Musing

make no assumption that my times bonding with your words, your meanderings, your analysis and experiences were not excellent. that's why I got attracted in the first place. and like you, I tend to write long when I have something to say, so I can appreciate the effort put forth. I just need the time to discover new vistas for post-Katrina Pat Burke like you need to carve out a place to explore tomorrow's Mark Kolke, and hanging on just to delete your muses seems pretty pointless., PB

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I wrote him with some questions . . here is his reply:

MK - You've been around a long time . .but silent for a long time too !
PB - sorry about the silence. Many changes have taken place in the past year, and even though I had scant chance to exchange thoughts or comments, I found the routine of reading and/or deleting your log notes to be a connection with the land to the North. Something other than subtropical New Orleans. The first blow to my focus was when I took on exhibiting my photographs in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi starting in February. It was a radical addition to my other two local monthly markets (Bywater and Mid-City) and racheted up the business end of my photography enterprise. Of course there have been new relationships and a much wider range of people, so my time reading "Mark's latest" was mostly crowded out by "today's latest." Life does that to you. O, then there was that...thing...in late August. I didn't read you at all in September or October but I was aware that I was now getting two emails related to your blog.

MK - How did you fare in the hurricanes?

PB - I skated through relatively ok, Mark. Spent the storm in my second story complex apartment in River Ridge on the outskirts of New Orleans watching the show of a lifetime. I have an alcove porch that overlooks the parking lot and from that vantage, I blog'd my way through that Sunday night and Monday morning (Aug 28-29) until 5am or so when the whole world went dark. Of course at 5am in late August dawn is only minutes away so as the sun rose, so did Katrina's fury. Think of the worst thunderstorm you've ever been through, double the wind and take away most of the thunder and you have something approximating that morning. The throaty roar of the wind was amazing. With the power out, the usual electrical utility hum in the air that we're not even aware of was gone and only pure the sound of nature in stampede continued. Pieces of God-what-the-hell-was-that flew into view across my window occasionally. Almost everyone had evacuated a day or more earlier. In an 18-building complex (40 apartments per unit) there were no more than a dozen residents who stayed, an amazing statistic considering the dozens of hurricanes that locals usually ride out here. Everyone knew that this was the famous BIG ONE that would probably hit New Orleans, as did Betsy in 1965. In 1969, hurricane Camille came close and decimated the Mississippi Gulf Coast. As of Saturday afternoon, people were jamming the highways headed North and West. Katrina did both. I rode it out originally because I became aware of a lot of elder residents that are here and, having lived on my own for a bit more than a year since my separation, I decided that I should stay for decidedly heroic reasons. Having committed to the decision, someone stole all my old people. Sunday morning they all left and only two other apartments far down at the other end of the atrium were still occupied. So now it was just me and I needed another reason cause I was sure stuck here for the duration. As the storm approached I realized that the elders had just been an excuse, a device if you will, to allow me to do something that is so ingrained into those of us in Southeast Louisiana that we don't even think about it. To ride out The Big One in my own home town. I was born here. Grew up in the uptown Carrollton neighborhood. O sure, most took one look at the approaching maelstrom and ran like smart rabbits. In past hurricanes I had taken the family to the downtown Hilton and reserved a room on the 19th floor looking down river. A comfortable view of nature's bluster. But never with winds above 150mph. Outside, Monday morning, huge pieces of oak trees tumbled past my vantage. I described the wind as doing a samba, then a mambo and later a wild cha cha. The crown of the oak across the way swayed with a fury I didn't think was capable in so stout a tree. Twice during the morning I ventured out beyond the sliding glass partition to the porch with my camera, naked, and pressed myself against the back wall of the alcove, trying to find a still shot that could describe what I was seeing. Nothing between me and the meanest most furious wind that could be imagined. Later I realized that nothing could have conveyed those moments. My shots are, even to me, just a big rainstorm. The magic was so wild it was uncapturable. Mostly I remember the wide range of pressures against my body. A hurricane is, after all, all about pressure. Very LOW pressure. You can feel it all through yourself and, in addition to the terror that one tries to suppress, works to make one breath in short gasps. You cannot relax in a cat 4 or 5 hurricane. It took almost a day before the winds died down, but Monday night was the darkest night I'd ever experienced. The lights of the suburban neighborhood that give the horizon a bronzy glow, the distant lights of the great city...were out. Gone. It was as if I was far in the woods. I felt like the only human being left on the planet....and I dug the wildness of it all. After two more days I was feeling a bit too animal for my own comfort and drove to Alexandria 300 miles away. Needless to say, Katrina has brought everything we take for granted to a screeching halt, and only in the past two weeks has there been a spare moment during which we might forget what has been alternately blown over or drowned or twisted beyond recognition. The gallery below gives something of the after effects. I am a carpenter, so the reminders of Katrina are a bit more frequent for me, and having work gets me out where the amazing stuff is still there to see. I suggested to a tour guide friend of mine that he should offer disaster tours. He tried to give one but became too depressed. O, I still photograph (mostly Katrina debris pics) and am setting up an eBay outlet to move my photographic collection as I am able (pre-Katrina New Orleans photography is suddenly chic), but it would take a book-length effort to explain the chronicle of the past 2+ months beyond what you hear or read in the news. Still, it's good that you remembered me. I know the growth of the daily meditation serves to center your life. I once saw a picture of you and your father together and remarked at how alike you two looked.

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My name is XXXX. I reside in Palmdale, California. I'm the type of person that goes with the flow, a current caught me, and I guess that's how I got on your list. I'm writing in response to someone nearing her due date, how people could get together in spirit, might I suggest getting together electronically? My daughter moved to a different state. She misses her pet rodents (and her family and friends, of course). Home sickness comes and goes, but the Logitech (R) QuickCam chat works great, it even comes with a headset. My husband will be sending one to our daughter soon so that we could see her when we chat.. Just a suggestion. Carry on with your musings, never heard of it before. With yourself at the helm, you probably wonder what faces are reading your words. So when I get my scanner up, I'll send ya a photo, ok? Or maybe I have a pix of me online somewhere???? I'll check. Sincerely, AP