Is it Mid October already?

Over the last few weeks I have been catching bits and pieces of the Spike Lee film "When the levees broke; a requiem in four acts." I'm not sure if I have seen the whole thing yet, but at more than four hours it's unlikely that I will sit and watch the whole thing at one time. Parts of the show are overwhelming and brought back so many bad memories of the storm. Shortly after I came back last January I walked to a friends house in the Marigny. There had been some scattered thunderstorms during the day but it had stopped. While I was visiting the power went out and eventually I had to walk home in the darkness. Just as I got closer to the quarter (where there were lights again) it started to rain. I panicked, my heart was beating fast and I didn't even know why. When I finally got to my house I was very nearly in tears and panicky. It took me a while to calm down and I realized that I was over-reacting. Anyone who's been in New Orleans during a hard rain can tell you that rain builds up quickly, especially if the drains are clogged. Water was standing in the street and it panicked me to think that it was happening again, that the water was coming back. I felt like that a lot watching the Spike Lee movie. Like any film it has it's manipulations and I can't imagine anyone who wouldn't be touched by the scenes showing dead bodies, their bloated forms floating in murky water. Other parts of the film touch on the conspiracy theory that the 9th ward levee was blown intentionally and the general blame game of who was responsible for all this misery. Another "act" deals with New Orleans as a musical city, the birthplace of Jazz and all that. They cover congo square, the mardi gras Indians and lastly they cover jazz funerals and second line parades. It reminded me of a bumper sticker I saw a few months ago and has been on my mind since. It was a black and white sticker with a parasol holding man next to the words "The Second Line is Coming." If you are unfamiliar with the phrase "second line," let me explain. A Jazz funeral is made up of two parts, the somber walk to the gravesite, the grieving for the loss and then comes what is called the second line. It's a celebration, crazy dancing, loud upbeat music as you send off your loved one by celebrating life instead of mourning death. The bumper sticker was proclaiming it, that our time of mouring is over, it's time to pick up the beat and dance. I've been thinking about it a lot, when I saw the cars finally being cleared from under the interstate. The piles of debris seem to be lessening everywhere. I see less blue tarped roofs and more open signs. The malaise of the residents comes and goes, my own included. The last few months have been depressing and I'm reaching one of those "somethings got to give" peering into the abyss moments. I'm not sure what to do with myself these days. I've been working in my backyard a lot and quite honestly it's been the only thing to get me out of bed some days. It's been fun but a lot of work. I bought an ax today and can hardly wait to put on a black tulle dress and cut down a tree at midnite. In a few weeks some friends will be here to visit for Halloween and I'm very excited to see them, hopefully that will put some zip back in my step and I'll be able to pick up my parasol and dance.


Crime has made a big return here in New Orleans, there was a gunman who opened fire on Frenchman street a few days ago. Tonight there were two separate killings in 90 minutes. One was in Algiers, a man shot several times in his car. Another was in the Marigny, an attempted mugging that ended badly for the mugger. He approched the couple, put a gun in the womans back and said "give it up" when her male companion whirled around and shot their assailant dead. Good Riddance.

I know I haven't written much lately but in general I've just been working a lot and having trouble sleeping so I nap a lot. I'll include some pictures of my yard as it progresses and then hopefully some halloween pics too. I think I am going to be Amish this year, but without my feet bound.