Author Archives: Radar

I pleaded with the Lord to tell me, show me, that I am wrong about this. I don’t want to be right about this. God help me, I don’t want to be right.  Please, PLEASE tell me I am WRONG about this.
Every sign points towards, I am not wrong.
And that is utterly DEVASTATING to me.
I gave up EVERYTHING.
Everything that I was, everything that I had, everything that I had ever known.
“Get a hobby.”
“Find some joy for Carol.”
NONE of that is going to change the facts, if they are true.
And it looks like they are.
Everything is pointing towards me being right.
And I don’t want to be right.
I don’t want to be right about this.
Because if I am, that means everything is a lie.
Nothing of the history is true.
It is a farce.
I was told that a few years ago.
By the very person I so want to be wrong about.
That statement broke my heart.
But what is breaking my heart now is that, you may have been right.
But not for the reasons you think.
When I tell the story now, it doesn’t have the same feeling.
It was always special. It was always romantic. It was always meant to be.
Now, it’s just a pretty little story.
It doesn’t feel the same anymore.
If that’s true – what do I do now?
“For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.”
I cannot imagine in my wildest dreams that THIS was part of Your plan for me.
Why?  Why would this be part of  the plan?
I just broke down in heaving sobs in private.
Because I don’t…want…to be RIGHT about this!!!!
Please, please, please – tell me I am WRONG.
Because if I’m not, I need to know what my next steps need to be.
I need You to tell me what to do.
Please.

I’m glad Mardi Gras is over.
I didn’t enjoy it as much this year.
I can’t put my finger on it.
I had some fun I guess.
But, not completely.
I don’t like Endymion in my neighborhood.
It’s not the same as it is on the more “privileged” parts of the route.
If it moved, I wouldn’t care.
If I was alone in this city, I would feel trapped.
Where would I go?
What would I do?
I couldn’t do this here by myself.
Have I become complacent?
Am I too dependent?
I’m not as strong as others might think I am.
Why am I here?
I still feel like a stranger in a strange land.
Why did I ever move here?
Am I really happy here?
Sometimes I hate this place.
It could be so much better.
But maybe it never will be.
Maybe the best it’s ever gonna be has already passed.
And maybe that wasn’t even the best.
What was I thinking?
Why did I come here?
I want people to pay for covid.
China.
The U.S. government.
Anthony Fauci.
The CDC director.
I wanna tell everyone I know and don’t know who called me a conspiracy theorist to go to hell.
I was right.
All along, I was right.
I knew it from the very beginning.
We were all right.
It’s all coming out now.
Just as I thought it would.
I knew that too.
All along.
You told us we didn’t care about others.
You told us we were being political.
You told us we were gonna “kill Grandma.”
You couldn’t stand the fact that I hated that damn freakin mask. 
I knew it was stupid and that it didn’t work.
If anyone tells me ever again to put a mask on, I will light it on fire in front of your face.
Give it a rest, you said.
You called me an “ignorant selfish fuck” because I dared to say that I was upset about losing my job.
You blocked me.
I didn’t block you.
You unfriended me.
At least three people cut me off in one way or another.
They destroyed our country with the lockdowns.
I knew it was all wrong in March of 2020! 
I was questioning EVERYTHING as early as then and was criticized for doing so!
I knew without a doubt what was happening at the end of April 2020.
They were trying to take our freedoms away!
I knew the kids were gonna be messed up.
All the businesses they destroyed.
They need to pay for what they did to us.
They all need to pay.
They need to be held responsible for what they did.
Things between myself and some people I know will never be the same because I followed my gut.
Because I dared to disagree and not “fall in line.”
I get so scared sometimes.
About the future.
About my future.
About being alone.
About getting old.
Sometimes I wonder if I am going to have to deal with the stuff I deal with for the rest of my life.
But if it went away tomorrow, what would I do?
I would be trapped here.
I would be lost.
I don’t think I would be able to survive.
I wouldn’t be able to do any of this by myself.
I know some of the things that I wanna do.
I just can’t find the motivation.
Is this it?
Is this all there is?
“You gotta go out and make it happen.”
Oh yeah?
And how exactly do you DO that?
“Living your BEST life”?
Like you have more than one?
Haha – I guess that might be the point.
All the truth is coming out.
And everybody that denied it is NOWHERE to be found.
CRICKETS!
Come out from under your rocks, all you elitist, self-righteous people.
And admit YOU…WERE…WRONG.
And you took it all away from the rest of us.
It’s ALL unraveling.
The truth is all coming out.
ALL…OF…IT.
Hey, all you people who were touting Biden/Harris on your Facebook profiles – How’s that working out for you?
Because it sucks for me!
And all because you had hatred in your hearts.
You voted for someone who is destroying our country.
All because you couldn’t stand the other guy.
The lockdowns were WRONG.
The mandates were WRONG.
Making the people who didn’t want to take the vaccine feel like lepers was WRONG.
I feel like I should fly to New York and spend quality time with my mother.
Fly first class!
But I’m scared to.
Scared to get on a plane.
Scared to go by myself.
I don’t feel good when I don’t spend time with God during my day.
I usually don’t feel like I’m feeling now when I read my devotionals and scripture.
So why am I not carving out the time to do it every day?
When I lay down at night, it’s so easy to say what I’m gonna do the next day.
And then the next day comes, and…
I guess I’m generally a happy person.
But there is stuff that makes me sad too.
Nobody can be happy and positive all the time.
It’s not natural.
It’s like you must be hiding something if you are.
It’s not normal.
At least I’m honest.
I feel tired.
But I can’t sleep anymore.
When I was younger, I could sleep until Noon!
That’s so unnecessary.
But I rarely sleep straight through the night anymore.
I wake up several times with a myriad of thoughts in my head.
I always thought I was a city girl.
But sometimes I think I just wanna live in a small, quiet town somewhere.
Certainly a place where it’s not so brutally hot a good part of the time.
I like the cold.
Not ice and snow cold.
Just…colder.
Than it is here most of the time.
And peace and quiet.
I like that too.
The older I get.
The thing I think I value most is my peace and quiet.
I want my son to be happy.
I want him to find his way.
I want him to find his niche.
I want him to be blessed with somebody in his life who loves him and appreciates him for who he is.
And all that he is.
I’m not sure about myself these days.
I wonder about so much.
If all the things I’ve ever believed in are even true anymore.
All this truth about covid coming out is making me angry.
Somebody I don’t know just called somebody I do know a “scared little bitch” for choosing not to get the vaccine.
Maybe that shoe is on the other foot there, pal.
“Pandemic of the Unvaccinated” – You lying, stinking, divisive, pompous asses!
So much for being “tolerant” of other people’s choices.
At least in the case of the vaccine, “my body my choice” actually applies!
Now I have to decide if I want to publish this for all to see, so to speak.
Some may read, some may not.
Why should I care anymore?
I’ve got TRUTH on my side.
And EVERYBODY knows it now.

That’s how I am feeling right now.

Small. Alone. Insignificant.

