Making a Memory -- Who Am I To Disagree?

Amy and I dreaded telling my parents that we were moving to Louisiana. I was sick the entire way to my childhood home on Simerly Creek Road. It was unusual for us to show up at my parent's unannounced, so Mom came to the front porch and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said. "We just need to talk to you and Daddy."

To my surprise, they both took the news of our move really well, telling Amy and me how proud they were of both of us. It certainly has made the entire move easier. I know my mother's heart aches that I'm so far away, but we talk a lot and she marvels at all the things that have gone right for us. (Knock on wood here, for any of you who are superstitious.)

We put our house up for sale in December, and only a little more than a week later, we had a contract. In this economy, we expected it might take months to sell the house. Kudos to Scott Metcalf, our wonderful realtor from Erwin. He's the best!

Being surprised how quickly the house "sold," we really had to pick up the timeline of things in Lafayette. Amy and I looked at homes, but it was mostly up to me and our realtor here, the marvelous Arla Slaughter.

We looked at home after home. New homes. Lived-in homes. An older home with a beautiful backyard and pool. Nothing seemed right. I loved Amy's two-bedroom condo her company had placed her in for the first three months, and I began to think that it might turn into our permanent home.

We found a great house in a popular location here called Sugar Mill Pond. We were prepared to make an offer, but the next morning someone paid cash for the house. Darn. What would we do?

Arla and I set off the next day, and I had only two days left before I was going back to Erwin for three weeks. Amy and I would be visiting me on the weekends, but I wouldn't be back in Louisiana for a while.

We hadn't visited a new neighborhood called Grand Pointe, so we headed there first. It was only a mile outside of the business district – exactly where we wanted. Arla and I looked at every house we could. I found two homes that I thought fit what we were looking for in our new home. When Amy walked into the one at 100 Shadow Springs Drive, she knew instantly this was the one.

The house overlooks a beautiful pond (they call it a lake, but, folks, it's not Watauga), and it has a wonderful courtyard surrounded by a brick and iron fence. Sadie loves her freedom in this outdoor space!

The home is just beautiful, and we've slowly made it our own.

But the seller had lots of interest in the home, which is a replica of his own home. It was even featured as the cover story of a local magazine. So if we didn't come through, someone was bound to snap it up quickly.

The timeline was so tight.

The closing on our house in Tennessee was Friday, March 8, and the closing here in Lafayette was Monday, March 11. Amy had her condo only until Thursday, March 14.

Buying a house is complicated today with all the added attention on banks following the disastrous previous two years, so any little thing could put a terrible delay in place. We were a nervous wreck. Everything had to go smoothly for everything to go as planned in Lafayette.

And, thankfully, everything went like clockwork. As my mother says, it's like it was meant to be.

After signing the paperwork for the sale of our Erwin home, Amy and I drove back to 105 Old Farm Road and met Amy's family and my family for a last look and a photo at what had been our home since February 2000. And then it was time for us to go.

With Sadie in the back seat, Amy and I sat out for the two-day drive to Louisiana. We stopped at the Vesuvius tower at Second Street and sat for just a moment and held hands. I had always thought if I ever left Erwin, I'd put on the song "Casey" by Darren Hayes, so we sat there, tears rolling down both our faces, looking at downtown Erwin and playing that song on my iPhone.

From the speakers, Darren sang, "When you go, can you come and find me?/ I wanna be beside you when you leave this town/ I'll be waving goodbye pretending not to cry."

As the song ended, I said, "Let's go." Amy squeezed my hand and said, "OK."

We switched on the radio and things really came together. The next two songs told us we were on the right path. Amy's favorite pop group is Bon Jovi, and my favorite group is Eurythmics.

The first song that came on the radio was Bon Jovi's "(You Want To) Make a Memory," with Jon Bon Jovi singing, "If you go now, I'll understand/ If you stay, hey, I got a  plan/ You wanna make a memory/ You could sing a melody to me/ And I could write a couple lines/ You wanna make a memory."

It was immediately followed by Eurythmics' iconic "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)," with Annie Lennox singing, "Sweet dreams are made of this, who am I to disagree?"

