Gentilly Girl- a part of the 99%

December 30, 2008

Good Bye 2008…

and don’t let the time-vault door hit ya’s on the ass. Now git!

Good old ’08 has been one major struggle after another in the lives of Betts and me. Started the year screaming for our contractors to get the repairs done and screaming at Road Home concerning our Elevation grant. Didn’t help that my body was slowly coming up with more problems that I really didn’t have time nor energy for. These things would wind up coloring my whole year.

In February our beloved Siamese, Opal, passed away peacefully in her sleep lying between us. She actually rolled on her back as Betts rubbed her and then did the same for me. She left five minutes later. I was a mess, but the memory of adopting her when she was 10 and giving her a good life, and some adventures, for the next 11 years did cheer me up a little. (Giving Betty a large heart-shaped box of dark chocolates for Valentines perked her  up a little)

Missed all of Mardi Gras last year. I was starting to get some very strange feelings in the old body but kept pushing on (behind Betts) in order to finally get our grant and get the lousy contractors to do their J.O.B. . This latter poop would color the rest of the year.

In early April NOLA Blogger great and a friend, Ashley Morris died suddenly. To say that we local Bloggers took this hard would suffice if spread very thinly. Some set up a fund for his family and together they helped to have a good funeral and give Ashmo a good Second Line to see him along his way. He would have loved the Wake we held later at Bulldogs.

May was much the same with the contractors and my physical probs. Same goes for June except for showing up for Pride in a driving rain. July was a wash.

In August we worked on getting our final Elevation grant only to keep hearing the program might start up in the Fall. We finally got our Occupancy Cert. Rising Tide III was going down at the end of the month, but between packing the dumpster we lived in, getting the power on and my illness, we missed the entire thing. We moved into our home 3 years and 1 day from the day we evacuated due to Katrina.

The next day Gustav hit. I stayed online all night and then lost power the next morning as Baton Rouge was getting the storm. Our home stood like a rock, but the next five days is was hotter than Hell without power to cool the place down. We took most of our 3 freezers of food and either cooked or brought it raw to the Starlight since they were feeding all and sundry. From then until early November Betts and I crashed and burned as so much of the pain, sorrow and strees of the last 3 years somewhat flowed out of us.

November was eventful in that the damn elections were over and Obama won the Presidency and the Dems took strong control of Congress. Later in the month we cooked up a T-Day dinner for 12 to 14 only to have one person show up. I was really getting ill so I decided to bite the bullet and make an appointment with the only Doc I have left at the V.A.. I planned to not have to be in a hospital for the Holidays, but what would be would be.

December found me fretting over the medical stuffs and doing what I did most of the last year- fall into the bed at any time and just sleep. My ‘puter died for a while there and Betts got me a new one. Then she got the call that the mitigation grant folks wanted our paperwork a month earlier than previously. Betts ran it down and later they said we would be getting it, put probably in January.

My visit with the Doc went well. Tests to do, meds to help with the sinitus/tinnitus/ loss of balance and dizziness and an appointment for next month to set up various scans to find out what is happening inside of me. At least he said a brain tumor was pretty far out of the equation. *rolls eyes*

Christmas Week we had an old friend down We hadn’t seen each other for over 5 years. She had only seen pics of the house from when we bought it. We did things during the week- Eve dinner at La Cote Brasserie, quiet Day dinner at home and visited with our friends. It was nice having her visit. Was just like old times.

So tomorrow is New Year’s Eve and we shall do Rueban PoBoys, drink and then watch the Time-Vault door smack old Mr. 2008 in the tush as the Fleur De Lis falls. (And watch “Things To Come”, H.G. Wells) The next morning starts a new cycle and I have a little one named 2009 to become friends with.

Happy New Year Gentle Readers!