Woke up looking at Facebook. Should have started my day with God first. Facebook has the ability to make you feel so left out. Everybody I know it seems had great outings last night.

And here I sit. 

I should be used to feeling left out in my life by now. I remember SO many birthdays when I was a kid where I cried at my own birthday party. The birthday party was in MY OWN HOUSE and I was CRYING.

I remember countless times as a teenager when my friends/cousins bailed on me for whatever reason. Made plans with me, said they would be there, got me feeling excited and wanted – and then suddenly chose something or someone else over me. Left me feeling used – discarded.

I wonder if they ever knew how much they hurt my heart?

Side note: You know who was ALWAYS there for me when that shit happened? My mother.

I wasn’t a part of the families and groups of friends that I’m seeing on social media this morning. Not because I was “left out” – but because they’re somebody else’s lives.  But it leads me to sit here and wonder.

What is MY life?  When is more going to start happening for me?  I ain’t gettin’ any younger.

If I’m lucky, what do I have left? 20 years maybe?

“You gotta live your life now!  Take advantage of every opportunity whenever you can!”  Well, truth is, most of the time it takes money to do things.

And I don’t have it.

And whose fault is that? I can just hear the certain people in my life who would be saying that.  Trust me, there are many things in my life that I wish I had done differently. 

Furthered my education. Saved more of my money when I was single.

Guess I was living my life then, huh?

Sometimes I’m disappointed with the way my life turned out.  But it’s all about choices, right?  Isn’t that what they say?

You made your bed. Lie in it.

And then there’s the conception that everyone’s life is turning out exactly the way it’s supposed to. Sure, you make decisions on some things. But your basic life – who you are and where you’re supposed to be – it’s all  planned already.

Which then leads me to believe, is this it?  Is this it for me?  Is this all there is? 

So I started out this post with saying I was feeling left out. Left out of things that I wasn’t a part of to begin with. Just looking at Facebook and seeing what seem to be the full lives of my family and friends. And wondering, where’s mine?  Do I not have the things they have and the ability to do all the things they do because I’ve made the wrong choices?  Or because this is how it’s supposed to be?

Sometimes lately I feel like I am meant for greater things than this.  Could I be out there making more things happen for me?  Sure, I suppose. But like I said, some of the things I want take money. Like travel. So many places I want to go and see.

And I feel like I am going to die without ever getting there.

“You were born for such a time as this” – Esther 4:14

So – do I wait?  For my life and purpose to be revealed to me?  What do I do in the meantime?

And how long is it going to take?

Blessed. I am blessed. That is a fact.  But I guess it is sometimes human nature to always want more.

We’re greedy little people sometimes, aren’t we?

I thank God every night for everything that I have. And 99% of them are the things that money can’t buy.

Sometimes Facebook can make you feel like all you are doing is missing out. If it can make someone my age feel that way, I can imagine what it does to pre-teens and teenagers who are already feeling like outsiders.

My spiritual identity has grown exponentially over the past couple of years. I want to believe that God has a purpose for my life. Something bigger than this. “Walk by faith, not by sight.”

That’s not always easy.

Don’t get me wrong – it’s not like I think God is some kind of magician, and I’m just sitting around doing nothing, waiting for Him to perform a “spell” on my life.  He’s given me a talent that I am trying to pursue, but I need to do better with that.  Maybe that’s my “purpose”?

Maybe it’s a combination of everything that I just mentioned. Maybe there are certain things that I need to make happen and He will take care of the rest.

That involves me climbing out of my comfort zone. When I was 13, there was a period of time during my life then when I became somewhat of a hermit. I rarely left my house. I had very few friends. There was very little that I enjoyed doing.

Almost 50 years later, I feel like I’m crawling inside myself again. Wanting to be a part of things, wanting to make things happen – yet feeling “left out” from the world. So I retreat.

Maybe because I never belonged to begin with.

Maybe what I should be feeling is not “left out” but that I am not, and never was, a part of this world anyway. And find that very thin line between wanting to belong and be a part of what everyone else has – and finding the courage to stand out and be the person that God designed me to be.

Even when I was 13, I never wanted to be like everybody else. Maybe I am supposed to rise above all of this. Maybe God has created me “for such a time as this.” I want to make a difference. I want to do something for His glory. I don’t want to be of this world. I want to belong – but to something greater.

The meaning of the above words are pretty intense. 

“Tortured” means “great mental suffering or anxiety”.

“Tormented” means “severe physical or mental suffering”.

Why do these two words keep popping into my head when I think of myself at this moment?

My life is good.  I like my life most of the time.  I have everything that I could possibly need.  And I’m talking about the things that are really important – the things that, if I didn’t have them, nothing else would matter.  Health, above all.  My mother used to tell me all the time, “If you have your health, you have everything.”  So true.  If you have your health, you can do ANYTHING.  I have my husband and my son.  We have a house that we don’t owe a penny on, a house that we can afford to cool in the summer and heat in the winter.  We have food on the table and a working car so that my husband can earn money for our family.  I have family and friends that truly care about me and my well-being – people I can be completely honest with and not have to worry about offending when we have disagreements or differences of opinion.  People I can truly be myself with. Little things that I do and places that I go that make me happy.

I am blessed to still have my mother in my life, even though we live very far away from each other.  That was MY choice – not hers.  I made the choice to move far away from my mother, from the place where I grew up, and from everything I have ever known.  I made that conscious choice. 

Sometimes I still wonder if it was the wrong one…

No one can go back and change the past.  You make decisions in your life, and you have to live with those decisions.  I’m not trying to live in the past.  I’m not dwelling on decisions I’ve already made in my life.  But sometimes, more often than not, I think about what my life would have been like if I had made a different choice.

I used to believe very strongly that everything that happened was “meant to be” – FATE.  So, how much of life is the actual choices that you make, and how much of it is your destiny – or “meant to be”?

How much of it did I really have a choice in?

Sometimes I think that maybe I would have done better on my own.  Maybe I would have made better “choices” if left to my own devices.  At the time, when I made certain decisions, they seemed like the right ones. 

And – sometimes they don’t.

Why don’t I have this?  Why am I dealing with that?  Is it because I made the wrong choices?

Is it MY fault that I don’t have the things I wish I had but don’t?

Or is this the way it’s supposed to be?  Is this how it was “meant to be” all along?

I bring up the words “tortured” and “tormented” because, despite all my blessings, this is how my mind and soul feel a good part of the time.  My life is GOOD.  I have absolutely no right to feel this way.

And yet – I do.

I’ve been trying to fill the moments when I feel that way with GOD.  In 1999, the Christian artist Plumb released a song entitled “God-Shaped Hole”.  I was in a VERY different place in my spiritual journey back then.  I was the mother of a two-year-old, and that year in November I experienced a life-altering event that completely changed my view about something.  And yet, I still struggled.  My husband was on a very different path spiritually, and I felt like we were now traveling life’s highway together in completely opposite directions – and that our roads would never cross again.  I felt lost – and alone.

