Hey y'all! I just posted a short, short story over at Dew on the Kudzu. It's called, "Miss Teensy" and it is pretty funny if I do say so. It will be a continuing story, so drop by now and then to read about Teensy's adventures in Blue Falls, Alabama.

Idgie, the editor and proprietess, would love to have some more guests on the porch. Plus, the Dew has some absolutely wicked writers posting stuff all the time, so I am sure you will be delighted with what you find.

Now remember, it is my first time to write a continuing story, and I am sure I will make mistakes, so comment here and tell me what you thought of it. I am sure I will improve as I go on.

I heard from my mom today and they have found a roofer!!!! He has been out to look at the house and has quoted a very reasonable price, so from what I hear, he is going to replace the entire roof, not just the shingles.

So all the thoughts and prayers have worked and I thank y'all very much!

OK, this is the deal. My parent's house was damaged by one of the many hurricanes that swept through Alabama this summer. Not badly, but enough roof damage that it is very important that they have their roof fixed very soon or it will collapse from all the rain they are having.

All of the Tuscaloosa-area roofers have full workloads and can't help. There are just too many homes to repair. My parents say that the insurance company they deal with has said it may take up to SIX MONTHS to get their roof fixed.

So...if any Alabama roofers (or any southern roofing companies) are reading this and need the work...please check around the places that were badly hit and see if anyone needs help. Tuscaloosa and Northport areas were also hit by tornadoes yesterday, so there may be more homes that need repair.

Thank you.

****UPDATE****

My parents have just informed me that their bedroom ceiling has collapsed onto the floor and all over their bed from all the rain getting through the damaged roof. I know there are people without homes all over the south right now, and I pray for all of them, but would y'all add my parents to your prayer lists??? They might not have a habitable home if the roof isn't replaced soon. Thanks a bunch!

Wow, this weekend has gone by fast! I have been busy going through my poems and short stories and sending some out for contests and publishing (keeping fingers crossed). I have got to sit down and write some more this week though. I need some inspiration.

The Bears lost. Big downer. But at least Bama won this week. That's what counts.

I have been getting trickles of emails. I used to get at least 20+ a day. Yahoo says my address hasn't bounced, so I can't figure out what it is. Hmmmm...maybe everyone is too danged busy to write anything.

Bama just beat Arkansas!

(singing Rammer Jammer song)
Nah nah nah!
Hey Razorbacks
Nah nah nah
Hey Razorbacks
Nah Nah Nah!
Hey Razorbacks

We just beat the h - e - double toothpicks outta you!

rammer jammer yellowhammer
Give 'em h - e - double toothpics, Alabama!

(had to use the rated G version, folks...sorry)

I have entered yet another Long Story Short Flash Fiction Contest. This time it is a humor category.

My entry is a new and improved version of The Ghost of Cooter McGhee. I figured it is the funniest thing I have on hand at this point and it deserves its time in the spotlight, so we'll see how it does.

Deadline is October 25th, so there is time yet for all y'all humor writers to submit something.

May the best knee-slapper win!

The smoky hall -
Filled with couples,
Laughter,
And sounds of forgetfulness -
Wailed with the blues.
Pulsing with every guitar strum,
It hummed.
Piano and sax,
Jazz and lonely bluesman,
Mixed to create a new sound,
One that will change the world,
One that will turn it around.
A lonely man strolls
Along the sidewalk outside
Where broken amber bottles
Litter -
Beer-smell all around.
The open door
Showcases the new sound
And the man hears it.
The man knows it.
He feels the Blues.
Inside the piano-player goes on,
The room is blue with smoke,
The blues rumble
A sad worn-down tune.
The music leads the folks
This hot Chicago night in June -
Leads them home,
Leads them home,
With the Blues.

(c) Dana Sieben 2005

This poem I wrote while thinking of a place in Apopka, Florida that I have visited many times in my life. It is called Rock Springs by the locals, but it is officially called Kelly Park. My mother went there as a kid and so did my grandmother. Imagine sparkling, clear, bottle-green water flowing from a cave. It is icy cold and refreshing on a hot, Florida day. Just floating down on your inner-tube and enjoying nature.




