Thar She Blows

So Katrina was officially erased off of my list of possible future girl names (not like it was ever seriously on it).  But truly, there is nothing to describe the feeling of seeing footage of your ex-boyfriend's apartment flooded.

New Orleans has a special place in my heart as I lived there for my 18 months of graduate school.  I remember hurricanes coming and going.  The one I remember the most is Georges in '98.  By the time the "G" names got around I was getting to be a seriously seasoned boat driver (a.k.a. my Subaru floating down a street hoping my tires would make contact with something solid underneath it to propel it anywhere but into the car next to me).  Flooding was not unusual for the city.  I sloshed through campus in knee high water or a bit deeper a couple of times to class and once had to climb in through a window.  I also remember watching the freshmen take there ever so charming dorm decor of inflatable couches, float on them and then try to catch the bumper of a passing car down the "river." 

During most hurricanes, the joke of the locals is just to sit it out and drink.  I wasn't complaining.  But then Georges was on his way.  It was the same scenario of THE worst-possible-situation.  The Weather Channel may have had its special radar, but if you were a local you watched an old guy by the name of Nash with his dry erase board plotting the hurricane hour by hour.  Nash knew it all!  He was more accurate than technology and he even predicted it hitting Gulfport in the last bit.  I'm sorry to hear Nash died not to long ago.

I think that hurricanes are the worst of the disasters only because you become an information junkie.  The Weather Channel or news is on 24/7.  You don't sleep very well and are really worried that you missed something if you aren't watching it for some reason.  Hour by hour, your anxiety builds wondering if you will be hit.

When the city was told to evacuate, the students from out of town were truly stuck in their dorms.  Some parents flew their kids home last minute, others rented cars and carpooled inland.  I thought I was in trouble when my friends who were bonafide locals decided to flee, but I knew I was in trouble when Nash dropped his marker and just said those who stayed had no hope.  A group of us (UT, CA, MD, TN, NY) had decided to stay mostly by default. 

We got our provisions of rental movies, water, alcohol, and food and hunkered down.  We were set until our dorm advisors found us and evacuated us by Tulane's president's orders to another dorm.  Our new "home" was the glass palace.  It looked like a small version of the Hyatt in NOLA.... a vertical evacuation lined with glass.  Yeah, that made no sense to me at all considering my residence was stone and 3 stories up, but whatever. 

I called my mom and grandmothers and off we went.  Our comfy space was the hallway where they never turned the lights off.  (Think of an elementary school hallway with the hard linoleum and florescent lights.) I thought of going back, but I am too much of a rule follower to the point that we turned our hated suite-mate in to the RA's and she was brought back. 

I remember watching the windows shift from being concave to convex in seconds and wondering when they would burst.  I watched the goal post of the practice field sway like it was a flower stem in the wind.  It was a rough few days. 

They fed us packed lunches of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches 3 meals a day.  I have to say the best part was finding another graduate student in our program in the building who let us stay with her for awhile...no more hallway. 

When the skies cleared, we weren't able to leave (much like those in the Superdome now).  Talk about stir-crazy.  It didn't make sense for us to be locked in while the sky looked perfectly blue.  In the end, I think I did sneak out back home.  It was a relief to see my windows in tact, doors locked, and no water damage.  It was a great feeling.

I can't imagine how my friends feel now.  I've been told they cannot return for another week according to marshal law, and they still aren't certain what they have to return to.  Just like me, they are scouring the video footage for landmarks and street signs, trying to see if it is in their neighborhoods or some place they recognize under the murky cafe au lait poisoned water.  There are three friends in particular that I hold deep in my heart and I am truly grateful to have heard from them.  They are safe and coping the best they can. 

Vulnerability of disaster strikes all races, classes, ages, and gender.  It has a tendency to almost "wipe the slate clean," which is hard to do in such a regal city like New Orleans.  I have never been in such a polarized place of the haves and have nots.  Looting is enraging, but not surprising. 

My heart breaks every time I see the footage, learn more statistics, hear more stories, and make that personal connection.   The city, and those who know it, will never be the same.

Hit the Road, Jack

It took a week, but my brother and I decided that you cannot return home or whatever concept is related to it.  Living together as adults was a disasterous experiment.  And in the end, it was good he left before our semi-relationship was sacrificed further.  It does take two to tango and in this accountability, I realized that I assumed a lot.

Assumption #1:  Living together will mean we will spend more time together.  Not so much.  He never came home Friday night and the most I saw him Saturday was 10 minutes before and after he took a shower.  When he was home, he was secluded in his room with video games.  We never did have dinner together or even watch television. 

Assumption #2:  My brother has matured.  See the video game comment above.  Also you could have buried my illusions in the piles of clothes on the floor.

Assumption #3:  We can communicate.  Yeah, do you count the minutes when he's standing with his hand on the door leaving?

On Monday night he came home, stood as far away from me as possible, and announced he was moving out.  I already knew this because my Father and I had just hung up the phone.  Dad was wondering why my brother called him in tears wanting to crash on the couch.  All I did was ask that his room be picked up by tonight.  Man, I'm such a meanie!

My brother's biggest argument was that I acted too much like a mother to him.  I was too concerned about his life (however, it is hard not to be when he dumps his whole life drama on your lap the first night he's there).  What is the funniest part to me is that he decided to return home to Mom.