When life is busy, you don’t have time to think so much and dwell on these types of feelings.  I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.  Or where I’m going.

Am I making – or not making – the choices?  Or is life unfolding the way “it’s supposed to”?  Is there somebody else “in charge”?

I’m finding it difficult to make even the simplest decisions a lot of the time.  In a lot of my Christian reading – daily devotionals, scriptures, inspirational online pages and groups that I follow – I keep hearing that God has His “will” for me.

I want SO BADLY to know His will for my life.  But I have absolutely no idea how to find that out.

And yet – I keep reading.  And searching.  Desperately searching…

It is my mind that feels tortured and tormented, more than my soul actually. I cannot…stop…thinking. During the day…in the middle of the night – sometimes SEVERAL times in the middle of the night… I think about EVERYTHING. From the smallest, what seem like really insignificant things – to the important BIG things that I believe I am supposed to be doing in my life.

I’m anxious about most things, most of the time…

Why can’t I travel effortlessly? Why can’t I just go – and DO? Why does everything have to be a huge struggle in my head?

Why can’t I just STOP…THINKING…about EVERYTHING…

Reading about God’s promises for my life takes away some of this anxiety – so why don’t I do it more often? Considering how I feel a lot of the time, I should be reading the Bible 24/7.

But, that’s not practical really. The day-to-day chores of life still need to be taken care of. I should still definitely be doing it more than I am. I can watch the news and reruns and scroll on Facebook for hours on end if I allow myself to. Why am I not dedicating that amount of time to God?

They say that something becomes a habit after you’ve done it consistently for 30 days. My writing makes me feel better too – it always has. I keep telling myself that I will write and read for my spiritual fulfillment at specific times, like when my husband is out of the house, either working or when he goes out to play darts. I tell myself that if I make this commitment during these quiet times, it will become second nature, and I won’t even have to think about it. I will just – DO.

Sometimes I wonder if I feel in my head that God is a magician of sorts – that if you pray long and hard enough for the same things that He will “grant your wishes”. Of course, I know in my heart of hearts that this is not the case – never was and never will be. God doesn’t work like that. He says “Yes” and “No” – and sometimes “Not yet.”

How long am I supposed to wait?

Is He making me wait because He is trying to teach me someting and I haven’t learned yet? To change? To truly rely on Him more?

I’ve heard it said that “worry is a slap in the face of God”. I can’t continue to worry and be anxious and still truly trust in the Lord. There’s a WHOLE Bible verse about it! “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”

Still desperately searching for that too – PEACE.

Something happened in my family when I was 13 years old that destroyed whatever “peace” I had at that time in my life. Nobody was physically hurt, nothing incredibly horrible occurred – but the event devastated my little family, and life from that point forward was never the same. Shortly after, something was said that I believe ultimately shaped the person that I was to become, the person that I am today. The person who deep down is still that awkward little 13-year-old girl who still feels like she has to be perfect, that nothing she does will ever be good enough…

I need to laugh more, not take everything to heart and so seriously. Things that other people think are funny, I don’t find humorous at all. People think they are joking when they say certain things to me, and instead of laughing it off or responding with my own attempt at humor, I take it personally and very easily get my feelings hurt. I got teased a lot when I was a kid – by my brother, even though that’s typical among siblings – but by some of my older cousins as well. I’ve always been sensitive. I cry and get easily upset very often. Why can’t I lighten up and not take everything so seriously?

Ugh! I just wish I could get out of my own head! I used to tell people that I wish I had a tiny door at the back of my head with an on/off switch so I could TURN OFF MY BRAIN.

I’m sitting here right now with a heavy feeling in my chest because I overreacted to something my husband said before he left for work. I do that A LOT. Honestly, I’m really surprised that by now he hasn’t said, “You know what – I can’t deal with you anymore.” My husband is a good man. I don’t deserve him.

I make so many things worse than they need to be. WHY do I DO that??

With some things, I feel like I am constantly being watched…and talked about…with regard to decisions I have made in my life that have put me where I am right now. One of the most important people in my life, whom one of my decisions has affected, tells me all the time in her own way that I was not wrong – even though my decision put her in a tailspin at the time. And even though I know that truth between us, and her opinion is the only one that matters, I feel like I still didn’t do right by her. And other’s opinions about how I am handling things now – and have handled things in the past – is judgemental but shouldn’t matter.

What gives you the right to judge me??

I shouldn’t care about what others think. It’s not their life – it’s mine, and I’m the one making the choices, the decisions. And yet – I continue to overthink everything. Why can’t I just relax and go and do and “be anxious for nothing”?

I have SO much that needs working on. But I simply get overwhelmed by MYSELF. They say you’re your own worst enemy. I come from parents whose best qualities I possess. But I am also the recipient of their worst personality traits as well. So going back to what this post started out with – is it nature, or nurture? Do you become what you grow up around or are you a product of your life’s experiences? Or is it already too late? You are who you are, and there’s no going back…

Bottom line is, God is the only one who can fill my emptiness. Whatever it is…however much there is…and wherever it comes from…

I need to look for Him more…

“There’s a God-shaped hole in all of us, and the restless soul is searching.  There’s a God-shaped hole in all of us, and it’s a void only He can fill.”

“…Nothing’s standing in my way…

Well – today wasn’t a PERFECT day – but I can’t seem to get the above song from the end of “Legally Blonde” out of my head…

“…Nothing can go wrong…”

Nothing really went WRONG.  There were just a couple of bumps in the road…

“Wake up!  Don’t tell me it’s just a dream…”

…that the bad and wrong and incorrect can exist right alongside the good and right and oh, so special…

My day today started out with me stepping outside my front door to refill the cats’ water bowl on my front porch.  Suddenly, I see a woman in a minivan that I somewhat recognize, looking like she’s going to try and park right in my driveway – even though there are pretty obvious impediments to her doing so.  Her driver’s side window is down, so I step off my porch and walk over to her car.  I politely say, “Excuse me – you can’t park there – that’s my driveway.”  She stares at me and says, “That ain’t your driveway…”  I reply, “Oh, but yes it is.”  She then says, “I don’t wanna argue with you, but that ain’t your driveway…”  I’m thinking, honey, if you don’t wanna argue with me, you’re certainly not doing a very good job of it.  Instead I say to her, “That IS my driveway.  This is my house, and that’s where I park my car.”  She then motions towards my house saying, “You own that?”  Now I’m losing my patience.  I say, “Yep – that’s my house, and I own this property too.  That’s my driveway, and that’s where I park my car.”  She now looks around kind of absentmindedly and says, “Oh yeah, I think I’ve seen your car parked there sometimes…”  Well, no – not SOMETIMES – that’s where I park my car ALL THE TIME.  And when it’s NOT there, it’s being used by my husband for work.  And when he comes back, that’s where he parks.  So…if you’re blocking it…

As it turns out, I remember who she is when she abruptly ends the pointless conversation she started and pulls across the street to AN EMPTY SPOT in front of the house THAT SHE IS GOING TO.  Later that day, I received a text from my neighbor across the street saying, “I apologize about my aunt, Ms. Carol.  I told her don’t come starting confusion with my neighbors.”  Neighbor runs a daycare and was having a little Halloween party for the kids, and aunt apparently came to help out. 

