Rollin' Down the River

It's like selling an ice cube to an Inuit, I think, taking money from hapless Northerners for a "swamp tour" somewhere near New Orleans in late June. But suckers are born every minute, and my visits to NOLA are winding down as my youngest child approaches her final year in college. Somehow a boat ride through mosquito and alligator infested sludge made it to her bucket list.

As if reptilian predators flashing toothy grins as they zealously guard their turf is something unusual these days. Yawn. At least these alligators are just doing what nature intended them to do. I yearn for the days when the bucket list was filled with more wondrous things, like restaurants and art galleries, when I could simply enjoy the cuisine rather than "be" it. 

Assuming I survive (more on that, hopefully, in a later post), I will miss my visits to New Orleans. A place where, if I close my eyes, I could swear Matthew McConnaughy is the guy chatting only inches away from me on the sidewalk. A place where gaudy strands of beads adorn fences and trees, and where there always seems to be a parade, even when you are not at risk of being hit by, say, a large cabbage being flung by a drunken reveler on a float. A place where I always get some sort of life lesson from my taxi drivers, and sometimes even emerge with a receipt and a doggy bag filled with homemade Cajun treats. A place where "Taco Tuesday" is a  thing -- a serious thing. 

Mostly, I realize, it's not about missing New Orleans, though it is certainly one of the more exotic destinations in the continental U.S. This is my last year of college visits, those happy jaunts that began, for me, ten years ago. D.C. and N.Y.C. offer their own special charms and perils, just as NOLA does, but each college visit conjures up sweet memories of visits long ago. I am reminded, always, of that four years in each of my children's lives that seems to pass in a blink. My mixed feelings of pride and relief and loss and a healthy dose of abject fear triggered by their imminent official launch from the nest. Their independence and competence is nothing new by this point. It's just, suddenly, very real. 

As we cruise through the swamp this afternoon, I will be on high alert, as I have been for so many years, confident that I can keep my daughter safe, even overpower an alligator if I have to. I will swat away mosquitoes and stare down toothy reptiles, and I will start to wonder who will protect her when we are no longer drifting alongside each other, in the same boat.