A Lesson in Race

As I write this, I am sitting in a coffee house in Lafayette, taking a moment to let the past few days of our trip sink in. We’ve been reading A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest J. Gaines and visiting the places that inspired this intensely emotional and deeply moving novel.

A Lesson Before Dying is a powerful book about community, masculinity, racism, and humanity. Reading it while standing in the rooms that inspired the story amplified the book’s impact to whole new levels, and that is the beauty of bookpacking. It is one thing to read about Jefferson’s jail cell, and it is a completely different experience to stand in the Point Coupée jail cells yourself. To see where they used to hang prisoners, where the beds used to be screwed into the wall, the recreational area (if a tiny rooftop under the blistering sun can even be called that), and the filthy sink and toilets.  As I stood in those cement boxes, I couldn’t stop imagining what it must have been like for Jefferson to be imprisoned in such an enclosed space or what it must have been like when Miss Emma, Tante Lou, and Reverend Ambrose attempted to crowd into that space, unable to sit down because there was no room. You stand in that cell and suddenly, it isn’t that surprising that Jefferson saw himself as less than a man. How can anyone feel human in a place that is that dark and unsanitary?

“The cell was roughly six by ten, with a metal bunk covered by a thin mattress and a woolen army blanket; a toilet without seat or toilet paper; a washbowl, brownish from residue and grime; a small metal shelf upon which was a pan, a tin cup, and a tablespoon.”

— Ernest J. Gaines

You imagine how painful it was for Miss Emma to see someone she loved locked up with no way out but death. How did she manage to drag herself to the jail week after week and sit there while Jefferson ignored her and belittled himself? You imagine all these things, try to understand how the book’s characters might have been feeling, but really, there’s no way to grasp it. Unless you’ve been in the exact situation they were in, you won’t be able to get it. We can stand around and ask ourselves how we would feel with the death penalty hanging over our heads, but that can never compare to what Jefferson felt knowing the exact date of his death because it isn’t real for us. We are not going to die at some predetermine date and time for a crime we didn’t commit, but it was real for Jefferson and a multitude of other Black men.

Sadly, our prison system hasn’t changed very much since the 1940s. Today, Black men are still being incarcerated at higher rates than any other group in America, some of which are falsely imprisoned like Jefferson. And the prisons they are locked in continue to treat people like they are barely human, creating an environment of abuse and malnourishment. Weren’t prisons built on the idea of rehabilitating criminals and sending them back into the world as better citizens with regret for the crimes they committed? How can they focus on improvement when they are treated like wild animals? How can they be released as reformed citizens ready to resume normal life when they spend so much time being told they are less than human?

After visiting the jail, we headed to Ernest J. Gaines’ home in New Roads on the plantation where he grew up before moving to California and then returned to later in life. Behind his home sits the plantation church, where children used to go to school and be taught by someone like Grant Wiggins. The church is one open space, very dissimilar to what we picture in our heads when we think of schools now. I can’t even begin to fathom the difficulties of teaching students ranging from Kindergarten to 6th grade in that tiny space. How could any of the kids get the attention they needed to really succeed in their work? How can one teacher cover that many topics and levels in one day? No wonder Grant’s former teacher was so pessimistic about life and education. No wonder Grant is so set on fleeing his hometown for something better.

“He told us that most of us would die violently, and those who did not would be brought down to the level of beasts. ”

— Ernest J. Gaines

But I guess that’s the whole point. The lack of resources and space for learning is exactly how White people oppress Black people. It’s how Jefferson ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. If people are unable to learn how to read, write, and perform arithmetic successfully, then how can they ever move off the plantation? How can they move up in life? Even with an education, Grant remains stuck under the thumb of the White society around him. It’s an endless cycle, and it’s still going on now. We talked about redlining in seminar and the segregated neighborhoods it resulted in. These neighborhoods led to the placement of Black children into certain schools that then receive less funding. Our education system is not equal. Some schools have the resources to provide laptops for every student, and others have one computer lab that hasn’t been updated in years. Can you guess what the demographics of those two campuses probably are?