Bless her heart… 

Halloween party ends after a few hours of watching the kids run around and play in their costumes, eat snacks, play games, and have fun in a bounce house.  A couple of other adults had also come to help out my neighbor.  Time for the kids to go inside and nap, so things begin to get picked up.  The bounce house is deflated, and the folding table with the kids’ Halloween party treats is brought up to the porch behind the railing in front of my neighbor’s door.  She didn’t want to make noise bringing the table in while the kids were napping, and getting them all inside for their nap was the priority.

There was an orange, black and white balloon arch that was part of the decorations outside.  My neighbor temporarily attached it to her garbage can which was on the curb in front of her house.  One minute the balloons were there, and the next minute they weren’t.  I decided to step outside to see if they had been blown down the street.  Suddenly I see a strange man pick up one of the empty cardboard boxes from the ground next to my neighbor’s trash can, walk up the steps to her porch – and proceed to start removing items from the table and putting them in the box!!

I stepped out my front door onto my porch and yelled at him, “Hey!  That’s not yours!  Get off her porch!”  He looked over at me and mumbled something like, “Oh, I thought it was free, because you know, it’s Halloween.”  Again I yelled at him, “It’s not yours, get off her porch!”  At the same time I was calling out to my neighbor, because she sometimes sits on her side steps while the kids are napping.  The man put what he took back on the table and left, walking around the corner, still carrying the box. 

I finally texted my neighbor, telling her that this guy was on her porch trying to steal stuff and that I ran him off.  She thanked me, and I stepped down off my porch and was standing by my front steps.  Suddenly, I see the guy come back from around the corner – STILL holding the box – and he stops on the corner on the other side of the street and sees me looking in his direction.

He suddenly yells over at me from there – “So, what – you’re gonna WATCH me now?  You trying to cause trouble?”  I yelled back, “No – are you?”  He tried to say something else, but I didn’t give him a chance.  At the top of my lungs I yelled, “You don’t live around here – GET LOST!”

As it turns out, he eventually left – after walking out of sight and coming back again a couple of times to glare from the corner – and finally being confronted by my neighbors (one of which is my very tall immediate next-door neighbor who has four young sons).  More serious conflict avoided, his wife and kids were now sitting outside, our other neighbor from across the street was coming home from work, and we all wound up standing outside chatting.  Suddenly a car slowly comes down the street, and the driver is waving to all of us from his open window.  Only one of us knew that this was our newest neighbor who had just moved into the empty apartment in the house on the corner.

So our newest neighbor, a 30-something guy named Chad, climbs out of his car, along with his parents who are helping him move in, and we all converge to introduce ourselves.  “We’re the neighborhood welcoming committee” I quip…

Our cohesive, diverse, we-all-look-out-for-each-other little block chatted some more and found out about our newest addition – and hopefully made Chad (and his parents) feel even better about the choice he made for his own little piece of New Orleans.

And then, my day ended in a totally opposite way than it had begun, when my husband came home from work and handed me a small box.  “You were telling me about something last weekend while we were at Oktoberfest,” he said.  “Something that you had once, and you were describing it to me.”  I couldn’t remember what we had been talking about or what the conversation was.  He held the box out to me in his hand and said, “I hope I got it right.”  As I lifted the top of the box and looked inside, there lay an Avon necklace that my godmother had given to me for my sixteenth birthday in 1977.  It was the last gift I had ever received from her before her death the following year.  And I lost it when our apartment in New York City was broken into three years after I had received it and all my jewelry was stolen.  It’s a goldtone chain holding a pale pink heart with a keyhole in it, and hanging next to the heart on the chain is a tiny key.  I loved that necklace so much simply for the fact that it came from my godmother who I also loved so much.  And my husband found it online and gave it back to me.  When he asked me if it was the right necklace, I nodded and burst into tears. 

The peculiarity and uncertainty of this day, right alongside the warmth, love and emotion simply reveals the contrasts of life – and what we consciously choose to focus on.  And if we can acknowledge the existence of the negative, all while embracing the positive, every day can ultimately be the “perfect day”. 

I randomly write down things that I want to remember on little slips of paper.  And more often than not, those pieces of paper get put aside – sometimes clipped together, sometimes folded and stuck into a file or cubbyhole… only to be found at a later date, and the words either bring me back to my emotions at the time – or I gaze at my writing and wonder “What was going on that I felt the need to put this to paper?”  Sometimes I don’t even remember what the notes are about and have to search my memory.  Most times though, I do, and I decided to share some that I recently found for posterity…

SOCIAL/CULTURAL ISSUES:

On December 21, 2007 the City Council of New Orleans voted unanimously to allow the demolition of four of the city’s largest public housing projects, consisting of approximately 4,500 rental apartments. Prior to the historic vote, there were protests at the individual locations, with former residents (displaced due to the events of two years prior) and outsiders alike sometimes clashing with police and other authorities. Protestors were claiming that the government was trying to prevent a certain demographic from returning to the city, even though the barracks-style buildings were hotbeds of drug dealing and violent crime. There was a great deal of misinformation being spread about what was actually going on, and it was being turned into a racist agenda. My (as always) passionate thoughts on the subject spilled out amidst the conflict that was threatening to tear the city apart:

“Like Bill O’Reilly said, ‘The spin stops here!’ In this case, stop listening to the bleeding-heart liberal national media! Listen to someone who lives here – a resident of New Orleans who goes through the day-to-day, and has been, since returning to this city in June of 2006 of our own volition. Attorneys wanting to earn their paychecks don’t care! Professional paid protestors, on break from places like Brown University, driving off in their Volvos and SUVs after ‘protesting’ and don’t even live here, don’t care! Government folks like John Edwards and Nancy Pelosi, etc. – the Federal Government – who didn’t give a damn about New Orleans when disaster occurred over two years ago don’t care! They didn’t give a damn about New Orleans then, and they don’t give a damn about New Orleans now. We – our City Council and all who support them – care. For the future of not only the residents – each and every one of them who DO have the right to return – but also the future of this city as a whole.”

Either Facebook didn’t exist in 2007, or I wasn’t involved in it yet – I wonder how many people I might have “offended” if it did – or if I was…!

CITY REMEMBRANCES:

From August 29, 2011 – the 6th anniversary of the Federal Levee Failures that flooded 80% of the city of New Orleans (otherwise known as Hurricane Katrina – see how I slipped that in there…?)  Apparently I was riding the Canal streetcar that morning, when the driver suddenly stopped and asked the riders for a “moment of silence for those who didn’t make it back from Katrina.”

Also from that day, my thoughts as I stepped outside my front door and was hit in the face with a very intense smell (which, as we found out later, was a marsh fire in New Orleans East) – “What idiot in my neighborhood is burning something??”

