check this!

Had a most unfamiliar phone call yesterday: "I have your check ready...do you want to pick it up or shall I hold it for you?"

My checks have come in the mail for so long that the 'earned income' patter sounds very unfamiliar. The merry-go-round effect of rising early, rustling supper at 7:00 p.m. and hurrying toward the bed to facilitate waking early again has worn a little thin after only a few weeks. How do you guys do it? On the one hand, I'm getting more than I'm worth, probably, and on the other hand, it sure isn't enough to justify being handcuffed to a paycheck. Wish me luck and perserverance.

I didn't set an alarm last night, had a wonderfully refreshing sleep, rose at 7:30, dressed, swiped at my face and walked over to the courthouse to vote. I considered traipsing to the coffee shop, but decided to save the $6-7 bucks and savor some home-dripped with my newspaper on the front porch. It was CHILLY!

On election day I'm moved to ruminate on whatever arguments are to be made against re-arranging the lower-lying subdivisions and residential blocks post-Katrina. One persuasive point in favor of compression and urbanization is the ability to WALK on everyday errands. It's true that the very same rose bush might not bloom exactly the same way if you moved it a couple of blocks east or west of your current street address, but golly -- won't it be nice to look out on a playground or green, treed walkway and walk to neighborhood grocers, cafes and postal kiosks? Reconstructing smaller/more efficient homes around a slightly different footprint in the same neighborhood might not be the worst thing that happens to Lakeview, Gentilly and some others. Let's see: close your collective eyes and revisit the scenes of chopping holes in attics and pulling hollow-eyed children and pets from rooftops and porches in the aftermath of another flood. Better yet, take another look at this week's Picayune, where workers are recovering the remains of newly-unearthed victims from 8 months ago. I wouldn't want to be the one to say, graveside, four months from now: "Sorry grandpa, we just didn't want to move from 688 Geranium Drive. Flooded or not, it's HOME." The current need to rearrange isn't anyones fault: it is what it is.

While none (or almost none) of the front-runners for mayor have articulated the need to re-distribute our homes around a new urban reality, any one of them who rises to the post will be required to state it unequivocably soon after the election. The sooner it gets underway, the safer and more affordable New Orleans living will be.

Don't know for sure how I'll feel tomorrow. So many ups and downs all the time lead to confusion, even within one's own psyche. For instance, it's awfully sad to envision no homes and fishermen along some bayous, the little towns of Lafitte and points beyond, as I drive on fishing treks. Heck, maybe noplace to drive on fishing trecks. It's a black day, that's for sure. The election, and all the trappings before and after, are but distractions from the looming bad and worse choices ahead. We all consider them in private, pitying the less fortunate who will suffer the loss of their land and lifestyle, but woe to the public figures who must espouse and enforce these wrenching choices, for they are choices: of life and sustainability over tradition and foolhardiness.

Poor ole Stumph

Since last post, I've had a few adventures and some quiet spots, too. So busy was I with the volunteer job of helping put on a West Bank expo that I have had neither time to think about writing or energy to type it. We hosted 50+ businesses with booths and 8 caterer/restaurants at Mardi Gras World, where at least 700 people wandered in and met realtors, bankers, school personnel, SBA, chambers of commerce, etc., with a sprinkling of Mary Kay and Banana Beach types thrown in. We even had an equestrian center represented.

It was a great success (that's me, taking a bow) and I'm glad it's over. I probably will begin working for pay next week, putting on a golf tournament, other meetings, etc., for the same people.

While setting up the convention hall for the next-day event, I heard a not-too-distant train whistle outside the building. Thought nothing of it until someone came running inside, yelling "anyone have a grey jeep-type car?" As we all know, I do have such a vehicle, and promptly volunteered as much. "Well, you better come real quick, it's on the tracks and the train's coming!" I mulled over this information for a nano-second and took off to the front of the building, at a fast walk. By that time several co-workers were filing after me, and the alarm-sounder began urging me to move a lot faster, because some of the onlookers were afraid the train could/would not stop.

Now let's sit back and consider the options available to the engineer on the front of that train: Sound the whistle to alert folks that the car is in the way, slow down to allow time for the offending auto to be removed, come to a halt if it isn't moved timely to allow continued progress down the track. OR sound the whistle, slow down to give the occupants of the building and any occasional neighborhood onlookers time to gather, perhaps for someone to jump into the vehicle in a vain attempt to remove it from the track before...slamming into the rather big jeep-like car, possibly killing the panicked driver, and maybe a few of the folks gathered to watch the drama, and on a good day, cause serious damage to the engine and to yourself, the engineer.

I might not be from the big city, but I think my brisk stroll to the Troopster, followed by a casual retreat to a spot safely away from the track, belied the heart-pounding reaction going on in my head as I saw that bright light on the front of the engine coming at me, the whistle blaring and my 'friends' quickly sealing bets on who would win -- the car or the train!

Well, the train DID stop, and I WAS sheepish, and the engineer did smile, a little. Seeing as how the track runs about four feet from the front of a series of buildings attracting year-round tourist traffic, and there is not one sign suggesting no parking on the track, and considering every town has at least one, usually several, people who never will learn not to tempt fate, it would seem the engineers have come to expect this little drama every so often. Sheesh...it was just a little train! What's everybody so upset about? Well, my profile among the locals now gives people the chance to greet me with: "been parking in front of any trains lately?"

Tonight, after a loverly visit with daughter and grandson, I took Caliban for a looooong walk on the levee, under the twin spans, and almost to the Jackson Street landing. While strolling, I noticed a crane-barge on the river, along with several harbor police boats, a couple of Coast Guard vessels, and found the wharf near the bridge full of movie-types. Beyond the wharf, nestled against the levee, at Gretna, a Bedouin-like tent city has sprung up, housing the film-makers' meal tent, equipment cover, wardrobe, dressing rooms, etc. It was quite a neat moment in time: walking along the breezy river, between Mardi Gras float barns (not Blain Kern, but an open barn, formerly the Ward Lumber building, seen from the bridge) and the trappings and underpinnings of Hollywood and Deja Vu.

As I took note of what was happening on the river, it appeared there will be a scene wherein a crane lifts the ruin of the exploded ferry and a rusted-out car (presumably a piece of the murder puzzle) from the Big Muddy. At one point I saw a piece of the ferry dangling just above the water, bearing the still-legible name "Stumph". That's the actual name of the ferry used at the Algiers landing...suppose it was easier to replicate the name than paint over the sign on the real ferry used in the movie. Anyway, remember, when you see that ferry hauled out of the water on the big screen, that you heard about it here first!
When I came by on the return trip, the prop ferry was back in the water and the usual trio of camera-wielding helicopters was whizzing around setting up aerials, preparing to catch the retrieval on film. Cal and I propped ourselves on the levee wall for a few minutes to take it all in.

That's what passes for entertainment here on the Point.