I had another dream about my sleepy grey town. Check out Oct 9, 2005 entry "fire dancers, pot smokers, and me." I wonder if every time I'm about to come home I'm going to dream about this town again.
I was walking down a sidewalk in a city full of skyscrapers. The clouds were grey, the buildings were grey, everything was grey. It was one of the only times I've been very aware that my dreams are black and white. I was walking with two of my good friends, except when I glanced at them I realized I didn't know them at all. I had no clue who these people were that I was walking with but we all pretended to be friends and walked together.
I saw a big storefront window and stopped. My friends stopped and waited for me as I peeked inside. I cupped my hands around my face and looked in. Suddenly my dream burst into color and I saw New Orleans. I saw a row of houses; red, yellow, green, blue, and purple... sweet New Orleans houses. They're so beautiful all colorful and with decorative trim. But these houses were crooked, very crooked. Some on their sides, some upside down, some sinking into water.
I tried to figure out where I had seen this scene before. The chaos of Katrina stayed for months, now a year, stillframes of destruction, because there were more important things to do. A house sitting in the middle of the street could sit in the middle of that street for a year and that's why many published photos from the storm I can recognize and know exactly where they were taken. I knew this scene, I remembered it.
But I didn't want to remember it anymore. I turned around and looked at my two friends, "I'm ready to pretend this didn't happen." And we walked on.
I woke up.
I'm more than ready to get out of here. There's still so much to be done but I have a chance to get away. I need it.
The people of New Orleans who were able to come back can't get away. Day after day they drive to work, swerving down their streets through a neighborhood of debris piles and at night they come home to the same familiar scene. They want to get away too, but their duty right now is to stay. The city needs them to stay. The city needs its life back. So many people were just put on planes and rushed out of here, sent to weird destinations like New Hampshire. And not everybody has the money to get a car or plane ticket to get back. They can't be blamed.
I want out of here so bad but there's so much more to do. I have a feeling I won't be gone long...
Monday, October 30, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
I'm coming home!!!
It's been cold here in New Orleans... coats and pants weather... like Ohio maybe a month ago. I never thought it would get this way. People here are funny though. I saw a lady yesterday standing outside her trailer talking on the phone wearing full-out snow gear. Brrr! It's in the 60s!!!
I can't believe I've been down here since July (with a nice little roadtrip in between). It's nice being in one place for the transition of seasons.
But I can't wait to come home to Ohio! Not for the state itself, but for my family and friends. So this is my little update-
My address is now 1360 SR 314 N
Mansfield, OH 44903
Don't send anything more to the New Orleans address or Denver address because they won't be forwarding anything home to me.
See you soon...
I can't believe I've been down here since July (with a nice little roadtrip in between). It's nice being in one place for the transition of seasons.
But I can't wait to come home to Ohio! Not for the state itself, but for my family and friends. So this is my little update-
My address is now 1360 SR 314 N
Mansfield, OH 44903
Don't send anything more to the New Orleans address or Denver address because they won't be forwarding anything home to me.
See you soon...
Thursday, October 19, 2006
sitting, watching, waiting
SITTING.
Ms. Williams sat on her steps, breathing in each shovel-full of black moldy debris we carried out. Every day I wanted to tell her to move, but I don’t think she let one shovel go by without her eye on it. She watched the remains of her candy shop pile up on the side of the road, only to wait for the big truck to come carry it all on to that final resting place that has us all in denial of its existence. Yes, this trash all goes somewhere. It’s all torn apart and crushed and compacted, and then, it just sits like Ms. Williams does… for eternity it seems, with perpetual youth that outlasts her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren… mostly cause they got cancer from the trash that sits.
WATCHING.
In the church St Drexel built, we sat and watched as Ms. Pierce stood before the congregation in tears. Her name was on every free gutting service list available. Her house sat untouched, except for the broken window and keepsakes thrown around by looters who found nothing to their value. Her brother left town and vowed to never come back. Her neighborhood abandoned her too, except for the lanky man in the FEMA trailer on the corner who’d lean on his cane and watch us work, casting skinny shadows in the New Orleans sun. Maybe he had to gut his house himself. Maybe he watched us, wondering how Ms. Pierce moved up on those lists. I don’t know, but he watched. Ms. Pierce claims it was a miracle.
WAITING.
It’s raining today and I’m remembering how badly the streets flooded when it rained in St. Bernard. I sat next to a young mother and two of her sons at dinner one night. She said she’s afraid she brought them back too early. Maybe they should have stayed in Texas longer. The one boy clutched her, terrified of the rain, shaking at each pounding on the metal roof. She looked at me and told me he’s waiting for another hurricane. From the start of June till the end of November they wait, knowing any day could bring another Katrina. From December till the end of May they’re still waiting… $100 billion was promised them, and nobody has gotten a cent.
sitting.
