Patricia's Haunted House:
My house in New Orleans used to be haunted by just an unnamed ghost who called out to my children when they were small, and occasionally tread the stairs late at night. Now it is I who haunt my house, on a daily basis. I walk into the front door, down the hallway and turn to the front room on the left, where we lounged to watch television. It's quiet in there now. I see the family photographs all over the place, as well as the the plaques and drawings my children made when they were little. My kitchen, I notice is more of a mess than usual, due to the remains of the big birthday party we had at our home the night before we fled. In my bedroom, my bed remains unmade, and my books are still scattered all over the place.
I see the santes I used to collect as well as the statue of the Sacred Heart my grandmother gave me many years ago. I left him, along with the City's Patroness, Our Lady Of Prompt Succor, in charge of my house. Good call. My living room still looks good, in my mind, and my son's bedroom is still jumbled up, I see, as it has always been. We have an area of our house that used to be a slave quarter, and outside the windows you can see the palm trees that grew so large so quickly. Because I go only in spirit, it's easy to sit in the heat, in my meditation garden with Budda, who reposes amidst the ferns.
I used to complain that we had too much stuff. We did. Now we have just enough.
Patricia Muses:
I wonder what anyone who has visited New Orleans would most like to see again. The French Quarter seems to be o.k., and we heard that iconic sites such as the Cafe Du Monde are still standing. But what does your heart long for again? Mine is of course, for my home and my neighborhood. But I would give much to walk to the Garden District and smell the fragrance of a sweet olive tree, or of gardenias blooming wildly in the summer heat. At this time, the stench in the city is nearly overwhelming.
Truth to tell, I wouldn't mind seeing the lady who lived on the streets nearby. She would never talk to anyone, and seemed semi-content with her shopping cart home, occasionally stopping on a doorstep to relax and rest. We never knew her name. I wish I had. I would love to see and hear all the things that we used to think were crazy, like the man on the corner of Canal Street and Decatur, in the umbrella hat, preaching and dancing to a tune only he could hear.
I would love to go to Magazine Street and browse in the antique shops, and buy that crystal ball I always liked. Perhaps, if I could have foreseen Katrina...what? I could not have changed anything. But perhaps I would have lived every minute in New Orleans as a gift rather than as just my ordinary life. I would have breathed it in more fully, and felt its unique vibrations more intensely. In the hustle and bustle of Houston, I remember the sweet laid-back pace of home.
Write to Sharon and let us know what you want to re-visit.
NOPD/NOFD:
It is difficult to say which emotion is uppermost in the hearts of New Orleanians when it comes to our police and fire departments. We feel overwhelming love and gratitude for their complete devotion to the city, to their jobs, and to each other. In the face of unbelievable chaos and misery, they have soldiered on, for a long time without aid, ammunition, or comfort from any other agencies. They have lost their homes, they are separated from their families, and they encounter death every day many times. They are warriors against the odds, and they singlehandedly held New Orleans and its remaining citizenry together until reinforcements could arrive.
To say that we deeply admire them only demonstrates the inadequacy of language. We grieve for them and with them: for their own losses, for the horror with which they have to contend; for their anger at the desertion in their own ranks; for their helplessness in stemming the tide of human misery, which drove two of their own rank to death. We celebrate their relief in the camaraderie of their fellow firemen and policemen from Texas, New York, and from all over the country, and we thank their brothers-in-arms as they do.
We also revere the men and women of the medical community and emergency medical personnel who stayed behind with their patients, and gave of themselves until there was no more--and then they continued on, refusing to leave until the last of their charges were safe.
On the strength of these men and women, we have no doubt that New Orleans will rise and persevere, and we take heart.
