Mardi Gras Secrets Unfold
First of all, I have to say, I am a Mardi Gras addict, and all that goes along with it, so maybe I am not all that objective, but I do understand how many people were saying they could not understand how New Orleans could host Mardi Gras this year after so many had lost so much. THAT is just the very reason we HAD to have it!

But we also need to get a few other things straight that the media have mixed up and that hype have gotten misrepresentation alllll out of whack.

Mardi Gras is actually based on a religious celebration. Yep, it's true. It was not founded on the flashing of the fleshy orbs of breasts on Bourbon Street for a .20 cent pair of beads, although tourists just love to do it, and the locals just love taking their money for those cheap beads and love selling them those drinks. And please don't misunderstand, because I have defiantly spent my time on Bourbon Street, and yes, I have "earned" a pair of beads in my lifetime, HOWEVER...let me just also add, my children and grandchildren were not around, nor were anyone else's and I can't imagine anyone taking their children to Bourbon Street anyway, but let's get back to Mardi Gras, shall we...

Lemme see if I can break this down. This is what Mardi Gras is NOT:

1. It is not about women flashing their boobs for beads, at least along St. Charles or Uptown. You also cannot do this on the floats. Anyone caught doing so would result in having the entire float and it's riders cast out of not only that parade but any future parades and some stiff penalties. As a float rider in years past, trust me when I tell you that after what I have had to pay to ride, for my throws, etc. TRUST ME when I tell you the offender would be praying to get to go to jail and away from me for getting me thrown out of a parade after I'd spent all that!

2. Mardi Gras is not about the city spending money it doesn't have just to have one heck of a party. Mardi Gras costs the city about $2 million in police and clean-up costs. Mardi Gras BRINGS IN TENS OF MILLIONS to the city in tax revenue, or about 40% of New Orleans' annual revenue. We were beyond broke this year. We pretty much had to have it in order to have any kind of New Orleans, plus to have the massive amount of publicity that New Orleans is still a viable city that is worthy of business opportunities.

3. Mardi Gras is not a free party. Well, let me rephrase that, because it is to all those that want to come and see it, but it isn't to those that are putting it on. That is one of the reasons why we just had to have it this year. You see, it takes people to want to have a Mardi Gras and their big old fat bank accounts to pull it off. I'll give you an example. To ride on a float, you have to pay money, LOTS of money, and even more money if it is on a superkrewe like Orpheus or Baccus or Endymion. (like $1000) and that is just to ride. Next...you pay for the mandatory throws. Those are the specialty beads, cups, etc. and if you want any extras, then great! Fork out some more cash and you can get all of them that you want. Costumes have to be made, Insurance has to be paid for parades and floats (2 parades got canceled this year because of a lack of funds for insurance). Now then...news flash. The city does NOT pay for that, the riders do. That is how badly they want to do this and it has never been sponsored, it has always been funded on our own.

Muses actually paid either $10,000 or $50,000 to the NOPD this year in order to help defray expenses. Now that is a heck of a bunch of gals in my book!

Here's what Mardi Gras IS:

1. Mardi Gras is about families. All along the sidewalks and neutral grounds (medians to people who live elsewhere), you see families grouped together, cooking b.b.q., hotdogs, laughing, dressing up, sharing memories, spending time together, many of whom might not have seen each other since the storm.On the truck floats, you will see entire families riding together, as mine have always done in years past.

2. Mardi Gras is about lightening up for a change. We eat and drink and be merry. Forget about your problems, even if it is only for the length of a parade. Enjoy life, because it is too precious and too short. Ash Wednesday the next day, reminding us that we came from dust and it's dust that we will be returning to. Enjoy it while you can.

3. Mardi Gras is about children. Parents put children on their shoulders to reach the floats, or fathers build ladders for small children to wave as they pass by, arms stretched out for beads, doubloons or stuffed animals.

With all of that as perhaps a little more of an understanding, maybe those that couldn't be here, but just saw it on the media coverage, and wondered why a city that had so much devastation would have spent so much money throwing such an elaborate party... maybe that will help, if not, then maybe this one last thing will...it is only through the eyes of one individual.

If only for a short period of time, I was able to take my grandchildren by their hands, and paint their faces and dress them in costume, then walk up the street a few blocks with some of my fellow neighbors. There we shared some laughter and some cotton candy, hotdogs, corndogs, and forgot about the donated clothes that they now wear because everything they had once had was lost. I don't have to think about the sawdust and sheetrock dust that covers every pore and crack in my home because of the repair work being done on it for the last 3 months. (We were evacuees for over 2 months and then had to wait on insurance checks forever and a day) I don't have to think about the workers that don't show up for a week at a time, and who can you get to replace them when everyone is looking for someone??? I don't have to think about the health issues of my husband, or work or that I am just tired to the bone anymore. I look at the faces of my neighbors and other New Orleans' that are maybe displaced, still waiting on trailers that may or maynot come on time, and I don't have to think for a while...I can just react. I see people spending money on things and there is hope. Maybe, just maybe my city, the city I have loved so much for so long, will make it, and maybe I will be able to continue to make a living here and be able to continue to live here.

Don't think...just react to the joy around you...it's Mardi Gras...

Happy Birthday Mama
I have to tell you about someone special that was born sixty seven years ago this very day.

There was a family in an Acadian style house that lived on a winding road called the White Lighting, in northern Louisiana, just outside Homer and Arcadia. About the only thing either of these towns were ever really known for at those times were that Homer was a really big rival football team against neighboring Hainesville and the legendary Bonnie and Clyde were gunned down at Arcadia.

But more importantly than that, a family lived there that was filled with love and pride.

The father, a short in stature man, got up when it was still dark and went out to tend the cows and hogs before going off to work in the oil fields, and his wife, who stood a good head taller than him, though was gentle in voice, always had his breakfast ready as with all meals...then readied their children for school. There would eventually be a total of six children in this family, but when this special person was born, there were only two girls and a boy already born. As a matter of fact, this special person wasn't even due to be born for two more months, but because of the times and the fact that the wife had come down with a case of German measles...labor had come early, so the father rushed to get the doctor, but before he could return, my Mama had been born at home in my grandparents' bed...with the German measles. She and my grandmother both almost died. Because of strong wills and a firm belief that God has other plans for her...they both made it, however. My grandparents went on, by the way, to have two more sons later.

She grew stronger, and was very close to every member of her family. I can honestly say, I never saw her play favorites with any member as I was growing up, unless, perhaps it would be her youngest brother, who was only three years older than myself and was more like a son to her than a brother. She was in high school when he was born and they adored each other.

My mother's name was Faye, but her Daddy gave her the nickname "Tootsie", which was adopted by all the family, and remains to this day whenever we are around. She was close to both her parents and couldn't go very long without seeing them, even when we lived in a different state than they did. I can only imagine how much the phone bills were, but to their credit, my parents both adored my grandparents and so, we spent a great deal of time with them.

She and one of my uncles were probably closest in age and so therefore played together the most as children. I hear the stories of them running all over my grandparents' place as children, hooking up wagons to goats, and in short, enjoying childhood.

