by a tour guide who became curious whether the “facts” they were using on the tours were real. This book is to set the record straight and, according to the author, is a manual for those who, excuse this, want to dig deeper into the subject (you do not dig here, of course).

Before our cooler night travels, we were baked on the Quarter’s streets. We took an Uber to Arnaud’s for brunch, with me slipping in for breakfast at Envie, a few blocks away, before sharing that with Linda and Jeese the 1/2 I brought back. Breakfast at Envie was nice: coffee, grits (I ate all of that), too much omelet, and a biscuit I saved (and took to Linda and Jesse). There are better, more local foods, but nothing closer or easier.

Back at Arnaud’s, I wore a tie, sweater, dress shirt, and dress shoes. Jesse wore a collared shirt (the requirement), and Linda dressed up but comfortably. The food and old-school setting were fun. The food was perfect, and we had a server, a waiter, and a ‘D,’ as shown on his name tag. I had veal with Linda, and Jesse tried versions of crab (Arnaud’s locally sourced crab cakes are known as the best). Linda and I got to watch our server burn up some rum for Banana Foster.

We split up after brunch, and I found books at Crescent and Beckham and paid $10 for shipping on some excellent finds. Jeffery at Crescent remembered me, and we chatted for a while, and he was happy to ship for me. Beckham didn’t remember me, but we still enjoyed a chat while I shipped my books. I stopped by the New Orleans School of Cooking for a spice for Dondrea (the black lid version). Linda, Jesse, and I met after they finished their carriage tour. Linda was overheating, and we got back to the hotel via a more direct route. Naps followed.

That covers yesterday.

I talked to Deborah all through the day. It was a quiet day for her, and it was good to share a bit of NOLA with her. I missed her with the music; we danced in Iceland to oldie rock. I also connected with Dondrea a few times, as the church started the Revival today (planned after my plans for this trip, so I missed the start). Pastor Ken was out due to family matters, and Dondrea found herself serving as organizer and preacher for the Revival Kick-off.

I found General Hood’s burial place, the same Confederate General as Franklin. I will try to get out there to complete the circle of this trip. Thanks for reading!