Baristaville blogger Daniella Moiseyev Cunniffe returned to her native New Orleans for Thanksgiving and blogs about it here. Her pictures alone, including ones of the abandoned refrigerators we heard about on NPR, are worth the price of admission. But the word pictures are even sadder.
The airport, on the Saturday before Thanksgiving, was eerily empty and quiet. When I looked up at the arrival list on the monitors, there were only five flights listed for the whole day. I had to bite back tears.
There are signs everywhere for everything. Drywall removal. House gutting. Roof repair. Mold removal. Lawyers. Lawyers and more lawyers. They probably have the most signs up of anyone. It looks like some sort of horrid political campaign on steroids.
So many houses have for sale signs out and most have a banner that says “reduced price.” The real estate boom that many forecasted would occur in the non-flooded neighborhoods has failed to materialize. Many people are commuting to Houston or to Baton Rouge. Everyone is so friendly but lost. They have sad eyes. My friend Jane says everyone’s on something now. Prozac. Zoloft. Xanax. People who wouldn’t even take an aspirin are heavily medicated to deal with daily life.