Friday, February 5, 2010

Satan, My Son, and the Superbowl

What a dilemma! I’m chomping at the bit to head to New Orleans. I’m dying to see the Saints in the Superbowl with fellow “Who Dats?” My blood pressure is in normal range, and more winter weather is predicted for the next week.

Add to this that I found out the annual conference of police officers that I need to interview for a book project is scheduled for Mardi Gras week in Sandestin; and my granddaughter Miya in Mississippi will be turning nine at the end of that week. Like that’s not enough temptation to head south to avoid two weeks of winter, my daughter’s family will be in Louisiana for Mardi Gras.

Get thee behind me, Satan. Richard still doesn’t have his medical dog tag, and I swore I wouldn’t leave him in the holler without it.

My son just built a new party hut in his back yard – with a wide screen TV and everything needed for a proper Superbowl party. He’s called twice to see what time I’m arriving. If I did go, I could videotape the proper way to party, and use it to help Scott sell his backyard designs. He is, after all, in the pool, deck, and palm tree business.

Unfortunately, for me – not her—Elaine (our pulmonologist friend who introduced me to Richard) is attending the actual Superbowl, so she won’t be at Scott’s to administer emergency care should my brain start to explode at Scott’s. I could just double up on my blood pressure pills as an appetizer before the game.

I can’t find folks here who even know what a “Who Dat?” is. “Who Dat say they gonna beat them Saints; Who Dat? Who Dat?” How can I possibly miss celebrating the biggest event in New Orleans history with other New Orleans fans? If the Saints win the Superbowl, we’ll forgive God for Hurricane Katrina – at least, I will – almost…

Maybe my problem will be solved when I see the nurse practitioner. Maybe she’ll tell me that I’m not stable enough to travel – physically, not mentally – we all know I’m never mentally stable. Maybe she’ll tell me that I can’t even watch the Superbowl without being in a hospital, in case I stroke out from the excitement.

I know what it means to miss New Orleans.

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