New Resolve in New Orleans

Don from Article 19 spent the long weekend in New Orleans. Describing his drive into town, he wrote, "The last few miles of the drive in was bleak, bleak, bleak. A ghost town in spots." Today he posted a link to a column by Chris Rose in today's Times-Picayune looking with dread upon the new hurricane season that's only two days away.

The malignant vestiges of the Jefferson and Morial machines are stinking this place up worse than old refrigerators. Our levees aren't ready and the government is in gridlock and street crime is picking up a frightening head of steam and it's impossible -- no, unreasonable -- not to look in the mirror and ask yourself: Is this how I want to live?

What are you going to do the first time Bob Breck comes on the TV screen with that crazed Armageddon look in his eyes and the Super Doppler shows nothing but a big red swirl in the Gulf and -- admit it -- you still haven't gotten all your vital paperwork in one place like you've been promising yourself, and maybe you've got a generator now and maybe not, but what the hell difference does it make?

What are you going to do now? Other than telling yourself that you're not going to Houston this time -- no matter what happens -- just what is your plan?

Who ever thought there would be a day of dread more wicked than April 15? But here it is, two pages ahead of us on the calendar. The feds could drop $80 billion in our laps right now but what's that going to do for you in June, July and August?

. . . That's why I'm scared.

Maybe it's just how these things go when you've got regular space in a major daily, but despite being scared, Rose closes his piece on a note of defiant optimism.

That cabdriver I was talking about? After driving in silence for a while, he said: "You notice all the sunflowers growing all over the place?"

Funny thing is, I have been noticing all the sunflowers popping up in random locations.

"Maybe that's a good omen," he said.

The other day, my kid's grade-school principal said to me: "The magnolia trees around here are amazing. They're so broken and battered yet they're blooming like crazy."

There are your metaphors, if you're looking for some. Flowers. Those time-tested symbols from art and literature of hope, beauty, youth and rebirth.

Let's hope they're not all false promise. Let's hope they're telling our story. Let's hope we've got what they've got.

And let's hope that we don't really get the chance to find out, for this year, at least.