November 22, 2008

Thirty Years Ago was My First Political Campaign

Filed under: Harvey Milk,Inter/Trans-Sexed,LGBT,Memories — Morwen Madrigal @ 12:28 pm

It was 1978 and I had been in San Francisco for maybe 9 months. The majority of the folks I knew were centered in the Castro District… I liked those folks. They were pretty much open, fun loving and accepting of a Navy kid from the Deep South. What went on in their bedrooms was none of my business, just as my “secret” was none of theirs. We had a neat little community going.

Then a crazy State Senator named Briggs came up with Prop 6- a banning of Gays and their supporters from being able to teach in Public schools. Since I was still contemplating getting a teaching degree when my enlistment was up, I knew that my being Trans would definitely rule out a chance to teach if Prop 6 passed.  That was the day I got into politics. (I had been doing community stuff for a few years, but not a campaign of this size.)

I handed out flyers, knocked on doors and basically became a pest in our fight to stop this evil proposition. Even got a talking-to from my C.O. regarding my efforts on the base. (Yep, couldn’t do that on Federal property, but he did agree with me.) I spent most of my free time traveling around the Bay Area to help stop this thing from passing. Many, many others were doing the same thing. It was very much a true Grassroots adventure. And we won the battle.

My Gentle Readers are probably looking cross-eyed at me wondering why I’m going into my ancient past. It’s because of a great piece from the HuffPo, “What Harvey Milk Tells Us About Proposition 8″. I was one of Harvey’s troops in the battle.

It’s a wonderful essay, so go and read it please. But first, here’s a portion of Harvey’s speech on the night we drove Prop 6 down:

“ the gay community all over this state, my message to you is, so far a lot of people joined us and rejected Proposition 6, and we owe them something. We owe them to continue the education campaign that took place. We must destroy the myths once and for all, shatter them. We must continue to speak out, and most importantly, most importantly, every gay person must come out. As difficult as it is you must tell your immediate family, you must tell your relatives, you must tell your friends, if indeed they are your friends, you must tell your neighbors, you must tell the people you work with, you must tell the people in the stores you shop in (thunderous applause), and once they realize that we are indeed their children, that we are indeed everywhere, every myth, every lie, every innuendo will be destroyed once and for all. And once you do, you will feel so much better.”

That night changed my life even though it would be several years before I summoned up the courage to declare my true self to the World. To just be what the Goddess made me. Life is very good now.

And a sad note, three weeks later Harvey Milk was assasinated along with Mayor Moscone by Dan White.

I wrote about the repercussions last March concerning the murder of the community’s hero.

June 12, 2008

Vote For the New Canal Lighthouse

Filed under: Memories,New Canal Lighthouse,New Orleans,Rebuilding — Morwen Madrigal @ 3:13 pm

Jeld-Wen, maker or doors and windows is having a contest to see which lighthouse on their final list of contenders gets free doors and windows. Here’s the link.

Heres another way to help out locally.

March 21, 2008

Senn Penn Plays Harvey Milk

Filed under: Aside,Harvey Milk,LGBT,Memories — Tags: , , , — Morwen Madrigal @ 9:30 pm

“If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door” , Harvey Milk

On a warm, sunny day June day back in 1978, I attended my first Gay Pride Parade in San Francisco. I was amazed to be around so many free spirits living their lives openly. Twas a far cry from the hatred shown to these kinds of people (deep down I knew I belonged there) from life in Alabama and throughout my Naval career. That was the first time I ever saw Harvey Milk. A few months later I would have the chance to meet him, and I jumped on the offer. He was something else.

On Nov. 27th, 1978, the Castro District (one of the few LGBT areas of the city) learned that Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk had been assassinated at City Hall by Dan White, a recently resigned Supervisor. A candlelight vigil was held, along with a candlelight march that same night. I was there and it set the stage for an annual remembrance march and vigil for many years. (The NAMES Quilt had it’s genesis in one of these marches when Cleve Jones had all of us carry cards bearing the names of those who had died of AIDS.)

