High and Low Relief
Hey New Orleans, where can workers picnic?

5 years

5 years ago today my home filled with water.  I had no bed of my own; my life was cardboard boxes.  I survived off the kindess and cruelties of strangers and friends.  My dog Annie died in the FEMA hotel.  It was me and my cat Cody at night, blinking.  Some things are breathtaking to remember.

I was blessed and I knew it.  From each temporary respite, moving around like a firefly, I was lucky for a roof (even if it was the car's) and for the crisis that opened up such opportunity for me.  Opportunity to create, grieve, release.  I'm still breathing, after all. 

The 40% who've not been able to return home, the over 4,000 people who died, the countless cats and dogs and birds and rabbits and more who drowned, the lost businesses, the lost rhythms - I honor them.  That's what I am lucky enough to be able to do today.

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