Tag: new orleans

Walking Toward the River

Every morning and every afternoon I walk toward the river. The river flows past the oversized window at the end of our hallway. Sometimes when I walk, a behometh ship passes, rusty hull slicing the air. At other times it’s the train passing, the cars laden with graffiti. On the rarest of occasions, the train runs in front of a ship and...

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A Good Book Day

William and I began our lessons on “How to Play Bridge.” We established that you arrange your hand by suit; you must follow suit; the higher card in a suit wins; ace is the highest card. The rules called the winning process taking “tricks.” William called them books. We played. We made books. William made more books than...

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God on the Blog

A blog on God that gives me words to help me feel my way through life, like a woman blinded by the dark, touching the walls, groping her way down the long corridor, and feeling, every so often, a brick that helps her move forward.  That’s what I find at A Pastor’s Thoughts by Irvin Boudreaux. Like the other blogs I’ll be mentioning...

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In Medias Res

On the sidewalk, we pass a busker clutching a tuba telling his friend he wanted a machete. My gait causes me to lag behind Tom, and a man on a weaving bicycle calls, “Hey, darling. Out for a morning stroll?” I twist my head, thinking I know him—who would I know in the Bywater in New Orleans?—because it’s been so long since it’s...

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It’s Not the End of the Earth

A couple of days ago, I called Venice, Louisiana the end of the earth. It’s not. It’s the end of the world. At the time, I did not know Venice’s official nickname was “The End of the World.” Now, having gone and returned, the REM song “It’s the End of the World As We Know It” keeps looping through...

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When It Becomes Real

With my new novel, Jazzy, I’m writing about the destruction of New Orleans following Katrina. Yesterday, I traveled to Plaquemines Parish where Katrina made landfall. Now I’m writing about the destruction of Venice, the last point in Louisiana reachable by road before the Mississippi River pours into the Gulf. The community, “protected”...

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It’s Just a Tornado

Our apartment in New Orleans overlooks the Mississippi River. At least that’s the way I remember it. For the last two days, the fog has been so heavy we might as well have been in 19th century London. That’s been fun, the rolling patches of fog, the slightly eerie sensation of driving through a deserted Quarter, a lone tourist hurrying across...

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