A few months later I was in S.F. on leave and White’s trial wrapped up with him being given a 7+ year sentence because of “diminished capacity”, aka the “Twinkie Defense”. Within hours many had gathered and we wound up in a major riot with SFPD in the Civic Center. Many police cars burned that night and then SFPD descended upon the Castro to create a riot of their own. How the Hell I didn’t get myself hurt or killed is a miracle. I went back to duty and would see S.F. again in ’83 when I was discharged from the Service.

I stayed there for almost 14 more years, and Milk’s words were the reason for that: I wanted to help our tribes continue to move the agenda forward and to help during the AIDS Crisis.

So with that little snippet of my history given, I am so moved to read that Sean Penn is playing Milk’s role in a new movie. When it hits the theatres, I will be there.

Thanks so much Harvey, so very much. You gave me the courage to become myself.

February 11, 2008

Looking Back… (A Memory)

Here is another look back at the first few months post-Federal Flood here in New Orleans. At the time Betts and I were in SoCal, and the only way for me to “be with” Gentilly was to use an e-list.This letter started a movement to build a community association, and ultimately it did. (Just not exactly my version of the dream.)
(posted to Docudharma)   GentillyGirl :: Looking Back…
Maybe it’s just a melancholy nature, maybe it’s inherent memory of things, but I’ve started looking back at some of my writings  post-Deluge and what has become of my observations. Maybe I’m just searching old ammo to try to stop what I am beginning to see in the UNOP (Unified New Orleans Plan stuffs, especially the limited performance demographically within these “meetings”.I wrote this to Gentilly After Katrina on Samhain, 2005. These are my thoughts that helped to start the GCIA. Now that all of us in the city are in Phase Two of the rebuilding torture, I hope that this reminds us all of what we aspired to accomplish when we got involved with the recessitation of New Orleans.

Dear Gentilly folks,

In Life, we all must live within the circumstances of
our own individual existences… that’s a given. It IS
the way of the World.

For those who for whatever reason will not return, may
you find peace and prosperity in a new place. May it
bring you joy, and may the hurts of what happened to
New Orleans and yourselves be soothed over the coming

Myself… we’re going back, even if it means that our
little house becomes Imladris, the “Last Homely House”
on the edge of a modern day Dresden. Our lamps will
shine, and yes, I will be heartbroken to not see a
mirroring gleam in the shadows, but we will go back

Many of us shall.

Yes, even with our limited resources and years
remaining, putting our lives into the hole so to
speak, we will return to rebuild this city, and it
will become the wonder of the 21st Century. New
Orleans shall become the example of what can be done
when the Spirit is called upon. It will be a memorial
to the soul of a wonderful collection of people that
the modern world rarely sees: New Orleans culture.

This is what makes up “History”, and anything less is
an insult to the memory of those who built the place
and survived through almost three hundred years of
various misfortunes and Blessings.

I stated this concept before on this list… those who
wish to rebuild must band together in order to survive
the next few years. We need to have the strength that
comes from a chorus of voices in the face overwhelming
odds and modern-day demands. Vox clamantis in Deserto,
(the Voice crying in the Wilderness”), will not
suffice in our situation.

Take a look at the banality of what passes for life in
most of our cities… cold, cruel, and cultureless.
Everything is the same, and everyone has the same
nameless identities. They are all exchangable and

Does that sound like anything we had here in this

Is this all that Life is supposed to be?

Shall the cheap triteness of Post-Modern civilization
be the only thing that our descendants ever know?

Doesn’t work for me, just as it doesn’t work for many

The problems of Old New Orleans, (graft, corruption,
enforced poverty, segregation.), in many ways have
died with the Katrina disaster. New visions will lead
to a better city, a city where every human being, no
matter who or what they “are”, will be welcomed and
valued. A place that is truly a “City upon a Hill”.

It can only happen if we speak and act, not the fools
and stupid concepts that led us to this disaster over
the many decades…

We are the ones who can create an equitable society.
We shall be the people that control their destinies.
We are the Spirits that will say, “No more”, to those
who just use folks up and throw them away.