Amy and I looked at each other and laughed.

There have been all sorts of signs since we arrived – people we've met, experiences we've had – that has reaffirmed that we've made the right decision.

Why, only this morning, there was another affirmation that everything is playing out just right, but that's a story for another time. I'll give you a little hint, though. All that newspaper ink that's stained my fingertips for 20 some years now, well you know what? It just won't come off.

Picture perfect

As we continue to make our new home our own, the final touches are the pieces of art all around the house.

I love that our home is full of prints and original artwork from artists from Erwin, Tenn., to Beaufort, S.C., to Florida. Artwork in our home in Lafayette reflects our love of the mountains of Northeast Tennessee and the marshes and beaches of South Carolina.

Our love of egrets and herons also are featured prominently

Featured artists from Beaufort, S.C., include Barbara Shipman and Nancy Rhett. Florida's Art LaMay is a major addition to our walls, too.

From Erwin, Martha Shull Erwin and Mary K. Brown's original artwork brings me back home to the mountains. Mary K.'s beautiful mountain picture was a gift when I left Erwin. It's so beautiful. I have two of Martha's originals -- a stunning photo of mourning doves and a portrait of me and my dog, Sadie.

We also have a beautiful painting by Jim Gray from Gatlinburg, too.

While it's not a painting, David Ramsey's extraordinary photography of Rocky Fork also brings me home to Unicoi County.

The art we love tells a lot about us. I also consider myself very lucky to have met many of the artists who are featured in my home. I am especially lucky to call some of them my very good friends, too. I am in awe of their talents.

Flutter to the skies

Before Amy and I flew home together Sunday, March 6, to spend our final days in Tennessee before making the final move to Lafayette March 11, I had a moment of clarity.

I spent most days at our apartment while Amy was at work. My car was in Tennessee, so I had no real way to go about town other than when our realtor, Arla, would so graciously take me out to lunch.

There was, however, a large movie theater up the street, so on Thursday, March 3, I decided to go see a movie, "The King's Speech," which was fantastic and certainly worthy of the Best Picture Oscar it received.

For the walk, I popped my headphones in and took off in the afternoon for a solo outing at the theater. I listened to a song called "Butterfly Butterfly (The Last Hurrah)" by a-ha, one of my favorite bands of all time. "Butterfly" had only recently been released, and the song is the only new track on a-ha's latest greatest hits compilation, created to mark a-ha's 25th anniversary and the band's retirement.

It was a bright, sunny day, but there was a great breeze. After the movie as I walked back to the apartment, I once again set off listening to "Butterfly" with Morten Harket singing, "Butterfly, butterfly, flying into the wind, you can be sure of it, that's no place to begin, overthinking every little thing, acknowledge the bell you can't unring."

Morten Harket's melancholy voice always draws me into some other dimension. I found some new connection, though, between a-ha's "last hurrah" and my final days in Tennessee, where I would say goodbye to Unicoi County and The Erwin Record.

I could see a group of birds on the power lines up ahead – the sporadic remains of winter's massive flocks of starlings, no doubt, but closer to me were two birds separated from the flock. They fluttered and danced about, and I got this wonderful feeling that it was a sign about me and Amy and our move to a city where we knew not a single soul and where we would begin our life anew. I paused and watched those little birds for a moment. Was their song for me?

"You don't have to turn something in, stay with it through thick and thin," Morten continued to sing in my ears. "Butterfly, begin. Butterfly, butterfly. Tomorrow there will come a time in the morning, you will find a way to begin."

It had been hard for me to make the move. I was the one who said, "Let's do it!" -- even though I didn't know if I could. Could I leave everyone I know and love behind? Could I leave behind the newspaper that I loved so much?

Listening to Morten sing and watching those birds dance on that wire, I suddenly had a calm and wonderful feeling. I could spread my wings and find a new home in Lafayette. Here Amy and I would start a new life, one that could be more exciting and adventurous and beautiful than we ever imagined.

"Tomorrow, there will be a sign from within ... Butterfly, butterfly."

Raising Cane here in Louisiana

Some folks thought I was all about "raising Cain" in Tennessee, but let me assure you I've been doing a little bit of that here in Louisiana, too.