She was brought up in the Methodist church by my grandmother, and never lost her faith. There were times when I am sure it was tested, but she never lost it. Her lessons to me always included God, but were more of the Golden Rule and that there were good and bad in all mankind. She still tries to look for the good in all people and gives the benefit of the doubt. Make no mistake, however, she is a woman to be reckoned with...you screw her over, and she has the memory of a thousand elephants and you won't get the chance to make the same mistake twice.

In high school, she was voted "Best Athlete" for her Junior and Senior year. She loved sports and was a guard in basketball for Homer. She was sad on her graduation day, however, because her father was unable to attend her graduation.

She wanted to be a nurse but knew how much it would cost to go to school for that, so opted to attend business school in Shreveport instead. It was while she was living there that she met my father.

Let me tell you what first attracted my father to my mother. She is about 5'9", and the first time he saw her, he said "she had on "short-shorts" (what my generation called hotpants and what is now called Daisy Dukes)He said she had this long black flowing hair, and dark flashing eyes that just penetrated you, and a smile that could light up the sky...and legs that went all the way up to heaven"... Yeah, my father had a way with words, but he knew what he liked and he liked that she was a lady. He almost never got her to go out with him, as a matter of fact, he more or less had to trick her into going out with him by using a four year old little boy. It worked. He guilted her into it. That was in July of 1958. He was living in Hobbs, New Mexico and she was living in Shreveport. He was so taken with her that he would get off work every Friday, drive from New Mexico to Shreveport, Louisiana and go out with her, then get up Sunday morning and drive back to New Mexico and go to work Monday morning. He finally told her in August she was going to have to marry him or kill him. They married September 15, 1958. He nearly fell over in a dead faint when it came time to sign the marriage license and found out she was only 19...he was 31. When he exclaimed his surprise, she calmly told him, "Well, I knew how old you were." and she signed the papers.

My mother became a partner to my father in every sense of the word. They worked together, he taught her to hunt and fish and they spent many evenings going out dancing or going out dining together. They truly enjoyed one another's company.

Even when I came along, they included me in everything that they did. We were a family unit.

Several years after losing my father in 1985, she remarried to an angel of a man, that had lost his hearing in an automobile accident. He told me once that one of the first things that had drawn him to her was that she went out of her way to include him into day to day conversations that people were having all around him without even giving it a second thought...as though it were so natural of a thing to do. Well...of course it was. They had many beautiful years together until he passed away in 2002.

My mother has always been a champion of rights. When school rules needed to be changed. (Like when it was forbidden for little girls to wear pants to school and temperatures would drop into the teens...and some of us were allergic to tights) my mother was the one that went to the school board and fought to get it changed. When teachers crossed over bounds...she went the distance to get it fixed and reversed. Whenever anyone wronged someone, she fought against injustice.

She remained (and still does) a lady, however, and sticks by the addage..."If you can't say anything nice about someone, don't say anything at all". (She is silent about a few people.)

She has a head for business. She always did the books for my father's business and even ran it when he decided he wanted to retire. He eventually talked her into selling it. She bought her own business, a company that does oil and gas reports for several oil field businesses..."just to keep her hand in it and to have something". And she helped my step-father with his business when he kept begging her to come to his business and help out. She is also active with all of the organizations that she enjoys working with.

Even with all of that, she still manages to find the time to go out of her way to help. She was a Candy Striper when I was little, working with Developmentally Challenged Children...and involved in a sorority that worked with Cystic Fibrosis. She was always active with the PTA with me and with my daughter. She is currently active with the Women of the Moose which helps Moosehart and Moosehaven, she volunteers with a Hospice, she is a Pinklady at the hospital, and is active with Easternstar. This doesn't even touch how many of her friends she drops everything to go and help at the drop of a hat. And there are not enough words on all the computers of the world to list how much she does for her family.

My mama is a close to a saint as I can imagine a person can be. She is also my closest friend. The person I admire most in the world, and someone that I love so very, very much...

Happy Birthday, Mama.

I love you!-Denise

A Perfect Valentine's Day with My Pirate and Puppy
I have to say how lucky I am to have the kind of husband that I have. He is such a tender heart. While most men fretted about where they were supposed to take their wives to for dinner, in order to stay in good graces with them, or what color their favorite roses are, or if they should bring them that heart shaped box of candy or was she on another diet and that would be in poor taste to do so...or maybe bringing her a pair of diamond studded earrings would be the perfect complement to all the other pieces of jewelry she already has...my husband knew what I was wanting to do...what I needed to do... I had to stay at home with our little puppy that had been through surgery today. Furthermore, it never even entered his mind that either one of us needed to be anywhere else. That was what makes him so wonderful.

He is a most compassionate and loving man, and cares for others very much. It shows in everything that he does, from the way that he spoils me, to the way that he cared for his aging parents, the way he loves our children and grandchildren, to the way that he cares for the patients he transports on the ambulance company that he works for, all the way to a puppy that has wormed her way into both our hearts.

The vet that performed the surgery told us that normally they keep the dogs overnight, but after reading the concern and obvious distress of separation from "our baby", who has never been away from us since we adopted her, he agreed to allow us to bring her home, as long as everything went well, since I was a registered nurse and my husband was an EMT, as long as we kept her quiet and followed the instructions perfectly. We vowed we would, and both sighed a breath of relief that we would be able to bring our little Tegan home with us. We laughed a little to each other, and wondered if everyone was as particular over a dog that they were having spayed as we were.

We talked briefly about if it would be better to leave her overnight with the vet, just in case, and that we could even have the opportunity to go out and celebrate Valentine's Day over a romantic dinner...just the two of us. We exchanged a silent look to one another, and at almost the exact same time, said, "we will pick her up and take her home, thank you." We smiled, and we relieved. THAT is just another reason why he is so right for me.

0.3 for Us, and You?
Yahoo!!!! Our home has a PSA of 0.3! Down from 0.4 six months ago! We are winning this battle!

Okay, for those of you that are not familiar with this ongoing full out and out wage against this villain that is trying to rob the very life out of my husband, and the soul out of his being...allow me to break this down for you. He has prostate cancer.

He was diagnosed with it September 23, 2004, and we have been at war with this disease every since, a war that we will not lose.

It came as a total surprise to us both, as he had absolutely no symptoms at all, and it was discovered because of a simple routine blood test that was drawn when he had gone to see the doctor because he was having some allergy problems and a constant runny nose. (Think about it people...not exactly the same areas, okay?)

The doctor called him and informed him that because of a PSA test that had been done as part of his overall annual physical (that I'd convinced the doctor to do once I got him in there for the allergy problem, yeah, okay, it was a rotten thing to do, I tricked him) he needed to follow up with another kind of doctor, a urologist, to rule out the possibility of prostate cancer vs. some type of infection. His PSA was "10". A normal one, we were told was 0-4. PSA I called in a favor and got him in to see the urologist the next day.

