…where there isn’t a beginning and there isn’t any end.
Blogging breakfast update: Diet Coke. I woke up in a haze that I can’t shake, and I’m hoping this Coca Light will kick in and make my eyes open wider than the droopy lids right now.
On Sunday night, I watched a special on St. Bernard’s Parish. The show was focusing on how all but 5 houses or businesses in the parish were entirely wiped out by waters from the Gulf of Mexico, and how this community has taken it upon themselves to rebuild. They haven’t waited for federal funding; they have forged ahead with their restoration and “will send the bill to Washington when we’re done!” I found myself overwhelmed with emotions as I watched images of people on rooftops, houses flooded to their roofs, and rain pounding down on them. I sat there and cried [and if you know me, I'm not a crier!]. I cried for the natural disaster. I cried for the insufficient planning. I cried for the people who lost everything except their hope in God and faith in each other. I cried for the goodness of the human spirit. I cried because I recognized the streets, the buildings, the faces. And I want to be back there right now.
So last night after yet another unexpectedly turbid house meeting, I resolved that I needed to take a step back from everything and gain a bigger perspective. I put in Spike Lee’s When the Levees Broke and watched a couple hours of his “requiem in four acts,” capturing Katrina and her victims on camera, in candid interviews attempting to understand what went wrong where, and what’s to be made of such a tragedy.
I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen it all before. And yet, every time I watch anything that shows me the streets of New Orleans, the hollows of Mississippi, the vast reach of Katrina, I feel a renewed sense of urgency about the restoration of the region and my participation in that. It feels wrong for me to be sitting in my cushy dorm room, complaining about the minutia in my day-to-day and writing essays and poems and papers when there are people still out of their homes down south.
I’m just pressing on, getting my work done and counting down the days until I return to New Orleans. I want to pack up my stuff, duffle bags of clothes and plastic bins filled with steel-toed boots, electric drill, hammer, tape measures, utility knife, et al. Just pack up, drive off, and leave this year behind.
Oh, and in case you all were wondering, I asked Dr. Walker, Texas Ranger last night about the possibility of having a trampoline at our house next year. She looked skeptical, but said she’ll get back to me. I hope that means “I’ll do what I can to make that happen for you” and not “not a chance in hell!” Cross your fingers!