All of us, no matter one’s particular situation in
Life, are worth more than that.

Let’s get this baby up and running, rebuild Gentilly,
and help restore the Spirit of the city we all love
and cherish. I’m ready.

Her Blessings!

Morwen Madrigal,
Sugar Hill

February 7, 2008

The Summer of Our Discontent

Filed under: Federal Flood,Katrina,Louisiana,Memories,New Orleans — Tags: , , , , — Morwen Madrigal @ 10:13 pm

I’m going back and looking at the last few years, and like many others here, I’m bringing back past posts because they are still relevant.

This is from July of ’06:

This song has been driving me crazy all night… won’t go away:


I must’ve dreamed a thousand dreams
Been haunted by a million screams
But I can hear the marching feet
They’re moving into the street.

Now did you read the news today
They say the danger’s gone away
But I can see the fire’s still alight
There burning into the night.

There’s too many men
Too many people
Making too many problems
And not much love to go round
Can’t you see
This is a land of confusion.

This is the world we live in
And these are the hands we’re given
Use them and let’s start trying
To make it a place worth living in.

Ooh Superman where are you now
When everything’s gone wrong somehow
The men of steel, the men of power
Are losing control by the hour.

This is the time
This is the place
When we look for the future
But there’s not much love to go round
Tell me why, this is a land of confusion.

This is the world we live in
And these are the hands we’re given
Use them and let’s start trying
To make it a place worth living in.

I remember long ago -
Ooh when the sun was shining
Yes and the stars were bright
We walked through the night
And the sound of your laughter
As I held you tight
So long ago –

I won’t be coming home tonight
My generation will put it right
We’re not just making promises
That we know, we’ll never keep.

Too many men
There’s too many people
Making too many problems
And not much love to go round
Just tell my why
This is a land of confusion.

Now this is the world we live in
And these are the hands we’re given
Use them and let’s start trying
To make it a place worth living in.

This is the world we live in
And these are the names we’re given
Stand up and let’s start showing
Just where our lives are going to.

Phil Collins wrote this during the last days of Detante to reflect his dissatisfaction with the rulers of both sides of the Cold War. I see this as a perfect illustration of what we all here on the Gulf, and New Orleans in particular, face every day. We are in a war, a cultural war, a war of values.

We live in a little part of the world that is very different from the rest of Amerika. Our slice of Life is not exactly like that of the outsiders. It’s not Civic pride (Heaven forbid!), but a sense of what we are a part of: that which is as if the Spanish moss grows upon our limbs, the Delta mud cakes on our feet, breathing the heavy air and stirring a bubbling cauldron of gumbo. The folks in our lives gather around… the buzz of voices is unstoppable. People dance in enticing ways… children run around in circles away from the adults. The smoke from the cook fires drift lazily to heaven.

Is our culture an anachronism? I don’t think so. It’s like so many cultures I’ve witnessed whilst travelling the world. Here in New Orleans, all of us are Creole, a living culture. The world can go to shit and we will still be here.

The oil flow stops and there goes the great cities. The highway system will become unused, people will not be able to reconnect with roots, can’t escape the living hell around them. They will be confronted with having to make real connections with the folks around them. Re-invent the social wheel, so to speak.

That will never happen here. I’ve only been home for four years, no family in the area, and there is so much Spanish moss growing on me… blows my mind. Like most others, I’m stuck in the hot Delta mud. We all are. New Orleans grows on you. It fills you, and then you cannot stop living here. Yes, we are fairly poor, have crooked politicians, but we have each other.

Walk down the streets in most of our towns and watch the little kindnesses, the recognitions that we are a part of our whole: New Orleans or the Gulf. Imagine walking into a bar and seeing a Creole shrimper, a gator-trapping Cajun, a Mexican worker, a Drag Queen, two lesbians, a professor and a transsexual having an indepth conversation about the various forms of Jambalaya or the Blues. Where your bartender answers to Miss Love. And then you can get on a bicycle and speed through the Quarter and the Marigny saying hi to folks you know even at 4 A.M.