Actually, I've been checking out Raising Cane's a lot here in Lafayette. Let me explain ...

Lafayette has so many wonderful place to eat, and I've been trying as many as possible. I have not, unfortunately, made it to the gym as much as I've gone through the drive-thru at the wonderful Raising Cane's. There's a gym located right beside our new neighborhood, but I haven't had time to work out. Too many boxes to unpack.

But I have made it Raising Cane's several times. Raising Cane's specializes in one thing – chicken fingers, and they are delicious. I love the story behind the restaurant, too. The owners raised the money to open their first eatery in Baton Rouge by making their way to Alaska and fishing for salmon. The original idea was to name the restaurant Sockeyes (as in the salmon), but friends convinced owners to name the restaurant something else. So it ended up being named after the one of the owner's yellow lab, Raising Cane. The current mascot is Raising Cane II, and photos of both dogs are featured prominently in all the restaurants.

A good restaurant and a good dog. Who can beat that combination?

In just a few short years, the restaurant has expanded to more than 80 locations in Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas, Colorado, Georgia, Ohio, Oklahoma, Nevada, Alabama, Virginia, Kentucky, Minnesota, Massachusetts and Nebraska. Sorry, Tennesseans, ther are no Raising Cane's in Tennessee yet -- I suggest you start a petition!!!

It's just that good. Trust me.

They call me Mr. Mark

The folks in Lafayette have a very interesting thing they do. Yes, they eat crawfish. That's not interesting. That's crazy.

No I'm talking about how they talk. Or, better put, how they address one another. Maybe they do this elsewhere in Louisiana. I don't know. I haven't been anywhere else in Louisiana, so I can't really say.

But in Lafayette, folks are addressed in a strange formal/non-formal way.

For example, when someone speaks to me who knows my name, I am referred to as Mr. Mark. Not Mark. Not Mr. Stevens. But Mr. Mark.

Likewise, Amy is called Miss Amy.

It's Mr. Mark and Miss Amy.

I didn't really notice it at first. I just thought it was something our local realtor, the wonderful Arla Slaughter, did.

"Mr. Mark," Arla would say, "how are you and Miss Amy today?"

It's different than in Tennessee, where people, including me, were more apt to say, "Hey you!"

Amy and I left for Louisiana one week ago, on a very long drive with our dog, Sadie. During the trip, I turned to the back seat and said, "How ya doing, Miss Sadie?"

"We haven't even arrived in Lafayette," Amy said, "and you've already started to talk like them."

"Well," I said, "we need to embrace a little of the culture. Maybe if we call folks Mr. and Miss, we can avoid eating crawfish or speaking French. Besides, I like how it sounds. Miss Sadie, it is."

Oh, Pooh! Oh, dear!

I know I promised to write a blog about my new life in Louisiana, but I haven't found a new life. Only boxes. Lots and lots of boxes. 224 boxes, to be exact. It would be a stretch to say I've even made it through half of them.

Here's a tip for anyone who's moving, throw things away before you move. Hired movers pack everything, and I mean everything. You know when you go through a fast-food drive-through and you end up with extra salt packets, plastic forks and such. Well, like a lot of people, we'd toss them in one of the many "junk" drawers in the kitchen, cause, well, you know, you might someday need a small amount of salt and a Spork. You. Never. Know. Well, hired movers are diligent. You paid them a lot of money to move the contents of your house – and, in my case, my car, too – from one city to another. So ... they pack everything. I opened a box and the top was full of all those items from the junk drawers, all neatly packed in mounds and mounds of paper. For every handful the mover took out of a drawer, he wrapped it in paper and stuffed it in a box. A handful of thumb tacks. A handful of coupons that expired in 2006. A handful of coins from Canada. A handful of pens taken from every hotel I've ever stayed in. (Note to self: Stop taking all those pens. You have enough pens.) Handfuls of Sporks. Handfuls of salt and pepper packs.

