Part 5: Changing title in favor of tragic Katrina photography: Part A: Dad's pics

Using Mark's press pass, we slipped through the Orleans Parish Checkpoint Wednesday to inspect the remains of our house. Here is what we found:

That's me in Karen's hand-me-ups and my Isaac Mizrahi designer Cajun Reeboks from Target inspecting my poor Mirthmobile. HINT: when I last parked her, she was not against my house.










This is the inside of my den, taken through the broken side window. Random trivia: this is the same window Lily broke when she ran away this summer. We're so thankful we had her home again. Sofa is the big green thing. Used to be on same wall as this window. Floated over the coffee table, which stayed in place, and landed on my beautiful recliner. Front door is the big white thing behind that. It was pried open by rescuers, but they shut my screen dorr after they left. Entertainment center is leaning...stereo and stained glass lamp stayed on it. TV is face-down on the ground. That's my head with the dust mask behind the sofa. Notice that the water was to the crown molding, which, ironically enough, is molding.

This is my bedroom. That's the mattress and boxspring on top of a nightstand on top of my dresser, which is face down. This was blocking the entrance.










Taken from my broken bedroom window: My closet, full of brand-new work clothes, cute shoes, my Cannon Rebel 2000, and my camcorder. The vacuum and that folding chair are where we left them. The closet doors are warped.









Also in the bedroom. My Monet poster, surrounded by mold, and Mark.













From the corner of Fleur de Lis and 26th Street, where my house was, looking towards Pontchartrain Blvd. The terrain is covered in dry, caked, brittle, disgusting mud. Adobe, if you will.









Fleur de Lis and 26th street, looking up FDL to Veteran's Blvd. See the water line on my neighbor's house? And the rusted metal curb?

That's me in front of my house, holding my Christmas present from Mark for the first, and last, time. My very own electric guitar. The knobs were rusted. The strings were rusted, too, and had popped. It was in the case on the top shelf of his closet, but was laying in the muck of the computer room floor. Unsalvageable.

The fan in my bedroom warped. All of the fans did, but that's the only one I have a picture of.