Rock Springs

Floating on a tube in cold, clear spring-fed water
I watch the clouds take shape and birds roaming the skies
All the while the fish below are nibbling my toes
watching me, watching birds, watching the clouds above
Peaceful, lovely, contemplation, dipping my feet
in again and again, never getting enough
of that water so clear and the sun shining bright,
heating up my black tube, warming my back and front,
tanning my skin with tiny freckles, drifting off
to sleep, dreaming of water and fishes so deep
and of peace and serenity, wishing so much
that I could stay all day and never go away.



(c) 2005 Dana Sieben







photos courtesy of -
cambrianfoundation.org
Orlando - a Visual History

I found this over on USA Deep South's Message Board (the Front Porch) and thought it was the absolutely funniest thing I have heard in a very long time! You have got to hear it! Just click on the PLAY button. This guy probably peed in his pants laughing so hard. I know I did!

http://www.chumfm.com/MorningShow/bits/march24.swf

My granny don't rock and knit,
she learned how to fight and hit.
She can take on any bad man,
think you can take her?
See if you can!

USA Deep South's Fall issue is out now and I have a poem in there called Night Swim.

It is based on a place in Northport, AL, affectionately called The Cliffs by the locals and college students. I spent time there when I was in school and, even though I never had a secret tryst there, I did happen to go skinny dippin' with some friends. It was pretty funny jumpin' off about twenty feet down buck nekkid.

Go read USA Deep South and tell me how you liked (or disliked) my poem.

Hey! Just wanted to tell y'all that I posted a new book review over at Dew on the Kudzu. This time I reviewed Rammer Jammer Yellowhammer - A Journey into the Heart of Fan Mania by Warren St. John.

It is an interesting read and I highly recommend it to fans who love their sports teams and also to people who just don't understand why fans act the way they do.

Ever see caravans of RV's on their way to a southern football game? Ever wonder why they rigged out their motor homes with team logo stickers, flags and specialty horns? Warren St. John wondered too and set out to find out why.

Go ahead and read the review and if you are interested, go buy the book. It shows alot about Alabama football and the people who camp out for days just to see a game.

OK, floating through the blogosphere today, I couldn't help but notice that it is Talk Like a Pirate Day. Well, I say to meeself, that sounds like fun! Let's give'er a try, says I!

Yo ho, yo ho a pirates life for me
we pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.
we kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.
Yo ho yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

we extort, we pilfage, we filch and sack.
Drink up me 'earties yo ho
Maraude and embezzle and even hijack
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.
Yo ho, yo ho a pirate's life for me.
We kindle and char and flame and ignite
Drink up me 'earties yo ho.
We burn up the city, we're really afright
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!
We're rascals, scoundrels, villans and naves
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.
We're devils and blacksheep and really bad eggs
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!
Yo ho, yo ho a pirates life for me
We're beggars and blighters and ne'er do well cats
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho
I think we're loved by our mommies and dads.
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!

(courtesy of Bushwacker.net)

And I just found this beauty of a game in me treasure bags...

Or as the scurvy pirate, Ray Stevens, says in his 'ittle song, The Pirate Song,...

"I like to sing and dance, I like to sing and dance, I'd like to be a pirate in the Pirates of Penzance, wear me silver buckle slippers and me tight shiny pants...I like to sing and dance!

I found this poem online today and fell in love with it. The author is Langston Hughes.

Daybreak in Alabama

When I get to be a composer
I'm gonna write me some music about
Daybreak in Alabama
And I'm gonna put the purtiest songs in it
Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist
And falling out of heaven like soft dew.
I'm gonna put some tall tall trees in it
And the scent of pine needles
And the smell of red clay after rain
And long red necks
And poppy colored faces
And big brown arms
And the field daisy eyes
Of black and white black white black people
And I'm gonna put white hands
And black hands and brown and yellow hands
And red clay earth hands in it
Touching everybody with kind fingers
And touching each other natural as dew
In that dawn of music when I
Get to be a composer
And write about daybreak
In Alabama.

Isn't that just beautiful?

Well, since this blog is called Southern Gal Goes NORTH, I have to blog about my new hometown, Chicago at least a little, don'tcha think?

Chicago beat Detroit today, 38 - 6, if I remember correctly. Big win for Da Bears! My husband's family was going nuts.

One thing...if I have to miss out on being at my Bama games every year, at least I can still have some fun and root for the Bears!

GO BEARS!

My friend Lisa has a contest going on over at her blog, Lisa's Writing Projects, so y'all need to go on over and see what's going on.

You might just win a book about writing.

