From Sharon Keating,
Your Guide to New Orleans Travel.
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I saw an elderly woman sitting on the highway yesterday, by herself, on a piece of cardboard. She was crying. The last time she saw her son, she was getting on a boat, and he was going underwater. She may not know his fate for a long time. Her loss is unfathomable: home, community, family. There are so many people in the same boat. Although they were rescued, they will need rescuing for a long time to come.

Sharon: The "Ragin' Cajun" has arrived and other random thoughts

Three Star General Honore, who is from our area, has returned to lead the military force. New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin calls him John Wayne. To most of us he is the "Ragin' Cajun."

One of the first things my husband, Wayne, said to me this morning was, "I don't own a pair of socks." I held his hand and said, "It's OK, you don't own a pair of shoes you would wear socks with." He smiled and said, "I'll go to Perlis when we get home." I was silent. Perlis is Wayne's favorite place to shop on Magazine Street in New Orleans, and I wasn't sure when it would open again. After a few seconds he just said, "Oh, yeah."

I was looking at the news this morning and they showed the neutral ground in front of the Convention Center. A neutral ground to New Orleanians is a median in your town. Many of my fellow New Orleanians were sitting there for days, It served as their kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and morgue. How mindboggling.

New Orleans is the major port on the Mississippi River. I'm watching fires burn out of control on the docks. With no water to fight it, where will it end?

Last Friday, when Patricia and I were doing some last minute shopping for the birthday bash, I said to her, "I have a feeling we are going to hit the jackpot tomorrow." So, we each put up $2.00 and bought four lottery tickets. We didn't win the jackpot, but we got slammed by the biggest natural disater this country has ever seen. Shows you how psychic I am. It also proves what I always knew. New Orleans never does anything in an ordinary way.

I just have to go home again. I don't know how much more I can take.

Sharon: Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?

E-mail has been our only link to friends and neighbors who have fled the storm. A neighbor e-mailed us yesterday to say that he rode his bike by our house the day after the hurricane, and except for trees down and some fixable damage, it looked ok. But since that time the 17th street canal flooded. We also heard from a friend who has a friend who went down St. Charles Avenue after the flood and said our block only had water in the street.

I dream of my house at night. It was built in the 1870's and has original heart pine floors and stained glass windows. The front windows are also doors. It's a tradition of the arcitecture of the time. You can walk right through the windows, onto the front porch. It's not a grand house like you would see in the Garden District or on St. Charles Avenue. It's typical of the homes in the area.

Our house has been the scene of many Mardi Gras parties, we have the family Thanksgiving, usually more than 50 family and friends. We have a small courtyard with wonderful old trees and a small pool. My grandchildren love to have sleep-overs at our house. They get to sleep in sleeping bags in front of the TV and I let them stay up way past their bedtime watching their favorite DVD's

I miss my house, but most of all I miss New Orleans.

Sharon: What to say

I'm a breast cancer survivor. Several years ago, when I was fignting for my life I was blessed to have family members and true friends who put up with me during that time and did the best they could to help. Often, someone near me would say, "When you get well, you will appreciate life more. Things will seem even better than before and you will be stronger. You will know what's really important in life." These words were said with love and I always appreciated those who stood by me in those dark days in my life. Yet, despite the good intentions, sometimes the words did not bring me comfort. It put pressure on me to learn something, to be a better person, to be a stronger person, to readjust my priorities. At that time in my life, I just wanted to survive.

That's kind of the way I feel now. People say, "you and your family and friends are alive and well, and that's what's important." I know that's true, and I'm very grateful. But it makes me feel guilty when I worry about my home, and things like the handmade afgan my grandmother made for me on my 5th birthday. I know these are only things, and many people are much worse off than me. But, I still grieve for the christening dress both my daughters and both my granddaughters wore on those joyful days.

I guess I didn't learn the lessons I should have when I was sick.