The list of injustices doesn’t end there. Close to Dr. Gaines’ property lies a cemetery surrounded by farmland. Dr. Gaines is buried there along with members of his family, and others connected to the plantation he grew up on. It is an astonishingly small cemetery considering the size of the plantation and the amount of people who have worked on it. And the reason for that is an erasure of Black existence and history. Cheylon from the Ernest J. Gaines Center had told us that the cemetery we were standing in was also the burial ground for enslaved people. I had assumed the cemetery was so small because the graves of the enslaved people were unmarked. I was shocked and disgusted to learn that we couldn’t see where they were buried because it had been turned into farmland. Dr. Gaines and his wife, Diane, had incorporated the cemetery to keep the remaining land from also being plowed over. Even in death Black people are disrespected and forgotten by the people who benefited from their back bending work. I think that’s why Miss Emma wanted Jefferson to die with dignity and strength. There are White individuals who work so hard to belittle Black people. By standing tall in his final moments and viewing himself as a man worthy of respect, Jefferson was standing up for himself and his people against the White perpetrators.

“I want you to show them the difference between what they think you are and what you can be.”

— Ernest J. Gaines

For me, this has been a lesson in race and the Black experience in America. As an Asian American woman, I will never truly be able to grasp what it means to be Black in this country and the hardships that go along with it, but I empathize with the Black community and hope to be an ally in their unrelenting fight for freedom. I recognize that being Black in America means a long history of oppression and continued discrimination and struggles with our country’s systems, but this book and this trip have really driven that understanding home for me. I am privileged to be able to walk into small towns like Grand Isle and St. Martinville comfortably while we are in Louisiana. I don’t have to worry as much about how people might treat me or look at me. I don’t know if my Black classmates can say the same. The racism runs much deeper here than it does anywhere else, and it’s almost impossible to come here and ignore it.

I want to end this blog by saying I still have a lot to learn about my privilege and how Black people are treated in America, and we, as a country (and honestly the world too), still have a long way to go. When you read A Lesson Before Dying and see places like New Roads, you are able to identify a disappointing amount of similarities between the past and the present. At the Ernest J. Gaines Center, the walls are graced with a variety of awards and honorary degrees from towns and institutions. The question is, when you take a closer look at these places and structures, are they really taking Gaines’ messages and lessons to heart? Are they changed for the better or are they just giving out these awards to make it seem like they recognize the issues in our society?

All The Small Things

As I write this blog post, we have just reached Baton Rouge. The last novel we read in the city of New Orleans was Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer, and I’m not going to lie, the meaning of that book completely went over my head at first. The story follows a man named Binx Bolling as he goes on a bit of an existentialist journey trying to figure out the meaning of life.

“The search is what anyone would undertake if he were not sunk in the everydayness of his own life. To become aware of the search is to be onto something. Not to be onto something is to be in despair.”

— Walker Percy

By the end of the novel, Binx realizes that there isn’t some big mind-blowing answer. In reality, life is about all the small things that you experience and the people you encounter along the way. Binx evolves from a person who abhorred malaise in his life to someone who doesn’t need constant excitement.

I think it says a lot about me that I couldn’t identify and understand this lesson until it was pointed out to me during a seminar in Audubon Park. I am still searching for something greater. I expect every book we read to have a major revelation, which is why I failed to grasp the simple ending to The Moviegoer, in which Binx settles down and is surrounded by his half siblings and wife. Enjoying life with all of its ordinary activities didn’t seem like a considerable lesson to me but looking back on the novel and looking in at myself, I can see that it is an essential lesson. I started to learn this lesson back in Grand Isle with the French Creole way of life exhibited in The Awakening, but I think it started to slip away from me in the hustle and bustle of New Orleans. I am hoping to get back in touch with this idea of slowing down and appreciating what is in front of you as our trip starts to slow down once again.

“It is not a bad thing to settle for the Little Way, not the big search for the big happiness but the sad little happiness of drinks and kisses, a good little car, and a warm deep thigh.”

— Walker Percy

We did a lot of big things while we were in New Orleans. We went on a ghost and vampire tour, rode the ferry to Algiers, ate beignets at Café du Monde, saw a performance at Preservation Hall, followed a second line parade, and visited museums. We really put on our tourists hats and did all of the classic New Orleans activities, but when I think about this trip in a few months or years, I’m not sure if those moments will be the biggest takeaways. Even now, as I think about all the things we did there, I find myself cherishing all the little things most of all.

I think about the night Alex, Spencer, Leila, and Lauryn gathered in mine and Maya’s room with snacks and music to read our books and write our blog posts together, and somehow Leila and I ended up impulsively purchasing concert tickets.