In the meantime, I called the American Cancer Society to find out the possibilities of getting false readings on PSAs or what other reasons one could be high, and I called a friend that worked in oncology. Things didn't look too promising for a PSA as high as 10.

Let me just take a moment here to explain a little about PSA to those that might not want to click on the links that explain a lot better than I can. PSA is an enzyme that is found in seminal fluid and blood in men and when it is found above 4 nanograms per milliliter of blood, it means you at least have a major infection of some type, and probability factor for prostate cancer increases with the higher the number goes. Either way, you need to see your doctor and get something done for whatever the problem is, before it gets worse.

The urologist did a second PSA test, just to double check things, and to make sure that his first one hadn't been a mix up at the lab. You know, it's wierd..you ever WISH for someone to have screwed up your labwork? Strange, huh? No such luck.

The second one came back with a result of 11.25. We were dumb founded. We sat in that little room, holding each other's hands, barely able to get a breath of air in our lungs and then I noticed my husband's knees and legs begin to quiver. That is when I knew I was going to have to get it together and be strong. For both of us. I mustered up the air to get the voice to ask, "Okay, what's next?"

"Well, we need to do a biopsy." That just didn't sound too pleasant. It was done in the office, after giving him an IV to make him very, VERY happy. That part was actually pretty fun. For him and me both, and for the entire staff that he sang, "Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day..." to. I think if I were ever going to be a junky...Versed will be the drug I am going to choose.

I got to stay by his side, while the doctor and his assistant took 10 samples with a very large needle to send off to have evaluated. Now we had to wait for several days for the pathology. My husband told the doctor that he didn't want to come in for the results...he wanted to sign whatever waiver he needed to in order to approve the HIPPA requirements to give him permission to give me the news when it came back, because he simply didn't want to hear it from him, he'd rather hear it from me. G-r-e-a-t

Almost a week later, I got off work, walked over from the hospital to the doctor's office and waited until we could get the word. I was called into the room, and waited for the doctor. We already knew it would be cancer. We'd spent almost a week talking about how we would treat it. Would we opt for surgical removal of the prostate? Would it be followed up by chemo? Radiation? Both? Either way, after the surgery removed it...at least it would be out and we wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. I couldn't have been more wrong.

The doctor came in and said. "Well, it's bad news. All 10 of the samples came back malignant. His Gleason score is 7 and so it has metastasized. We need to get him over to see the radiation/oncologist as soon as possible and I am going to start him on some oral medication today, which he will need to take for 2 weeks first, and then the radiation doctor will take it from there and set up the radiation treatments. He will need hormone therapy shots for at least 2 years, which will leave him impotent during that time, and I can't tell you if that will return to normal when they stop or not. I can't even tell you if he will be able to stop the shots at the end of two years or not, we will have to keep monitoring his PSA levels to judge that." Honestly...he lost me after the word metastasized left his mouth...

It was like a Charlie Brown cartoon where the parents are talking because I never heard the rest of that. I had to get him to repeat it again. I told him we wanted it cut out. He said it was too late. He wanted to do a bone scan, to see where it might have gone to. I was in a nightmare. How was I going to tell my husband this?!! How was I going to tell him that surgery was too late? How was I going to tell him that it was no longer just in the prostate and had already spread when he had not even had a symptom?!

I walked out of that little room. Managed to pay by check. Well, I signed it, and the lady at the window made it out for me. I made it to the elevators and got to the parking garage, then made it to my truck where I lost it. I completely lost it. I had no idea how to even begin to tell him. I was so scared and I knew I couldn't tell him or show him that. I was prepared for cancer. I was prepared for surgery and for the results that would follow, but I was not prepared for the fact that it had spread and that the doctor was telling me that it was too late to do surgery or that chemo wouldn't work.

I had lost my father to cancer. I'd seen it pull his 6'2" frame down to 64lbs. I had lost cousins, aunts, and a grandfather to cancer. It was just too much. This man was too good, and that always seems to be the ones that something bad happens to, so that scared me even more. My mind was racing at lightening speeds and all in fear and panic. I also knew I couldn't take too long getting myself together because my husband knew what time I got off work and that I was going to the doctor's to get the report, so he'd be expecting the information, and soon, and I certainly didn't want to tell him over the cellphone...no, this would have to be face to face.

Somehow, I managed to fix my makeup, and put drops in my eyes before I got to him. Telling him was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but we knew we'd get through it. We held each other, cried a bit, but then just got focused.

We got the bone scan the next day. (Another favor called in) and it was negative. No cancer showed up anywhere! Yahoo!

I still couldn't understand the Gleason scoring Gleason Scoring so I bought a book, "Idiots Guide for Prostate Cancer". It and the internet helped a bunch.

It felt so agonizing at the beginning when we had to wait for anything to do, because we were still waiting for the oral medication to shrink the "target". I got busy doing research and planning battle strategies. He stayed busy with a God-send of a Playstation II. ANYTHING to keep the mind busy is a blessing at times like that. Denial? Maybe. But you have to shut your mind off, and it's the only way to do it.

We met with the third doctor, the radiologist/oncologist, who I think my husband liked the best, and they made a mold of his legs and backside for him to lay on every time he went for his radiation treatments (41 in total). The doctor had explained that they were going to do radiation to not only his prostate but to his entire abdomen and lymph nodes because of his Gleason score and the risks of microscopic metastasis. They felt confident that radiation was the best method of killing all the cancer cells off. The radiation treatments would not cause him to lose his hair, and would probably cause him some GI disturbances because of the location of the treatments and because as the doctor put it, "we are giving you an internal sunburn of the inth degree". Swell.

My husband got on fantastically with everyone in the radiation department there at the hospital, and I found myself envious of how well the department all seemed to work together, yet I was thrilled to see them working so well with my husband. They brought in a nutritionist when he began to lose weight and she managed to help get it back on him. He forced himself to eat, even when he had no appetite, or was spending every 5 minutes in the restroom...ALL day and ALL night.

He went in for his radiation treatments in the mornings and the guys at the EMS station stayed over late from working nights or either came in for him to help cover for him while he got his treatments, so he never missed a day. They were our angels. They were again during Hurricane Katrina. I love those guys!!

The hormone treatments were and remain not so fun. Nothing quite like getting a turkey basting needle inserted just under your skin near your navel to insert something the size of a grain of rice. Of course, that's the easy part. The real fun is the part where the thermo-regulation is totally screwed up. I'll give you an example.

He just got another shot last Thursday. I came in from work on Saturday night and found him in sweatpants, sweatshirt, sweat jacket and hood on, a blanket wrapped around him, and another one over him, sitting under the heater vent, and the heater was up so high that the dog was panting. I stripped down to a pair of shorts and a spaghetti strap shirt, fixed him some soup and as many warm things as I could think of. He didn't have much appetite, but he tried. That was Saturday.

On Sunday, he stayed home because he was freezing, and then finally, at one point that night, he was burning up and finally had a hot flash like a menopausal woman. He will ride this rollarcoaster for a while now, and then have the gambit of emotions to go with it. You just can't cram female hormones into a formally testosterone loaded body and not expect something to give. It's hell on him.
BUT!!!!!! WE HAVE A 0.3 PSA!!!!! And it is worth it, because it is getting better!

