St Bernard Project is close to my heart, helping families 10 years post-Katrina to get back home. A buddy went with me and we shared an Airbnb shotgun house, complete with an early-morning wakeup call from the rooster next door. We installed drywall and cement board, painted and spackled and mudded, cut baseboards and learned to use a nail gun. Green Corps students came in twice, upping the energy and noise levels. The SBP site supervisors, serving through Americorps, were bright, funny and skillful twenty-somethings. Most days there was some impromptu dancing and a long line of running jokes by the end of the week. And always, we kept in mind the goal of returning the Hendersons home by the end of October.
Evenings, my buddy and dined like royalty and listened to stellar jazz, on the outdoor courtyard at Bacchanal, then on Frenchmen Street at Maison, dba, 3 Muses, and Vaso. We drank Sazeracs and Abita beer and sobered up with street pizza and beignets and groceries from the Mardi Gras Zone Supermarket.
I don't quite know how to wrap up my thoughts quite yet.
There's more to come.
Voicelessness and despair aside--snarky I know--it's been an insanely busy week. Last Thursday I had the pleasure of ushering with a g...
Ever wondered what it takes to get a piece of fiction published? I'm not talking New Yorker type of prose. That's a rarefied world ...
Check out my new video, a brief reading from a story published this past spring in Opossum.
Welp, after a half-year experiment in social media, BSP has returned to its blogger roots. I hated Faceborkland, tbh. Sure, it was easier t...