This has been one of those weeks where I feel like I might have a nervous breakdown at any minute. Sometimes, the stress of living in New Orleans really gets to me. It’s just little things—things that really shouldn't bother me, but when you combine them all together, they do.
I waited in line at the grocery store the other night for 30 minutes—just to buy two items. All 12 lanes were open—a minor miracle in itself—but even 12 lanes wasn’t enough to deal with all of the people using one of the two grocery stores that’s open.
Getting around the city feels impossible—the news keeps saying that the population of New Orleans has been reduced by 80%. If so, who in the hell are all of these people driving around? It takes me longer to get to daycare and then to work in the mornings than it ever did pre-Katrina. And the constant detours don’t help matters—I have to take a different route every day, as there are always one or two roads blocked off by construction crews, tree-trimming crews, demolition crews, etc. I suppose it’s good to see progress being made slowly but surely—but sometimes you just want to be able to take a direct route to work.
Sometimes, I feel crazy for living here.
3.02.2006
2.28.2006
1.23.2006
Release Them
I read an article by one of The Times-Picayune’s columnists last week, and it echoed how I feel. An elderly woman who lost everything to Katrina was talking about all of the things that she lost and misses. She said that every time she thought of more things, she would tell herself, “Release them. They’re gone.” That’s how I feel. I miss my stuff. I know that people are right when they tell me to look on the bright side—at least I have my health, my family, my job. And they're right, and I am incredibly grateful. But, at the risk of sounding selfish, sometimes I just want my stuff. I don’t care about the material stuff--furniture, cars, etc. But the sentimental stuff--I want it back.
My heart hurts over Emmeline’s belongings in particular. I think of all of the hours I spent while pregnant--washing and folding tiny baby clothes, decorating, dreaming. And looking forward to the rapidly approaching day when a baby—our baby—would arrive. I was so pleased with how her room turned out—the soft, mossy green color of the furniture, the big cushy rocking chair that my mother had turned over to me, a remnant of my own childhood. The monogrammed blanket. The silver rattle from Mexico. Now everything in the room is covered in mold and rats have taken up residence in E’s crib. Release them, they're gone.
My heart hurts over Emmeline’s belongings in particular. I think of all of the hours I spent while pregnant--washing and folding tiny baby clothes, decorating, dreaming. And looking forward to the rapidly approaching day when a baby—our baby—would arrive. I was so pleased with how her room turned out—the soft, mossy green color of the furniture, the big cushy rocking chair that my mother had turned over to me, a remnant of my own childhood. The monogrammed blanket. The silver rattle from Mexico. Now everything in the room is covered in mold and rats have taken up residence in E’s crib. Release them, they're gone.
1.18.2006
I'll Take the Stairs
They don’t call it the School of Public Health for nothing. Got into work this morning and the one elevator was out. I thought about going home but then decided to hike up the 18 flights. And then, after being in my office for about 30 minutes, the fire alarm went off. We tromped back down 18 flights of steps, me in my high-heeled boots, only to be told when we got to the bottom that it was a false alarm and we could go back up again. I heard later that rain had leaked into the elevator shafts, causing a fire that put the one working elevator out of commission. So we walked up and down steps all day. Need to go to the dean’s office? A relatively short walk up of only six flights. Going down to the parking garage for a cigarette? That’s 22 flights round trip. By the end of the day, I’d walked up and down a combined total of 112 flights. No wonder I’m tired.
1.17.2006
Why I Should Invest in Cabinet Locks*
*Before you place that call to Family and Children's Services, I was with her the entire time she was exploring.
1.16.2006
A Thousand Little Deaths
As I told Kenny last night, post-Katrina life feels like a thousand little deaths. The death of life in New Orleans as we knew it. The death of our home. The death of our former city, Bay St. Louis. It was painful going over there yesterday. Everything is gone. The homes of my parents and his mother—still standing, but nothing left to salvage but mud. His grandmother and sister’s homes are completely gone—wiped away by storm surge. The bar where we met? Gone. The house where we lived? Gone. Nick's church and the rectory where he and Mom lived? Gone. The building that I worked in? Still standing, but not looking good. No more Dan B’s. No more Fire Dog. No more municipal pier. No more Peterman’s Grocery. Everything’s gone, reduced to splinters or slabs.