With continued success, he will only have to take these shots until this September or October. That is only 6 more months away. We are winning this war!

I can't believe how lucky we are. What if he hadn't caught a cold and hadn't had allergies? Would I have been able to pester him into going to the doctor? If I hadn't told the doctor to go ahead and run a full cholesterol, triglyceride, PSA, liver function, kidney function, etc on him and anything else he could think of to do while he had him in there...how much damage would this disease have done to him and how far would it have spread before we would have even started fighting it? As it is...it looks like any metastasis he may have were microscopic and hopefully, caught before they got too far from the prostate.

As I have mentioned before, most of my friends are male, and I love them dearly...therefore, I pray, plead, and implore to each of you...please go get a simple blood test done...the PSA.

Maybe I can explain this as the Irish see it....

"What you should know about a Faulty Fuel Injector...
A man thing...

The prostate is a walnut sized gland that sits just under the bladder. Its job is to produce the bulk of semen to help protect and nourish sperm on their hazardous trip to the womb.

The risk of a man getting prostate cancer is only 2% less than the risk of a woman getting breast cancer.

Nobody knows what causes prostate cancer, there are some recognized risk factors:

Birthdays: Risk increases over the age of 50 years. Prostate cancer is rare in younger men. Either buy less candles for the cake or better still, eat the candles and leave the cake as a high fat diet may also be a risk factor.
Family History: If your father or brother had prostate cancer, your risk increases. If they had it at a young age, your risk is even higher.
‘Western diet’: High fat, lots of red meat. Countries with low fat and low meat diets
have low levels of prostate cancer.
Obesity: Being overweight is a major risk factor for all cancers.
Happy Birthday
As men get older, their urine flow can become slower and the bladder needs to be emptied more often. This is usually due to the prostate gland getting bigger and putting pressure on the bladder. If you need to pee more often, it does not mean that you have prostate cancer. But it is important to see the doctor and rule it out. With early discovery, prostate cancer can be treated very successfully.
Watch out for:
difficulty peeing with any kind of pressure;
peeing more often than usual;
getting up at night to have a pee only to get up again later on;
a feeling that you haven’t quite got rid of it all when you pee;
stop-start-peeing;
discomfort or burning when peeing;
blood in your pee or semen.

Prostate cancer is not caused by vasectomy, injury, masturbation or reading the Karma Sutra under the bedclothes with a flashlight. Just as well, or teenagers would be suffering along with men predominantly aged over 50.

You may be able to reduce your risk by having a balanced diet with fresh fruit and vegetables. Tomatoes and tomato-based products reportedly can reduce your risk, so the occasional Bloody Mary may also be helpful, but preferably with less Mary!"

I always did know the Irish had a way of putting things.

Please...take care of yourselves... and celebrate, WE HAVE A 0.3 PSA!!!!

Posted by irishchannelrn at 12:01 AM EST

Updated: Wednesday, 8 February 2006 10:11 AM EST

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True Friends
Some people claim to have a lot of friends, and perhaps they do. Maybe they have that kind of personality that just lends themselves to attracting and retaining people like that, or maybe they define "friend" differently than I do.

I have a lot of acquaintances, but very few people I would call "friend".

To me, friends are the people that you could be comfortable telling your innermost thoughts to and not even have to say "now please don't repeat this to anyone", because it's already a given that words spoken between yourselves are not repeated. A friend is someone who sees all your flaws and imperfections and accepts you none the less, and maybe even finds the humor or even loves the weirdness about you in some of your idiocyncrises. A friend is someone that you have shared a past with and built pet expressions that outsiders would never understand and old shared jokes that only friends will remember when a certain word or expression is coined or a look is given. A friend is someone you could call at 3 o'clock in the morning and ask them to come and pick you up because you are needing to get away from whatever or whoever, and know that they would be there. A friend is someone that has that shoulder to lean on, to listen to you ramble on and on during those times you would drive anyone else to the brink of drinking or to driving their car over a cliff...the friend would listen...over and over and over again. Sometimes the friend would give suggestions on what might help, or they might do some action to help, or sometimes a friend would just hold you until you figure out what you need to do for yourself. A friend never betrays you or what you have confided and they will always be there for you, even when they are silent and in the background...you still know they are there. A friend makes the time for you. Years may go by, distance may separate you, but you know the bond is still there.

I am blessed. I have this in my life. It's true, that there are not many, but the ones that I have are fiercely loyal and there is a bond between us that I am not sure that can be described to those outside it. It is something that has to be experienced to be understood, and if you've experienced it, then no explanations are necessary.

This is something I tried to teach to my daughter from the time she was a child, to judge her friendships carefully, and not be too cavalier with her trust. It was hard to see her get hurt by those that she thought were her friends, only to find out that they either wanted to use her or were "temporary friends" until someone newer or more popular came along. Parents always want better for their children, and want to spare them the heartache that they themselves had to go through, but I suppose this was a rite of passage that all children had to go through. Still, it tore my heart out to see her come home in tears because someone that she thought was her friend had betrayed a confidence and had hurt her.

She witnessed my own betrayals occur over the years as she grew older, usually at my workplace. I found that with my position, being one of Administration, this created a problem to try and form any kind of friendship at work because there are always those that want to get what you have, and they will try to do it at your expense, and even if it means trying to step on you to get there. There is probably a lesson there too, never attempt to try to entertain the concept of ANY kind of friendship in your work environment, unless you are on equal status. Keep work and home separate, which I later found works best for me anyway, but that's for another blog.

My daughter witnessed the beauty of the more rare and treasured friendships as she was growing up, however. And it gave her an idea of what true friendship was supposed to be about.

My father always told me that "if you could count your friends on one hand, you have a lot." I know what he meant. He meant true friends. He had that in his life. My mother has it, probably on both hands! But you'd have to meet my mother...she's as close to a saint as they come, so it's small wonder.

As for me, I have my small circle, but oh what a circle it is. My circle is pure as gold and more treasured than any jewelry I could ever be given. (And for those of you that know me...THAT speaks volumes! LOL)

I admire one of these friends tremendously. He is a very rare and unique individual. I've known him since I was 3 years old and he was 4 years old. Let's just say...it's been a while, okay? I love him dearly as though he were a part of myself. He IS a part of me.

I admire the way that early in life, while so many of us floundered around, he really found himself and what he wanted out of a relationship...or rather, what he would and would not be able to compromise with, and he didn't make the mistake of settling for something less. He is still looking, but he remains true to himself. It took the rest of us so much longer to figure all of this out. He is funny, one of the smartest people I know, has an edginess about him that keeps me on my toes, and although I am convinced he has obsessive compulsive behavior, he isn't perfect, so we are able to be friends. He cares about those in his life, and I am privileged to be one of those.

He is just one example.

Some of my other friends happen to be family members, but they are also friends.

