Pegody's Bad Taste.

I didn't actually witness any of the heartlessness I had mentioned in an earlier post, during the storm. Only on television did I hear and see about it. Now I forget what I was even talking about in all the turmoil, except for the way people were made to suffer more in ghastly situations in the 'shelters' of New Orleans. In real life I saw panic...people, with anxious looks, running to and from their cars at gasoline stations. Small towns overrun with cars, had the surreal feel of a movie set; crowded with extremely tense people. I felt panic build inside. When I had left my town, I felt as though I was deserting friends, who were staying and going to go through another bad storm again. This was my third time leaving the house because of hurricanes, and my third time coming back to a secure home.
When I got home,I heard horror stories, as we all did. People I knew were afraid to go out of their houses. I became that way, too. I was suspicious of 'strange' people in our neighborhood. One tall person I'd never seen before was walking this huge pitbull down the street. Not a normal sight for our community. Oh yeah, and my dawgs had the temerity to 'call him out'. The guy and his dog just kept walking without even looking at them, and there they stood barking their fool heads off. Whew.
Everything in earshot was disturbing. I got very nervous.
I had a few groceries. I'm not fond of a steady diet of beans, as Cappy had insisted I buy tons of them for the storm. Easy for him...he wasn't home...good thing, too. I was worried about him. He and the other guys working the oil industry; the tugboats, and the men out on the platforms couldn't get food or water. I wanted to take matters into my own hands and try to somehow take some stuff to him,if I could get my hands on supplies myself. He forbad me from leaving the house. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, I tried to involve one of my neighbors, who was already busy helping everybody else. He was hot and sweaty, picking up all of his neighbor's trash cans, putting them in his truck and taking it all to the dump, himself. A suit and tie man. I didn't like his quick, seemingly careless answer, so I felt helpless and became angry. His wife said Cappy would come home a few pounds lighter, too. (which in actuality, wouldn't hurt either Cappy or myself,as you can see from our picture). Instead of being grateful, I was so angry, I came and blogged all about it. Then, without thinking, (Oh Lord!) I emailed it to a lot of people whom I hoped might come up with some ideas to help Cappy. People I know. People in this town.
To err is Pegody. I hope to forgive is Cajun. So here I sit with my foot in my mouth, waiting for the other shoe to fall. I'll try hard not to stuff that foot in my mouth, too. If confronted, I'll be eating alright. Crow ettoufee and foot gumbo.
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