New Orleans, Monday August 29, 2005, During. Episode VII
New Orleans, Monday August 29, 2005, During. Episode VII
The chunk of roof shattered the glass door and pieces fell everywhere. Only one significant piece, however, decided to share my body. And behind, in the entryway, another section of heavy, old plaster ceiling came down. Ah, the best laid plans.
What's a lad to do? If ever I needed a drink it was then. A restorative liquid, hearty and promising of lazy summer nights. Dry, carefree and convivial summer nights. I didn't hear the breaking levees, or the floodwaters, or the trees bending and splitting. I simply found the driest chair I could, poured a rather nice Sauvignon Blanc and collapsed. And, at some point, the winds slowed.
Electricity was out, of course, but I still had water and gas. I could still create a campsite meal of hot soup but I decided, instead, that a nice putanesca would better serve. A spot or two of limoncella would add a bit of zest for the chef. I also decided that an evacuation would be in order - sooner, rather than later. Those old, high ceilings were water-logged. I was very afraid indeed that the entryway failure would spread. There'd be no sleeping here under the threat of concussion, or worse.
My meal was simple but, under the circumstances, spectacular. Then, thanking the 341 gods that I had a gas water heater, a long, long hot shower. With candles, of course. My last hot shower, it turned out, for another week. Then it was out and about to survey. The local radio was starting to broadcast pleas for help, for information, for any human contact.
I walked down Esplanade, away from the River, toward Bourbon Street. Apart from heavy tree damage it seemed we'd been spared. These buildings had seen it all, over the years. One more storm, one more summer. Some were already out on their sidewalks sweeping, bagging, pushing trash and debris into piles. It was beyond us to clear the streets for vehicles, but we could open paths for bicycles and pedestrians. We nodded and smiled, amazed and pleased at how quickly the cleanup would go. Should go. Content with the anticipation of having coffee soon at CC's, trading stories, apartment hunting.
To be continued . . .
The chunk of roof shattered the glass door and pieces fell everywhere. Only one significant piece, however, decided to share my body. And behind, in the entryway, another section of heavy, old plaster ceiling came down. Ah, the best laid plans.
What's a lad to do? If ever I needed a drink it was then. A restorative liquid, hearty and promising of lazy summer nights. Dry, carefree and convivial summer nights. I didn't hear the breaking levees, or the floodwaters, or the trees bending and splitting. I simply found the driest chair I could, poured a rather nice Sauvignon Blanc and collapsed. And, at some point, the winds slowed.
Electricity was out, of course, but I still had water and gas. I could still create a campsite meal of hot soup but I decided, instead, that a nice putanesca would better serve. A spot or two of limoncella would add a bit of zest for the chef. I also decided that an evacuation would be in order - sooner, rather than later. Those old, high ceilings were water-logged. I was very afraid indeed that the entryway failure would spread. There'd be no sleeping here under the threat of concussion, or worse.
My meal was simple but, under the circumstances, spectacular. Then, thanking the 341 gods that I had a gas water heater, a long, long hot shower. With candles, of course. My last hot shower, it turned out, for another week. Then it was out and about to survey. The local radio was starting to broadcast pleas for help, for information, for any human contact.
I walked down Esplanade, away from the River, toward Bourbon Street. Apart from heavy tree damage it seemed we'd been spared. These buildings had seen it all, over the years. One more storm, one more summer. Some were already out on their sidewalks sweeping, bagging, pushing trash and debris into piles. It was beyond us to clear the streets for vehicles, but we could open paths for bicycles and pedestrians. We nodded and smiled, amazed and pleased at how quickly the cleanup would go. Should go. Content with the anticipation of having coffee soon at CC's, trading stories, apartment hunting.
To be continued . . .
posted by Piety Research at 1:15 PM
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