SAINTS FOOTBALL:

My passion for the Saints was at its peak after our historic Super Bowl win in 2010, but that revelry was busted up by another alleged event that came to be known as “Bountygate”…

From the moment of the announced suspensions in 2012 until Super Bowl 47, I had a double-sided sheet of paper with notes detailing everything that had happened to my beloved – and beleaguered – football team; with, of course, some feelings and emotions thrown in…As my friend and fellow Section 606 Saints fan April expressed (in April): “Way to kill a franchise”…

• Head Coach Sean Payton suspended for entire 2012 season
• Assistant Head Coach Joe Vitt suspended for first 6 games of 2012 season
• General Manager Mickey Loomis suspended for first 8 games of 2012 season
• Defensive Coordinator Greg Williams suspended indefinitely
• Linebacker Jonathan Vilma fighting defamation of character in court against Roger Goodell
• Can we burn Roger Goodell in effigy in the backyard…?
• Free Sean Payton t-shirts!
• Drew Brees breaks Johnny Unitas’ record on October 7, 2012
• I’ve cleansed myself of all the bad feelings of the 2012-2013 season…
• On January 9, 2013 I finally meet my idol Drew when he and his wife Brittany come to the Zoo where I worked to talk about a playground in Audubon Park that Drew was sponsoring.
• The Atlanta Falcons are knocked out of the playoff picture – NO DIRTY BIRDS IN THE DOME! (Thank you, 49ers!)
• Super Bowl 47 on February 3, 2013 in the Louisiana Superdome – Ravens vs. 49ers
• “It’s lonely and quiet on this side of Poydras Street…”
• Walking to streetcar on the morning of Super Bowl: “I feel like I forgot something…Wait! Oh – never mind…the Saints aren’t in the Super Bowl, are they? I guess I didn’t forget any tickets…”
• Walking past the Dome: “Okay – it hurts now – this was supposed to be us…”
• NFL Experience
• Super Bowl 47 Roman Numerals coming down the Mississippi River on a barge
• Walked with Ravens fans from Toulouse Street to the Dome – “There’s your Temple of Heaven” says The Who Dat Chef…
• I don’t think the fans in any other city whose team didn’t make it to the Super Bowl in their hometown would be as involved in the celebration and have as much fun as we did…

THE 1980s:

A friend of mine let me borrow his DVDs showcasing “Live Aid” – the social conscience musical event of a generation. Watching the videos transported me back to my 20s, some of the best years of my life. It was the early 80s, and MTV was in its heyday…I spent the early part of the decade sporting a pseudo-Punk haircut. “Video Killed the Radio Star” – the very first video ever aired by music television – ushered in sights and sounds never experienced prior to this time. The music they called “New Wave” was like nothing we had ever heard before. We were introduced to bands like “Flock of Seagulls” whose members wore a look that was distinctive and quirky. But I think during those early days we were still caught somewhere in between the old and the new, as referenced in Billy Joel’s homage entitled “It’s Still Rock and Roll To Me”. The rock band Van Halen upset a lot of their fans when they strayed from their traditional sound by introducing synthesizers on their album “1984” – although the somewhat futuristic concept was apropos considering the year and title. David Bowie, who was part of the Glam Rock style of the early 1970s – ahead of his time and a pioneer in his own right – reinvented himself yet again in the new decade with songs like “China Girl”. His 80s anthem “Let’s Dance” containing the line “Put on your red shoes and dance the blues” made every single 80s girl immediately rush out and purchase a pair of red shoes (I know I did!) Music like this, along with “It’s Raining Men” by the Weather Girls and “Working for the Weekend” by Loverboy were the songs we danced and partied to in the bars and dance clubs in the 40s that we frequented after work on a Friday night in Manhattan. It was a glorious time…

There were bands like The Cars and singers like Elvis Costello and Marshall Crenshaw whose music broke new ground. And then there were the truly innovative artists whose videos played in our heads even when we weren’t around the television…”True” by Spandau Ballet featuring Bryan Ferry; “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me” by Culture Club featuring Boy George; “We Got the Beat” by the all-girl group called The Go-Go’s; the B52s; “Turning Japanese” by The Vapors; Depeche Mode; Frankie Goes to Hollywood; and of course, early Madonna…

“Love My Way” by the Psychedelic Furs…”How Soon is Now” by The Smiths…these songs scream 80s for me – along with one of my all-time favorites by The Thompson Twins, “Hold Me Now”…

“You say I’m a dreamer…we’re two of a kind. We’re both of us searching for some perfect world we know we’ll never find…

No, the world wasn’t perfect back then, and it’s not now. But it was simpler. And people knew how to have fun. The only thing serious was (under the moonlight) – “the serious moonlight”…

My husband said recently in one of our conversations that I can’t be grateful for God’s grace and mercy, know and believe how blessed I am, but at the same time feel disappointed in my life and wondering when things are going to get better for me. I do know how incredibly blessed we are. I am grateful for the little things every single day. Right now I need God to help me combat jealousy and envy. Everyone I know seems to be getting everything they want. Fabulous vacations, great jobs they are passionate about, retirement, financial stability… God has sustained us for over TWO years on one income. Our bills are not in arrears, we have food on the table. How can I know all of that and still be feeling the things that I am feeling? It’s a contradiction in terms, absolutely. A juxtaposition. I can’t have complete faith and trust in God and what He is doing in my life and still be dissatisfied.

I truly believe that I am in a waiting season. God is working on me as we speak. He is pruning my branches to the point where I feel that I have no friends or family left. At least not the ones I have always been close to. My husband said yesterday, while a friend of ours was in our house briefly, that “yeah…we don’t have a lot of visitors.” It makes me sad that, for the most part, that is so true. Nobody comes to see us. Occasionally. But not often. Why is that? Are we that horrible as people? I don’t think so. Have I lost friends and family members because I have done terrible things to them? No, I haven’t done anything terrible to anyone. But I have also been true to myself. And isn’t that what’s important? After all, when everyone else is gone, you only have yourself.

Is this what happens when you are true to yourself? You lose everything?

David waited 15 years. Joseph waited 22. Sarah waited 10 years. Moses waited 40.

God’s timing. Not mine.

I’m waiting, Lord, and trying so hard to be patient while I wait on You. I wonder often, what am I doing wrong. Would You tell me?

You have come through for me more times than I can count when it seemed like there was no…other…way.

I want to do Your will. I want to know my purpose according to Your will.

Why does it seem like everyone else is getting everything that they want and I am still struggling? I’m so tired of struggling. Can I say that yet still know how blessed I am?

I will continue to wait on You, Lord. But if there’s anything I’m doing wrong, if there’s anything I’m not doing right according to Your will – Will You please tell me?

I want to do right by You and give You all the glory. Because in the end, nothing…else…matters.

It’s been over a year since my last blog post.  Fourteen months and ten days, to be exact.  I have been struggling mentally, emotionally, and spiritually during that time – and continue to do so.