I grew up very much a tomboy, riding dirt bikes, deer hunting from the time I was 2 years old, and carrying my own gun by the time I was 8, hunting and fishing with my Daddy, scuba diving, etc. Pretty much all of my interests were "boy things" and I caught a lot of flack for hunting Bambi from girls when I was growing up.

During my elementary school and early teen years, I was more involved in helping my father reload ammunition instead of applying makeup and learning how to do my hair like other young girls were doing, so I didn't really fit in with them as well as I did with the boys. It may be the reason why still to this day, I find myself not really caring to be around most women too much.

The few times I have tried to form friendships with females, I have found them to be catty and generally backstabbing. At least with a guy, if he gets mad at you, he lets you know it and why he is mad at you, whereas a woman will generally go to everyone else except you...tell all of them why she is mad, and then one of them will come to you and tell you what the problem is, and by the time you confront the one that was upset, now it is all blown up and out of proportion.

I find I even prefer to work with men for the same reasons. It just seems easier. Besides, I am still a tomboy. I still like bikes, only I ride Harleys instead of dirt bikes now, and I still love to scuba dive, hunt and all....but I do wear the makeup and fix my hair now, but I guess that is why I still prefer the company of men over most women. We have more in common.

The two unfailing exceptions to this rule, however, were two women that I met after moving to New Orleans, and women that I worked with, one indirectly at one hospital and one that came to work for me at my hospital. I have tremendous respect for both of them, and miss them both a great deal now that they have moved to that foreign country named "Texas".

I feel that they fit the above described definition of a friend, however, they would both be limited to the abilities to "be there" because of logistics and financial responsibilities to their families...but they are friends, and I miss them.

One of them was in charge of the Oncology Dept at the hospital that I was in charge of the Neuro/Ortho/Med-Surg Dept. She has got one of the quickest minds and sharpest wits I have been around in a long time. I enjoyed having to challenge myself to keep up with her. She is a compassionate person that cares about everyone at her workplace (patients and staff alike) and loves her husband and two children like crazy. She was a refuge in the storm at the hospital and during some tough times when some bad news came home here. She was a rock and never minded when I called her. She forged information for me when my husband was diagnosed with cancer. She let me vent frustrations and fears when I didn't dare at home when he had so much to bare already. We'd sneak across the street to have lunch and vent about idiot things that took place at work. It was great. Being on the "essential employee list", we even rode out a few hurricanes at the hospital before Katrina, that thankfully, passed us by. I miss her.

The other female that I can count as a friend was one that I met at that hospital and then convinced to come to work for me at the hospital I had opened up in New Orleans east.

She was a delight. Again, funny, and very intelligent. I think these two things must somehow be requirements for my likings, as they always seem to show up as the first things I notice in someone. She has a devotion to her children that is beautiful to see...something that I admire. She worked her behind off and had her priorities straight in life, yet was so young. Very impressive. You see that in people, but generally not in someone young. I can't think of anyone that I enjoyed working with so much. We were quite a team.

Yes, I would say that all in all, though the numbers are not great...I am really a very lucky woman. I learned early on what true friendship was, how valuable it is, how much it should be treasured, and not to take it lightly. I don't use the term "friend" loosely...it holds a special place in my heart...it has to be earned.

Today Was A Good Day
Today was a good day.

It started with sleeping in a bit, then meeting up with my daughter, Desiree, so that we could make it for the grand reopening of "Whole Foods" on Magazine Street at 8:45 am.

We were delighted with the fact that the store was finally reopening because it meant not only a terrific store was coming back to our neighborhood, but also that New Orleans is coming back.

The store was abuzz with locals that were just as thrilled to see it reopen as we were. I didn't even mind the fact that I had to circle the store four times to find a parking place, something that in the past would have had me muttering like a long shore man.

We found our parking spot, got a buggy and off into the store we went. We were greeted by a full fledged jazz band playing live and KNEW we were home. Only in New Orleans would you have a jazz band and a brass band playing live for a grocery store reopening.

Free food and drink samples were abundant all through the store, and before we could even get to the second isle, we found we needed a second buggy. I knew what my weakness was going to be, however...Whole Foods was open again...this meant that Whole Foods' CHEESE DEPARTMENT was going to be open again!!!! There has to be cheese in heaven, right?

After Desiree made us start at the opposite end of the store, we weaved our way around the entire store, picking up odds and ends...pacing ourselves, and getting old familiar items that we'd waited so many months to get again, like Hansen's drinks, and organic portabellos and meats, and we even picked up a few things that they had on sale as part of their promotional sales for the reopening. I guess I will be trying my hand at buffalo ribeyes on the grill.

After what seemed to be an hour, okay, it WAS an hour...we finally made it over to the CHEESE DEPARTMENT, where they had samples...and where I proceeded to fill up the majority of my buggy. My rational behind this is that I am female, and as such, females need a certain amount of calcium in their diet every day to maintain strong bones and to prevent osteoporosis, right??? Okay, it sounded good, anyway. It must've sounded good to Desiree, because I stocked up on a ton of it and sent half of it home to her house without any argument.

We then went over to the wine department and picked up a couple of wines that we knew we both liked, and then we got with a couple of the "experts" and got them to check over our cheese purchases to help us figure out what would be good compliments for them. One of the guys told us that if we got 6 bottles or more, then we would get 10% off, so we should put them all in the same buggy (I told Desiree he always was my favorite guy in that department. She asked me if I didn't just meet him. I told her "yeah, but he was still always my favorite". She smiled and agreed and helped me transfer the wines to my buggy.)

Two hours later, we left there and headed home with our purchases and were elated.

I plan to put on my ipod tonight, soak in my Victorian bathtub, light candles, have a few grapes and some cheese on the little table beside the bathtub, a glass of wine, and stay there until I wrinkle like a raisin. I may even let the water out and refill it with warmer water again. Ahhhhhhhhhhh....does it get any better?

Life Is Strange, Isn't It?
Life is strange, isn't it? I've heard about those people that actually plan their lives out and then live them just like they planned them, more or less, anyway. I know not all the little details go the same way as they saw them in their heads, but some people grow up thinking, "Gee, I wanna be a teacher when I grow up" and then guess what? They grow up and they become a teacher! They think they will have 3 kids when they get married, and sure enough...they have just that. That's the kind of things I'm talking about.

My life has NEVER gone quite like I thought it would. Maybe it was because I had parents that were so ahead of their times, or maybe it was just me, or maybe I am a product of circumstance. Could be that it was a combination of all of the above, I just know that it has been one hell of a ride so far.

My father was quite a character. He was one of nine children born to parents during the depression. There were six sisters and two brothers, with him coming in somewhere around number six or seven, I think. I just know he was the baby boy, and the only one with black hair and blue eyes in a sea of cotton tops. He had a flirtatious nature that the ladies swooned over and was a man's man in every sense of the word, and he had a fierce love for my Mama.

My Mama was from a family of six children, the baby girl, and was only 19 to my Daddy's 31 when they got married. (He found out how young she was when they filled out their marriage license, and almost had a heart attack) She was raven haired, dark eyed and had six feet of legs that she generally wore dressed in stilettos. She was tall, a guard in basketball and voted best athlete her junior and senior year of high school. She was and remains a lady to this day, and she had a love for my Daddy that didn't end even with his death to cancer in 1985.

