Everyone’s got one.
Lalaland- that is.
It may be in your mind, or it may be an actual place. Either way, it’s lala.
Lala depends on who you are, what your peep’s are doing, how much moola you have, and where you are on the ‘life’ continuum.
If your a baby it’s mommy’s ta-ta and a good poop (Or is that a man?).
If your a teenager it’s a sun drenched day at the beach and the hope of sneaking out of the hotel room your mother has booked for the both of you so that you can meet up with a really cute boy from a school you’ve never heard of that you spied buying beer at the 7-Eleven when you were purchasing tampons and a puka bead necklace that spelled out ORANGE YA GLAD YOUR IN FLORIDA. (This never happened, of course)
When your a newlywed, it’s might be a weekend in bed. No phones. No clothes. No problems.
When your new parents it’s the same as being a newlywed, except it never happens and the problems start to creep in. (Do I need to explain?)
If your the parent’s of college students, it’s the Lala of going a whole week without a school or the child sucking the marrow from your bones as they empty your bank account and leave you as a pile of carbon dust that once resembled a totally together woman who thought she’d be totally ready for this. Riiiiight.
If your me- in about an hour- it’s the wonders of Jennie the masseuse, and the therapeutic benefits of Enya with a champagne chaser. Lala.
But, if you live in New Orleans, have alota expendable greenbacks, live a life in which your most complicated decision is where to board the dogs, and who to share your housekeeper with since she’s already paid-up for the month, and want to remember what it feels like to not lock your doors and hear the sweet song of birds instead of sirens- you go to southern North Carolina and veg-out in Highlands and Cashiers- on a mountain with cool air, clear to-the-bottom rivers, lots of white steepled churches, and whole parking lots full of cars with no hanging parts.
There is no crime- no swearing- no beads.
Alas, there is also, no cell service, only one grocery, two restaurants, and not a spa in sight.
Last week, while visiting a friend with a ‘Holiday’ house, we didn’t lock the doors, we did stock-up at the grocery, we didn’t have to load a gun, and we did drive a car (with a serious GPS) to a restaurant filled with pink Izod shirted swells breaking bread with the mountain people of the Blue Ridge.
Lala, as it turns out…
|Cold water Snapper
with lump meat Crab
|Shrimp and Grits
with Tasso Cream &
stone ground Polenta wedge
|The cocktail special-
The Red Devil
I don’t remember what was in it.
It was THAT good.
3646 U.S. 64