Who's Your Crawdaddy!?

We're getting some much needed rain. It just started up a little bit ago, and I hear the hiss of it smacking on the road outside.

I noticed that the small stream behind my house is almost completely dried up, with small pools remaining. The result is a feast for local raccoons and opossums who hunt the moist stream bed to fish out minnows and crayfish from their watery haunts. I see their almost human like hand prints encircling various pools, but so far, I've yet to find a crayfish carcass.

Crayfish carcasses. Yum.

I remember the good ol'days...when I was probably 12 or 13, wading through the stream with some other kids in the neighborhood, hunting crayfish.

What did we do with them? Nothing really. We'd just attempt to see who could find the biggest baddest crawdaddy. I think I held the record.

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In other news, I think I'm working with a hottie tonight. I'm excited to go to work.

Last night, I heard an old song about New Orleans called "The Rising Sun". It's sort of an inside joke with this song, as I have many memories of dad attempting to annoy the rest of us by singing it.

As I was listening, it hit me. That song is in need of a lyric change.

There WAS a house, in New Orleans....and it WAS called the Rising Sun.

But not anymore, unfortunately. I got goosebumps just thinking about that.

Kind of weird.

Hopefully Rita hits New Orleans again, instead of destroying some OTHER city. At least the damage has already been done there.