1.14.2006
Delivery Declined
It seems that some people really don’t have a clue that Katrina even happened. I ordered some books from Amazon recently, assuming that they used UPS or a similar service for deliveries. (Almost six months after Katrina, we’re still not allowed to receive packages, magazines or catalogues through the U.S. mail.)
Anyway—about two weeks after I ordered the books from Amazon, I’m wondering where in the hell they are. I called Amazon and was informed that the books had been refused upon delivery and that my account had been credited. I told them I didn’t refuse the books—who, exactly, did? That’s when the customer service rep told me that someone at my office named Katrina had refused delivery. Um, do you mean Hurricane Katrina? Oh yes, she chirpily replied, that must be it.
So in case you were wondering, Amazon uses the U.S. Postal Service to deliver books, and they promptly refused my order. I wonder how much longer we'll have to go before they allow us to have packages or magazines again?
Anyway—about two weeks after I ordered the books from Amazon, I’m wondering where in the hell they are. I called Amazon and was informed that the books had been refused upon delivery and that my account had been credited. I told them I didn’t refuse the books—who, exactly, did? That’s when the customer service rep told me that someone at my office named Katrina had refused delivery. Um, do you mean Hurricane Katrina? Oh yes, she chirpily replied, that must be it.
So in case you were wondering, Amazon uses the U.S. Postal Service to deliver books, and they promptly refused my order. I wonder how much longer we'll have to go before they allow us to have packages or magazines again?
1.11.2006
12.25.2005
Merry Christmas
Today was a pretty good day, other than the fact that I’m missing my extended family and wishing they were here. It is E’s first Christmas after all, so we made the best of it. K’s entire family came over, and we started off with mimosas and brunch, followed by a few presents, wine, and a really nice dinner that K and I spent most of Christmas Eve cooking. A good time to be thankful for what we still have and hope for a happier 2006.
12.24.2005
12.23.2005
We're Having Mardi Gras
Chris Rose sums it up perfectly:
We're having Mardi Gras, and that's final:
"Mardi Gras is not a parade. Mardi Gras is not girls flashing on French Quarter balconies. Mardi Gras is not an alcoholic binge.
Mardi Gras is...returning to the same street corner, year after year, and standing next to the same people, year after year -- people whose names you may or may not even know but you've watched their kids grow up in this public tableau and when they're not there, you wonder: Where are those guys this year?
It is dressing your dog in a stupid costume and cheering when the marching bands go crazy and clapping and saluting the military bands when they crisply snap to.
Mardi Gras is the love of life. It is the harmonic convergence of our food, our music, our creativity, our eccentricity, our neighborhoods and our joy of living. All at once.
And it doesn't really matter if there are superparades or even any parades at all this year. Because some group of horn players will grab their instruments and they will march Down the Avenue because that's what they do, and I, for one, will follow.
If there are no parades, I'm hitching a boombox to a wagon, putting James Booker on the CD player and pulling my kids Down the Avenue and you're welcome to come along with me and where more than two tribes gather, there is a parade.
We are the parade. We are Mardi Gras."
We're having Mardi Gras, and that's final:
"Mardi Gras is not a parade. Mardi Gras is not girls flashing on French Quarter balconies. Mardi Gras is not an alcoholic binge.
Mardi Gras is...returning to the same street corner, year after year, and standing next to the same people, year after year -- people whose names you may or may not even know but you've watched their kids grow up in this public tableau and when they're not there, you wonder: Where are those guys this year?
It is dressing your dog in a stupid costume and cheering when the marching bands go crazy and clapping and saluting the military bands when they crisply snap to.
Mardi Gras is the love of life. It is the harmonic convergence of our food, our music, our creativity, our eccentricity, our neighborhoods and our joy of living. All at once.
And it doesn't really matter if there are superparades or even any parades at all this year. Because some group of horn players will grab their instruments and they will march Down the Avenue because that's what they do, and I, for one, will follow.
