We don’t melt

We were driving out to Metairie to pick up the noodle kugel we had ordered for the Release party as well as two 2-lb challah loaves when the eastbound side of the I-10 was completely empty and we saw the motorcade on its way in – President Obama here in the Crescent City to honor our loss and our rebound.

It’s raining outside but we are still holding our Release party come hell or high water and it seems like Hurricane Earl who is wreaking havoc in the Caribbean is trying to make this a high water day. I think about my mom who at 70 years old evacuated with 20 of the 150 patients at the nursing home – one didn’t make it, died of dehydration – meanwhile, my mom spent the next three months sleeping on the floor working long shifts as everyone dealt with the uncertainty of day to day, while I was holed up in some corporate apartment rathole in Arlington, Texas – the butthole of America! – trapped in a big-box, no-tree town, drinking, eating and smoking myself into a stupor.

You’re asking me if a little rain will stop me from celebrating the fact that five years have gone by and I’m in my house on the bayou in this city this August 29th? Damn.

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