ROLL TIDE!!

Bama beat South Carolina
and I'm feeling
so danged homesick
for my southern home.

I can't wait for next gameday
on campus.
The sounds blasting
out of the stadium,
the Million Dollar Band
warming up,
playing Yea Alabama!,
referee whistles blowing,
tailgate parties,
the smell of charcoal and beer
and Red and White everywhere.
Friendly people cheering
for their teams,
jeering at the competition.

I miss the Quad before gametime;

Big Al parading around,
greeting children,
little girls dressed like Bama cheerleaders,
little boys with Bama caps
just like their daddies
wearing khaki Dockers and
Bama t-shirts.
Homemade livingrooms
under white tents
on the grassy lawn,
tv's set up and fold out chairs
littering everywhere.

I miss meeting friends
on the Strip,
bars and eateries
welcoming you into their
smoky atmospheres
and playing the Game -
always the Game -
Bama vs. Whoever,
and hoping Bama will win.
That's what I miss.

Y'all gotta read this. I can't believe that anyone would actually arrest this woman and hold her for a $50,000 bail after what happened in New Orleans. I mean, come on! Even the store owner didn't want to press charges on people caught taking food from the store after Katrina.

Read on...

Jailed Deaconess, 73, Ordered Released
Thursday, September 15, 2005 7:20 PM EDT
The Associated Press
By KEVIN MCGILL and JOHN SOLOMON

KENNER, La. (AP) — Merlene Maten undoubtedly stood out in the prison where she has been held since Hurricane Katrina. The 73-year-old church deaconess, never before in trouble with the law, spent two weeks among hardened criminals. Her bail was a stiff $50,000.

Her offense? Police say the grandmother from New Orleans took $63.50 in goods from a looted deli the day after Katrina struck.

Family and eyewitnesses insisted Maten was an innocent woman who had gone to her car to get some sausage to eat only to be mistakenly arrested by tired, frustrated white officers who couldn't catch younger looters at a nearby store.

Despite intervention from the nation's largest senior lobby, volunteer lawyers from the Federal Emergency Management Agency and even a private attorney, the family fought a futile battle for 16 days to get her freed.

Maten's diabetes, her age, not even her lifelong record of community service could get the system moving. Even the store owner didn't want her charged. "She has slipped through the cracks and the wheels of justice have stopped turning," her attorney Daniel Beckett Becnel III said, frustrated.

Then, hours after her plight was featured in an Associated Press story, a local judge on Thursday ordered Maten freed on her own recognizance, setting up a sweet reunion with her daughter, grandchildren and 80-year-old husband. It was unclear whether she would released Thursday evening or Friday.

"I'm just gonna hug her and say 'Mom, I'm so sorry this had to happen.'" Maten's tearful daughter, Elois Short, told AP shortly after getting the news.

Maten must still face the looting charge at a court hearing in October. But the family, armed with several witnesses, intends to prove she was wrongly arrested outside the hotel in this New Orlean's suburb where she had fled Katrina's floodwaters.

"There were people looting, but she wasn't one of them. Instead of chasing after people who were running, they (police) grabbed the old lady who was walking," said Short, who works in traffic enforcement for neighboring New Orleans police.

The path to freedom was complicated amidst the chaos of Katrina.

Maten has been moved from a parish jail to a state prison an hour away. Her daughter had evacuated to Texas. And the original judge who set $50,000 bail by phone — 100 times the maximum $500 fine under state law for minor thefts — hadn't returned a week's worth of calls.

Becnel, family members and witnesses said police snared Maten in the parking lot of a hotel where she had fled the floodwaters that swamped her New Orleans home. She had paid for her room with a credit card and dutifully followed authorities' instructions to pack extra food, they said.

She was retrieving a piece of sausage from the cooler in her car and planned to grill it so she and her frail 80-year-old husband, Alfred, could eat, according to her defenders. The parking lot was almost a block from the looted store, they said.

"That woman was never, never in that store," said Naisha Williams, 23, a New Orleans bank security guard who said she witnessed the episode and is distantly related to Maten. "If they want to take it to court, I'm willing to get on the stand and tell them the police is wrong. She is totally innocent."

Police Capt. Steve Carraway said Wednesday that Maten was arrested in the checkout area of a small store next to police headquarters.

The arrest report is short and assigns the value of goods Maten is alleged to have taken at $63.50. The items are not identified.