I think about the time we returned from Audubon Park and walked to Pinkberry for frozen yogurt.

I think about the incredible Cajun meal we enjoyed at 30/90, complete with a crawfish boil, the best jambalaya I’ve ever had, and raw oysters.

I think about the day off we were given to write our first papers, spending time with Maya at The Shops, and buying tickets to Harryween.

I think about the delicious food we had at Thaihey NOLA, and the hilarious waitress who pushed all of us to make our dishes spicier.

I think about the time we tried sneaking into a nearby hotel to do laundry but immediately left because the washing machine smelled like a sewer.

I think about the mouthwatering Chinese food we had at Dian Xin on our final day in NOLA, and the 15-minute tarot card reading I received across the street.

There are a million more moments I could list out, but that would make this blog too long to read. Don’t take me wrong, both the touristy and educational parts of this trip have been great. I have learned so much about the history of Louisiana and our country. I have visited places and seen exhibits that have moved me and have probably altered the way I think about community, race, what it means to be American, and myself completely. I know I will walk away from this trip wiser and more aware of the world I am living in. But I think my biggest takeaway from this Maymester will be the mundane things I did with everyone on this trip, like eating out, going to the grocery store, or spending time together in someone’s room. I know I have forged some amazing friendships on this trip, and I am eternally grateful for that because it was something I really needed at this point in my life. I remember telling my mom “I’ve found my people here.” And I think that’s what Walker Percy was trying to teach in The Moviegoer. I’m going through the same process Binx did. Maybe the meaning to life is simpler than we think. Life isn’t about the extraordinary. Life is about family and friends. Life can just be normal, and that doesn’t make it any less great. 

We need to stop searching for the meaning of life and just start living it.

“There is only one thing I can do: listen to people, see how they stick themselves into the world, hand them along a ways in their dark journey and be handed along, and for good and selfish reason.”

— Walker Percy

Communicating Through Music

In this next leg of our trip, we read Coming Through Slaughter by Michael Ondaatje and explored the magnificent music scene of New Orleans. As a Communication major and Music Industry minor, I spend so much of my time exploring media forms (especially music) and the roles they play in our society. So of course, this was the part of our Maymester that I was looking forward to the most.

My entire perspective on music changed during the first semester of my freshman year at USC after taking COMM 307: Sound Clash: Popular Music and American Culture with Professor Josh Kun. Our studies were centered around Blues People by Leroi Jones, a book that explored the evolution of music in America. Jones asserted that all music, every single genre in the US, could be traced back to the slave trade. Music started out as a way for enslaved people to communicate with each other in the fields without overseers or masters knowing what was being said, and at the very core of this was the concept of call and response. You can see it in the gospel music of African American churches today. Music was one of the main tools that brought enslaved people together. In New Orleans, groups of enslaved people would gather in Congo Square on Sundays and play music. That is where jazz was born. Additionally, music was how Black people expressed their feelings about life, race, and inequality in society. The issue was that White people would oftentimes move into these spaces and take away from Black voices. Black musicians would then react to this by creating new genres of music and formulating a fresh sound. According to Leroi Jones, that’s how jazz turned into swing, which then turned into bebop. And if you keep tracing the genres of music that have popped up in America, you can probably draw a line from the music created on plantations to the hip-hop, rock, R&B, country, and pop music that we hear on the radio today.

“The blues was conceived by freedmen and ex-slaves—if not as the result of a personal or intellectual experience, at least as an emotional confirmation of, and reaction to, the way in which most Negroes were still forced to exist in the United States.”

— Leroi Jones

While visiting New Orleans, I was able to see so many of the concepts Leroi Jones and Professor Kun described through first-hand experiences with music and through Ondaatje’s description of Buddy Bolden’s life. Music is a form of community. It brings people together and gives them something to share and bond over. This aspect of music is what drew me to the industry in the first place. There is nothing better than the feeling of being in an audience, hearing thousands of people scream the lyrics to a song, because it resonated with each and every one of us in some way even if we all lead completely different lives. You could see this both in the jazz band performance we saw at Preservation Hall and the second line parade we observed featuring the Money Wasters Social Aid & Pleasure Club and the Dignified Achievable Men Social & Pleasure Club.