I’ve been hurting in so many ways.  I have been doubting every single thing about my life – my friends, my family, my worth, my value, my purpose in this world.  I am so immensely blessed.  I practice daily gratitude.  I have out loud conversations with God every day and every night.  And yet – I still struggle.  I know how His grace and mercy have been lavished over me.  I know He is there.  I know that He will never leave me or forsake me.  But I know I’m not doing this right.  I am human.  But I cannot seem to figure out how to differentiate between His love for me and the lack I perceive that I have in my life – even though I really don’t.  I don’t lack for anything.  I have my health.  I have my husband and my son.  They have their health.  We are together.  We have a house.  We have a fridge and freezer packed full of food.  We have money to pay all of our bills, even though there is currently only one income to our household.  What I’m not doing right is praising Him continually even through my doubts; looking to Him when I feel that way; delving into His word on a daily basis; opening up the Bible before I begin my day with anything else.  My husband said to me recently, you can’t do both – you can’t praise God and be thankful and at the same time talk about things you want that you don’t have.  I’m paraphrasing, but that’s about the gist of it.

They say that nobody else can give you happiness, that you have to find it for yourself.  I guess I am unhappy with the way my life has turned out in some respects.  Maybe in my mind I am disappointed because I had visions in my head about certain things and it hasn’t turned out that way.  So how can I practice gratitude and thank God on a daily basis for what I have and still feel that way?

Someone I know and love recently asked my husband when I wasn’t around if I’m okay.  He said, she’s fine, but then asked, why?  The other person said, “because she seems depressed and really angry all the time.”  When I heard that, I got very upset.

But – maybe she’s right.

My son told me recently that I’m angry a lot.  Not all the time, he said, but a lot.  I blame my anger on things my husband says and does, that those things trigger me, and if they didn’t happen, then I would be fine. 

But – is that really true?

I’m spending way too much time by myself.  I’m constantly in my own head.  If I could just get…out…of my own…head. 

I’m trying to stay busy, trying to do things that I like.  Those seem fewer and far between these days.  My husband has a lot:  darts, his doubloon collection, cutting the grass at the German club we belong to, his work… I don’t know what I have.  I have my writing.  That’s about it.  I should do it more often.  I do have a couple of projects that I am working on or want to work on.  But my motivation levels come and go.   I keep saying no to all kinds of things that my husband wants to do.  I guess because it seems like they’re all things that are for him.  Not us.  Although like he keeps saying, it’s not about the “things” it’s about us doing stuff together, whatever that might be.  And yet – I still feel – alone. 

There’s so much that I want to do.  Places I want to go, things I want to see.  And rather than feeling like I can work my way towards those things, instead I feel like they are never going to happen.  I’ll never get to London.  I’ll never see Venice.  Our entire married life, we have struggled financially.  We’ve always lived pretty much paycheck to paycheck, never had much in savings at any given time… we come into chunks of money occasionally and spend it just as quickly.  Easy come, easy go – right?  But who’s fault is that?  His?  Mine?  Both of us?  Doesn’t the Bible say that the man is supposed to be the head of the household and provide for the family?  Well, he’s doing that now.  God has sustained us on one income for two years.  We have a brand new stove that we bought outright.  We have a brand new clothes dryer that we bought outright.  We paid off our credit card debt in February of 2020 after being in a four-year program.  Hallelujah!

And then the lockdowns happened.  And I eventually lost my job.   

I just want to know where I’m headed. I believe that God has me in a waiting season. It feels like the longest waiting season ever. I’m supposed to trust the path without knowing the answers or what’s laid out ahead of me on that path while I’m waiting. I’m supposed to trust Him and believe that He has me right where He wants me and where I’m supposed to be. I’m supposed to trust that everything that has happened – and will happen – is part of His plan for the next stage of my life. I want to do something with my life that will bring Him the glory. I have pursued those things in some respects, but it hasn’t worked out yet. What am I doing wrong?

I know in my heart part of what I am doing wrong. When God tells me to let something go – I need to let it go. And if that includes people, then I must let them go too, as hard as that might be. I need to get rid of my anger. Is that what I want my son to remember about me, that I was angry all the time? I need to “pick my battles” so to speak and not get so bent out of shape over stupid little things. Why do I do that?

I say all the time that I want God’s peace more than anything. I have been getting messages from Him constantly in recent months, telling me that I have a multitude of blessings ready to rain down on me. I believe that. This waiting season that I’m in is getting ready to end. But it won’t. Not until I do what God is waiting for me to do. All the things that He wants me to do, to make myself a better person, a better Christian – can I truly call myself a Christian? He wants me above all to trust Him, and get into His word on a daily basis – why is it so hard for me to do that? I do that with social media for hours on end every day. Why can’t I do it with Him? He wants me to believe. He wants me to stop letting the Devil direct my thoughts. He wants me to be kinder and gentler. But why can’t I stop thinking that I am being taken advantage of? That I’m not appreciated? That I’m not worthy? That I don’t matter anymore? That I am insignificant? Maybe I am. That if I wasn’t here, it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.

I guess I know that my family loves me. I guess I just wish they would show it more. But maybe they can’t be more loving to me because my words and actions towards them are not more loving. Why am I always thinking the worst?

I’ve also been feeling for many months now that something bad is coming. That something terrible is going to happen. I mean, I have been acutely feeling that for awhile now. But maybe it’s something good. Maybe it’s something absolutely wonderful. Like a breakthrough. Like being washed over by all the blessings I’ve been praying for, for so long. Why can’t I believe that, instead of impending doom? Praise God. Through it all. Stop allowing the many tiny things of daily life get to me and continue to dictate my every waking hour. It is indeed a daily struggle. Because I’m human. It’s really hard to be human. I want so badly to live outside of this earthly realm and live more in the spiritual. I want to be a spiritual being and believe and trust in God that no matter what happens – good or bad – that my faith and trust in Him will get me through anything. He has been there for me many times before. I don’t want to fall to pieces.

25 years ago today, a fascinating but tortured soul took her own life by putting a gun to her head.

Her name was Shaula Montgomery.

There are very few people that I have shared this story with.  I guess I always felt that certain people who might not understand Shaula like I did or who might judge her didn’t deserve to know about her or what she went through. But today, on the anniversary of her leaving this world, I feel compelled to tell everyone about her.

She was only 45 years old.

She was one of my first bosses at the Audubon Nature Institute. She was the Associate Sales Director, but a Sales Manager as well. I worked in a small office behind the Aquarium with her and two other people.

Shaula was unique. She was funny and honest; quirky and caring; fun to work for and fun to be around. She never watched TV – not the news, not sitcoms – and at first when she would say she wasn’t aware of a current event or that she didn’t know who a particular character was, you’d laugh and think, that’s not possible.  But then you’d see it in her face that she really was telling the truth, that she really didn’t know, and you’d smile gently and go on to explain. It was really quite refreshing after awhile when you realized how childlike she was in her disassociation with that part of the world around her.

