A year ago today I left my flooded house with my dogs by boat. Many hours later I was dropped off at the Causeway Concentration Camp. In the middle of the night I walked out of New Orleans with Robyn and Carlos. So much happened that day and subsequent night, and I saw so many wonderful and horrible things, it will continue to impact my life until the day that I die.
Today I saw my father. We watched the Nebraska football game on TV. His mind is slipping, but it was good to see him. He still had his hair, but the chemo was hard on him. He said he would come live with me if I lived north of the Mason Dixon line. I asked why? He said "the weather." "It's too hot down there," he said. I said maybe it would be a good time to come down and live with us after Christmas, as in he could drive back with us. He seemed to like that idea. It seems now like he has two options: us in New Orleans, or a veterans home in Grand Island, where he also has family as well as friends. But he is one tough old man, so we'll see. It seems we both like the option of him living with us so long as it is several months into the future. When the date approaches, we always move it back.
Since our return to the City I have been amazed by the stories we all tell each other. In another time we would have told them with some sense of urgency and "can you believe this" now it is just a flow of the unbelievable. This weekend someone told me of sitting on the roof for 5 days, swimming out of New Orleans East, fracturing both ankles, trying to walk to the airport and eventually being pushed by his girlfriend in a shopping cart. Keep telling these stories..
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