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An Anniversary
September 16, 2004 began as a typical morning. Emmeline and I went for a walk and then she settled down for her morning nap while I worked on laundry. I decided to call Mama; we usually talked to each other every day. Since Emmeline was born nine months earlier, our conversations had grown to several times a day, as I called her to share Emmeline's latest "firsts." She had called a little more than normal to check on me. A month earlier I had my first severe reflux incident. I was eating lunch when I experienced the normal discomfort, but this time, it got worse and it was as if my windpipe was closed and I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was choking, but I could talk, so I knew that I wasn't. I was alone with Emmeline, so I quickly snatched her out of the high chair and put her in her crib. I worried about what I would do if this did not pass quickly and I stopped breathing. ...
A Clean Sweep: Ash Wednesday
Each year at midnight, the hour which begins Ash Wednesday, this is the scene in the French Quarter. Behind the last of the parades and revelers comes mounted policemen who line up across the entire street to sweep the crowds away. They are followed by clean-up crews and street-sweepers so that by the time the sun casts her first rays on the Crescent City on Ash Wednesday, all but the smallest signs of the season's excess and sometimes, debauchery, have disappeared. There's something so hopeful, so decent about this physical, concrete image. Even in a city that prides itself on good times, there is still some respect and some solemnity left. How many more tourist dollars could they bring in if they just allowed the party to continue? Maybe turn the French Quarter into an amusement park where it's Mardi Gras all year? But no, the streets are swept and the party people are sent home to assess their damages, regro...
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