If there are no parades, I'm hitching a boombox to a wagon, putting James Booker on the CD player and pulling my kids Down the Avenue and you're welcome to come along with me and where more than two tribes gather, there is a parade.
We are the parade. We are Mardi Gras."
12.22.2005
Betz
Still haven't had the heart to go into our totaled house, although I need to go over there soon and see if there's anything left that's salvageable. Sooner or later, we're going to have to drag everything out of it and begin gutting it. Not looking forward to that process.
12.15.2005
Emmeline
E is doing well. She's back in her pre-Katrina daycare and seems happy every day when I pick her up, which is a big relief, as they have an all-new staff. (All of the former staff lost their homes and haven't made it back yet.) They can only staff the place from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. right now, which makes my work schedule interesting.
She's getting very active--has become a pro at pulling herself up on things. We went and had her picture taken with Santa last week—guess that will be our only traditional pre-Christmas activity, as we've looked everywhere for a Christmas tree and haven't been able to find one. Maybe we can decorate one of the cats or something.
She's getting very active--has become a pro at pulling herself up on things. We went and had her picture taken with Santa last week—guess that will be our only traditional pre-Christmas activity, as we've looked everywhere for a Christmas tree and haven't been able to find one. Maybe we can decorate one of the cats or something.
12.13.2005
Back to Work
Work is surprisingly normal--our building sustained very little damage, other than flooding on the first floor. When you walk into the elevator lobby, you can see where the paint was eaten off of the elevator doors by the flooding. Makes me feel kind of insecure about taking a ride, but there's not much of a choice in the matter, as I'm on the 18th floor. And of course, out of nine elevators in the building, only one is working, so it takes a ridiculously long time to get anywhere in the building with several hundred people all trying to use that one elevator.
No restaurants are open anywhere within walking distance, so we all bring our lunches. No vending machines, so I bring my Coke-fix from home.
No restaurants are open anywhere within walking distance, so we all bring our lunches. No vending machines, so I bring my Coke-fix from home.
12.11.2005
Home Again
We’re back in New Orleans and settling into life here again. Things feel somewhat normal and completely abnormal at the same time. Can you say PTSD?
It was pretty eerie when we first got into town, driving through New Orleans East and seeing mile after mile of deserted, lifeless neighborhoods. I cried and cried when we first got here, just overwhelmed and heartbroken by the sheer amount of loss and suffering of so many people. As I'd been told, life in the Uptown/CBD/French Quarter area feels pretty normal--lots of people going about their everyday lives. The area isn't completely unscathed--lots of blue roofs, lots of fallen limbs and lots of debris in the streets. And pick-up of said debris is sporadic, at best. Still, pretty good, considering.
Drive about one mile north of our area into the flood zone, though, and it's a completely different story. It's hard to wrap your mind around 80 percent of the city being damaged by flooding until you're here and can actually see it. The flood area begins right around our former apartment on Baronne Street (before our brief experiment in home ownership), so neighborhoods that I'm well accustomed to driving/walking through every day are in pretty bad shape. Trash everywhere, abandoned cars on the streets and in the neutral grounds, spray paint markings on every building, trees lying on the tops of roofs, blocks that burned down during gas fires, etc. And everything is brown---brown grass, brown muddy streets, brown water marks on the houses.
Some businesses are open, but there are many more that are just big, dark gaping shells. It's depressing and fascinating at the same time, to see the damage done by the flood.
There are so many inconveniences as far as daily life is concerned. Grocery stores close at 7:00 p.m., drug stores and gas stations are few and far between. Fast food restaurants are non-existent, as they can't afford to staff them--not that it's any great loss not to be able to eat fast food, just another weird circumstance when you're accustomed to living in a city that used to operate 24/7. Most traffic lights are still out, so just about every intersection is a four-way stop.
I think one of my least favorite daily activities would have to be walking past restaurants/grocery stores that are in the process of cleaning up after the flooding--I have to walk by one on my way to work every morning that has a gigantic mound of rotting food and other trash blocking the sidewalk. God only knows when it will be picked up. Welcome to life in New Orleans.
