Tuesday, August 5


I can't imagine anyone else celebrating.

We drank champagne as Katrina hit land. It was, after all, just a few days after my birthday, I'd gotten a bottle of bubbly, and then, thanks to the evacuation, found myself with friends in town from New Orleans. For the most part we weren't that concerned yet. Mother Nature regularly displays her awesome power in the South, and sometimes we just yawn at her.

(Dear Edouard - I am unimpressed.)

So at first, this was just another mandatory evacuation. People were instructed to flee the city regularly, and nothing but gas expense usually came of it. This time, surely, was the same. We had no doubt that it would all still be there in the morning. We opened champagne.

Levees began to break. Some leaked and some popped open like corks. I think it was kind of like that. That's how it looked on TV. That's how it looked on my friends' faces.

I don't know exactly why, but lately I wish I had kept that bottle. It seems important somehow, something solid and heavy to wrap your hands around while so much else disappears. While so much else is set in motion and we're all swept away. And if nothing else, I could have used it to send you a message across all that water.


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