I don't recall that my father ever told me what he wanted to be when he grew up. He just went to work as a truck driver at aged 16, and never turned back. He worked different jobs and ended up in the oilfield business, where he stayed until he retired shortly before his death.

My mother told me that she had always wanted to be a nurse, but that she knew it would cost a lot of money to go to school for that and her parents simply didn't have it, plus they had two other children left at home, so instead, she had opted to go to business school instead. This is something that has paid off for her over and over to this day. She is a volunteer at the hospital and finds it rewarding, so she gets the best of both worlds.

Me? I had originally wanted to get into fashion designing, but in the small town in New Mexico that we were living, I would never have made it, and I was too attached to my family to leave and go to someplace like New York, Dallas, Paris, etc. So then I thought about Interior Design, but there wasn't too much out on the market about it back then. (Just think, I coulda been bigger than Martha! LOL)

I even had a full scholarship to Ft. Lewis College in Durango, Colorado. What happened? I got into an argument over a tardy with the one and only art professor when I left my sketches in my car one morning and had to run back out to get them after first period before coming to his class. He marked me absent before I got in the class and never went back and corrected it to a tardy.

Later in the 6 weeks, he posted it on the wall as an unexcused absence and told me I had D-Hall for 3 days. I explained I hadn't been absent, I'd been tardy, showed him the sketches he'd graded AND DATED for the date he was telling me I was absent. He wouldn't budge. An argument ensued and you can imagine. I was told he was dropping me from the only art dept in the school as a result. Goodbye scholarship. Not that having a scholarship was the key to my going or not, it was just that it was about the same time that I said goodbye to it that I was saying hello to a new boyfriend that later became a husband.

I never left town. I married a month after I turned 17. Life is strange, isn't it? I was NEVER one of those girls that had wanted to get married at an earlier age. I always expected to graduate college, get secured in a job and maybe even be climbing the ladder a rung or two by the time I married "Mr. Right"

It would take waaaay too long to explain all the things that went askew with that last paragraph. Let's just suffice it to say that we went through not only "Plan B", "Plan C" but a few more past then.

Somewhere along the way, art got slowly shelved further and further back, and a deeper layer of dust began to form. Nursing was the only means available to me for so long to support my daughter, that I had no other choice, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I always thought...someday, there may be someway that I can do it once my obligations are met to her.

Over the years, I worked as a nurse, mostly as a Director Of Nursing...or as my daughter likes to call it, "A Work-a-holic". I'm afraid she paid the price during those times. While I was trying to make sure the bills got paid, and that she had everything most other kids had, and "do it on my own"...I did put in some long hours, usually working 16-18 hour days, sometimes dragging her to the office with me, just so we could spend more time together. I kept telling myself it was all going to be temporary, that someday we would get it all together enough to calm down a bit, and at times, we would actually get a glimpse of it for a few months, but it never lasted long.

I found scuba diving in the 1980s and found that it has an art of it's own. It is almost Zen-like. By 1991, I was an Instructor. I figured by the time my daughter was done in college, I could travel and teach scuba. She was married and had a baby by the time she was 18. Life is strange, isn't it?

During a really awful time in my life, I actually got offered three Club Med jobs in the Caribbean teaching scuba lessons, but it would only have paid me enough to cover my expenses, and a little bit left over for some souvenir t-shirts, certainly not enough to be spoiling a grandchild.

And besides, by that time, I had already met people that were too much a part of me and my life.

So, that left me with working in the nursing field for a while longer. There is something that they should teach all fresh faced, young nurses while they are in nursing school, but I suspect they don't because they fear too many might drop from class. Nursing is hard work. It is physically demanding. Nurses don't get to wear the cute little white nursing uniforms we wore when I first started (not that I really mind this, you understand), but the point is, the uniform has evolved because the work has. A nurse will usually be required to work either a 12 or 16 hour shift...ON HER/HIS FEET! People are living longer now, but they are not always in the best shape, which means you will be lifting a lot of people, and we as Americans tend to overeat and indulge ourselves, so that means we will be lifting some really heavy people. Some of these people can't even roll over or turn themselves in bed, so you are looking at doing it for them every two hours. You will be doing it more often if that person is incontinent of bowel or bladder and has to be cleaned, and God forbid that they have medication or a disease process that affects their bowels and the frequency...plan to run in there every 5 minutes! We won't even go into the brain injured or stroke or Alzh. patients that are confused or combative and actually swing at you.

Top all of that off with the fact that you have to make walking rounds with physicians (ALL of them) and that they never come at the same time, so you drop what you are doing to work with them and let them know what is going on with their patients. It goes on and on.

Now, try doing that if you hurt your back...twisted your ankle, had a car accident. You are out of work. Or...like a year ago, when they diagnosed me with what they thought was ovarian cancer, and I had to go to surgery when I wasn't planning it. (Mine turned out to be benign, thank goodness, but I ran into complications and was off for an additional 3 weeks, for a total of 9.) You better have short-term and long-term disability. You are out of work. And if you don't get to come back when you are expecting..."sorry". If you happen to be the primary bread winner, tell your family "sorry".

Hospitals seldom offer retirement to any nurses except those in a managerial position. It is pretty much the same in any healthcare facility. Nurses need to plan retirements for themselves, but they generally don't, justifying that they can't afford it because they are just out of school, or paying back student loans, or finally getting to make some money and by the time they get around to it, the clock has been ticking.

This is what I have tried to do and why I have tried to advance myself over the years into more managerial positions. It has the ups and downs with it, having to deal with the responsibilities, and with a lack of family time, but offered long term goals and stability.

It is also one of the reasons why I had left the hospital I'd been at for the past three and a half years as a Patient Care Supervisor in Acute Med/Surg and Neurology/Ortho to take the Director Of Nursing position at a hospital that was to open in New Orleans east. Within 5 months after my cancer scare, my husband had been diagnosed with cancer and even though he never missed a day of work (thanks to the guys at the EMS station for all of their help and rallied support of him during that time) this was not an easy time for him. We were not sure if he would be able to continue to work, and it finally got to the point that he said he didn't think he was going to be able to continue. I'd been telling him to quit all along, but he kept fighting to continue. He continued and never stopped. Still, since the cancer wasn't encapsulated and had metastasized, microscopically, and he would be on treatments for 2 years, I didn't want him to be in a position where he felt he HAD to work. I already paid all the house bills and my truck note, the only thing he was having to pay was his credit cards and he bought a great deal of the groceries because he loves to cook and I usually screw up the grocery shopping..LOL. So, I figured I needed to find something and make "one more move...a last and final time" to a place I could stay with and retire.

Life is strange, isn't it?