It was pretty eerie when we first got into town, driving through New Orleans East and seeing mile after mile of deserted, lifeless neighborhoods. I cried and cried when we first got here, just overwhelmed and heartbroken by the sheer amount of loss and suffering of so many people. As I'd been told, life in the Uptown/CBD/French Quarter area feels pretty normal--lots of people going about their everyday lives. The area isn't completely unscathed--lots of blue roofs, lots of fallen limbs and lots of debris in the streets. And pick-up of said debris is sporadic, at best. Still, pretty good, considering.
Drive about one mile north of our area into the flood zone, though, and it's a completely different story. It's hard to wrap your mind around 80 percent of the city being damaged by flooding until you're here and can actually see it. The flood area begins right around our former apartment on Baronne Street (before our brief experiment in home ownership), so neighborhoods that I'm well accustomed to driving/walking through every day are in pretty bad shape. Trash everywhere, abandoned cars on the streets and in the neutral grounds, spray paint markings on every building, trees lying on the tops of roofs, blocks that burned down during gas fires, etc. And everything is brown---brown grass, brown muddy streets, brown water marks on the houses.
Some businesses are open, but there are many more that are just big, dark gaping shells. It's depressing and fascinating at the same time, to see the damage done by the flood.
There are so many inconveniences as far as daily life is concerned. Grocery stores close at 7:00 p.m., drug stores and gas stations are few and far between. Fast food restaurants are non-existent, as they can't afford to staff them--not that it's any great loss not to be able to eat fast food, just another weird circumstance when you're accustomed to living in a city that used to operate 24/7. Most traffic lights are still out, so just about every intersection is a four-way stop.
I think one of my least favorite daily activities would have to be walking past restaurants/grocery stores that are in the process of cleaning up after the flooding--I have to walk by one on my way to work every morning that has a gigantic mound of rotting food and other trash blocking the sidewalk. God only knows when it will be picked up. Welcome to life in New Orleans.
12.10.2005
Santa Who?
Who is this strange bearded man, why is he holding me, and for the love of God, why are we wearing matching outfits?
11.10.2005
Dude, Where's My Car?
Geico called me today and wanted to know if I had any idea of where my car is. I thought that was pretty funny, as if they thought I might have driven over to Bay St. Louis, picked up the car and driven it home. I reported it totaled due to storm surge a week after the hurricane and gave them the exact location. And now they’re calling me more than two months later wanting to know where it is? I’m sure it’s long since been towed off by someone and could quite possibly be coming to a used car dealership near you. I guess I should be thankful for small blessings, like the fact that my car isn't insured through Allstate....
10.31.2005
10.23.2005
Allstate Really Sucks
I snapped tonight on the phone with Allstate. I was talking to a representative, explaining our situation for approximately the 300th time. Our house flooded during Hurricane Katrina, we are unable to live in it. We reported the claim on August 30th. We’ve been assigned to three different adjusters, each of whom eventually tells us that he’s not responsible for our case. Our home has yet to be inspected. The 90-day moratorium will end in another 30 days. And on, and on, and on.
And she, of course, told me that she couldn’t help me and would have to take down my information and have someone call me back. Then she asked me for my home phone number. And I completely lost it, I'm afraid. I may have ended up screaming, “We no longer have a home--that's what I've been trying to tell you for the past hour.” She was nonplussed, but it made me feel better. Maybe now they’ll assign us a fourth adjuster.
And she, of course, told me that she couldn’t help me and would have to take down my information and have someone call me back. Then she asked me for my home phone number. And I completely lost it, I'm afraid. I may have ended up screaming, “We no longer have a home--that's what I've been trying to tell you for the past hour.” She was nonplussed, but it made me feel better. Maybe now they’ll assign us a fourth adjuster.
10.17.2005
Halloween Dress Rehearsal
When looking for ways to entertain yourself during the next evacuation from New Orleans, I highly recommend trying out various hats and wigs on your six-month-old daughter to find that perfect "my first Halloween" look.
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