Getting back into the swing of things

A client once mentioned that he'd been advised a vacation should be three weeks: the first week to play, the second week to recuperate, the third week to forget about work and its related stress. I like that advice. Most folks in the USA don't have that luxury of taking three weeks of vacation.

I returned on October 30 from a vacation in New Orleans, Louisiana. I chose last week because that was the week of my elder son's birthday, the same child who died in January of this year. I did not want to stay at home; I needed to get away and be distracted. Matt visited New Orleans a couple of years ago and really enjoyed the experience, so I thought the same destination would be a good way to cope with his absence and celebrate his lively, adventurous nature.

My best friend went with me, while our husbands stayed home to care for livestock. My younger son delayed his return to Alaska to stay home with his father, which I appreciated. They comforted each other. My friend and I drove to New Orleans.

It's a long, long drive from southwest Ohio to the Mississippi River's delta. Our route there and back took us through Mississippi, where I was born had hadn't seen since I was about a year old.

Southern Louisiana looked sickly from hurricane devastation, evident as we cruised the interstate. New Orleans itself is larger than I anticipated; but then I'm easily intimidated by cities larger than my hometown. We checked into the Magnolia, a boutique hotel in the business district just a couple of blocks from the French Quarter. The site was a good choice, as it put us within walking distance of just about everything we wanted to see.

After checking in and settling into my room, I discovered the hotel safe did not work. I contacted the manager who summoned the security person who replaced the safe. While they attempted to fix it, we chatted. I blurted the reason for my visit and both emotions and tears flowed. The manager, Cynthia, offered comfort and shared that she, too, had lost two of her children. I was grateful--and remain grateful--for her kindness.

My friend and I were tired and frazzled and hungry. We discovered that New Orleans was still under a mask mandate and that restaurants demanded proof of COVID-19 vaccination or a negative PCR test not more than 72 hours old. What a hassle! The front desk concierge escorted us to the Chop House where we were served. My friend stated they have the best steak fries she'd ever eaten.

Throughout our visit, my friend and I relied on locals for dining suggestions. They never steered us wrong. One of our favorites was Mother's Restaurant, a old diner serving comfort food. Also of note are Oceana Grill and the City Market Café.

On Monday morning we wandered into the French Quarter. We strolled along the river and gawked at the enormity of the ships, particularly the naval frigates. We stopped in Artillery Park took photos, and entered the hallowed environs of St. Louis Cathedral. I lit a candle for Matt, then kneeled in a pew to pray. I wept. After I composed myself, we returned to the hotel for a bit, ate lunch, then embarked upon a city bus tour. Our driver and tour guide, Justin, entertained us with a rolling monologue about the city, some of its notable persons, the uniqueness of its cemeteries, and other bits of history.

Early Tuesday, we hopped onto a swamp tour in Lafitte Parish and learned a bit about the bayou, saw some alligators and egrets, and learned a new word: flotant. Flotants are bits of "floating marsh not anchored to the soil beneath." Returning to the city, we wandered about the city some more.

Wednesday's wandering included a return to the cathedral where I again lit a candle, prayed, and wept. My friend and I remained sitting in the pew, lost in our thoughts. Stained glass high in the cathedral bathed the church's interior in a pale yellow light. The light changed, deepened, to gold. Just in the sanctuary. Just for a moment. "Did you see that?" I asked my friend. She said she did see that and asked if I felt it, too. I admitted I felt a presence filling the church.

It's one thing to be taught that God is always present. It's entirely something else to feel it. Awed by the experienced, we soon departed and discussed what I truly believe was a divine manifestation. That evening, we joined a ghost tour which focused more on New Orleans history than ghost stories. No, we didn't see any ghosts.

Our last day in the Big Easy took us back to the cathedral. I lit another candle for Matt. I kneeled and prayed. We sat in the pew for a long while. "It feels different in here today," my friend commented. I agreed. We both experienced a calming and serene presence filling the cathedral. My grief was still there, but that presence kept it from boiling over. Although my eyes got misty, I did not cry. With a whisper of gratitude, we finally left the church and embarked upon our final tourist adventure at the sculpture garden in City Park.

Friday morning, our day of departure, I thanked Cynthia for her kindness. (Indeed, the entire staff there is super.) She stated how she'd prayed for me and asked God to send me a sign. I told her about my experiences in the cathedral. We hugged and said good-bye.

Returning home, I'm still in awe of that experience. My vacation did what it was supposed to do ... and more. I've been given a measure of peace and reassurance which I treasure. It's with reluctance that I return to my desk rather than take another week off to recuperate and a third to forget all about work. However, reality intrudes and impresses upon me that necessity to work.

Work, for me, means writing and editing and occasionally formatting newsletters and books. I've got projects lined up that need attention. I have two author events yet to attend this year. Life and work took a much-needed pause last week, but this week requires a return to normality. This Monday article is the launch back to normality in which every word counts.

Peace be upon you.