I'd been offered a DON position 3 years ago with another hospital by their Chief of Staff, but had turned them down because I am so leary of Medicare and how some hospitals manage themselves and their viabilities as a result. This was especially critical to me after the first hospital I'd gone to work for in New Orleans, as a Case Manager, had gone through 3 management companies, before they finally closed in bankruptcy. I was offered another DON spot about a year before, but passed for the same reason. This one, however, appealed more so, because this one was being done by a rather large corporation owned by a local boy that had done well for himself. That sounded promising.

We'd gotten our hospital completed, got staff hired, got equipment in, got policies and procedures written, etc. State and Feds came in and checked us all out. We passed with zero deficiencies!!!! We started getting our patients in. It was running like smooth glass. We had just opened in May. It was amazing and I was so proud of us all. Then Hurricane Katrina came knocking and it was gone. Flooded to the ceiling.

The corporation ended up losing several facilities, and while the owner was checking into refinancing at a lower interest rate before the storm...now he has decided to sell off 80% of his corporation as a result of this...80% so far. It just went down on Friday. It also leaves me not knowing what I should do for a job.

If you've read any of my earlier blogs, you know I hate what I am doing with a passion (working a weekend gig at a nursing home...ewwwww), but I love the hours and the pay, so that more than makes up for it.

What you haven't read is this...I just got with a college here and was all lined up to take a course in Graphic Design and some others to see if my creative juices have dried all up.

I think I would like to try my hand at doing something else if it pays enough to cover my bills and give me enough left over to go and play a little bit.

Seems like everytime I start heading back over to the art direction, blowing the dust off the shelves, something wants to prevent it.

I'd figured this would be so ideal! New Orleans will have to rebuild herself for years. That is job security in itself. With my love of putting colors together, archetural details, fabrics, sketching, there just has to be something that I can do with it. My current work schedule would afford me the opportunity to go to school for this, as would my salary.

My daughter is raised, and my grandsons are living with her next door, so how perfect is that? Maybe that is what was wrong with it...it was TOO good.

You see, if the owner of the corporation has sold 80% of his corporation to a new management company, then the game may have just changed, because the chain of command may have just changed, and I suspect more changes are coming.

The corporation owned approx. 35 facilities, mostly nursing homes, a couple of LTAC hospitals, an asst. living facility, one high end apartment that has nothing to do with the healthcare field. These facilities are located in New Orleans, Baton Rouge and there is even one in Texas. Our Corporate Headquarters used to be located in St. Croix, Virgin Islands until just recently, because of tax breaks, however, when they changed some laws down there and the breaks were no longer beneficial, then the owner moved the headquarters back to Baton Rouge, where he is from.

On Friday, he closed the deal to sell all of his nursing homes in Baton Rouge. That part is fact. It is rumored that the ones in New Orleans are also going to be sold. No news on the Asst. Living, High end Apt, etc, but those are in Baton Rouge anyway.

The way the Chain of Command was working was this: The Owner, His Regional Manager, Me, The Administrator (and I were on the same level), and then the Director of Nursing, the ADON, Supervisor, RNs, LPNs, etc. The Regional Manager has been wound like an eight day clock, and I wonder if she isn't concerned about her own job security as well.

I am NOT a nursing home nurse. It ain't happening. It isn't the residents...it is the staff. I would have to kill them. I fire at least one employee and suspend 1-3 every weekend, and we are in desperate need of staff in New Orleans right now, but I guess I just have a higher standard of care expectation, and a zero tolerance for attitude. (Yes, I took pictures of my truck before someone decides to key it) And I have only had one "love letter" slid under my door so far that reads "WATCH YOUR BACK WHITE TRASH BITCH, YOU'LL GET YOURS SOON, I PROMISE YOU!" Great! Bring something to the party!!!! That was almost 2 months ago, and I still keep running them off.

But back to my issue. If a new management team is coming in, I figure they are going to find it difficult to justify paying a DON salary to a weekend special, and I can NOT do a week in that environment, so here I am sitting and brushing off a resume...again, damn it. Just hope I can get something that allows my classes to go on. Maybe I could do agency nursing, that would be flexible scheduling and pays pretty well too. So much for that one last move, one last time.

Life is strange, isn't it?

Photo Issues
Just a quick note to family and friends (and anyone else that might be clicking in on blogs out of interest...) I'd been having some issues with the photo album section of my blog. (I secretly suspect it has to do with the fact that there are pixs of myself on there and a higher power has decided to save the world the anguish), however, Tripod, in their infinant wisdom has pulled all the gremlins out of the electronics and so brace yourselves...we are officially back on the air!

Getting My Focus Back
Okay, it has been a while since our mayor had his moment of temporary insanity, slipped up and decided our city would always be deemed a "Chocolate City because of God's will", and has now made numerous apologies, stating that he is truely sorry for what he has said, for all the hurt it has caused, and that he did not handle himself or his enthusiasm for feeling like he was finally being accepted by his own race, or as he put it..."there was a stigma that Ray Nagin didn't care about black people and that he was a "white man in black skin".

He'd constantly been putting himself in the hotseat day in and day out, answering residents' questions on everything from levee repairs to concerns over still-broken traffic and street lights, homes hit with such devastation that they still sit vacant and sporting filthy water lines from the disastrous flooding caused by levee failures. When something positive FINALLY came his way, about the first time since August 29th...maybe even since he was voted into office, he got swept up in the moment and said foolish and stupid things. These things unfortunantly reflected not only on him, but also on New Orleans as a whole. That is the part that I am going to let go of now.

There has been too much pain and too much suffering. I need to get back to being focused on what REALLY matters to New Orleans right now. I am beginning to divert my attentions back to where they needed to remain, as far as during this "Re-New Orlean period", at least, and that is on our levee system, or rather, the lack thereof.

You see, we still haven't had a Class 5 Hurricane, but it IS coming. The tragedy of all that happened since August 29, 2005, is that Hurricane Katrina didn't flood New Orleans, it was that the Corp of Engineers didn't build the Levees to their own specifications, something that our Legislators have been fighting for since Hurricane Betsy in the 1960s. The Corp has ADMITTED the Levees weren't built to their own specs. And now we are only 5.5 months before hurricane season starts again.

What is the point in rebuilding anything if the levee system isn't there?

We won't go down without a fight, however. You can see pride on more and more residents, and in more and more ways. Some people sport their "New Orleans Proud to Swim Home" stickers on their vehicles, you see several "Welcome Back" or "Welcome Home" signs on homes or businesses all over Uptown, CBC, Metairie, and Kenner and on the Westbank. Mignon Faget said she couldn't keep anything in her high end jewelry store at Christmas that had a fleur de lis on it, from charms to pendants to stemware. People are sporting t-shirts that read "Re-New Orleans" and "Drove My Chevy To The Levee But The Levee Was Gone" and "Got FEMA?" and "I (heart) NOLA" and more. My own enthusiasm carried over into my living room, where I have an eggplant double camelback leather sofa and loveseat that I bought when I first moved to New Orleans and where I just painted the walls Ralph Lauren Polo Green with Gold Candlestick Trim. While I say all that with such detail, it is Blaine Kern Mardi Gras world in my living room, okay? My dining room walls are surrounded by New Orleans Jazz Fest Prints of Dr. John, Satchmo, Al Hirt, Harry Connick Jr. and Blue Dog. Yes, we all support NOLA with our pride.