Particularly, the second line parade was an exhibition of music’s ability to draw people together like no other. Energy buzzed through the crowd. There were hundreds of people following the band and the floats. People danced through the streets and on rooftops. Food and drinks were being sold. Even a group like ours, which stood out like a sore thumb in the crowd, was welcomed with open arms. Members of the community urged us to dance, and one man even told us we were all family now. I have never experienced anything like that in my entire life, and it reinforced how powerful music can be. Outside of all the fun that comes along with second line parades, I think it holds a much deeper meaning in the Black communities of New Orleans. I’m sure a lot of the significance and meaning is lost to me as someone who cannot identify with and understand the Black experience in America. I can see what an integral role music plays in their lives and try to empathize, but I will never truly be able to get it because I have not had to endure the atrocities this country has imparted on Black people. That being said, what I did seem to notice was that second line parades and other musical events are this community’s way of coming together, lifting each other up, and showing the people and institutions that want to oppress them that they won’t be silenced. Music is part of their voice.

Mural featuring Buddy Bolden taken from Google. The mural was destroyed by Hurricane Ida, so we were unable to see it ourselves.

This recognition of music’s significance in New Orleans and the Black community makes Buddy Bolden’s story all the more tragic. In his role as one of jazz’s greatest musicians, he found a lifestyle and community. Unfortunately for him, I think the creativity and fame got to his head. I find it a bit sad and haunting that Buddy’s final fall from grace occurred during a second line parade. This was a place in which Buddy had always excelled. Second line parades were where he first made his mark on the jazz world of New Orleans, randomly joining the bands until people started to expect his appearance. Knowing this about Buddy’s career, it feels like a circle truly closed when he had his mental break. But I think the worst part of Buddy’s story is the way he was placed into an insane asylum and kept there until his death. He spent 24 years locked up there. He never played music again, and according to Ondaatje’s telling of the story, he slowly stopped speaking too. He just touched things. I find this interesting for two reasons. First, it’s almost like putting Buddy in that insane asylum silenced him. He literally stopped talking, but knowing that music is a form of communication, he really lost his voice in two ways. Second, his fixation on touch is quite fitting because touch was required to play his cornet. He had to use his fingers.

“He does nothing, nothing at all. Never speaks, goes around touching things.”

— Michael Ondaatje

I remember a point earlier in the book when he’s laying with Robin, and she feels his fingers “pressing the flesh on her back as though he were plunging them into a cornet”. In that moment, she thought he was acting mindlessly, but in reality, he was “improving on Cakewalking Babies.” Was that what Buddy was doing all those years in the insane asylum? It’s like he was trying to say something but couldn’t. He was trying to find his way back to his voice and mind.

If you didn’t realize it before, I hope you can now see how empowering music is. And if you still disagree, I dare you to take a visit to New Orleans and witness all that music can do and represent with your own eyes and ears.

Vampires, Voodoo, and Vices

License vs. licentious. There is a fine line between the two, and New Orleans tends to cross that line because it has an unmatched sense of freedom drawn from its history of always pushing the envelope. I mean, we’re talking about a place that once regulated prostitution in its infamous Storyville. Now, the city is known for its avant-garde parties with music bursting out of the speakers, people spilling out of bars onto the streets, and drinks overflowing from cups. I knew most of this, and yet the true, debauched nature of New Orleans did not hit me until we found ourselves in a precarious situation on our first night in the city, one that involved a large group of men, fighting, the police, and an IHOP. Luckily, our group made it out unscathed, but it was eye-opening. In the aftermath, I remember telling my fellow bookpackers that I was almost thankful we had such a treacherous experience so early on in our trip because it drew us out of our naivete. We realized the warnings we had received from family and friends prior to this trip about roofied drinks, human trafficking, and increasing crime rates were not empty. It set the tone for the rest of our time in New Orleans as we became more aware of our surroundings, never ventured out alone, and watched out for each other.

While we quickly recognized the dangers lurking among the streets of New Orleans, I think many who come to this city are still blind to it. And that’s part of the reason New Orleans has been able to grow into what it is today, a place perfect for hiding monsters and roaming spirits. It also sets New Orleans, specifically the French Quarter, up to be the perfect setting for Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire. When we visited the French Quarter, there was both a sense of awe and eeriness. The buildings are so beautifully constructed with gorgeous galleries that span the streets and intricate railings, and they’re all painted in bright, bursting colors. It is a truly magnificent view. At the same time, you can see gothic elements in the architecture, and the city’s long history practically bleeds out of the buildings with some of the walls decaying from age and the tropical climate, and vines bursting out of cracks. The first time I saw the French Quarter, I thought Disneyland can try to replicate it as much as they want to, but there’s truly nothing exactly like the French Quarter in its uniqueness and essence.

