26 years ago New Orleans had rainfall of Biblical proportions. The rain came on May 8, 1995 and the extent of the damage was unclear until May 10, 1995. It had rained up to 27 inches in some parts of the city and surrounding parishes. It was a fucking mess.

Unfortunately, street flooding has become commonplace since then. We’ve never had water in our house since we live on high ground, but we lost a car to flood waters a few years ago.

Every time there’s heavy rain, New Orleanians live in fear of flooding. It happened again in the wee hours today:

⚠️Flash flood threat going back up for New Orleans. Considerable flooding could become an issue in the New Orleans metro over the next several hours. Turn around don't drown. #BeOn4 pic.twitter.com/hEbRHP5cIi

— Payton Malone WWL-TV (@paytonmalonewx) May 10, 2021

I’m writing this during a break in the rain, but more is expected later. We’re all sick of it. My birthday in 2017 was the occasion of another flood caused by extreme rainfall and an antiquated water system. President Biden took a tour of the plant last week and has mentioned it several times subsequently. I hope that’s a good sign. This has got to stop.

I don’t believe in the Noah myth since it calls for more suspension of disbelief than I’m capable of. There are times, however, that building a jumbo ark like John Huston did in his misbegotten 1966 film The Bible seems appealing. I think Nick Lowe had the right idea as well:

In other news, there’s a lot of chatter about how to proceed in the After Times of the pandemic. This sign sums up my attitude:

After 14 months of internal tedium and external malakatude, I’m still not ready to return to normal. I’m fully vaccinated but I’m mistrustful of others who are not.

I handled the pandemic and lockdown better than most, but I feel like wrapping myself in caution tape right now. My life experience has made me cautious but not fearful in dangerous situations beyond my control. I’m sure I’ll get over it but at my own pace.

I’m not judging those who are running towards normality, I’m just not there yet. The virus and its variants are still out there. There are still outbreaks and the quest for herd immunity seems stalled because there are still many out there who think it was all a hoax; some of whom are visiting New Orleans, which is why I have no plans to visit the French Quarter any time soon.

The world has always been a dangerous place. I’m engaged in risk management. A new study has estimated that more than 900,000 Americans have died during the pandemic. Given the Trump regime’s attempts to fiddle with the books, I’m inclined to believe the new figure. Another reason for caution.

Finally, Dr. A and I been driving back and forth to Baton Rouge once a week to visit Louise aka Mother-In-Law #1. She’s not doing well at all. She’s 99 years old and slowly fading away. She’s bedridden and having vision problems on top of everything else. It may sound callous, but I hope she lets go soon. As her late husband Eddie was wont to say, “Getting old is not for sissies.”

The post title refers not to the T-Bone Walker song whose full title is Call It Stormy Monday But Tuesday’s Just As Bad, but to an earlier song written by Earl Hines, Billy Eckstine, and Bob Crowder. I definitely have the Stormy Monday Blues. The last word goes to Billy Eckstine and Count Basie: