Memories of a sunken city

To some the recent news flashes from New Orleans may seem unreal and hard to connect to. To me, I remember the people, the sights sounds and conversations of a vacation not so long ago.
Spring break was coming that year and we planned our usual run for southern warmth. That year, not so long ago, we planned to head directly south to the closest stretch of warm ocean we could find. After looking at a map, we decided to head for Biloxi, Mississippi. Our youngest two were teens then, and game for a bit of adventure.
We stopped a few hours short of Biloxi that first night, deep in the heart of Mississippi. Early the next morning we drove to Biloxi and found our motel on the gulf coast. I remember shrimp boats, long streatches of sand and friendly epople. It was a little too cool too swim, but we enjoyed ocean walks and exploring the area. We visited interesting shops in Gulfport and then headed for New Orleans.
Some may have called New Orleans "sin city." I found it to be an interesting, curious city and definitely not as notorious as Amsterdam's red light district. I remember colored musicians playing jazz on their trumpets on a street corner, hoping for a dollar and hawking their CD's. Music filled the air on a warm afternoon. The beignets purchased in the French Quarter were fresh and delicious with coffee. The crawfish, a local delicacy, were hot, spicy and in high demand. Their shells littered the restaurant parking lot. Someone regaled us with a tale of collecting crawfish every spring with his dad on the banks of the Mississippi. I remember walking down the steet and being greeted with a smile and the tip of a hat--very friendly people. My daughter purchased a tall Mardi Gras hat to wear just for the fun of it.
The next day we headed out of the city via a sceninc route and got really lost in the bayou. We drove through watery areas trying to find our way out. Eventually we met some Acadians whose forbearers came from the Maritimes. They sure chuckled to find some Canadians lost in the bayou and gladly helped redirect us.
We asked my daughter what it meant to her to hear reports of "Hurricane Katrina" having been to New Orleans. She asked if our motel in Biloxi was still standing. No, I am sure it is not. The French Quarter still stands but I wonder about the friendly people I met in Mississippi, are they still alive? Could the street musicians, the beignet sellers, the crawfish collectors and the friendly Acadians in the bayou have suvived?
While I will never know the answer to the above questions, I can still pray for the survivors. Over the next few days I will wear my sequined denim blazer I picked up in the French Quarter. Perhaps, if you see me in it, you can remember to send up a prayer for the surviviors and contribute financially to the relief effort.