“This was New Orleans, a magical and magnificent place to live... A city in which a vampire might be gone before the words had even passed the lips, seeking out the alleys in which he could see like a cat, the darkened bars in which sailors slept with their heads on the table”

— Anne Rice

Between the hustle and bustle of New Orleans and the darkness described by Anne Rice, it is not a surprise that vampires were able to walk among mortals without being caught, hiding behind corners, and rushing through the night snatching up unsuspecting victims. In the debate of license vs. licentious in the city, Louis represents license while Lestat is symbolic of licentiousness. Both men have supernatural abilities that provide them with a sense of freedom and agency to move slightly out of society’s rules. Louis struggles greatly with this, not wanting to take too much advantage of his power and opting to feed on animals instead of human beings. On the other hand, Lestat takes his license a step too far into licentiousness as he plays with his food, seducing women and befriending men in the moments leading up to the deadly bite he imparts upon them. He finds joy in the act of killing.

“Lestat was laughing, telling me callously that I would feel so different once I was a vampire that I would laugh, too. He was wrong about that. I never laugh at death, no matter how often and regularly I am the cause of it.”

— Anne Rice

Another facet that you see in both Interview with a Vampire and the city of New Orleans is a struggle between religion and spiritualism. The city is home to some iconic places of worship like the St. Louis Cathedral, but it also the center of voodoo culture. We truly got a sense for this in the New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum. Even Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen, was believed to have a connection to Catholicism.

“God did not live in this church; these statues gave an image to nothingness. I was the supernatural in this cathedral. I was the only supermortal thing that stood conscious under this roof!”

— Anne Rice

Personally, walking through the Voodoo Museum was a remarkable experience for me as someone who believes in a lot of similar ideals and practices. There was an entire wall dedicated to some of voodoo’s greatest ancestors that reminded me of the areas in my own home dedicated to those who have passed. I thought a lot about how instead of always praying to Buddha or God, I actually pray a lot more to my grandmother. I feel a more profound connection to her than I do to some divine being that I might never know or meet, and I feel a deep sense of protection from keeping her in my heart and mind. That’s not to say that I don’t believe in a larger force out there. As a firm believer in “everything happens for a reason”, I do think someone or something God-like plays a role in our lives. I have never felt more comfortable in my beliefs than in the city of New Orleans because that push and pull between religion and spiritualism is so prevalent in its history and current-day culture.

As I look forward to the rest of our trip, I hope I will be able to encounter more people who are enveloped in the voodoo culture, maybe even an actual voodoo king or queen. Every voodoo store we’ve visited has felt so commercial and inauthentic. The museum was an immersive experience, but there’s still so much I want to know, and the best way to learn more is through primary sources. Throughout this trip, I have learned the importance of talking to the people in the communities we explore if we want to fully grasp and understand everything that this city stands for. We might be studying it, but they’re living it. New Orleans has such a complex culture with French, Spanish, and American influences. It is home to the oldest African American neighborhood in America, the Tremé. And while history books might try to grasp the nuances of this great city, I don’t think they will ever pinpoint its exceptionalism the way native New Orleanians can.

Waking Up in Grand Isle

Our drive from the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport to our vacation home Sol et Terre in Grand Isle started off on an interesting note with our first stop being a Popeyes drive thru for some “authentic” Louisiana fried chicken. We were the last two cars to make it to the order window before closing, and they were unfortunately out of almost everything. To say the least, our first meal in a state known for its rich cuisine and culture was disappointing. The failed Popeyes outing was followed by a mad dash to the supermarket, where we purchased a variety of frozen foods and ramen. Again, not exactly the most ideal menu. Finally, after an hour and a half of driving, we reached Grand Isle (in complete darkness without the beautiful view of driving across the water, of course). Despite our bumpy start to the trip, we all still felt quite optimistic about bookpacking and were excited to get to know each other. During our first night at Sol et Terre, we stayed up late drinking and chatting. A true bonding moment, and one that was very reminiscent of the little soirees in Kate Chopin’s The Awakening, which takes place on Grand Isle and which we read during our three-day stay.

