Prettiness on a Friday.
I actually planned this picture for earlier this week, but CoVid19 killed John Prine. So, I waited. Call this his funeral flowers. Call it art. Call it a confusing mess. Call it whatever you like. I just hope that you like it.
Some of the news that almost fits.
Two things today.
From the city of my birth there is concerning news.
The coroner’s office is taking bodies from homes where they died. The numbers are astounding. Normally, they retrieve bodies at the rate of about 138 per week, which isn’t much considering the population of New York. Now they are retrieving at least that many per day. Common sense says that most of them are virus victims. They can’t be counted as such because the mortuary staffs just don’t know. Think about that. That’s almost 1,000 per week. In six or so weeks, that’s almost 6,000 bodies that are likely not counted as CoVid19 deaths. That’s probably happening in other cities as well.
In New Orleans, at least, some people are dying from something other than the virus. It’s pretty clear cut. You can’t miss the cause of death. Gunshot wounds. For a couple of weeks, the streets calmed down because of the stay at home advice.
Now? Not so much.
The drug dealers are losing money just like every other small business. They are doing something about it.
Meanwhile, back in New York City, mass graves are being dug on an island where there is an ancient potter’s field. Since victim’s families can’t collect the bodies of their deceased because of fear of infection, the city has to do something with them. That is horrible. You can’t say goodbye and you can’t memorialize them properly.
In New Orleans, we’ve had seven Zulus die, one big chief and a man who meant everything to the social clubs. Normally, there would be a second line for each of them. You know, a jazz funeral. Not Now.
I suspect — no, I know — that when we finally can gather, when the virus is behind us, there will be the mother of all second lines. It will be a combination of celebration and memorialization. As the Indians say, “Won’t bow down, don’t know how.”
That’s pretty much how the city feels right about now.
Stay safe. Care for others. Wash your hands. Wear a mask in public. Keep your distance. Don’t gather. Enjoy all the cheesy shrimp and grits.
STORYTELLER 
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