Yesterday I transferred some files from the old computer to a thumb drive and discovered some of my musings about Katrina, pre and post, and a list of related topics I should write about before I forgot them. I didn't write about them then, but I may take it up soon. I'll be able to do it now because reading some of those pieces brought up a flood of emotions, and freed many things I have shoved into a drawer in my brain. It's kind of a reality check about how very difficult the recovery was, and is. I'll post some of the older pieces here as we near the 4th anniversary of the bitch and her cousin, Rita.
Pepper, the 2 dogs, and I left NOLA at about 4:00 in the morning on August 28, 2005, heading north to Little Rock to ride out the storm for a few days. We returned home to NOLA, full-time, in May 2006. The following was written a few months later:
SUMMER 2006 in NOLA
My official re-entry date to New Orleans was May 22nd, even though we hopscotched from Little Rock to New Orleans the entire month of May and some of June. Although I was anxious to “be” home amid my stuff, I was grateful for just a little more time in Little Rock so we could squeeze out one more meal with friends and be around for that first, very scary week of our new grandson’s life. But now John is safely at home with his brother, Will, and we’re home, too.
Since returning to this new New Orleans we have been invaded by termites, munched on by enormous mosquitoes, rear-ended by a drunk driver (and the NOPD patrol car in the lane right next to us didn’t even stop to inquire if we were all right!), have spent a lot of telephone time squatting on hold, and have chased at least two lizards around the upstairs TV room. It all adds up to just one simple conclusion: life in the Big Easy is coming around, closing in on pre-K “normal.” The good news is that our chimneys, awning, and windows have been repaired; progress is being made on the interior paint; the Saints drafted Reggie Bush; and power is back on, albeit sporadically, in most of Lakeview and parts of the Lower Ninth. The “Go Fourth on the River” fireworks display, “Dueling Barges,” was spectacular and several public swimming pools have re-opened, giving many of the city’s shell-shocked children something fun to do other than spray-paint graffiti on fire hydrants and gutted buildings, or shoot at one another.
Both of our daughters have visited with friends in tow, so I have had an excuse to do “disaster tours” for people who haven’t seen ground zero up close and personal. The amount of progress that has been made in many parts of the city is astonishing, at least to me. I’ve had the luxury of driving through devastated neighborhoods only once a month or so since January, so I’m able to see progress where many people who have to face it day in and day out see only the same old ruins.
Summer rains have washed away much of that dusty muck from the streets -- that resonating grayish color that contributed to the city’s resemblance to some post-apocryphal wasteland. And there are now actual streets to be seen where recently there were only crumbling houses that had washed off their foundations and onto the rights-of-way.
Death-defyingly resilient plants and shrubs are greening out above the watermark. How did they survive those filthy flood waters containing Lord knows what? One friend whose house took on 2 ½ feet of water in Lake Vista described the toxicity of that water: his family’s bicycles, hanging on hooks in the garage above the waterline, had the chrome finish curled right off of their frames simply from exposure to the fumes! After figuring that out, they opted not to try to salvage their wine collection that had been submerged in the house, even though the bottles were unopened. Good move. They piled them on the trash heap across the cul-de-sac and watched agog as people driving through the neighborhood stopped and loaded those bottles into their cars! Pilfering such as that could lead to some interesting obituaries.
There are more and more FEMA trailers appearing in neighborhoods that were ghost towns just a few weeks ago and trailers are also disappearing elsewhere, heralding the completion of more and more restorations of people’s homes and lives. We don’t really seem to notice the trailers anymore, just as we don’t pay particular attention to blue roofs – the exotic has become mundane. But I’ll ooh and ahh when I spot a newly-planted landscape as easily as I would at the circus; I wouldn’t have done that this time last year.
Neither would I have questioned a “constant” such as water pressure. Not now. After I watched the oscillating sprinkler’s performance several days ago, I now recognize that I have added a new chapter into my unwritten tell-all book about patience. The level of water spouting from the sprinkler on Sunday morning was more akin to a steam calliope than a water sprinkler – the stream shot up, then plummeted halfway, then sputtered, then stopped, then shot up three-quarters of the highest spout, then settled into a steady stream for several minutes before renewing its funky dance, and finally, it eased into a consistent fountain. For awhile. And that is precisely what we have grown to expect from time to time with our toilet re-fill and showers.
Trash pick-up is its own saga. Earlier this week, we hauled a big load of junk from the attic-room to the curb for pick-up. It’s still sitting there, having been ignored by two different waste collection services. The pile is smaller, however – passersby have helped themselves to whatever they wanted. Someone even slit open one of the big, black construction-grade bags to examine its contents, and dumped out another. Oddly enough, someone “selected” one discarded television, but left the other, larger one. He’ll be sorry when he realizes that he got a black-and-white set instead of one that operates (sort of) in color. I wish he’d taken them both.
And we seem to have “lost” another landscaping light in the front yard. Why someone would bother to “borrow” only one of a set of four is beyond me.
But, two days ago I went to the mailbox and was absolutely thrilled to find magazines in there!! Delivery of magazines by the postal service has resumed (and only a month after they announced its resumption)! Sadly, the first Southern Living to be delivered to the house was an issue I had already purchased at a newsstand in Little Rock during the last trip there. But, that’s okay -- this is MY Southern Living, with MY address on the label and with my NEW renewal date printed on that address label. I can’t wait until Mad Magazine shows up.
Isn’t it peculiar how the expectation level for the concept of “thrilling” can be so low?
July 2006
Now, that's courage!