They sit in front of their TV sets and hear all the bad news. They sit and criticize Bush and everyone else they can blaim except for their lazy selves… saying the government should go in there and fix things.
It took me nine months to realize that’s me.
watching.
I show them pictures, tell them stories, send home video just so they’ll get an idea of the chaos. They watch it and I still hear, “Aren’t things cleaned up yet?”
waiting.
Ms. Williams is waiting for the money to hang sheetrock on her bare studs.
Ms. Pierce waits to see if her home’s worth bulldozing.
The boy waits for the hurricane.
I’m waiting for a chronic disease.
We’re all waiting to finally go home.
Ms. Williams sat on her steps, breathing in each shovel-full of black moldy debris we carried out. Every day I wanted to tell her to move, but I don’t think she let one shovel go by without her eye on it. She watched the remains of her candy shop pile up on the side of the road, only to wait for the big truck to come carry it all on to that final resting place that has us all in denial of its existence. Yes, this trash all goes somewhere. It’s all torn apart and crushed and compacted, and then, it just sits like Ms. Williams does… for eternity it seems, with perpetual youth that outlasts her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren… mostly cause they got cancer from the trash that sits.
WATCHING.
In the church St Drexel built, we sat and watched as Ms. Pierce stood before the congregation in tears. Her name was on every free gutting service list available. Her house sat untouched, except for the broken window and keepsakes thrown around by looters who found nothing to their value. Her brother left town and vowed to never come back. Her neighborhood abandoned her too, except for the lanky man in the FEMA trailer on the corner who’d lean on his cane and watch us work, casting skinny shadows in the New Orleans sun. Maybe he had to gut his house himself. Maybe he watched us, wondering how Ms. Pierce moved up on those lists. I don’t know, but he watched. Ms. Pierce claims it was a miracle.
WAITING.
It’s raining today and I’m remembering how badly the streets flooded when it rained in St. Bernard. I sat next to a young mother and two of her sons at dinner one night. She said she’s afraid she brought them back too early. Maybe they should have stayed in Texas longer. The one boy clutched her, terrified of the rain, shaking at each pounding on the metal roof. She looked at me and told me he’s waiting for another hurricane. From the start of June till the end of November they wait, knowing any day could bring another Katrina. From December till the end of May they’re still waiting… $100 billion was promised them, and nobody has gotten a cent.
sitting.
They sit in front of their TV sets and hear all the bad news. They sit and criticize Bush and everyone else they can blaim except for their lazy selves… saying the government should go in there and fix things.
It took me nine months to realize that’s me.
watching.
I show them pictures, tell them stories, send home video just so they’ll get an idea of the chaos. They watch it and I still hear, “Aren’t things cleaned up yet?”
waiting.
Ms. Williams is waiting for the money to hang sheetrock on her bare studs.
Ms. Pierce waits to see if her home’s worth bulldozing.
The boy waits for the hurricane.
I’m waiting for a chronic disease.
We’re all waiting to finally go home.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
random thoughts on "stuff"
The other night I read a startling fact in my Sierra Club magazine. Even more startling was that I was actually exercising when I read it, making that 36 bucks to join the New Orleans YMCA worth it, and making the rest of those losers who work out for a living think that I actually take care of my body too… ok, not really. I admire them and wish there were some other compulsion to exercise other than I gave my credit card digits to the lady at the front desk and now I need to make sure I get my money’s worth.
But what I read was that in a 2004 survey, one-third of Americans said greed and materialism are our most urgent moral problems. Now I don’t know if there were options in this survey and the other options were people who spit incessantly because they have a phobia of saliva (I admit it… it’s me) or people who keep fingernail clippings to mail to their older brothers (also… me). But it sounds like people possibly have a clue into what I agree is a huge moral problem.
The same magazine had an article that I dog-eared earlier in the pages called “The Devil’s in the Retail; A cult of consumerism is sweeping the planet.” The author talked about a conference called “Gathering of Hearts” that he attended along with the Dalai Lama; leaders of the Sunni, Shia, and Sufi sects of Islam; the Episcopal dean of Grace Cathedral; Jewish rabbis, a member of the Iroquois Confederacy, and a Hindu. They all agreed that one moral problem is challenging all faiths… consumerism. He wrote of this new religion, “Its God is Mammon, its temples shopping malls, and its altars constructed of dollars, euros, yen, and rupees. As for its teachings, they consist of a sole commandment: Buy more.”
Back to me. Cause all my stories center around me. Yes it’s true. I got back this afternoon from a morning of gutting. Finished one home this morning and started on our next. It was once a beautiful plaster home but Katrina floodwaters swept through and chewed at the antique molding and spewed mold across the walls. The lady wants to keep all the molding and we’re trying to remove it carefully but we eventually had to call and tell her, “Hey, we’re not professionals. We can tear things apart. We’re not so good at dismanteling them.” I wanted to tell her things are moldy and rotten anyway. Start with a clean slate. I walked around the house and talked out loud… who would ever want to rebuild on this anyway? I wouldn’t put any money into reconstructing on this crap. Demo and start again.
