In Costa Rica, I like to walk into the forest every morning to commune with the spirit world. I can’t do that in New Orleans. I try to stay centered here but it's not easy. Quite frankly, I’m heartbroken to be away from the forest and would much rather leave the man-made world behind and return once again to where I belong.
Luckily, there is much in New Orleans to distract one from heartache, despite the irony of Katrina having caused so much. We are entering into Halloween season and that has added much to Big Easy madness. Huge crowds arrived this week for Voodoo Fest and other seasonal celebrations so it’s quite normal to see vampires, voodoo queens and assorted other monsters wandering around the Quarter with ‘Huge Ass Beer’ in hand. And Halloween is still a week away! Some of our local Quarter friends invited us to a ‘progressive’ dinner next Friday as a form of recovery from the spooky spectacles. The Quarter-Rat idea of recovery is a long sprawling dinner that starts at somebody’s house on one end of Royal Street and wining, dining and dancing our way to the last house on the other side. However, everyone will be dressed in normal cocktail attire.
Gerry took me to a paranormal investigation this past Wednesday at the Pharmacy Museum. We joined some locals who have come across ‘entities’ throughout New Orleans, especially in the French Quarter, and they now wanted a shot at experiencing one of the infamous pharmacy ghosts. The best prospect would be that 18th century doctor who lived in the house and died raving mad of syphilis and mercury intoxication – self administered as a remedy. But we also could run into that crazy old chicken-bone chewing laundry woman from the 19th century or maybe that slightly disheveled Victorian lady addicted to morphine. There were so many ghosts to investigate just in the Pharmacy Museum. But our hosts told us that if we really wanted a good scare, we ought to check out the old Haunted Mortuary on Canal street or the Petit Theatre on Rue Chartres – where a bunch of kids still run around up in the attic, or go check out a slew of haunted houses all around town.
Turns out, we live in the most haunted city in the country. There were 3 psychics leading us on the investigation at this particular haunted establishment. The head parapsychologist was an affable chap who has been ghost-busting for 20 plus years. He’s been featured in documentaries like “New Orleans Rich and Haunted” on channels like A&E and Discovery. We have not personally met any ghosts in New Orleans, or psychics for that matter, but most of the others at the Pharmacy event knew the psychics, as well as all the local haunts around New Orleans.
So the psychics set the scene by briefing us on this or that entity around town, and as they describe their wacky, unnatural experiences, my mind wanders. I begin wondering how I can raid the laudanum jug and blame it on the pharmacy ghost. Then the parapsychologist assigns Gerry and me the task of using a magnetic device to measure any activity, while some of us follow a kind of goofy female psychic named Daena upstairs and all around the premises in search of something or other. Not much happens for a while. Daena tries to get people to feel the energy standing next to her up in the attic but the only magnetic activity Gerry and I could pickup was an electric wire in the wall.
Finally, we walk back down to the 2nd floor and - I'm not kidding - I suddenly get this strong feeling coming from one of the bedrooms on the 2nd floor. And you know me - incurable loud mouth - I tell Daena that I had this feeling of energy and so now Daena gets quite excited and leads us all into the bedroom - about 15 of us crowding in there, and I swear to God, I was feeling this Energy! It wasn't anything scary or foreboding – more like the kind of energy I get in the forest. So I look at Daena and say to her:
"I feel something - do you feel something too?"
And she looked deeply at me for a minute and all of a sudden started crying out to Gerry:
“Go get Cari! Please go get Cari….Cari!!! ….Cari!!!!"
Cari Joy is a New Orleans psychic who was at that moment leading half of our group elsewhere in the building. So Gerry runs off to look for Cari, and Daena just seems to have a meltdown right in front of me - and everyone else (none of whom felt anything at all).
Cari arrives, orders Daena out of the room and tries to focus the energy. But there was nothing. By this time, I had slid to the back of the room and behaved like nothing had happened at all, much less prompting a scene from our psychic. We all go back downstairs, but Daena stays up there and finally – it’s now 10:30PM - Gerry and I got out of there.
Moral of the story: If you feel energy around a psychic, keep your mouth shut!
But I did wonder what happened to poor Daena and felt kind of responsible - with my stupid “I feel it …do you feel it” line - so I emailed Cari and asked her if Daena was okay. Here’s her response:
Greetings Victoria,
Thank you for contacting me with your concern. I felt the energy in the bedroom when I brought my group in, as well. I felt that it was connected to loss during childbirth or shortly there after. So no, I did not feel it was negative just sad and heavy. Great job in using your own sensitivity!
Daena is what is considered a natural empath/medium. She is unable to stop entities from using her as a channel. She has learned to alert others when this is about to occur as it can be quite unnerving. Under different circumstances, I might have assisted in facilitating the experience but my instinct then was to pull her out of the area thus breaking the connection.
When I was younger, I was much like Daena but didn’t like to lose myself to spirit. I was fortunate to have excellent resources to learn how to turn it off as necessary, maintaining consciousness while gathering information. However, some choose to continue to use somnambulant communication.
I hope that I was able to answer your question. If you would like to explore the paranormal further, I suggest visiting the Haunted Mortuary. Thank you both for attending and perhaps I will see you in future!
So there it is! Quite frankly, I much prefer communing with the spirit world in the forest.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
Retired in the Crescent City
Gerald loves this well known adage:
“Work is the curse of the drinking class”.
