My wife grew up in Kenner, in Jefferson Parish. For you geographical neophytes, Jefferson is due west of Orleans Parish. If you’ve ever driven in to New Orleans from the west, or flown in to New Orleans International Airport, you’ve driven through Kenner and Jefferson Parish. My wife’s childhood home is certainly under a good bit of water at this point. Though we have no word from him yet, her father is north of Lake Pontchartrain, at his horse farm in Franklinton, so hopefully, we have no family worries, post-Katrina.
She has been very distressed, however. This was where she grew up. We lived in the area for six years. I grew up sixty-odd miles away in the Baton Rouge area. We have ties. We have friends. We feel despondent. I confessed to Tom earlier today that my heart aches.
My wife comes in to the study a few moments ago, to browse online news, and says:
“The only positive thing about all of this is that we haven’t heard Cindy Sheehan’s name in the past three days.”