We were renters before that bitch Katrina.  Content…lo, happy even…to let some faceless landlord take care of leaks and electrical problems.  Then came the storm.  We evacuated like most and stayed away for months – living in Mandeville.  A place where social lives go to die.

Emboldened by the misguided idea that things in NOLA would be better post-Katrina, we began to search for a house to buy.  We foolishly believed that Mayor Nagin was still smart, rather than batshit crazy, and that the crime would stay away and the schools would flourish and churn out bright young minds who would go off to college and become doctors, engineers (NOT lawyers) and professors and come back to NOLA to share their newfound knowledge.

We eventually settled on a “renovated” side-hall shotgun in an “up and coming” neighborhood in the Irish Channel.  It was one of those things where we walked in and knew it was supposed to be our house.  A perfect condo-alternative, starter home.  Never mind the blighted houses on BOTH sides of our house – in this post-Katrina landscape, getting rid of blight would be a top priority and remedied quickly!

We closed on our Irish Channel gem on St. Patrick’s Day.  It seemed like kismet.  Then the wheels fell off.

**to be continued**