And I hate to admit these words came out of my mouth because I like to play the part of the tree-hugger, landfill hater, reuse til it falls apart, recycle when it does kind of girl. But I’m tired. I can’t count how many homes I have dragged out to curbs. It was hard at first, but I’ve convinced myself all the debris goes somewhere and disappears. And God, it’s so much debris. I came across a news article the other day and maybe I should read it more often to get my mind back in order. It’s called, “Deconstructing for FEMA Dollars,” and it’s about how Portlanders are coming to teach New Orleaners how to recycle instead of throw everything away. I love you Portland.
http://www.wweek.com/editorial/3234/7709
I was thinking about all this today and how most of my volunteers down in St. Bernard would comment by the end of the week, “One thing I’ve learned is that I have way too much crap.” And I thought about how this winter I’m going home to Ohio and I’m getting rid of as much of my stuff as I can possibly part with. I also want to accumulate less... (check out this- http://groups.yahoo.com/group/thecompact) It took a tragedy to teach me this but after throwing away lifetimes of accumulated garbage from these peoples’ homes, it becomes just that… garbage.
I thought about how this past year I’ve lived on little and it’s shown me how little I really need. All the rest is just garbage. We travel from project to project with nothing but a government issued duffel bag and our own backpacks. I’ve learned that it’s more than I’d ever need. I hope this lesson sticks with me, this lesson about “stuff.” Because I really do feel lighter without it, closer to things more important, closer to heaven where I’m told real treasures are kept.
But what I read was that in a 2004 survey, one-third of Americans said greed and materialism are our most urgent moral problems. Now I don’t know if there were options in this survey and the other options were people who spit incessantly because they have a phobia of saliva (I admit it… it’s me) or people who keep fingernail clippings to mail to their older brothers (also… me). But it sounds like people possibly have a clue into what I agree is a huge moral problem.
The same magazine had an article that I dog-eared earlier in the pages called “The Devil’s in the Retail; A cult of consumerism is sweeping the planet.” The author talked about a conference called “Gathering of Hearts” that he attended along with the Dalai Lama; leaders of the Sunni, Shia, and Sufi sects of Islam; the Episcopal dean of Grace Cathedral; Jewish rabbis, a member of the Iroquois Confederacy, and a Hindu. They all agreed that one moral problem is challenging all faiths… consumerism. He wrote of this new religion, “Its God is Mammon, its temples shopping malls, and its altars constructed of dollars, euros, yen, and rupees. As for its teachings, they consist of a sole commandment: Buy more.”
Back to me. Cause all my stories center around me. Yes it’s true. I got back this afternoon from a morning of gutting. Finished one home this morning and started on our next. It was once a beautiful plaster home but Katrina floodwaters swept through and chewed at the antique molding and spewed mold across the walls. The lady wants to keep all the molding and we’re trying to remove it carefully but we eventually had to call and tell her, “Hey, we’re not professionals. We can tear things apart. We’re not so good at dismanteling them.” I wanted to tell her things are moldy and rotten anyway. Start with a clean slate. I walked around the house and talked out loud… who would ever want to rebuild on this anyway? I wouldn’t put any money into reconstructing on this crap. Demo and start again.
And I hate to admit these words came out of my mouth because I like to play the part of the tree-hugger, landfill hater, reuse til it falls apart, recycle when it does kind of girl. But I’m tired. I can’t count how many homes I have dragged out to curbs. It was hard at first, but I’ve convinced myself all the debris goes somewhere and disappears. And God, it’s so much debris. I came across a news article the other day and maybe I should read it more often to get my mind back in order. It’s called, “Deconstructing for FEMA Dollars,” and it’s about how Portlanders are coming to teach New Orleaners how to recycle instead of throw everything away. I love you Portland.
http://www.wweek.com/editorial/3234/7709
I was thinking about all this today and how most of my volunteers down in St. Bernard would comment by the end of the week, “One thing I’ve learned is that I have way too much crap.” And I thought about how this winter I’m going home to Ohio and I’m getting rid of as much of my stuff as I can possibly part with. I also want to accumulate less... (check out this- http://groups.yahoo.com/group/thecompact) It took a tragedy to teach me this but after throwing away lifetimes of accumulated garbage from these peoples’ homes, it becomes just that… garbage.
I thought about how this past year I’ve lived on little and it’s shown me how little I really need. All the rest is just garbage. We travel from project to project with nothing but a government issued duffel bag and our own backpacks. I’ve learned that it’s more than I’d ever need. I hope this lesson sticks with me, this lesson about “stuff.” Because I really do feel lighter without it, closer to things more important, closer to heaven where I’m told real treasures are kept.
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