Stroll down any street in the city, and you will see a Granny sitting on her porch: “How are you today Ma’am?”, “I’m fine honey-child. How about you?”, “I’m doing good Ma’am… take care.” She may invite you to her porch for some ice tea or lemonade, pretty much no matter who you are. I know this to be fact here.

Now this is why this is the Summer of Our Discontent. We are in very grave danger of of being destroyed by benign neglect. We are 35 days from the anniversary of the levees breaking. Our streets are a mess, two thirds of us are still in other parts of the country… many of us cannot start working on our homes yet, and the few others here need reparations for their losses. Most of our Medical/Psych facilities are gone. Same goes for our retailers.

Streets are littered with garbage and construction waste. Little white trailers abound, sans power. Broken trees and street lamps are everywhere. It rains and streets flood. If something catches fire, it takes airdrops of water to fight the conflagration. Schools are fenced off, broken windows and all.

The projects are slated to be torn down, even when the displaced are willing to live there because it means being HOME.

Our levees are still not up to par, and the Corps is falling behind their protection timetable every day. The Administration guts the Corps’ report on the failure of the levees in order to continue their funding of an unjust war. FEMA keeps scaring folks with announcements of ending rental aid in foreign cities. Many of us are going broke trying to restore our lives and homes as the State drags it’s feet. Our local guv’mit plans a freakin’ glittery Gala celebration for the anniversary of the storm and flood while people are in gutted, un-powered homes, in the heat and swarms of mosquitos, hoping to be able to finish the repairs.

All the while, we are entering the danger time for this hurricane season.

This didn’t happen in NYC after 9/11. Same goes for San Francisco post Loma Prieta. (Iknow, I was there.) Why is this?

We are an island of sanity in a B/S sea of Southern conservatism. This is Bush’s back-handed way of fucking us for not supporting him. (The Bay Area suffered a similar fate under Raygun and Daddy Bush for their voting habits.) The PTB want goose-steppers in this town. They can come and “sin” all they want, but we will vote for reprobates and criminals of the GOP persuasion.

My thought on this? ” FUCK YOU!, TWICE!”

We ARE New Orleans, and this is the Summer of Our Discontent. You have been warned Fuckmooks.

Sinn Fein!

December 18, 2007

Toys For Tots, and Mental Wanderings

Filed under: Aside,Memories — Tags: , — Morwen Madrigal @ 5:09 am

For over twenty years I was heavily involved in the Toys For Tots programs in S.F. and Indiana. Being “The Bookseller”, and having great kid’s sections, I’d always bring a range of books to cover the development years to these drives. This year I returned to the fold.

Saturday evening we took a friend out for his B-Day dinner (he’s had four at last count) and he was too tired to go with us to the bar or stay and watch a movie with us. Betts and I decided that we NEEDED to get OUT of the hovel, so we just made our way down to the Starlight so we could have some peaceful talking with friends and drinking time before the show started… yes, Drag shows which we normally don’t do because the music is so damned loud that your brain cells die.

We finally find a parking place, walk into the bar and realize we forgot it was Toys For Tots night. It started with a Magic show and then proceeded to… fuck me! A Drag show for the kiddies. (We LGBT folks are funny that way) It was one of the best, funniest things I’ve witnessed here in the City of Oddness. And since we, in our total involvment about getting out of the hovel and into our REAL HOME, totally forgot was going down that night. The acts were so good and hilarious we tipped the performers well and watched as they stuffed the money jar for more toys for the little ones. It was tres kewl… we got to help bring a smile to some little faces this Season.

Now we have invites for the Pub on Wednesday for their Toys For Tots gig, and we decided that we would bring some toys this time. This evening past saw us crawling into Walmart, beat from having to go check on wall tile for the baths only to hear that, “This line is discontinued”, other materials shit too, but we did buy the side lights for the Dining room.