"When officers arrived, the arrestee was observed leaving the scene with items from the store. The store window doors were observed smashed out, where entry to the store was made," police reported.

Williams, one of the witnesses, said Maten was physically unable to get inside the store — even if she had wanted to.

"She is not capable of even looting it the way the store was at the time. You had to jump over a counter, and she is a diabetic and weak-muscled and wouldn't be able to get herself over it. And she couldn't afford to step on broken glass," Williams said.

Williams said she tried to explain that to police but was brushed off.

"They didn't want to hear it. They put handcuffs on her. They just said we were emotional. It was basically, `Just shut up,'" she said.

Maten's husband was left abandoned at the hotel, until family members picked him up. He is too upset to be interviewed, the family said.

Christine Bishop, the owner of the Check In Check Out deli, said that she was angry that looters had damaged her store, but that she would not want anyone charged with a crime if the person had simply tried to get food to survive. "Especially not a 70-year-old woman," Bishop said.

Short, Maten's daughter, did not witness the incident. She said her mother has led a law-abiding life. She is a deaconess at the Resurrection Mission Baptist Church and won an award for her decades of service at a hospital, Short said.

"Why would someone loot when they had a car with a refrigerator and had paid with a credit card at the hotel? The circumstances defy the theory of looting," said Becnel, Maten's lawyer.

Robin Peak, a legal analyst from AARP who assisted Maten's family, declined to discuss the case. She wrote colleagues an e-mail earlier this week about the elderly woman's plight. It was titled, "50K: The Price of Freedom in New Orleans."
———
Associated Press writer John Solomon contributed to this story from Washington.

...goes out with a whimper. Here is a picture that I took Memorial Day weekend in Winamac, IN on the Tippecanoe River.

This is where I spent most of my time, in my chair by the river cross-stitching. It was peaceful and quiet. I wish I was there now.

The secret? Send your hubby and kids fishing or swimming while you relax in their absence.

Hey y'all! I have been struggling over what to write lately. Cub Scouts and school volunteer work have kept me pretty busy, along with participating in my writing workshops and all. So, I decided to do a little plugging here, and to do it, I will direct you to one of my favorite websites, All Things Southern, with your host, Shellie.

One of the things you get when you visit Shellie on her porch in Louisiana, is a bunch of awesome southern recipes. Some from her, some from visitors to the Porch. Here is one of my favorites taken directly from Shellie's newsletter...


"A Plum Peachy Pie"

2 cups sliced and peeled fresh peaches
2 cups sliced and peeled purple plums
1 tablespoon lemon juice
¼ teaspoon almond extract
1 and ½ cups sugar
¼ cup quick-cooking tapioca
1 teaspoon grated lemon peel
¼ teaspoon salt
Two Pillsbury refrigerated pie crusts
Two tablespoon butter

We'll start by peeling and slicing two cups of fresh peaches and two cups of fresh purple plums. Then we'll stir 'em together with a tablespoon of lemon juice. Next, we'll take a small bowl and combine one and a half cups sugar with ¼ cup of quick-cooking tapioca, a teaspoon of grated lemon peel and a dash of salt. We'll need to gently stir this in with the fruit and let it stand about fifteen minutes. We're almost there. Just take a refrigerated pie crust and it withtwith this sweet pie filling, dot it with butter, cover it with another crust, seal and flute the edges and cut a couple pretty slits across the top.

You've done it! We'll cover the edges loosely with foil and cook it ten minutes in a 450 degree before reducingheat toeatto 350 and cooking it another 35 or 40 minutes until its golden brown and bubbly. YUM! You've got to try this one, folks. It's a Plum Peachy Pie-- and it's good eating, southern style. ~Shellie

I have taken this before, long ago, but I forgot some of the songs in the meantime. I didn't do as well as I thought I would considering I have a huge collection of 80's songs on my hard-drive. But here I am...

In all my days
I found only
one.

I searched and
searched, but
they remained
elusive in their secret
gardens.

My children asked me,
"Mommy, did you ever find
a four-leaf clover?"
To which I responded
with a tired yes.
"Only one," I gently said,
thinking to halt
their dreams of treasure.

My children searched
for only a few minutes
and found
not one, but
three
four-leaf clovers!
Three elusive,
hidden,
tiny,
green secrets,
putting their mommy to shame.

Sorry I am in such a mood today, but it just hasn't been the best. Got a lot on my mind.

