Drove out to Ponchatoula yesterday. It was St. Patrick's Day. We cruised over the causeway and enjoyed the breeze off the lake. The sun was brilliant and I asked Uriah if he would drive me by a house in Gentilly that is for sale. Who knows? I might want to buy it. It was one of those wondrous days where all the stars lined up and I felt a presence of something greater than myself. The house is trashed, but there're bones beneath the rubble that sang to me. I'll go see it again and then I may bid on it. I'm frightened to make a commitment to this city that time forgot, but I realize that New Orleans needs good people as much as I need a place to be. New Orleans is a sacred, historic place. What happened to Alaska? It's still there, but the longer I'm away from the Great Land the more I realize that perhaps Alaska isn't for me. Did I actually write that? Alaska will always be a part of my story now. It's a wild tale with intense characters who dwell in a cold, beautiful place. Summer in Alaska. Winter in New Orleans? Wish me luck!
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