An aside Gentle Readers: after spending twenty years in RETAIL HELL, I don’t go to stores that don’t sell food, catz stuffs or hardware during this time of year. I hate the shopping frenzy that goes on between T-Day and X-Mas, but… we were buying toys (and getting a small ham) for kids (or is that kidz, or spawn? *NOLA Blogger term*)

So we enter the Toy section (one year Betts ran a Toy section. In a different year I spent five weeks being Santa in a freakin’ sleigh… OUTSIDE in a Jersey winter), and I’m totally lost. Aisle after aisle of toys that are all about TV shit. Both of us wanted to get Gender-neutral toys (no guns or other weapons, thank you). What to get? And then it hit me: these toys are for kids who’s families don’t have spare money for dolly costumes or a construction man kit that requires the parents provide a bulldozer… accessories are expensive, as are the batteries to power the devices that make them speak or move. Most of the time this crap breaks. Soon the toy will lose it’s attraction.
So we agreed on getting things for the little ones, ya’s know: four and younger. We searched the aisles. I wanted to get a bag of blocks, and Betts wanted to find something else. She found a darling Pooh Bear and I found a good set of blocks. We took the toys, and the ham, to the checkout counter and got the Hell out of there.

Here’s my point in all of this: when it comes to tots, they are little, and all the modern gizmos mean little to these tykes. A bear that can be cuddled (without the use of batteries), or a set of building blocks that don’t require motors or power sources are the building blocks of imagination, creativity… learning and caring. These are the types of toys I remember as a child. (Later my folks gave me the Chemistry set they sat upon for years… I blew a hole out of my bedroom once. I used my money from mowing lawns to be able to buy more chemicals… )

BTW- my folks asked me what I wanted when I was eight, and I answered “nothing but Sir Hoyle’s book on Astronomy please” (they had given me a small telescope the year before). It was $40 back in the mid-Sixties (very expensive to our family), 400 pages, 2/3ds of which were physics I didn’t understand… I told them I wanted nothing else… no toys or a bike, nothing but that book. That was my gift that year. They had stirred the interests that helped lead me out of my family’s poverty and into a new world. I wound up becoming a Nuclear Engineer who went into History and Cultural Studies. I “owe” my life to those two crazy people who honored my desires. Their actions opened multiple universes for me.

Where I’m going with this is that: through programs such as these, we donors can help “prod” a child’s future. Creativity and caring when they are little, and informative and challenging as they get older. It is our gifts to them… and they should never be financially challenging to the families. These gifts should be for learning and challenging. To love and to learn.

These are the kind of gifts that create Humanity and inspire the older ones to aspire to something different. Isn’t that what this is all about?

And please, please, please help with these programs. The Future is in their hands.

Enjoy the Season of Lights, and Be Blessed!

September 24, 2007

Hurricane Rita Escape Anniversary

Just remembered that Rita smacked into SW LA and TX two years ago today.

Where were we then? San Antonio in a nice little suite with a tiny kitchenette. The A/C died in the car and it was in the shop. We had a stowaway in that Opal the Cat wasn’t supposed to be in the room, but I wasn’t leaving her in the car with all of that heat.

We stayed there for a few days before making the trek to our friend’s home in  San Dimas, SoCal land. It was going to be a long ride, so we rested up. And ate some really good BBQ! A LOT OF IT!

What didn’t help was the news coming in about the destruction Rita brought to our friends on the Coast and in Houston. We were actually supposed to sign a lease on a place in Houston that day. I was looking forward to living in the Montrose for our exile from New Orleans. We just couldn’t take the thought of another big storm while our house was sitting in the Federal Flood disaster.
BTW- It really, really bugs me that we still, at almost 25 months, are still not in our house. Poop

August 27, 2007

Shattered, (part 1)

Many years ago my mother helped me when I awoke screaming from a nightmare (which was every night for 13 years). I was crying and scared… feeling like I didn’t matter in the scheme of Life. Mom said, “All people are important. None are worthless.” I calmed down with that knowledge that there was a reason for being alive and went back to a blissful sleep. I felt that there was some form of order, reason, to every day.
I can’t sleep now.