She unfortunately also had circumstances in her life that gave her pain and anguish, made her question her kind nature, and beneath the bubbly exterior and the infectious laugh, she was tormented and slowly becoming torn into shreds by things beyond her control.

On this day, 25 years ago, I had just arrived at the office and was putting my things down on my desk as the phone began to ring. Our other sales manager, Tom Long, was on the phone in his office, which was directly across from me. We waved to each other as I picked up the phone.

On the other end of my phone was Shaula’s husband – also named Tom.  I said, “Oh, hi – good morning, Mr. Montgomery – how are you?”  I don’t think he actually replied to my question, but the next thing he said would shatter my world.

“Shaula won’t be there today” he said. As I waited for him to tell me why – oh, is she not feeling well, was of course the first thing I thought – I could never have expected or been prepared for what he would say next.

“Shaula shot herself last night. “

I don’t know how I didn’t drop the phone out of my hand, but I sort of staggered back and fell against the bookcase that was next to the wall behind me. By this time Tom, our sales manager, had finished his phone call and was getting up from his desk, coming over towards me, mouthing the words “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” He would later say that I was “as white as a sheet”.

I said to Mr. Montgomery, “Please tell me you’re making this up. Please tell me it isn’t true.”

He said, “I wish I could. “

I don’t know how I continued the conversation, but I remember him saying, “I’d be interested to know if there was something at work yesterday that may have precipitated this.”  I said, “No – there was nothing at all.”

The day before was like any other normal day in the office. Shaula was her usual bouncy self. She and her best friend Liz were going on a trip to New York City the following week, and they were meeting for drinks after work to finalize their plans. When Shaula walked out of the office at the end of that day, she was happy, excited about their trip. I can still see her heading towards the small hallway that led to the elevators, as she whipped her head around and said, “Bye! See you tomorrow!”

Liz said later that after their couple of drinks together that Shaula had dropped her off at home and they had “laughed the whole way there.”  Shaula had said that she was going home as well, but she didn’t. In an instant, she made a fateful decision that would irrevocably change everyone around her.

We had known for awhile at work that Shaula had been struggling with a lot of turmoil in her personal life. Her stepmother, a bitter and cruel woman, had been sick and in the hospital. Her father, who had never given Shaula the love she deserved but rather had been verbally, mentally and emotionally abusive to her for her entire life, continued to be so, even though he too was ill. When he finally wound up in the hospital as well, he carried on with his nastiness, even as Shaula was coming to visit him, bringing him his favorite magazines, and trying to be kind to the man who never had been to her.

Cap this off with the fact that she had absolutely no help from her only sibling, a brother, so it fell to Shaula to take care of these parents who had nothing but heartache to give her in return. It became her sole responsibility to check on their house, get their mail, make sure bills were paid…all for people who didn’t care about her, and all with a smile on her face, constantly hiding her torment.

In our little office, we all knew about everything that she was going through, because she didn’t hide it from us – she talked about it all the time – but she always bounced back after getting things off her chest. When someone commits suicide, the people left behind who knew them always ask the same question:  why didn’t we know? Why didn’t we see anything? Where were the signs?

With Shaula, there were no signs. Nothing at all. None. Certainly nothing that day when she left the office, happy as can be, that would have told us “she’s going to kill herself tonight.”

Weeks before, we did have a conversation with her about her taking a leave of absence from work to deal with the strain she had been under. Her immediate reaction was “No, I can’t – I have too many people depending on me here.”  Slowly, right up until the tragedy that occurred, she was leaning more towards actually heeding our advice. “Do you really think I can do this?” she asked. We all told her, “Yes – yes you can.”

It was no secret that Shaula had a drinking problem; however, it never affected her job or her work. She never came to work drunk, never drank on the job – which would have been an easy thing to do, considering we sold parties for a living.  She used to say that our department were the “whores of the Audubon Institute” because we were selling something that people wanted, not what they needed. Yep, that was Shaula, in all her unmitigated  glory. She would say, “Come on,  it’s not like we’re selling vacuum cleaners.”  Shaula’s dependence on the drink came after work, when she had to go home to all the problems she was dealing with in her personal life.

It became my task to clean out her office and gather her personal belongings for her husband. Underneath papers in her desk, I found pamphlets from Alcoholics Anonymous and a copy of the Serenity Prayer. She was trying.

Instead of going home that night after dropping off her friend Liz, Shaula made the decision to go to her parents’ house. It is where everything came to an end, in the house where she grew up, where she had endured all her misery as a child.

This is where she was ultimately found by her husband. Shaula had called her brother from there, who decided to make his way over there after hearing how she sounded on the phone. But first he called her husband, who got there before her brother did.

She was just going to get the mail and check on things at the house as she had been doing for months now. Apparently, however, after the couple of glasses of wine she had with Liz, Shaula decided to continue drinking, as she sat there in her parents’ house – and not something she was accustomed to drinking. Whiskey, if I remember correctly. We all said after it happened that it was like there were all these puzzle pieces that came together that night, and if one or another hadn’t been there, the outcome would have been completely different.

One of the pieces of the puzzle, unfortunately, was her father’s gun collection.

I will never believe until my dying day that Shaula Jacobs Montgomery set out to kill herself that night. Her friend Liz said later that she felt that wherever Shaula was, she was cursing herself saying, “Oh, shit – what have I done?”

There she was, tormented soul that she was, in the house of her miserable, brutal childhood. There to take care of and look after the parents who had always treated her so cruelly, who never gave her an ounce of love. Talking on the phone with the brother who wasn’t helping and who had given her nothing but grief and judgment – critical, uncaring as well. Shaula was surrounded by puzzle pieces that were broken, that did not fit. Picking up a drink to try and make them all fit, to deal with all the broken pieces and force them to fit.

But they didn’t. Try as she might, she couldn’t make them fit. She lost her sense of reason that night. Even though the pieces didn’t fit, they were all there, in the turmoil of her spiritual life. And she just wanted the pain to end.

Shaula put that gun to her head on the night of March 27, 1996. Her physical life did not end until approximately 1pm on Thursday, March 28, 1996 when her husband made the decision to take her off life support. There had been “zero brain activity” when they brought her in.

One of our other coworkers used to say that I was like the character of Radar on the TV show M*A*S*H because I always seemed to remember clients’ names and the dates of their parties off the top of my head when no one else could. Sometimes it was in the form of finishing their thoughts for them. Once we explained to Shaula who Radar was, that became her name for me. She started calling me Radar all the time. And I didn’t have a problem with that. Shortly after she died, another Aquarium worker saw me in the hallway and called me Radar, and I burst into tears.

We enjoyed The Far Side cartoons and the comic strip Calvin & Hobbes together. Sometimes we’d have to explain certain Far Side jokes to Shaula because she innocently didn’t get them. But once she did, that infectious laugh would burst out, and all was right with the world.

