Passing the Hat . . .

If you haven’t given to a charity already, please do so. Now I’m sure that the, what, two or three faithful readers that I have are probably already on it, but maybe a stray surfer may come by here and see this. So I’ll share . . .

While I highly recommend giving to the Red Cross, I want to give my personal plug to Habitat for Humanity (http://www.habitat.org/). When all is said and done, the people of New Orleans are going to need permanent places to live. These people have lost everything, and the loss of their homes and communities are going to affect them most keenly. Your home is . . . your home. It is where you feel most comfortable, it is your base of operations, it is where most of your memories are created and stored. And many of these people, their homes were all they had . . . they had no money and nowhere to go, and no means to get there if they did, so they had to stay behind to protect the only thing they DID have to call their own . . . even if it was a rickety shack or a buckling trailer. And now it s all gone, washed away, turned to rubble, with nothing to go back to, nothing to start with.

I know that the people of New Orleans feel exactly like their hometown as the longtime residents of any other city feel about their hometowns. No matter what anyone else says, they will rebuild because it is their home, full of their history and tradition, and they want it to endure. I would not be surprised if there is a small-scaled Mardi Gras held there next year, just to say “We’re still here. And we’re still partying. So there!”

. . . And I hope to go back there to join them, if I can.

I’ve had this Sting song in my head since last night, and I just had to put it here.

Moon Over Bourbon Street

There's a moon over Bourbon Street tonight
I see faces as they pass beneath the pale lamplight
I've no choice but to follow that call
The bright lights, the people, and the moon and all
I pray everyday to be strong
For I know what I do must be wrong
Oh you'll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet
While there's a moon over Bourbon Street

It was many years ago that I became what I am
I was trapped in this life like an innocent lamb
Now I can only show my face at noon
And you'll only see me walking by the light of the moon
The brim of my hat hides the eye of a beast
I've the face of a sinner but the hands of a priest
Oh you'll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet
While there's a moon over Bourbon Street

She walks everyday through the streets of New Orleans
She's innocent and young from a family of means
I have stood many times outside her window at night
To struggle with my instinct in the pale moon light
How could I be this way when I pray to God above
I must love what I destroy and destroy the thing I love
Oh you'll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet
While there's a moon over Bourbon Street.