Saturday, August 30, 2008

Checking my files today for the various posts to this blog, I found that I haven’t saved a single post to my computer this month. Closer examination revealed I hadn’t written a post on Microsoft Works Word Processor this month either.

Those done were done in Blogger. The mess I’m going to clean up I can blame on no one other than myself. I wish it otherwise.

I’ve been watching the reports of the Super System raining on the various islands down south. I’m being told, along with the Western World, that New Orleans is a likely place for the natural violence to dissipate. Better them than my place.

Having had that particular epiphany, I got to thinking back a couple or three years ago about the big storm that whooped up on the city and environs.

Did a good job on the joint. I also thought about bits and pieces of the infra-structure that keeps the city habitable. They have dikes and berms to keep the water out; they have pumps to keep the water out; they have the worlds largest lagoon to pump their waste products into, all the solids and liquids people produce; they have pumps to bring the water they pump into the lagoon back into the city so they can treat it and give it back to the people to drink and do their business in (recycle, is the word I guess); and they have (had) down there off the present day coast line six or seven miles, an island that had a fort that guarded the city during the War of . . . Something or other,

I don’t remember if it was the Revolution or the 1812 business. Or the civil war? And does it matter?

But the fort is gone now. Buried by the sea. It sank. Now whether it sank because the island finally gave up the ghost, or it sank because the ocean rose, I don’t know.

When I learned about this fort, the teller brought up the “whether it sank or the sea rose” business, and they admitted they weren’t sure either. None the less the fort is gone and those that are looking find pieces of it there abouts, where it had been.

My Buddy Down South and I were talking during the Katrina incident, and he asked (which was a change from his normal modus. Usually he put words in my mouth and expressed my opinions on things I’d never stated and contrary to my true thinking. But that’s neither here nor there.), anyway, he asked what I thought about re-building New Orleans and all that money we’d been spending and would spend down there.

I told him that if people wanted to live below sea level, and wouldn’t take a page from that country in Europe that reclaims land room from the sea with wind mils; well, if they wanted to do it and then stand there in slimy water to their butt cracks and yell about no one helping them; why then the government should buy every citizen a glass bottom boat and nothing else, and let them look at their property all they wished through twenty feet of salt water and forget about rebuilding the place.

Like I said, I’ve been gathering up the various blog entries and have to do some kind of work to straighten out a mess. This is the second or third time for it. Yeah, I’ve done it before and know, while I’m doing it, it’s going to happen again.

And I haven’t changed my mind about New Orleans, either.

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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