Was poking through the updated website of the charter school Dmitry
attends, and found a page with a picture of his principal and one of
the classrooms:

This morning I received a phone call from his English teacher, who wanted to discuss her plan for Dmitry's ESL lessons. 

Also got asked to be on something called the LPAC (Language Proficiency
Assessment Committee) at the school, as they need a parent of a Limited
English Proficient student, and I daresay it makes a change to have one
who speaks English. 

You know, I'd have thought the hurricanes that get their start off the
west coast of Africa would be the big ones, but the two that are being
compared now - Katrina and Camille - were birthed in the Caribbean:

Doesn't mean much, I suppose.  Just surprised me, is all.

CNN has an interesting video segment about a man from Alabama rescuing
an elderly couple from their flooded car, which landed smack in the
middle of a flooded alligator farm. 

He said gators appeared to be calmly and patiently waiting around the car for the couple inside to die.

Did y'all read, BTW, where a 3 foot shark was sighted swimming through the streets of New Orleans yesterday? 

And here's something that's bugging me.....when there is trouble on a
cataclysmic scale like this elsewhere in the world, America is
Johnny-on-the-spot to help.

So, where IS everybody, huh?  Has anyone heard or read of a
foreign country offering to send people to aid in search-and-rescue?

As Dmitry would put it, "A little help, please!" 

$2.80! 

That's the price of regular unleaded this morning at the Exxon station on Camp Bowie.  It was $2.65 yesterday afternoon.

Premium?

$3.00 a gallon.  

Shamefacedly I must acknowledge that while I wouldn't dream of ever looting clothes or appliances, photos are another matter entirely. 

Found at the New Orleans Times-Picayune site was my favorite photo from the chaos left in Katrina's wake:

If I owned a business I'd hire him on the spot!  Obviously a young man of both imagination and resource.  ;^)

Heard from a friend of mine who recently moved from Tallahassee to
Ocean Springs, Mississippi.....he, along with his family members in the
area, sensibly evacuated and are safe, but according to his brother -
who somehow got back into the area - it looks as if his apartment is
gone, meaning he's lost everything.

Of course, what's bothering him most appears to be the loss of his computer, especially his email addresses and bookmarks. 

I can understand that. 

Looters! 

I loathe thievery in general but hold looting in the aftermath of a
disaster such as Katrina to be particularly despicable, and apparently
the rats in human form have begun to show their whiskers in New
Orleans. 

With the possible exception of those frantic for food, potable water, medical aids, and diapers, looters ought to be shot.  I don't generally get real ugly about stuff, but looting is a definite exception.  It's hate in action, that's what it is. 

Speaking of cute kids.....!  This evening Don, Dmitry and I went
to Carrollton to have dinner with Beth, her mother, Ann, and
Hannah.  ;^)

Uncle Dmitry is putty in his niece's hands, even offering his watch to her as a toy.

Is she a piece of serious poppetry or what? 

And the guy with the mustache isn't bad, either. 

Kirstin got her kiddos photo taken....are they cute or what? 

I now interrupt the continuous hurricane coverage to note down some memories of Max...

He did like to walk on the wild side.  In the way of little boys
he quickly determined what most bugged Dmitry, and on Saturday I was
sitting in the living room when Max decided to enliven the evening by
going into the hall where the bedrooms are, do something or other
that'd get Dmitry's goat, then run like the wind into where I was, to
jump on my lap.  Burned into my memory is the last time he played
this dangerous game....his eyes were popping, mouth was open, little
legs were pumping like pistons as he shouted "MAMA!", desperately
trying to get to me before Dmitry got to him. 

He made it, much to Dmitry's disgust.  Dmitry grabbed his head
with his fists in frustrated rage, turning nearly purple with the
violence of his feelings, then drew himself up, pointed dramatically at
Max and throbbingly declared in ringing tones, "Soon I will teach him
the meaning of PAIN!"

"Oh, you will not," I replied.  "He's just a little boy."

Plus I pointed out the fact he made his demented denunciation in English, which didn't mean much to Max.

Muttering what sounded suspiciously like Russian imprecations, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his room.