Super Bowl Saints

New Orleans will rise again! Not only did my home city win a slot in the Super Bowl, my son won a chance to purchase two tickets to the game. He’s giving his lottery slots to his dad who has been waiting for this moment from the first time the Saints ran onto the field. Many said that the Saints would go to the Super Bowl when Hell froze over. Maybe it’s because of global warming, but Hell has frozen over.

We’re not football fans, but we are definitely fans of New Orleans. Anything that can give help restore the spirit of “the city that care forgot” to the Crescent City has to be a good thing. Win or lose, New Orleans beloved team finally made it to the big time. This year, the week after the Super Bowl is Mardi Gras. I suspect that New Orleanians will party straight through from one event to the other.

I may have to roll down south myself just to soak up some of that attitude. It would be nice to experience some of the South Louisiana version of survival skills; no matter what happens, “Let the good times roll.”

While in the New Orleans area, I’d also be soaking up some of that good Cajun, Creole, Italian, Indian, Greek, and Soul food found in the neighborhood restaurants and homes all over town. My granddaughter has a birthday, and my aunt wants me to work with her on a Cajun cookbook, so I have plenty of reasons to head south.

Since it’s doubtful the Richard will want o accompany me, my big sticking point is his emergency care in my absence. Richard is simply incapable of making a big deal of himself, no matter how special he is, medically or otherwise. If only we could train Gypsy to act more like Lassie and run for help whenever her master is in trouble.

Meanwhile, we’re making progress. Our house is flagged with 911 as having a heart transplant patient. EMS has guided me in what to put on Richard’s medical dog tag, which Richard has agreed to wear -- after Adam’s insistence. Mary and Don have edited Richard’s medical records, so the most critical points are on top. We’re going to interview a local primary care doctor, and we have a subscription to a medical air lift program. I’ve tried to convince Richard to wear an “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.” button, but that’s where he draws the line. I guess he he’s not ready to feel old just yet.

Whenever Richard gets testy about all this special attention, I offer him the alternative of being with me 24/7 three hundred, sixty five and one quarter days a year. He’s quick to reply to that offer, and not in a positive manner. At least he could pretend he wants me around all the time, but as we know, he never learned to play the dating game.

I hear New Orleans calling my name…