1. My oldest son is having peer problems in school recess...kids aren't allowing him to play kickball with them, unfortuately, it is the entire 3rd grade class of boys. His friends aren't stepping up for him either. But, then again, they are only 8. So that is breaking my heart thinking of him learning how cruel kids can be. Thank goodness, they aren't really bullying him physically.

2.My oldest cat is peeing in my closet on clothes that he has pulled down off their hangers. He is pooping on my carpet in my room. For some reason, the poor thing is having major problems with our newest cat who we have had a year already. My house smells and we are constantly cleaning it up. I can't handle it much longer. I have placed a litter box in my room for him since he won't come out and put his food and water there too. I don't know what to do. I don't believe it is physical, just mental. And how do you help a cat with a mental problem?

3. I am so overweight and lack the energy to do what needs to be done around here. This is out of hand and I need to address it right now. It's like a vicious circle...you exercise to gain strength and energy, but how can you exercise when you have no energy?

4. And now my danged blog has decided to act up. When did my sidebar decide to ride low? It wasn't that way yesterday. How do I fix it? I have no clue. **

Sob, sob, sob.... I never whine like this. Sorry folks, I'll try to be in a better mood tomorrow.


** Well I figured out the blog problem...at least something went right, huh?
*** I decided to have lunch at olive garden with my neighbor and friend, Jan. Oh I absolutely adore their peach bellini ice tea!!! Cure for your ills.

Check this out...

Landlord Sues Restaurateurs Over Ghosts
Thursday, September 8, 2005 1:54 PM EDT
The Associated Press

ORLANDO, Fla. (AP) — The landlords of an Orlando entertainment complex are suing two restaurateurs for refusing to move into a renovating building because they claim it is haunted.
Subcontractors who worked there and other people have reported seeing ghosts or other apparitions, said Lynn Franklin, attorney for the restaurant owners.

"It's very serious," Franklin said Thursday. "A lot of people are corroborating having seen incidents in this location."

The $2.6 million lawsuit filed last month by the owners of the Church Street Station entertainment complex says an offer to hold an exorcism was refused.

"I asked them if these were good ghosts or bad ghosts, and if they were good ghosts why it was a problem," said David Simmons, an attorney representing the building's owners, who include boy band promoter Lou Pearlman. Simmons is also a member of the state House.

Christopher and Yoko Chung, the owners of Amura Japanese Restaurant, had planned to move into the building last October, but backed out of the lease.

Franklin said Christopher Chung's religious beliefs as a Jehovah's Witness required him to "avoid encountering or having any association with spirits or demons," and Chung also objected to the offer for an exorcism because it is a Roman Catholic rite not accepted by his faith.

The lawsuit also asks a judge to decide whether the building is haunted and, if so, whether the ghosts would interfere with the restaurant's business. Renovations have stopped on the building, and it remains empty.

A company called Orlando Ghost Tours regularly led visitors through the property until it changed hands in 2001 and still begins its tours in front of the building.

OK folks, I have been to Church Street Station many times in my life back in the late 80's and early 90's, and no ghosts did I ever see.* (Of course, they could have only begun haunting in the last decade.)

LOL In fact, it was rather lively there. Sounds to me like someone just wants out of his lease and used this ghost thing as an excuse. Just my opinion, folks, but I think this is pretty dang funny.

*author does happen to believe in ghosts, but that is a whole other story.

"He has to die!" S says.
"Why? Oh no! Please don't kill him!" answers J in tears.
"No, he has to die! I am starving!"
You can't kill Peanut Butter Man! I love him!" J screams.
"I will use this knife here. I will gouge him with my knife!"
"No!!!!!!" J says, trying not to laugh. "Wait! Here comes Baloney Man to save PB Man!"
"What?" S asks. "No! You can't foil my evil plans for lunch!"

Then they both giggle as I am looking at them in the rear-view mirror. It's a wonder I didn't crash.

Boys! (shaking my head)

I read this over on my friend, Bill's blog, Bill's Bilge, and thought it was awesome. Anne certainly tells it like it is and shames me somewhat to the core. She is right and since New Orleans is her home, I suggest we all listen and learn.

Do You Know What It Means to Lose New Orleans?
By ANNE RICE
La Jolla, Calif.

