Slow Recovery

It's been over two years since New Orleans was ravaged by hurricane Katrina. The city has not recovered.

Loyalty, Friendship and Business

Over the years I have narrowed my client list to those companies and people that I like, respect, admire, and who pay me on time. When I spend my own money I like to make a conscious choice about where I spend it. For instance, I no longer buy from Circuit City because of their recent HR move to fire experienced employees and hire cheaper labor.

I like to support my friends and will use their services first before searching out a stranger.

Mostly I'm idealistic about how I think the world should work, and then I'm brought down to earth by careless actions of people close to me.

My best friend is an independent rep selling accessory items to commercial designers. I recently discovered (not through her) that she has partnered with a local photographer who is a direct competitor of mine and together they are making presentations to my clients. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. To me, this has nothing to do with business, and everything to do with our friendship. I feel betrayed. She says I'm overreacting.

She said "There's no friendship in my business."

I guess if she was willing to sell out our fifteen year friendship for a few dollars commission it really wasn't much of a friendship anyway.

I know that I shouldn't look back at the kind of friend I've been, the things I've done for her and all the secrets I've kept and not shared. I know none of that buys me anymore loyalty than what she's willing to give. I would still do the same things, because I am who I am. And it would end this same way because she is who she is.

It doesn't feel good to lose someone close to you, no matter their flaws.

But life goes on.

Flatlands

Down in the Texas valley, rich soil and flat land meld into fertile fields enhanced by a temperate climate. A freeze in the valley is rare, rare as a 10 inch rainfall.

I saw the thick distinct wall of black clouds as I blithely crossed the international bridge at Progreso. Since it's rained almost every day this year in Dallas, I didn't give it much thought except to hope that I got to my car before the rain hit. Indeed I did, and got almost a mile down the road before the wind burrowed under the car, sliding me into the next lane. Then the rain. When I couldn't see or control the car, I pulled over at a convenience store at the exact moment lightning struck and knocked out the electricity. Recent thunderstorms in Dallas have produced tornadoes, so I called my Dad to see what the weather reports were. I was still a good twenty miles from his house. He reported rain, but nothing else dramatic, so when the wind died down a little, I crept back to the road, only to stop a block later, under the awning of the Holiday Inn. There I waited, but not long enough.

The highway through there has been under construction as long as I can remember. The road travels up onto the interstate surface, and then back to the frontage road repeatedly. On my right hand side was a concrete barrier, on the left 18 wheelers whizzed by drenching me with overspray. Saying the road was flooded is an understatement. In some places there were rivers to cross. I had visions of all those news stories on TV about vehicles being washed away. For the brief seconds I allowed my eyes off the car in front of me, I saw that the whole area was flooded. Those plowed fields got a good dose of rainwater. By the time I neared my dad's house emergency crews were out closing down the roads.

I walked into my dad's living room, soaked to the skin, with my pink hair stuck to my head, and said, "I never thought I'd be this happy to be at an old folks home!"

All in all, it was a good visit. Dad complained that he is having trouble remembering names, but heck, I'm impressed with all the things he remembers! I really hope I'm in as good shape as he is when I'm 92.

I took the whole weekend off from anything artistic. I didn't even take my camera to S. Texas. And once I got home I continued with my purging efforts, and now my closet is cleaner and more organized than it's ever been.

I bought a new shredder, in an effort to dispose of all these papers that have personal information printed on them, but still it's not heavy duty enough.

And I bought an Uninterruptible Power Supply for my computer system (finally). Actually, I got two, so that everything is covered. We've had too many electrical storms around here for me to be so negligent in that regard.

Daniel Byron Walker, age 7
Dec 31, 1970 - Jan 29, 1991
KIA Persian Gulf
US Marines
my son, my only child, my love, my pain

Stuck

Christine Luckins Magee, at the easel
11/27/41 - 1/5/07

I am familiar with the pain of loss. I have sometimes used emotion as a catalyst for painting. Not right now. Right now I am stuck. I want to turn on the TV and fall asleep on the couch. So I stay away from the TV and wander in and out of the studio, picking things up, and setting them down in a different place.

I am thinking how jealous I was when my sister built an art studio in her back yard. I wanted that! We designed it together. The new people who buy her house won't know how much thought went into it's construction.

I considered buying her house myself. Moving to Florida. I don't really like Florida that much, and the studio is too small for me, and all my clients are here in Dallas. It wasn't a reasonable idea, but one born of grief.

My hands are idle. They are tired. The neurons in my brain that move them are failing me. They are busy elsewhere.