I live across The Big Puddle of Lake Pontchartrain, a smidge north of the Katrina drowned streets of the Crescent City (City that Time & the Feds have Forgotten), out in the rolling woods, above an everlasting Creek, with my best friend & beloved ["wife" is such a sterile term], plus our 3 children, who happen to be canines in this incarnation.
In these 40-odd years, I have had a variety of jobs -- boat puller on a shrimp trawler, farm hand, newspaper editor, bookstore supervisor, open mike (mic) host, Montessori teacher's assistant, political cartoonist, library page, tortilla baker in a factory, heath food store produce manager, underground massage therapist, barista, playwright, theatre director, indie short film screenings organizer/host, newspaper reporter & photographer, baker's assistant, poetry editor, pizza maker, graphic artist, standing orders book clerk, film festival judge, beer/wine-tender, filmmaker, etc...
Hurricane Katrina did pay us a visit, along with her sister Rita; taking away all our paths with downed trees, covering our creek with debris, toppling large trees all around our yard [one on our shed], & even totaling our red car... After Katrina passed, we found ourselves safe with all our fingers & toes. Even the southern pines obliged & fell away from our home. No FEMA trailer for us.
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