As I was gathering up her personal belongings from her desk in her office, her husband Tom called me and asked me if there was anything of Shaula’s that I would like to have. There was a character named “Buddha Bear” in her life, and she had a picture of him in a frame on her desk. Buddha Bear was a stuffed bear that Shaula’s husband got for her, and Shaula used to talk about him like he was real. She would buy little clothes for him at Baby Gap, sit him on her lap on the plane when they went on trips. The photo that her husband so graciously said I could have to this day sits on a shelf in my home – the stuffed bear, sitting on a rock on the beach – “Buddha Bear at Big Sur” is what she called it. A quirky, funny, loving little thing in Shaula’s life that made her happy and content, when everything else was falling apart around her.

There was a memorial service for her a week later, which was set up by other members of Audubon. It was held at what was then called the Hibernia Pavilion at the edge of Woldenberg Park near the Aquarium, where the Mississippi River begins to make a turn. We dropped roses into the river at the end.  The Andrew Hall Society Jazz Band, who always played at the Aquarium parties that Shaula sold, were there to play Shaula’s favorite song – “Dock of the Bay” by Otis Redding. The band’s leader had become good friends with Shaula, and the band would linger after the parties had ended. They would sit around talking as tables and chairs were being broken down, and inevitably Shaula would ask them to play her song. At her memorial, the bandmember who sang the song could not get through it without breaking down.

Shaula had been named after a star, ironically by the same father who had given her most of her misery her entire life. When she died, I like to think that she became that star, high above in the heavens, looking down at the world she left.

She would have probably still been here, because she truly was a lover of life, had things not taken such a tragic turn. But she was finally at peace and free of all the terrible pain she was trying so desperately to overcome. Like her precious little Buddha Bear, she’s relaxing on a beach somewhere, thinking of all the places she’d been and enjoyed; sipping on a glass of wine, and laughing at some joke that she finally just understood.

That’s how I’m remembering her today. And always. Shaula – you were here. You were a person. You were worth remembering. You were worth knowing. You had so much to give. And give you did, as best you could, with whatever you had left. You were the traveler on the road whose destiny was ultimately in your own hands. It may not have been what you really wanted. But it was the one thing that finally set you free. I’m grateful to have known you.

So, a year ago today, the whole world changed. It was a Friday, and when my husband picked me up from work, the first thing I said when I got in the car was, “I need a drink.”  He asked me, “Where to?”  And off we headed to the Deutsches Haus, the German club we belong to.

It was the very last time I sat at the bar.  Anywhere.

The week at work had been brutal. There was something out there, but nobody really knew what it was. There were 3 “presumptive” cases at local New Orleans hospitals. Even so, the Mayor began methodically cancelling whatever events were scheduled for St. Patrick’s Day weekend. In our events department at the Audubon Zoo, the week started out with a couple of cancellations of events from clients. It was my job to let our staff know via email that an event had been postponed or completely cancelled.

As the week wore on, the emails that I was being instructed to send out, as the cancellations happened, suddenly became more fast and furious. It seemed like every hour, I was being told to send out another email.

EVENT CANCELLATION.  That was the subject line of every one.  EVENT…CANCELLED…

The dominoes were falling almost faster than we could keep up. What, in the hell, was going on??

That night at the Deutsches Haus, one of our friends, Linda – whom we hadn’t seen in awhile – walked in and saw us sitting at the bar.  She came up to us, and I said, “I have no problem hugging you if you are willing to hug me.”  They were already telling us not to touch other people. Linda replied, “Hell yeah, I’ll hug you!”

And we hugged.

We had something to eat. I might have had 2 or 3 beers. Probably even a shot of slivovits, my favorite. I really don’t remember.

It seems SO long ago…

That was Friday the 13th. Friday, March 13, 2020. How ironic, how cruel even, that the most unlucky day on the calendar turned out to be the last normal one.

There were so many events in the city coming up that weekend that we were looking forward to. One by one, the news came out – cancelled. Friends of ours that we usually celebrate with had been in New York for the birth of their second grandchild but were heading back to New Orleans for St. Patrick’s Day. I remember telling them, “You might as well stay in New York – nothing happening here.”

As it turns out, nothing was happening in New York either. Every event – life as we knew it – was being cancelled. Everywhere.

That following Monday, before we even hit the Noon hour, our senior director gathered us in one office to tell us that “the facilities are closing” and all non-essential staff was being sent home to work from there until further notice.

We were stunned and confused. What do you mean the facilities are CLOSING??  What do you mean we’re being SENT HOME??  What in the hell is going on???

That was the beginning. They started telling us that these things needed to be done to “flatten the curve” – we need “two weeks to flatten the curve” so that the hospitals don’t get overwhelmed by people being brought in, suffering from this “thing” that we didn’t even know what it was. Information was coming out faster than we could comprehend, and none of it was making sense.  But this is what we had to do to “stay safe” and “beat this thing”. Whatever it was.

Now here we are, one year later, and the “two weeks to flatten the curve” has turned into the ruin of our economy, lives and businesses destroyed, jobs lost, people isolated from their loved ones. The same restrictions and cancellations are still happening.  All in the name of “safety”.

Now there’s a vaccine. Several of them, actually. And that’s supposed to make everything better. That’s supposed to make everything “normal” again.

Meanwhile, we’ve all lost a year of our lives that we will never get back.  I lost my job.  After almost 28 years.  I’m still not working.  Some people lost their lives.  Some people’s loved ones passed away, and they weren’t allowed to be with them.

All in the name of “safety”.

But now everything is going to be okay again?  Now there’s this “magic bullet” that’s suddenly going to fix everything?  We have to believe everything they’re telling us and do everything they’re saying we should do – so we can continue  to be “safe”.

Because it’s “science”.  And we have to believe the science. And the “experts”.

I stopped listening to them almost a year ago now.  The “experts” and their “science” have destroyed lives and livelihoods. In more ways than anyone could have ever imagined.

I’m sure they did what they thought was best.  But there’s so much we will never get back.

Please don’t think for one moment that I am putting all this above the physical lives lost. But there is a lot to be said about the remnants of what is left behind – and in some cases still going on – in the wake of lockdowns and shutdowns and the removal of basic freedoms.

All because “we are keeping you safe”.  It’s for “your safety”.

It’s for your own good. You need US to keep you safe. Right?

A week ago today, my best friend from high school lost her husband. What rings in my head constantly since I found out he died is what she said to me when she called me to say he was in the hospital.

“I don’t know how he caught it. We were so careful. We did everything we were supposed to do.”

And therein lies the problem.  And the reality of that depresses and devastates me. Because, as I’ve said before, almost since the beginning, life is not inherently safe. You do what you can. And that is all you CAN do.

What concerns me now are whispers of comments such as “You’ll be able to do this and this and this now – if you just do THIS.”

And therein lies the second problem.  Some of us have already done what you told us to do. And it still wasn’t okay. 

It’s not okay, just because you say it’s okay.  And you can’t keep me completely safe. And you can’t protect me from everything.  I want to go and do and live and take my chances because I can.  Not because you tell me I can.

That is the essence of life. And of freedom. And I will give up the things I love if it means keeping my freedom. Because that is more important to me than anything. For without freedom, what is life…