It’s been over 40 years since that night. I have learned much through those years by traveling the World, meeting and talking with folks… learning about myself and what makes all of us tick. I have witnessed horrible things and beautiful ones too. I’ve seen the worst and the most touching of things in my time. I know what Death is (having been a party to it), and I understand Life. Often I laid awake and wondered why I’m still alive, and the only comfort was the Goddess, whispering into my ear (much like my mom), that it’s all a part of this insane game we call Living.

Two years ago I was a happy little spirit. Had my best friend with me, had a nice house, had friends… was correcting the harms done to me after birth that totally fucked up most of my 48 years living on this planet, and then a demon came into the picture. She was named Katrina. As normal for a Gulf Coaster, I tracked the Miserable Bitch from day one to almost landfall.

Little did I know that She would shatter my life in so many ways. (Both good and bad…)
At this moment in time it’s late August, 2005. I’m tracking a hurricane, looking at where it will go. I’m prepping the house to hold several friends who need a safe harbor. Tomorrow I will clean the entire place. I’m trying to catch up on all my work for the Transsexual community. I’m beginning to get afraid that I’m going to call this storm wrongly, and Betty (who trusts my instincts) could be put into danger. A part of my persona has been activated… every breeze and sound catches my attention. I watch the birds and squirrels. Nothing seems to be out of place. I dig deep in the soil of my vegetable garden, and nothing seems wrong… there’s just a storm coming.
I’m in my little office on the East side of the house. Betts is across the room working yet another computer deal. The Siamese is sleeping in the little chair that I keep for customers. I’m working on doing a third album of music… trying to figure out how to do all the video from two months previous in Houston for Gay Pride. My good old IBM has a constant link for storm tracking. I’m thinking of Betty’s upcoming vacation, the legal stuffs that we need to do and her upcoming B’Day. I keep scanning the computer models concerning the storm.

I am thinking that I should rebuild the waterfall and ponds in the courtyard. (wait ’til the storm passes) I need to fix the window that Cindy cracked weeks before. Maybe we should buy shutters so that we don’t get hit by storm-driven debris. (No fucking time for that now) We have all we need. There’s water and food and I can cover almost anyone’s needs. I do more laundry. Clean the bathrooms and call folks in order to have them come here for the storm. (Yeppers, I have lots of beer and whiskey)

Should I send Betts and the cat away? I don’t run from things. Did Betsy, Camille, Loma Prieta…. tons of typhoons, a blizzard in the Teton Wilderness, Cape Rollers, was in St. Helen’s caldera days before the eruption… I have seen almost every kind of shit one can find… survived them too, something’s way freakin’ wrong. I’m sensing something. Am I finally coming down with AIDS Dementia?

Little did I know that a disaster was going to occur and it would be from the hands of men and a freakin’ money grubbing culture. That I would wind up seeing such fucking horror, racial hatred and outright non-caringness (and some wonderful acts of selflessness and love). That I would have to fight battles that I never saw the reason for happening. Things that would show me what it means to be Human.
The insanity of the Natural Disaster to the Gulf Coast and the man-made one in New Orleans two years ago must never be forgotten. Heroes and heroines must be praised, and the damned demons that screwed so many must be brought to justice. Never fucking again should this kind of shit happen!


Over the next few days I’m going to be writing about those few days two years ago. What it means to me, how it’s changed my life and of those I cherish. How much those events challenged and strengthened my belief about all things and how I came to discard an entire world-view of Reality.

August 23, 2007

Save the Delta Queen

Filed under: Memories — Tags: — Morwen Madrigal @ 2:43 pm

picture by Franz Neumeier,
This Grand Dame of the riverboats stand to lose her certification to operate after 2008. Please help in fighting for this wonderful piece of History.



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