Help! I'm a Prisoner in My Vacation House!

As Gustav threatened our beautiful city, we were already up in Atlanta on business. On the eve of the Katrina anniversary, we and everybody else in America watched with horror as Gustav rolled up the gulf coast and our entire city was evacuated. Rather than return to New Orleans on Labor Day as planned, we retreated to our north Georgia vacation house and gripped our TV remote with white knuckles as the water in the Industrial Canal sloshed over the wall into the 9th Ward. We gasped with relief as we saw the levee hold.

Being practical, we made schedule adjustments that kept us productive for another week, and now here comes Ike, tracking into the gulf like a deja vu nightmare! Once the only news topic on 24 hour cable, Gustav is so last week you can't even find a 30 second update, although the city is still engaged in major aspects of recovery.

OK, we live in a hurricane zone. We admit it. A possible tipoff might be that they have a popular drink on Bourbon St. named for it. But the reality of being displaced for weeks on end, fearing for the lives and property of your neighbors, wondering if your roof blew off and your possessions are scattered or soaked or both, and basic stuff like knowing your refrigerator full of food lies in dubious condition after days and days without power, suddenly becomes intimate experience. Strangely though, now we know first hand why people came back after Katrina, why they suffer through all the Gustavs and Ikes - a love for this unique city so powerful that it pervades your bloodstream. As we eyeball the new storm track, our desire to return to New Orleans continues to increase in intensity, and we are tempted to compromise everything but safety - what's a little rain and wind?!

It's lovely this time of year up in north Georgia, don't get us wrong. The crisp morning air in the lush, vibrant green woods at the edge of the lake is refreshing perfection. Under other circumstances, we might even come here on purpose this time of year, but it has become a gilded cage. We have to go home...