b Papa Dog's Blog: Lost and Found

Papa Dog's Blog

A Thing Wherein I Infrequently Write Some Stuff

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Lost and Found

More than a month post-Katrina, and I’m finally apprised of the whereabouts of almost all of my favourite Orleanian peeps. It’s been frustrating in the extreme, trying to track down people who didn’t much cotton to the World Wide Web even when their city had reliable electricity. I was able to pretty quickly track down via email/Internet most of the people I knew lived in New Orleans but weren’t from there. Of the friends who are from there, though, only one had a reliable email address. Here’s what a web-based retard I am: it never even occurred to me to try old-fashioned brick-and-mortar methods. It’s slightly excusable, I suppose; to the best of my knowledge, there’s been little to no phone access in New Orleans the last month. But it wasn’t until today that I tried digging out the old address book and giving Mike J a dingle. Sure enough, his old number was still good, and moreover he had it forwarded to his cell phone. He was able to tell me that he and David Rex and Tami and their whole family made it out just fine before the storm and were safe and sound in a town outside Baton Rouge. Miraculously, none of their houses got damaged even when neighbouring houses took eleven inches of water. They all seemed to be on just an extra little bump of high ground. This is good news/bad news, actually, because though their property survives they can’t live on it, and insurance doesn’t pay out for that. They’ve all taken jobs with substantial pay cuts in their exile towns, and have to pay rent while they wait to be allowed to go home. It could be a lot worse, but it sucks all the same.

Mike was also able to tell me that Patrick is up in Nova Scotia, of all places, living on his brother’s dairy farm, cranking out cheese. Patrick can’t stand his family, so this is a real hardship move for him. But again, it could be worse, lots worse. And it’s historically ironic, if you think about it, the expulsion of a Louisianan to Nova Scotia, instead of the other way around. Perhaps if there are others, they could found a pocket of “Zianan” culture in Canada.*

This leaves only Charlene unaccounted for, and I hope as the city begins to fill up again I’ll be able to get in touch with her.
*Just in case I’m being too obscure with my little beau geste here: the people we know now as “Cajuns” were, several centuries back, the “Acadians,” who got booted out of Nova Scotia when the British took over. They traveled south to Louisiana and immediately started running seafood restaurants and swamp tour companies.


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