Parasol’s is closing.

Parasol’s is a bar/restaurant in the Garden District of New Orleans owned by a good friend of mine, Jeff Carreras. It’s actually more of a dive, really. But a good one. It’s the center for all activities during St. Patrick’s week in New Orleans. It’s the neighborhood place. It’s where no matter when I went, I knew someone there, and there was always a few hugs hug and some “dahlin’s” for me. Where else but Parasol’s would my wedding picture be on the website and behind the bar? Where else would be the best place in New Orleans to get a roast beef poboy? I’ve spent many a St Patrick’s Day, Saint Joseph’s day and Saint Kim and Gregory days at this fine establishment. Gregory and I eloped but had our “vow renewal/real  NOLA wedding/party” there. And now, it will be just another memory.

But new memories are to be made, and as Gregory would say, better days ahead. Jeff and company are moving to another location, larger and nicer, and the tradition that is Parasol’s will continue. I don’t think New Orleans knows any other way. Rebirth and rebuild. On August 29th, which incidentally is the 5th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina’s landfall along the Gulf Coast, there will be a second line from Parasol’s on the corner of Third and Constance to the new location. As there should be. Taking the old memories to the new and showing it how it’s done. And you better believe that this girl is gonna do her best to be in that number, and will surely be there for St Patrick’s Day 2011.

The best memories I have of Parasol’s though ? They’ll live forever …..

Laissez Lez Bon Temps Roulez y’all….

At last, my BH10 post. Only took a week after the conference, but like fine wine, my brain needed time to ferment. Or maybe my brain needed wine. Whatev. Anyway, here it is.

The conference itself was amazing – and even though I was there to talk about grief, I packed a lot of living into the 7 days that I was there. Cecily recapped it best, and she has an awesome pic of the panel I was on with Peter, Annisa and Loralee. And I must add that I love how my hair got WINGS that day. Freaking humidity.

What can I say about BlogHer that hasn’t already been said ? I got to meet some of my favorite people in the world who have until now only lived in my computer, I got to hang out and reconnect with so many people I have met before and strengthened our bonds, and I think I can safely say that I’ve made some new lifelong friends. I also finally got to meet and hug the most beautiful little girl since me, and her Mom and Grandmother, who are equally and even more so made.of.awesome !

Yes, there was swag. Yes, there were sponsors and suites and stuff. But most importantly, there were people. People to hug and squeeze and sit on the curb with while eating street meat, to dance with, to put paper bags on our heads and dance ourselves silly with. They didn’t care how you dressed, who you wrote for or how big of a deal you thought you were on the internet, they were with you for you. And to me, that is what BlogHer is all about.

And this …..

** It’s been awhile since I posted this series, I know many if you have asked me about it. I’ve been busy, I’ll try and keep it more regular, thanks ! **

There were certain areas in our county that always gave me the heebie-jeebies. Even though I had several guns at my disposal, just having to go to these areas always increased my pucker factor tenfold.

One of these areas was known as “Henleyfield”. Now, not all of that area was heeb inducing, just a few spots. And only at night. During the day I was fine, but throw me out there around 2am and I was checking the back seat for haint’s about every 5 seconds. If you don’t know what a haint is, click here …….

So anyway, one night I got a call out to Henleyfield to check on a loud music complaint. Luckily, I had my friend and reserve officer Beau riding with me, and being the manly man he was is I was only had half the heebs I usually did. Right then.

Normally loud music complaints are routine, teenagers or drunken adults jamming out to the music of the moment or someone wanting to show off their ride. Normally. But as I learned early on in my law enforcement career, nothing in Pearl River County is normal !

We got close to the location of the call and pulled off to the side of the road with the windows down to listen out for the alleged noise. Immediately we could hear music coming out of the woods and see lights through the trees from the house. We slowly crept along the road and then up the long dirt drive that led to the house. Upon entering the clearing where it was, it looked like something put of a scene from a weird movie. Old cars, junk and even a school bus littered the yard, and every light in the house was on and the yard was lit up with floodlights. And there was music. Loud, haunting music.

Courtesy of Miss Patsy Cline.

Good thing I peed before we left town.

Beau and I walked all over that yard, through the fully lit, every door and window open shack house, cleared each bus, van, and ramshackle car on blocks, and never found anyone. Not even Miss Cline. Only her incarnation, recorded forever on a cassette tape blaring out of the rotting husk of a Chevy Cavalier. We silenced Patsy, tried to secure the house and got the hell out of there. I never did find out where the owner was, and I never got called back to find him rotting away in the woods, so I guess he’s still there.

Crazy.