Dear Katrina,

This year I will no longer consider myself a failure if I cry when talking about you. If I cry for the rest of my life whenever you come up, that’s okay. You were traumatic. I accept that.

This year I will remove the chip from my shoulder. I will no longer rage against others who want to talk about you. I will accept people are naturally curious. I will quit taking my rage for YOU out on others. No, they were not here, they do not know, but they can ask questions. It’s okay. I will even attempt to put up with the analysis and conflicting opinions. Being caught up in the hierarchy of suffering is pointless. I will allow everyone the room to process the experience in their own way.

This year and for ever more I will focus on the good. I will remember the way everyone came together to help. That even though things went wrong, everyone truly pitched in and gave everything. And then some. I will no longer participate in the ‘they didn’t do enough’ and ‘they went about it all wrong’ games. I was here, in the middle of it and I am telling you that everyone was throwing everything they had at you, Katrina. If anyone felll short, at least they were trying.

This year I will formally thank Dr. H A P Myers for coming all the way down from Idaho and supporting my practice as we tried to help the shelter that my church became. I was all alone with my office being hit so hard and on an island of trauma. I was scared and hurting, but Dr. Myers took my hand and provided normalcy and direction. He pointed out all that was still functioning and by rolling up his sleeves, showed me that I could do it too. I will never forget sitting in the nursery room with him reviewing files. He looked at the cherubs playing beside us and said, “You know, it’s so important to watch healthy kids to remember what that looks like.” Then we were quiet and just played with the kids, forever reminding me that my kids were safe and happy and to look for and find the joy in life again.

I will acknowledge that you are a part of my history, but do not have to shape my future. Today I take my power back from you. You were nothing but a weather event, traumatic, but not alive. So today, I stop writing letters to you.
Today I say good bye to you and keep moving forward.

Erika

Here’s the thing. I thought I needed this pack for quick trips to carry my lap top, camera equipment and a few essentials. I even made sure I bought one that would hold equipment I see in my future, such as that new Nikon 50mm f/1.4, that Ken Rockwell convinced me I needed in order to be truly happy. (He is right, I’m sure of it.) I’m all set to travel now, in one lovely backpack, instead of the three separate bags it usually takes me to achieve this.

But none of this is why I’m loving this bag so. I have yet to even load it. It is sitting in a living room chair, bringing joy to my life. How is it bringing joy to my life you might ask? Well that would be a good question. One I’m not sure I can even put into words. But I’m gonna try. For you.

You see I do this thing, where I regularly have a fake name made up. One that at any moment I can run away and assume. Sometimes I run away to the beach and surf and sometimes I run away to the mountains to ski. Other times I back pack Europe. I almost always, (almost) take Jeff with me, so I’m not sure why I even need this name. But I love this name. When I stop loving it, I make up a new one. And then I love the name again.

That’s what the Crumpler is doing in the chair for me right now. Just knowing that at any moment, I can grab my back pack, equipment and name and head the door for a whole new life, well that’s one of the things that keeps me so happy right where I am. So I guess just having the bag/name/plan means that I will never actually need them. Because as perfect as the bag/name/plan are, it’s pretty damn good here too.

I guess I just need options.

Maybe you’ve heard?

And it was incredible.

Driving down to New Orleans in this

Shooting a trash the dress session ending with this

Wandering around Magazine street, shopping and snapping some of the best pictures of my life.
Like this one

Yeah, I have no idea who he is, but he had an accent.

And this one

But just when I think I have this whole photography thing down, I get the proofs from Becky and I’m blown away by real talent.

Seriously, she is incredible. Go check them all out, and oogle what I have to live up to if I ever am going to be a ‘real’ photographer.

I can’t wait to wall paper my house with them all.

Take work for example. I’ve repetitively said I would quit when I became licensed. That’s just not happening, even if I wanted to. Between shortages, schedules and hiring freezes, there is no way in hell I’m leaving my office high and dry right now. But here’s the truth of it: I don’t want to. Since starting the application process and becoming licensed, I find myself much more energized. I no longer feel like a second class citizen, doing the same things as everyone else and getting over looked and paid half. Mostly because, well, I’m not any more. That’s helped, I have to admit, but there’s more. Somewhere in this process I have found my bliss again. I have relearned why I do this. Part of this is due to some successes I’ve had and part of it is just really being needed. But what ever it is, it’s working. At least for now. I’m not saying I’m now immune to burn out. It is still there, I feel it below the surface, but for now it is staying below and as long as it does, I’m going to keep my head down and keep working. And hopefully helping and making a difference for some people.

So this is where I sit today, as I try to wrap up some projects around the house before heading out to Beach Week ’09. Which is no easy task, because I’ve recently discovered decorating blogs. (I know, as usual, I’m really late to the party.) I started building a new bench for the mud room at eight o’clock last night. Jeff has threaten to put parental control software on my laptop to monitor the use of my newly discovered porn. (Yes, it is that bad. How did I not know this stuff was out there people? I blame you.)

But I’m gonna keep sitting, and working and killing Jeff with my late night/heel wearing projects, because I’m liking where I’m sitting right now. It’s different, but it’s really comfortable.

Now let’s get packed people, ’cause we head out early in the morning. No pushing or shoving and last one on the beach is a rotten egg.

*Completely stolen from Rae, who stole it from her nephew.

I went to the store in search of comfort food, only to find the pop tart aisle empty. Hell, all the aisles are bare in preparation for Gustav, but did they really have to clear out the brown sugar and cinnamon pop tarts? I cried in the cereal aisle of Wal-Mart, clutching my diet Dr. Pepper.

It wasn’t pretty.

So I have no idea when the breaking point will come, just that it will. Right now I am forced to sit and concentrating on holding my heart together in my chest. Tomorrow I will figure out that this is all going to be okay. Right now I just want a damn pop tart.

As I read the essays I can’t help but be moved by the sometimes poignant, but mostly funny tales of fatherhood. Naturally my thoughts drift to my own. I make another mental note to call him when I come back up to the house and tell him that I want him to come up. He’s been saying he might wander by the beach house this year. Such is the life of the retired hero race car driver, but I really want him to stop by, for few days at least. All bonding with my father has taken place on vacations. My father has always been a traveler and since my parents divorce, I have usually been the recipient of trips with dad, especially family trips, even now in my mid 30′s. They divorced when I was seven years old, although the separation took place years before that, so this is a long standing ritual. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Dads and little girls have always shared a special relationship, and it’s not just me. I see the same thing in Emie’s eyes when she looks at Jeff. She thinks he can do anything. There is complete trust when she peddles as he runs along holding onto her bike. I doubt she’ll out grow it either. Maybe its a family curse.

Once, I got in trouble with Jeff because of my blind faith in my father. Somewhere in our first year of marriage, I totaled my Ford Tempo in Lafayette, LA.
I called my dad.
It did not go over well, but in my defense, Jeff was in the middle of a final. We worked through it and that was the first of many lessons I’ve had to learn about balance. I guess I am continuing, even now, to learn them, as I really wish dad was here with me right now, because retired or not, he’ll always be a hero to me.