So, I’m a way down south for the week helping out after the birth of my baby sister’s second child. I’m in the land of
Jambalaya and drive through Daiquiris. A place where hard liquor is sold on an end cap at the pharmacy and a certain (supposedly) English speaking portion of the population can neither understand me nor I them.
Tragically, there will be no time for me to sit at Cafe du Monde sipping cafe au lait while nibbling on beignets out of a white paper sack with three inches of powdered sugar in the bottom. All for me.
Once, right after my sister moved here, she called me from the parking lot of La Blancs, her small local grocery, to report she had just seen a man walk inside with a live raccoon on his shoulder.
Hopefully, some nuance in the culture here explains why three different hospital workers thought I was the new baby’s grandma.
Either that or the lack of sleep followed up by chasing my rambunctious three-year-old nephew is taking a brutal toll.