Our two-car garage is full of boxes. Most of one side has been left clear for opened boxes. It's getting very crowded, and I've made little pathways through the other side. The stacks of boxes are taller than I am, so I feel very much like a rat in a maze. Thank goodness I don't feel like it's one of those Halloween corn mazes. So far the scariest thing to jump out from the maze has been one of the million mayflies that have hatched in the Louisiana spring.

All day yesterday I opened boxes, carried boxes and wheeled boxes on my shiny new hand truck, purchased for only $39 from the local U-Haul store. I found most of the kitchen items. I found the box where the mover packed my unopened bag of potato chips from Which Wich in Johnson City. I ate them. I don't know where we had all these kitchen items in Tennessee. I never knew we had a fondue. But we due. I mean, do.

At the same time, we had a guy here setting up the TVs and entertainment system. We had a guy here setting up the land phone. We had a guy here setting up the Internet. We had a guy here setting up the home security system. And I opened one box after another.

By the end of the day I was exhausted and overwhelmed. I was either surrounded by boxes. Or paper. Or small kitchen appliances. When the security guy arrived, I opened the door and said, "Welcome to chaos!" He spoke in a very heavy cajun accent. I spoke in my Northeast Tennessee accent. He either didn't get my sense of humor or didn't understand a word I was saying. Or both. Either way, chaos ensued.

Despite the chaotic day, it had all gone fairly well until I had what one would describe as a mini melt down. And not in the good way that you have a melt down when you have a party featuring your newly found fondue pot.

It was fairly late in the day, and I had seen enough kitchen items and Sporks to last me a lifetime. I found a box marked Small Lamp, Lamp Shade. So I said to myself, "Oh, here, is the lamp for the nightstand for the master bedroom. I'll open it." (Note: I have found that talking to yourself, out loud, is a precursor to a melt down.)

The box did not contain the much-needed lamp for our bedroom. It was a Winnie-the-Pooh lamp from our old guest room in Tennessee. We don't have a room here decorated in all things from the Hundred Acre Wood. So I just looked at it. And Christopher Robin. And that silly ol' Pooh bear. And I started to cry.

"Why," I said out loud to myself, "did we even bring this lamp? I'm going to have to pack it up again. It's another box in the garage. I don't have any packing tape. What do I do with this lamp, this Pooh lamp?"

Right about then, Amy called on her way home from work.

"How's it going, baby?" she asked.

"Not well," I sniffled like a baby.

With concern, Amy said, "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Did you fall?"

"No," I said as tears ran down my face as I sat on the front steps of our new house.

"Baby," my wife said, "what's wrong?"

"It's a ... it's a ... it's a ... Pooh lamp."

"I don't understand," Amy said, stuck in traffic and not sure what had brought me to this sad state.

"It's a Pooh lamp," I said. "Don't you understand? It's a Pooh lamp. A stinking Winnie-the-Pooh lamp."

Eeyore, Pooh's sad little donkey friend, had never been as depressed as I was at that very moment, but Amy understood the cause of my mini breakdown. It wasn't about Pooh. Or that lamp. It was about trying to find normalcy in a new space.

"I'll be there in a minute," she said, calming me in the best way she could.

"OK," I said, wiping tears from my face.

Amy arrived, and there inside the house was that open box and that Pooh lamp. But she paid it no attention. She just marveled at all the other open and empty boxes I had discarded on the front porch. She was amazed at all the kitchen shelves I had stocked. And all the work that had been completed. The working television. The working Internet. The installed security system.

"You've done such a great job managing all this," Amy said, and she pulled me close and kissed me. Pooh lamp? What stinking Pooh lamp?

Welcome to my blog

I've been a writer for more than 20 years. I've been a newspaper reporter, editor and publisher. I'm the editor of a cookbook. I'm the author of two books. I've written a weekly newspaper column for many years. But I've never had a blog. I do now, which you know if you're reading this. This is good. We're all on the same page – or blog, I guess.

On March 11, my wife, Amy, and I – along with our dog, Sadie – are moving from Northeast Tennessee to Lafayette, La., where people believe crawfish is a diet staple. I think it's something that lives in a creek and should stay there, but to each his own, you know?

For those of you who have followed my weekly column in The Erwin Record, I invite you to follow me here now, where I'll detail how life shapes up for his in Lafayette.