There are now neighborhood meetings, Reunite New Orleans meetings, Rebuild New Orleans Meetings, Bring New Orleans back meetings, etc. People are actually attending them and listening and participating. They are starting to really care. They almost lost something so precious to them.

Even "natives" that thought it was too touristy to do something, or to go to certain places, now go and are grateful that they are still there. We all are.

I am saddened to hear that looting is still going on. Some call it looting. I call it grave robbing. It equates out to the same thing.

I worry at times about someone trying to come into the house here with the wall damaged so badly until it can be repaired, but then I think, well...it would be the L-A-S-T time they ever tried it. And worried as I might get, I find a renewed strength and an anger build, almost wanting them to just try it.

Blissfully, I managed to get the supplies, this week however, and have started to repair the wall, so unwanted entries should not be a problem, at least through there.

We are doing the work ourselves, partly because I still have not seen hyde nor hair of insurance just yet, and partly because I find a certain reward in doing as much as I can myself. I am learning in this process. Still, there are things that are outside the scope of my knowledge, and it would be nice to have the insurance check to be able to hire someone to do what needs to be done on all of it, but that's okay. We are still blessed. So very blessed. Eventually, we will get it all done. The walls will be repaired, the ceilings will be repaired, the garage will eventually be rebuilt, the fence will eventually be rebuilt, the house will be painted-both inside and out, and we may even be able to incorporate some changes that we'd been planning all along while we are at it. Gotta find something positive out of all of this, right?

Hopefully, all this can get done before I end up having to find a different job, and while I have my Monday thru Friday's available to work on it, but I don't know how much longer that is going to be possible, but that is for a different blog...

Mea Culpa, Indeed
Well...I see we (New Orleans) are still in the limelight of publicity, both on MSNBC and on AOL due to the fact that our Mayor, just a day after telling us that we are a "Chocolate City because God would have it no other way" and that God wants our city back because of our being in Iraq and so has sent the wrath of hurricanes down upon us...it seems that he has now apologized, thinking that he may somehow have possibly gone too far, and it just may be that he may have by chance offended someone. You think???

You think it is that, or the fact that he just saw his political career (and possibly any other high powered career) get melted just like his favorite delicious drink?

Either way, I'm still hurt.

I'm hurt not because I DO live in a "Chocolate City", because it was when I moved to New Orleans, and it has been every year I've been here. I could have left it when my hospital got wiped out and when my daughter and grandsons lost everything they owned and when the Hyatt closed down afterwards, thus creating her a lost job as well.

I have family in the northern part of this state, and could get a job anywhere. My husband's doctors were all gone, so we were going to have to find him new ones if they didn't return anyway. BUT WE CHOSE TO STAY!!!!! Truth is, I LOVE THIS CITY! And you know what? There are good and bad in all races, and pigmentations! And I love the quirkiness that comes with all the variations that comes in my beautiful city...so I dug in.

News Flash. I live Uptown. Yeah, in the area that our Mayor doesn't "care what they say". What'd we say??? If that statement was meant to generate a more African-American vote...take a look around at my neighbors. Vanessa, an African-American transvestite lives in the house next door with her hispanic boyfriend (but I believe hispanics were a whole other issue last month, weren't they?) Anyway, they own their beautiful home, which happens to be a double, and one half is rented out to, yep...a "chocolate couple and child". On the other side of me is another double, where there is a single mother and her two children (vanilla), and her neighbor is another "chocolate" family. On my block alone, there are at least four "chocolate" families, and there are several more on the street. I could lose count on the surrounding streets. We also have some hispanics, Italians and some Germans and one Welsh neighbor that I know of. I embrassed this neighborhood when I first found it and I find I love it more and more as time goes by. My point is, if I'd had a problem with the "pigmentation ratio"...I'd have already made a different choice, but the fact of the matter is...I looked at the people for who they were, not what they looked like. And blessedly, they accepted Pat and me for ourselves as well. We are a gumbo pot of different ingredients and we are each wonderful in our own ways. Of course, you can always throw something spoiled into the roux and it could ruin the whole thing, but that's been the beauty of it all...we've always watched out for one another. Neighbors in the truest sense of the word.

Second News Flash. I work because I have to. It is not a hobby. I am not wealthy enough to just give it all to charity, though I wish that I could. And as far as I can tell, none of my neighbors are independently wealthy either. Was his "Uptown comment" made to refer to the Garden District sector of Uptown, predomenantly white "old money", and if it is so... WHY? We in the Irish Channel have what we do because we work for it, the Garden District, because their families generally died and left it to them, and now they dearly pay their taxes to hang on to them. Still, why was a color issue brought into it or a section at all???? We are supposed to be a united front, fighting to bring our damaged and broken city back TOGETHER! But with that, comes a sense of pride.

I guess I am so hurt because I had thought that Mayor Nagin had understood all of this and really felt a part of New Orleans and of the people...ALL of the people. He certainly had stuck it out after the storm, made himself available and took a lot of flack when the heat was on, but I was so proud of him. "Was" being the key word.

I don't doubt for a minute that the apology that he offered today was a sincere one. I am sure that he simply got caught up in the heat of the moment, and because he did not rally many black votes when he ran for mayor last time, he wanted to do so this time by reaching out with black pride, but it was very inappropriate. People can take pride in where they come from, just as I take pride in my celtic background, without making oneself out to be someone that is not part of a team, and New Orleans HAS to be a team like it has never been before. I had thought Mayor Nagin was the man to lead us, and I'm saddened to find out that he isn't.

I realize that he made a "simple mistake". I mean, no one got killed by this action. No one was struck (YET), however, his words did cost us...they cost us a great deal, not just the billions of dollars in revenue (conventions that had scheduled for our Convention Center have already begun to start cancelling), but untold amounts of future earnings are lost to us all and our pride is damaged at a time when we were already so vulnerable.

We'd already suffered so much embarrasement when we'd had so much negative publicity with our Super Dome rumors of rapes, killings and just the filth in general...the damage done to the Convention Center and the things rumored to have happened in the bathrooms there...the NOPD either walking off the job or never showing up at all, or worse yet, becoming looters themselves and helping themselves to Cadillacs and Escalades that didn't belong to them... Then there were all of our displaced villians/criminals that proceeded to spread their activities to other unsuspecting and innocent cities to the point that they began to cringe to have to accept anyone from New Orleans.

Top all of that off with a feuding Mayor and Govenor and the help that had been called in like the calvary...well....let's just say...is it any wonder that Mississippi and the rest of the Gulf Coast are already getting their money and repairs done, while New Orleans sits around looking at one another, wondering which village idiot is going to be on television next?

We needed unity. Plain and simple, and I had thought he was the one that could bring something to the party. I was wrong. The closer it gets to election time...the more he says what he thinks each person wants to hear so that he can get their vote. Say what you mean and mean what you say, and if you can't be for ALL of New Orleans...then step down and let someone who is, get in there and get the job done.