My husband, Mike, once took one of those personality tests at work. When the results came back the psychologist announced that he was a quite an interesting man. He noted that Mike was highly principled and that he would maintain his ethics even in the face of unbearable peer pressure. Interestingly his profile also showed that he was a man of few needs who actually enjoyed working alone. The psychologist joked that if the company gave Mike a cardboard box with a lightbulb in which to do his work, he would be perfectly satisfied. In other words, Mike is the strong silent type. He’s John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, and Gregory Peck all rolled up into one person. He is who he is and he doesn’t worry a bit about what others may think of him. He’s a great foil to my uptight, worried, sometimes easily swayed tendencies. Together we have somehow managed to forge a partnership of forty seven years that works beautifully. I suspect that if I were allowed to enter a time machine and relive all of them I would eagerly repeat our life all over again. Continue reading “Forty Seven Octobers”
As we grow older we often romanticize our youth. This doesn’t just happen with those of us who are sixty something, even adults as young as thirty or forty are often guilty of viewing the newest generation as being far less industrious than ours was in “the old days.” We all know the kind of thinking to which I am referring, “When I was a kid we had it hard! We got up at the crack of dawn and walked a mile to school in the snow, uphill, both ways! Kids today are spoiled!”
When the newly formed Confederate States fired on Fort Sumter to begin the conflict known as the Civil War citizens gathered on the verandas and balconies of the homes along the Battery in Charleston to celebrate what they believed would be a very short engagement. Almost a year later the battles lingered on and it would be three more years before the bitter feud between what had once been united states finally ended. The cost would weigh heavily on both sides, especially in terms of the lost treasure of young men. 
New Orleans is a siren, a temptress who lulls unsuspecting innocents into her arms. She infects her unwitting visitors with a fever from which there is no cure. Forevermore they love her and must return again and again and again. I am one of those people who is so enamored with the Big Easy that I often find myself dreaming of walking the familiar haunts. When I have been gone too long I feel a longing and ultimately I find my way back to her. I revel in the sights, the sounds, the feast of the senses until I am satiated enough to return to my normal routines but the lovely NOLA is never far from my thoughts. She knows as I do that I will never resist her call. I will come back to enjoy her many charms. 
