Chip Kahn, Elizabeth’s brother, riding on float #2.

The Lyon’s club and similar clubs are what Mardi Gras is all about. They represent people who have come together to celebrate as they see fit. They create the traditions and customs that are at the very core of this city. We were very happy to run into them.

Mardi Gras Day is Tuesday, Feb. 28., it also happens to be the 6 month annerversary of Hurricane Katrina. Go out, wear a costum, paint your face and celebrate life.

Elizabeth is working very long hours at one of the three schools opened by the Orleans Parish school district. The district is trying to pack a full year of school into seven months which is making for an extended school day. I have gotten a post-Katrina job in an attempt to establish a more secure financial situation. Unfortunately, it keeps me working away from the house all day. Our lives have changed, but we consider ourselves among the lucky ones. We have a house, and we are making money. In the “new” New Orleans, that’s as good as it gets.

This city was unique. It was an amalgam created by time, economics, heat, neglect and the cultural past of its residents. A single individual did not create it; no one had this as a dream. There was no master plan. It created itself. That is why putting it back together will be very difficult.

There are many strategies in the works for the new New Orleans. Experts from around the world have come up with models for the way the city should be recreated. These experts are city planners and land use specialists, and they have no idea how to make a city like New Orleans live again. These planners can create green space and low density housing all connected by a new light rail system. Two Florida cities, Celebration and Seaside, are the kinds of towns that these experts have built. The schools might work better and the trash will be picked up but the soul of the city will be gone. The New Orleans of the future might even be a better place to live. There might be less crime and more opportunity for all of it’s residents. But Katrina ripped the heart out of the city. At least for now its lifeblood is gone.

Suicide is a very private thing and rumors of these deaths have been making the rounds. We have had no way to substantiate them. A few weeks ago this changed with the public announcement that Stevenson Palfi a local documentary filmmaker took his own life.

I didn’t know him well, as he was a customer of mine rather than a friend. I haven’t seen him in a few years, but I can remember him for his smile and the handshake that he gave me every time he came into the shop. He was well known as the maker of the film “Piano Players Rarely Ever Play Together,” and other documentaries. His home and office located in Mid-city were completely destroyed by Katrina. His life’s work was gone. I guess he saw no way to stop the free fall. I was very sad when I heard the news.

They finally got the tree off of my neighbor’s roof. How long will it be before they haul it away?

Two weeks after the hurricane Sugarcane Academy opened its doors to a handful of students with one volunteer teacher and a very part time librarian/storyteller. I would walk down E. Main Street to the public library every day to get books to read to the students. The Iberia Parish librarians would only let me have two books at a time. I would beg for a third, and they usually gave in after I promised never to do it again. The next day I would be there and again I’d be begging for three books. This went on for two weeks. Then Hurricane Rita blew in, and we fled New Iberia. The school continued with more volunteer teachers and more students but without me.

Finally, New Orleans opened its doors to the residents. The teachers, students and parents of Sugarcane wanted to go home, but there were no public schools open. So this temporary school was moved. A new home was found on the campus of Loyola University. Eleven teachers joined the ranks. Now that I was home, I could rejoin the faculty. Sixty-one students “registered” for the five week session. I was to work two half days a week reading stories and sharing my love of literature with the kids.

It was fun. There weren’t a whole lot of rules. Everyone shared. There wasn’t much in the way of administration, but that was okay. We had a routine. The students were learning. We had begun in our own small way to rebuild New Orleans.

This week I return to the high school where I use to work. I won’t be seeing the elementary age students, won’t be reading picture books anymore, won’t be singing silly songs anymore, and won’t get to revel in the fact that we made a school happen. I think that I will miss it.

No matter what happens we’ll be there some of the time, hanging at the Lagniappe stage (if it’s still there) and trying to stay out of the way.

“Just board the bus and see the power of nature at its worst folks. No need to push young man, there’s more then enough destruction for everyone.”

It’s hard to say what was sadder the funeral or the miles of devastation we passed on the way to it. I think it might be a toss up.