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With a mighty sweep of his trident, Poseidon thrust the massive beast into the waters of the gulf, its wicked tendrils flaming with wet windy fury. In its path lay the city that care forgot, unprepared for the monster that now approached. The citizens blankly stared at the azure sky, waiting, hoping, praying that once more the finger of Zeus would spare them the destruction.
The minstrels played on.
Sunrise was barely that, instead a grey damp lightening of the sky. My night restless, I was grateful for the dark Mello Joy coffee my mother had stowed in the pantry. I was the first one up in the farmhouse. Unable to get over my anxiety with the approaching storm, my sleep was staccato, interspersed with checking updates from the National Hurricane Center. The morning news was Katrina drifting ever so slightly to the east of New Orleans, close enough for me to know the city was in trouble. Reports began to trickle as the entire nation watched my home take on water.
We were ten people, my parents, Tracey and I with the kids, Andy and his fiancée Katie, and my friend Rob. The evening before, Rob had endured an eleven hour drive from New Orleans to Youngsville, normally a two hour trip. Mom set to making a huge breakfast as we sat wide-eyed in front of television and computer screens. The kids had very little notion of what was happening. In some respects, neither did we.
Towns like Buras and Venice were being pulverized. There was eighteen feet of storm surge ripping through the lower levels at my work. Slidell and St Tammany parish were being whipped by the winds. Biloxi, Gulfport and Bay St Louis were already torn apart. The roof of our house was shredded. The oak tree at the driveway was halfway through a neighbor's house. Water was in the streets. The levees held, but, as we know, that didn't last for long.
The days afterward are so vivid, the unreality of reuniting with Tracey, enrolling our children in schools far away from home, trying to figure out where to turn next, where our friends and family were, what had happened to our home and the landscape that surrounded it.
The deep feeling of emptiness is still there, a lasting remembrance of everything lost.
Exactly one year ago, right now, New Orleans had a stake driven right into its heart, one made of water and bureaucracy, of need and greed, of desperation and exploitation. Lives ended, both literally and figuratively. While some may be home, it's not the same home that departed this earth 365 days ago.
So much to take in. So much still to do. So many people lost in the paperwork.
I should be away from work, commemorating this moment with the ringing of a bell.
I should just be at a bar getting my bell rung.
Likely, tonight, I will do both.
The minstrels played on.
Sunrise was barely that, instead a grey damp lightening of the sky. My night restless, I was grateful for the dark Mello Joy coffee my mother had stowed in the pantry. I was the first one up in the farmhouse. Unable to get over my anxiety with the approaching storm, my sleep was staccato, interspersed with checking updates from the National Hurricane Center. The morning news was Katrina drifting ever so slightly to the east of New Orleans, close enough for me to know the city was in trouble. Reports began to trickle as the entire nation watched my home take on water.
We were ten people, my parents, Tracey and I with the kids, Andy and his fiancée Katie, and my friend Rob. The evening before, Rob had endured an eleven hour drive from New Orleans to Youngsville, normally a two hour trip. Mom set to making a huge breakfast as we sat wide-eyed in front of television and computer screens. The kids had very little notion of what was happening. In some respects, neither did we.
Towns like Buras and Venice were being pulverized. There was eighteen feet of storm surge ripping through the lower levels at my work. Slidell and St Tammany parish were being whipped by the winds. Biloxi, Gulfport and Bay St Louis were already torn apart. The roof of our house was shredded. The oak tree at the driveway was halfway through a neighbor's house. Water was in the streets. The levees held, but, as we know, that didn't last for long.
The days afterward are so vivid, the unreality of reuniting with Tracey, enrolling our children in schools far away from home, trying to figure out where to turn next, where our friends and family were, what had happened to our home and the landscape that surrounded it.
The deep feeling of emptiness is still there, a lasting remembrance of everything lost.
Exactly one year ago, right now, New Orleans had a stake driven right into its heart, one made of water and bureaucracy, of need and greed, of desperation and exploitation. Lives ended, both literally and figuratively. While some may be home, it's not the same home that departed this earth 365 days ago.
So much to take in. So much still to do. So many people lost in the paperwork.
I should be away from work, commemorating this moment with the ringing of a bell.
I should just be at a bar getting my bell rung.
Likely, tonight, I will do both.
