I had a wonderful, three-day weekend. Saturday was Boogaloo on the Bayou, a one-day festival on Bayou St. John filled with food, music, Mardi Gras Indians, kids' games, free canoeing and the Mid-City Art market. I rode my bike over about 11 a.m. to hear Bob French and his band. Then I heard the Soul Rebels. Sitting in the sunshine, enjoying the breeze, the music and the sight of people laughing and dancing, I felt my soul restored a bit. I've been tired lately. Tired of fighting for attention, trying to get people to support our cause here, tired of bureaucracy, inefficiency, pathos, desperation, hopelessness (did I say bureaucracy?), the war, politics, predictions about the upcoming hurricane season…I've just been tired and wondering. So I spent a weekend filled with everything I love about New Orleans. Yesterday, I was going to ride my bike down to the National World War II Museum for a noon film on glider pilots during the war. However, I got caught up in puttering which, before I knew it, had consumed most of the day. I sanded and painted, tied up my tomato plants, transplanted things in the yard, weeded my little garden I planted on Esplanade, moved some paperwork around — just puttered all day. I rarely ever spend days like that. I kept telling myself I must need one more day to recharge my sense of enthusiasm. By yesterday evening, I was looking forward to my week's work.

Then I read this morning's Times-Picayune and I got really angry. Columnist Chris Rose wrote about being away from the city for a month and his mixed feelings about returning. Since Hurricane Katrina, Chris's voice has been a wonderful touchstone for many New Orleanians, articulating feelings that many of us share. However, in today's column, his likening loving New Orleans and staying here to remaining in an abusive relationship really set me off. I'm tired of the pathos, the resignation, the justification and rationalizing to ourselves, each other and the outside world (everyone in the non-Katrina zone) about why we should restore the wetlands and rebuild New Orleans.

In Chris' column, he quoted his eye doctor's comments on the insurance industry and skyrocketing premiums. "I swear it's like they want to make it impossible to live here, like they want us all to leave. It's like they want to clear all the people out of south Louisiana and minimize the risk."

That's been my diatribe for the past several months. Certain entities seem to be squeezing out the middle class by overloading us with restrictions, premiums, confusing decisions, safety concerns and a million other things. I felt tired again and angry too. When I attended the IHNC brainstorming session last month, hosted by Arcadis and The Bioengineering Group, every learned professional in the room was certain things could be engineered to protect the city and restore the wetlands. Why is there still a question about whether and when it will be done? Hello? Money, politics, bureaucracy, inefficiency, pathos, desperation, hopelessness, the war, politics, predictions about the upcoming hurricane season (did I say bureaucracy?)… all the things that have been wearing me down. Perhaps, if I were a better writer, I could stir hearts and inspire action with stories of our local culture, and the personal plight of me and my dogs. But I have decided that, even on a purely objective basis, it is illogical to "give up" or abandon any community, or like a wounded, gangrenous leg, let it fester unattended until the patient dies. Is there enough real estate in the United States that the southern half of Louisiana may be sacrificed? Will we all move to Seattle until Mt. St. Helen's blows again? Or should we move to New York City and hope a hurricane doesn't flood the infrastructure there or another major power grid doesn't fail? Perhaps we could create a huge drainage/watering system that would change Utah's arid climate into a more hospitable environment for those of us who would be leaving behind our humid, sultry city of hibiscus, palmettos and ferns?

I'm not picking on anyone else's city. I'm simply saying what I've said over and over again, that we have risk, as much as any other habitable place. I keep thinking of that famous poem, First They Came by German U-boat commander and pastor Martin Niemöller about how they came for this one and I didn't speak up because I wasn't that. Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak. Perhaps if I wrote something so eloquent, people would pay attention. Here's my version, adapted to a Gulf Coast environment, post-Katrina:

When they relocated public housing's poor to Houston, I didn't speak up because I still had my house and was secretly relieved that "that element" was no longer residing in my beleaguered city. When they came for the elderly on a fixed income, to take away their FEMA trailers because they still hadn't rebuilt their homes but the deadline was past, I didn't speak up because I had a comfy house, nice income, was in the prime of my life and just didn't have time to worry about them. Besides, there are nursing homes in other states that can take care of them, and our economy is so strained here. We need people who can work and contribute something, not old folks who need a handout. When they came for the Spanish-speaking construction workers because the rebuilding funds were depleted and people in Washington wanted to look tough on immigration, I didn't speak up because I was glad I didn't have to learn how to speak Spanish and was, quite frankly, a little nervous and overwhelmed by the unfamiliar culture. When they came for Louisiana, I didn't speak up because I live in Sioux City, Iowa and have never been to New Orleans and can't afford to keep my kids in private school and pay a tax increase to support coastal wetlands. Screw them. I've been saving for a new car and a trip to the Bahamas. I can't be worried about Louisiana's wetlands, or the coral reefs off of Florida, or toxic dump sites in Pittsburgh, or whatever. I'm going to sit in my recliner, sipping a brewski, watch a little of "Dancing with the Stars," and maybe throw something on my new gas grill I got at the Bass Pro Shop last week.

If you're in Louisville, New York City, St. Paul or wherever, if you don't speak up for us now, there may not be anyone to speak up for you when it's your turn, when the fires, plagues, pestilence, hurricanes, floods, terrorism, crime or whatever come to your front door and the government, insurance industry, technology and common human decency turn their backs on you. If you DO care about New Orleans, the coastal wetlands and the lower half of the state, speak now, or forever watch your back.