This is not
a Christmas slice. I traveled this past weekend, which only was only
tangentially because of Christmas. My daughter, the librarian, had a four-day
weekend, having last Saturday off and Christmas Eve as well. She decided she wanted
to go with her husband to New Orleans, where she had never been, and asked me
if I wanted to join them. Why not? I had only been there once before, last
winter, for five days, and loved it.
So we
reserved rooms at the same B&B I had stayed at, Monrose Row (which I strongly
recommend; Cindy, the proprietor, makes fantastic breakfasts). I made a dinner
reservation for Sunday night at Commodore’s Palace, supposedly the best
restaurant in New Orleans. Christie made reservations for dinner at a Brazilian
steakhouse, one of those places where they bring large skewers of many
different kinds of meat to your table, and slice off whatever you want. I made
reservations for a walking tour of the French Quarter, and Christie made
reservations for a tour of a local whiskey distillery.
But that
isn’t the story I was going to tell. That happened today, as we were getting on
the plane to come back home. Christie and her husband were sitting some rows
ahead of me, so they got on first. Then I boarded and was busy putting my bag
in the overhead and tucking my other bag under the seat when there was a tap on
my shoulder. I thought someone wanted to get past, but when I looked up, I
recognized the young man. He was a colleague from the magazine where I do
free-lance work. I knew his family was in New Orleans, but what a coincidence
that he was on the same flight returning to New York. And he was sitting right
behind me as well. So we chatted about the city and our holidays, and we shared a taxi into Manhattan from the airport. It all rounded out a very lovely four-day holiday weekend.
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It’s
Slice of Life Tuesday over at Two
Writing Teachers. Check out this encouraging and
enthusiastic writing community and their slices of life every Tuesday. And add
one of your own.
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