WHAT do people really know about New Orleans?Do they take away with them an awareness that it has always been not only a great white metropolis but also a great black city, a city where African-Americans have come together again and again to form the strongest African-American culture in the land?

The first literary magazine ever published in Louisiana was the work of black men, French-speaking poets and writers who brought together their work in three issues of a little book called L'Album Littéraire. That was in the 1840's, and by that time the city had a prosperous class of free black artisans, sculptors, businessmen, property owners, skilled laborers in all fields. Thousands of slaves lived on their own in the city, too, making a living at various jobs, and sending home a few dollars to their owners in the country at the end of the month.

This is not to diminish the horror of the slave market in the middle of the famous St. Louis Hotel, or the injustice of the slave labor on plantations from one end of the state to the other. It is merely to say that it was never all "have or have not" in this strange and beautiful city.

Later in the 19th century, as the Irish immigrants poured in by the thousands, filling the holds of ships that had emptied their cargoes of cotton in Liverpool, and as the German and Italian immigrants soon followed, a vital and complex culture emerged. Huge churches went up to serve the great faith of the city's European-born Catholics; convents and schools and orphanages were built for the newly arrived and the struggling; the city expanded in all directions with new neighborhoods of large, graceful houses, or areas of more humble cottages, even the smallest of which, with their floor-length shutters and deep-pitched roofs, possessed an undeniable Caribbean charm.

Through this all, black culture never declined in Louisiana. In fact, New Orleans became home to blacks in a way, perhaps, that few other American cities have ever been. Dillard University and Xavier University became two of the most outstanding black colleges in America; and once the battles of desegregation had been won, black New Orleanians entered all levels of life, building a visible middle class that is absent in far too many Western and Northern American cities to this day.The influence of blacks on the music of the city and the nation is too immense and too well known to be described. It was black musicians coming down to New Orleans for work who nicknamed the city "the Big Easy" because it was a place where they could always find a job. But it's not fair to the nature of New Orleans to think of jazz and the blues as the poor man's music, or the music of the oppressed.

Something else was going on in New Orleans. The living was good there. The clock ticked more slowly; people laughed more easily; people kissed; people loved; there was joy.Which is why so many New Orleanians, black and white, never went north. They didn't want to leave a place where they felt at home in neighborhoods that dated back centuries; they didn't want to leave families whose rounds of weddings, births and funerals had become the fabric of their lives. They didn't want to leave a city where tolerance had always been able to outweigh prejudice, where patience had always been able to outweigh rage. They didn't want to leave a place that was theirs.

And so New Orleans prospered, slowly, unevenly, but surely - home to Protestants and Catholics, including the Irish parading through the old neighborhood on St. Patrick's Day as they hand out cabbages and potatoes and onions to the eager crowds; including the Italians, with their lavish St. Joseph's altars spread out with cakes and cookies in homes and restaurants and churches every March; including the uptown traditionalists who seek to preserve the peace and beauty of the Garden District; including the Germans with their clubs and traditions; including the black population playing an ever increasing role in the city's civic affairs.

Now nature has done what the Civil War couldn't do. Nature has done what the labor riots of the 1920's couldn't do. Nature had done what "modern life" with its relentless pursuit of efficiency couldn't do. It has done what racism couldn't do, and what segregation couldn't do either. Nature has laid the city waste - with a scope that brings to mind the end of Pompeii.

•

I share this history for a reason - and to answer questions that have arisen these last few days. Almost as soon as the cameras began panning over the rooftops, and the helicopters began chopping free those trapped in their attics, a chorus of voices rose. "Why didn't they leave?" people asked both on and off camera. "Why did they stay there when they knew a storm was coming?" One reporter even asked me, "Why do people live in such a place?"

Then as conditions became unbearable, the looters took to the streets. Windows were smashed, jewelry snatched, stores broken open, water and food and televisions carried out by fierce and uninhibited crowds.

Now the voices grew even louder. How could these thieves loot and pillage in a time of such crisis? How could people shoot one another? Because the faces of those drowning and the faces of those looting were largely black faces, race came into the picture. What kind of people are these, the people of New Orleans, who stay in a city about to be flooded, and then turn on one another?

Well, here's an answer. Thousands didn't leave New Orleans because they couldn't leave. They didn't have the money. They didn't have the vehicles. They didn't have any place to go. They are the poor, black and white, who dwell in any city in great numbers; and they did what they felt they could do - they huddled together in the strongest houses they could find. There was no way to up and leave and check into the nearest Ramada Inn.

