Hurricane Panic has robbed us of our day of somber memories. Instead of misty eyes, reflective thought and inward searching, we are all caught up with maps showing ominous swirls in far away places and thinking, wondering and worrying what these images mean. They never represent enough information to answer basic questions about our lives, our immediate needs or our survival. Yet we stare, differently than we did five years or so ago, before the weathermen fought for ratings, and something moving 8 miles an hour on the other side of Cuba was a curiosity, maybe a minor worry.

Today the coffeehouse was packed with loud noisy people. Every musical act and event was cancelled for the next weeek. But people gathered and some new folks played music anyway. There was a need to grasp what could be the last coffeehouse moments before they get snuffed again, not that anyone dared say they might disappear forever, but we all know the possibilities.

It's unlikely my wife and I could put it back again if it were lost again. Katrina was an intense experience which took a toll. If the feds and their corrupt corporate partners have failed us again, we won't try again. Maybe someone will, hopefully taking our shattered dreams, our worthless life accumulations and making something out of it.

Maybe some one is left who loved what we had here, who hasn't lost so many friends, so much money and shed so many tears that they near suicidal about it. But we are.

So for the moment, to maintain the outward smile, we are insisting that the hurricane won't come here, we won't lose our refrigerated and frozen inventory, we won't flood and everyone will be back to work for us and buy our product.