And we're back

Returned to Baton Rouge today through Houston, where I saw or heard:

"Expect to be there six months. That's what they told me." Overheard; a ServiceMaster employee, wearing a brand-proud tee shirt and that read "Disaster Recovery" on the back. These are the people that suck water out of carpet, but tarps over open roofs, and do a thousand things that insurance companies agree to pay for.

"Those four guys in Slidell? We're going to get them out of there. One of them got really bad infection." Overheard; first class passenger on his cell phone.

Seen: A man carrying a deep underwater diving helmet. A woman in a yellow tee shirt and matching yellow and black back pack. Her shirt read "Volunteer Minister," and on each sleeve, "Church of Scientology" and a crest. And on the airport tarmac, about thirty military helicopters, a trailer-office of the Texas National Guard, sixty pallettes of bottled water.

In Baton Rouge, after the high state of worry and outrage that struck us who are not in New Orleans, I expected shock and dismay to have marked the city somehow. It appears unchanged: Lots of billboards for personal injury lawyers, college students in my apartment complex sunning by the pool, pork on sale at the Albertson's.

Photo: The negligible disaster refrozen in the top third of my refrigerator. Note the block of melted ice cubes transformed into a frozen block.