It’s not that he disliked work – he rather enjoyed it, especially when he could do things his way. That wasn’t always easy in the corporate world, where it’s either ‘our way or the highway’. But then there was GRAK’s way, and he managed to keep to his principles throughout all those years of managing people, meeting objectives whilst thoroughly enjoying himself. Along the way, he danced Tango in Argentina, rode a donkey in Nicaragua and collected a bunch of wacky costumes from his annual sales meetings, which will now come in handy in New Orleans. He provided much fodder for Dilbert cartoons – loved to poke fun at systems and processes. His subordinates loved him but I have no doubt that most of his management was only too glad to see the backside of him when he retired last march.
So does he miss work with all the staff, status and benefits?
Nope. GRAK was made for Big Easy living. It suits his constitution. Everybody who knows Gerry can just see him eating, drinking and making merry just like, well, just like he tried to do when he worked.
People sometimes ask us: “So what do you do all day in New Orleans?”
Can you believe that? People actually wonder what we do all day in the Big Easy – in a city with more bars,restaurants and clubs open than before Katrina; where even funerals are cause for celebration, with brass bands leading friends and strangers alike second-lining through the streets. In short, we do what we would do in any city in the USA but in the edgy, heady atmosphere of nonstop music and wacky worlds within worlds. The Spanish speakers have arrived en masse since Katrina, so we're noticing a lot more Latin spicing up the jazz. It's true - jazzy salsas and sambas and big crowds dancing to them! Oh yeah, Gerry's latest project is learning Arabic. Not to be outdone, I'm thinking of learning a new language too. Maybe Greek or Mandarin. Not sure yet. Should brush off Latin for work at El Tigre.
While walking around the Quarter yesterday afternoon, I noticed a lot more police and horses on Bourbon Street and figured that it was a show for the International Law Enforcement Convention in town this week.
So I asked a policewoman, “Is all this to show off your horses or for crowd control – bet cha a bunch of drunken Police Chiefs must get pretty rowdy!”
“Both!” She said.
New Orleans living has been tough on me – wining, dining and hitting the theatres & jazz clubs with Gerald and still getting up early for Taiji at Woldenberg Riverfront Park.
The riverfront is perfect for Taiji because the runners stay to the pathways and in their own I-Pod worlds and I get to workout in peace on the grass. That is, until this morning when an Asian fellow showed up. It had to happen sooner or later. Now this is someone who’s really got the moves! He started off with a noisy version of qigong – something Patricia had been trying to get me to do. I call it spanking yourself. But this guy was really going to it – slapping and pounding himself and making such a racket that it rattled me right out of my nice, albeit amateurish, Taiji form. And then he started his martial art routine.
Oh yeah.... uh huh...., he got de moves!... All right! ... Who d’at!
But I have faith. In 20 years or so - when I’m a very old lady - maybe I’ll have the moves too!
Si dios quiere.
“Work is the curse of the drinking class”.
It’s not that he disliked work – he rather enjoyed it, especially when he could do things his way. That wasn’t always easy in the corporate world, where it’s either ‘our way or the highway’. But then there was GRAK’s way, and he managed to keep to his principles throughout all those years of managing people, meeting objectives whilst thoroughly enjoying himself. Along the way, he danced Tango in Argentina, rode a donkey in Nicaragua and collected a bunch of wacky costumes from his annual sales meetings, which will now come in handy in New Orleans. He provided much fodder for Dilbert cartoons – loved to poke fun at systems and processes. His subordinates loved him but I have no doubt that most of his management was only too glad to see the backside of him when he retired last march.
So does he miss work with all the staff, status and benefits?
Nope. GRAK was made for Big Easy living. It suits his constitution. Everybody who knows Gerry can just see him eating, drinking and making merry just like, well, just like he tried to do when he worked.
People sometimes ask us: “So what do you do all day in New Orleans?”
Can you believe that? People actually wonder what we do all day in the Big Easy – in a city with more bars,restaurants and clubs open than before Katrina; where even funerals are cause for celebration, with brass bands leading friends and strangers alike second-lining through the streets. In short, we do what we would do in any city in the USA but in the edgy, heady atmosphere of nonstop music and wacky worlds within worlds. The Spanish speakers have arrived en masse since Katrina, so we're noticing a lot more Latin spicing up the jazz. It's true - jazzy salsas and sambas and big crowds dancing to them! Oh yeah, Gerry's latest project is learning Arabic. Not to be outdone, I'm thinking of learning a new language too. Maybe Greek or Mandarin. Not sure yet. Should brush off Latin for work at El Tigre.
While walking around the Quarter yesterday afternoon, I noticed a lot more police and horses on Bourbon Street and figured that it was a show for the International Law Enforcement Convention in town this week.
So I asked a policewoman, “Is all this to show off your horses or for crowd control – bet cha a bunch of drunken Police Chiefs must get pretty rowdy!”
“Both!” She said.
New Orleans living has been tough on me – wining, dining and hitting the theatres & jazz clubs with Gerald and still getting up early for Taiji at Woldenberg Riverfront Park.
The riverfront is perfect for Taiji because the runners stay to the pathways and in their own I-Pod worlds and I get to workout in peace on the grass. That is, until this morning when an Asian fellow showed up. It had to happen sooner or later. Now this is someone who’s really got the moves! He started off with a noisy version of qigong – something Patricia had been trying to get me to do. I call it spanking yourself. But this guy was really going to it – slapping and pounding himself and making such a racket that it rattled me right out of my nice, albeit amateurish, Taiji form. And then he started his martial art routine.
Oh yeah.... uh huh...., he got de moves!... All right! ... Who d’at!
But I have faith. In 20 years or so - when I’m a very old lady - maybe I’ll have the moves too!
Si dios quiere.
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