What's more, thousands more who could have left stayed behind to help others. They went out in the helicopters and pulled the survivors off rooftops; they went through the flooded streets in their boats trying to gather those they could find. Meanwhile, city officials tried desperately to alleviate the worsening conditions in the Superdome, while makeshift shelters and hotels and hospitals struggled.

And where was everyone else during all this? Oh, help is coming, New Orleans was told. We are a rich country. Congress is acting. Someone will come to stop the looting and care for the refugees.

And it's true: eventually, help did come. But how many times did Gov. Kathleen Blanco have to say that the situation was desperate? How many times did Mayor Ray Nagin have to call for aid? Why did America ask a city cherished by millions and excoriated by some, but ignored by no one, to fight for its own life for so long? That's my question.I

know that New Orleans will win its fight in the end. I was born in the city and lived there for many years. It shaped who and what I am. Never have I experienced a place where people knew more about love, about family, about loyalty and about getting along than the people of New Orleans. It is perhaps their very gentleness that gives them their endurance.They will rebuild as they have after storms of the past; and they will stay in New Orleans because it is where they have always lived, where their mothers and their fathers lived, where their churches were built by their ancestors, where their family graves carry names that go back 200 years. They will stay in New Orleans where they can enjoy a sweetness of family life that other communities lost long ago.

But to my country I want to say this: During this crisis you failed us. You looked down on us; you dismissed our victims; you dismissed us. You want our Jazz Fest, you want our Mardi Gras, you want our cooking and our music. Then when you saw us in real trouble, when you saw a tiny minority preying on the weak among us, you called us "Sin City," and turned your backs.Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you.

Anne Rice is the author of the forthcoming novel "Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt."

Went to our cottage on the river
and caught a few striped bass,
got water-logged wrinkled digits
and a sand-filled @$$.

I went and busted my toe
on a hidden, underwater stump
was too far up-river
when I had to take a dump.

The boys learned to take a leak
while standing in the river
the youngest pretended to be a ghost
and yelled, "I'm gonna eat your liver!"

My skin became extremely sunburned
and was very hot to the touch,
the kids decided to catch frogs;
but putting them in the cooler was a bit much.

Our sweet dog, Maggie, decided to poop
at night outside the bathhouse door,
and when my toes felt something mushy
I felt I couldn't take any more.

So we loaded up the kids
and speeded all the way home
vowing all the while
that we would never again roam.

OK, Pirate came over here a little while ago and directed me to his recent post on what to do with the refugees after their immediate needs are taken care of. Please take a look at his post, Suggestion to Relocating Katrina Survivors and spread the word.

Thanks for the good idea, Pirate-Guy!

So, finally the relief efforts have stepped up...almost a week after the hurricane. Mr. President cut back his vacation (yet another) a "full two days" to do nothing but fly over in his plane.

This whole time he has been calmly stating that everything is being taken care of...while people are dying from lack of water and food.

Now that he is under criticism for acting slowly, all of the sudden, he is upset and saying that the relief efforts are not enough. Now, all of the sudden, he is stepping foot on disaster soil. He should have been the first one down there in New Orleans to show his dedication to helping citizens he is sworn to lead and protect.

And it's not just him. I don't normally blog about politics and I am not really intending to now, but I am just so sickened by this whole deal.

Red Cross has been helping, others have been helping, but the organization has been slaphazard. It is understandable. It's not every day a city is flooded for so long and closed down and riddled with anarchists who terrorize the victims left in the city with guns and desperation. Good people resorting to looting just to feed themselves and their children, they aren't the problem. It's the criminals with the guns.

I hope that this relief effort today does the job, but I can't help but feel it is a little too late for a lot of people that might not have died if they had received organized help a lot sooner.

Sorry for venting, but I promise, I will try to let this be the last time. This blog is meant to be pleasant and creative.

Like a sci-fi novel-
apocolyptic,
empty city,
dead city of light
rotting, death groans
breaking the hearts of millions
who watch and weep
while civilization breaks down.
Rogue humans preying
on the weaker,
unhealthy,
victims of fate who
wait on help that isn't enough.
No nearly enough.
Vacant city,
populated by the dead,
scavenged by the lawless,
poisoned and burning
drowning in it's own sewage, and
Calling to be saved.

Dana Sieben (c) 2005