The next day, we discovered the beauty of Jo Bob’s Gas & Grill, a fast-food restaurant and gas station hybrid that quickly became our saving grace providing us with coffee before morning seminars, some of the most buttery and soft biscuits we’d ever had, and $5 jambalaya. Later that morning, we ventured down to the beach with The Awakening in hand, ready to read about Edna Pontellier and her journey as she attempted to gain control over her life. The first reading session didn’t last too long as Edna ventures down to the beach and takes a dip in the gulf in the earlier parts of the book. And in true bookpacking fashion, we paused and ventured into the water to truly grasp Edna’s feelings in that moment. We perched upon rocks, enjoyed each other’s company, and observed dolphins swimming by. It was a truly wonderful moment that introduced us to the beauty of bookpacking and being immersed in the world you are reading about. For me, this was reiterated when I was sitting in a rocking chair after our beach outing reading Edna’s description of the beach and the horizon, and I was able to look out the window in front of me and see that exact same view. It was surreal.

“Edna Pontellier, casting her eyes about, had finally kept them at rest upon the sea. The day was clear and carried the gaze out as far as the blue sky went; there were a few white clouds suspended idly over the horizon.”

— Kate Chopin

As we approached evening on our first full day in Grand Isle, I took a nap. This might not seem like a big deal, but napping is an extremely rare occurrence in my regular life. With my usual hectic schedule, it is not easy to make time for daily naps. Being out in Grand Isle though, it was almost impossible not to close my eyes and take a moment to rest. And it was something I desperately needed after 15 jam-packed days leading up to our departure from Los Angeles. Before arriving at LAX for our Maymester, I attended a three-day music festival in the desert, went on a five-day family vacation to Hawaii, completed my final exams, planned and hosted a brunch for 130 guests, moved out of my sorority house, read our first book, A Confederacy of Dunces, and packed for our three-and-a-half-week trip to Louisiana. I was exhausted, and that nap was cathartic. The lethargic tone that weaves throughout The Awakening had bled into our real lives. As I said during one of our afternoon seminars, “they sleep a lot in this book” and we did too.

The longer we stayed in Grand Isle, the more we assimilated to the French/Creole way of life exhibited in The Awakening by the likes of Léonce Pontellier, Madame Ratignolle, and Robert. In the novel, Edna’s British American upbringing makes it difficult for her to fit in with and relate to her Creole counterparts and their looser lifestyle. As the book progresses, Edna starts to adopt the carefree attitude of her friends, letting go of society’s conventions and rules. Similarly, we started our trip worrying about objectives, rushing from one place to the next trying to beat the sunset. However, as we settled at Sol et Terre, we started to let go of our stresses, not to the same extremes as Edna, but we did it, nonetheless. I stopped worrying about what was happening far away at home in Los Angeles. I barely thought about my final exams or grades. In the French way, I put my phone down, stayed in the moment, and just appreciated the people around me and the gorgeous beach scenery before me.

There’s a great sense of relief when you isolate yourself from your world and the problems that go along with it. Everything that seemed like such a big deal before just bleeds away. The still waters of Grand Isle pulled Edna in and awoke her from the drab cycle of life she was in. Those same waters helped me find my inner calm. I spent our days at Grand Isle reflecting and identifying negative aspects in my life that I wanted to purge myself of. I also thought about what I wanted to gain from the rest of our trip: a better understanding of our country’s history, an appreciate for cultures outside of my own, and a special bond and friendship with the others on the trip. If there’s one thing to take away from The Awakening and Grand Isle, it’s that death and destruction are inevitable. Edna ended her own life at the mere age of 29. We saw dead catfish and baby sharks on the shores of the gulf. We came across property that was completely wiped out by Hurricane Ida last year. Places we wanted to visit were either eradicated by the COVID-19 pandemic and the hurricane or in the process of being rebuilt. We watched Deepwater Horizon and learned about the absolute devastation that oil spill wreaked on the gulf, the wildlife, and the economy. We visited the Grand Isle cemetery and examined the raised tombs. Our lives can be flipped upside down in an instant. We need to spend more time appreciating what we have and the loved ones in our lives. Personally, I need to stop thinking about what comes next and focus on what’s happening right now. As they say in Louisiana, laissez les bon temps rouler.