Silver Man


I don’t know if this is a good or bad weekend to be in New Orleans. On one hand, The French Quarter is hopping with returning college students who are finally getting out from under the thumb of their parents which creates good business on Bourbon Street. On the other hand, the Sunday paper is filled with Katrina stories as we are less then a week away from the fourth anniversary of an event that changed our lives. No matter how much recovery has gone on, we live with a certain kind of feeling that was born of watching the flooding on CNN and then returning home to find most of your possessions or all of your home destroyed. I cannot even begin to describe the feeling I had when I finally walked in my door only to find water marks and mold two thirds of the way to the top of a 14 foot high ceiling. I was lucky. Art and some music and about 60% of my photography files survived. The people with whom I’m staying came home to find that everything was gone. The way that we live today is governed by what we learned. When late hurricane season approaches, everyone keeps a full tank of gas in their cars. I store my work in three places including a cloud somewhere on the internet, we always have extra canned food and water. And, gee, I live in New Mexico now. And yet, I would like to return. I’ve never felt more at home here then in any other places. I’ve lived in a lot of places. Too many.

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