vacation

We are starting to feel human again. We have an entire week to adventure around the city and eat until our hearts are content. Today we are off to Matt and Nattie's for lunch - and then to the Columns Hotel tonight for music by David Doucet. One whole week of doing whatever we feel like whenever we feel like it.

Happy New Year!!!!!

RIP Minnie Mouse

Little Minnie was found in the trap mid-day on Christmas Eve. She couldn't resist the temptation of aluminum foil wrapped strategically around the mouse trap. James had been watching her patterns for weeks and determined that the mouse had an extreme interest in, not only his hair and grits, but also shiny pieces of tin foil that she collected and put in different locations. He capitalized on this new knowledge and Minnie immediately took the bait...

living fat-n-happy in the Big Easy

grits, oatmeal, licky, sticky peanut butter.... What more does a mini-mouse need to be content? Her light step never triggers the trap. Our only hope is that by receiving regular meals she'll gain some girth in order to amply weigh-in. She skitters about, never concerned by our presence. More of a companion than a nuisance, until a few nights ago, when late in the night, James was awakened by a little tug, tug, tug on his hair. For him, that sealed little Minnie's fate - the next day the trap was set.

off to bed with warm pjs and a good book

The Pajama Program provides sleepwear for kids in foster homes, orphanages, and shelters. The program was started in NJ by a woman who realized that kids went to bed in the same clothes that they wore during the day. After Katrina, a PJ program started in NOLA. Last week, I went to a Pajama Jam party - adults in jammies giving pjs to children in need. The Pajama Program's goal is to give pajamas to 5000 kids in NOLA this winter.

The kids who receive pajamas also get a book. The books were provided by another organization that I've been volunteering with First Book-Greater New Orleans. Also, a national organization with chapters or branches throughout the country.

I've been so impressed by the various organizations that exist in this city to provide for those who are struggling to get by. So much has been done. So much still to do.....

Letters from NOLA to South Africa

An assignment in Mr. McDonald's classes last week:
My friend Brandi is a photographer and teacher in South Africa. Her students have never seen or touched snow. Write a letter to her students describing snow and I will send it for you.
What does it feel like? Taste like? Smell like? Look like? Sound Like?

They then looked at photos on Brandi's website to learn about where the kids lived and to get an understanding of what their lives are like. http://www.photosforafrica.org/ .

Thanks Brandi for your hard work and for providing inspiration to NOLA kids!!!!!!


Here are some of their letters - no grammatical edits made but shortened in places:



Dear students,

Today I am going to tell you about snow. Snow is like ice but a little softer. December 11, 2008 it snow in New Orleans, Louisiana in the United States of America. The snow was so nice and it had a lot of snow on the ground. It was so much snow it was like 3 inches. I wish that you could see the snow, but one day you will. Snow is the best thing in the sky I've ever seen. When it snow the roads get slippery and people might have accidents but theirs nothing really bad about snow because it's verry fun. You can also build a snowman (with drawing). You can build snowangels in the snow (another drawing). I like the snow so much it seems like a part of my life. Well it was nice having to tell you about snow because I had a great time. Please have a nice day or nice night. Ms. Brandi, it was nice speaking to your students. If you ever write back please have my name in it or let the kids know how precious snow is and how wonderful snow is. From, Phil



Dear Children of Africa,

My teacher Mr. McDonald told us that we should write an letter to you guys & girls. I really want to tell you about our snow day in New Orleans, Louisiana. If it ever snows down there roll up a ball of snow and throw it at someone then you will have an snow ball fight. My friend Devin throw one at my leg when it was snowing down here. It feels like it is going to melt your skin. It taste like H2O (water). It smells like nothing. It looks like little white dots falling out of the light blue sky. It doesn't really have an sound but when it hits the ground it melts. Love, Darkayla

P.S. I hope you can come and vist us a Pierre A. Capdau.



Dear students

I am going to describe snow to you. Snow is white, it's very soft. It snowed one when I was in school at Capdau UNO Charter. When you bald the snow up it gets hard and you can have snowball fights. You can make a snowman and you put scarf, 3 buttons, 1 carrot and 1 hat. You would love the snow if you could see it you and your friends will have a lot of fun if you can come down and play in the snow. I wish you can. You can come down here to play with us. We will have a lot of fun we could play football or basketball.



Dear students,

Snow is a joy because it is fun to play in because it doen't snow often in Nola. Snow is soft and cold and it is white like the clouds. Snow only happen in December because it is the coldest part of the year. Sincerely, Justin



Dear Pin Pil,

Snow looks like crunched up ice and it is very white and very cold. It feel kinda nasty and when you tuch it your hands would freeze up and would start stinging. It does not sound like nothing unless you throw it at somebody they l.o.l. Oh and just to let you know l.o.l. means laugh out loud. When you pick it up it sticks together because its like a magnet and kinda connects together and thats how snow is. Right back to me if you can. Ya digg? Sincerely, Halle



Dear students,

I would like to tell yo about snow. Snow is water, but because of how cold it is that turns it hard and it forms snow flakes. It snowed last week, because it was below 30 degrees. It was very cold. We played in the snow and made snowballs and had a snow ball fight. It was fun. I live in New Orleans, Louisiana. Down here we have a lot of holidays. The holiday that is coming up is Christmas. Merry Christmas! I'm sure you heard about Barack Obama our new president. I'm happy about that. Sincerely, Capdau Student

P.S. Holla at me (write back)

Caroling on the bayou

Last Saturday, I experienced several firsts.

Canoeing on a bayou with 100 other people by the light of the full moon; accompanied by a singing Santa on a sleigh made up of two canoes and a large platform decorated with lights; a small dog, named Gumbo, standing in for Rudolph; Santa leading the canoe caroling to party-goers on the shore; party-goers on the shore handing out cookies, zaps and libations to the carolers while singing along; James Francis singing Christmas carols enthusiastically.....

In reverse from 7:30am - 11:00am

Snowy

footage of our backyard during last week's blizzard:)

IT'S SNOWING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Like really snowing! A LOT! And it has been since 7:30am. Big, fluffy, wonderful snowflakes that remind me of being a kid. It is supposed to snow all day. I'm at work and from my window I see covered rooftops and cars and huge, swirling gusts of white snow. UNBELIEVABLE!!!!!

James has been taking loads of photos, which I'll post tomorrow.

How to Gumbo

This fella works at the Crescent City Farmer's Market. We bought turnips from him. There isn't a huge selection at the market, but what is available is good. We get our milk from a local dairy there.
The farmer had a magazine from China that featured a step-by-step description with photos on how to cook Gumbo, New Orleans style. James is obsessed with finding the best Gumbo recipe, so he gathered evidence to see if the Chinese do it best.

Tulane's visit to Capdau

Prior to Thanksgiving, I took four of my graduate students to visit James' 7th grade class and Mr. Baker's 8th grade class. My grad students planned two presentations each - one answering the question 'What is Public Health?' The other teaching students about an area that they specialize in. The presentation in James' class was on HIV/AIDS - and the 7th graders had lots of questions about how you transmit HIV, the difference between HIV and AIDS, what are symptoms of both, and a question that was asked repeatedly was - How do you know if you have it?

The experience was incredible - to see young kids asking serious and important questions and getting serious and accurate answers.

This photo is of James' class showing off their 'This is Public Health' stickers, which is a student-run campaign to inform people in the US about what public health is and isn't. Foll0w the link above to watch the short video. You'll enjoy it - the kids did.

Minnie's reign of terror continues...

I was hopeful that the grits had worked, because I hadn't seen Minnie in a few days. But I wasn't surprised when I saw Minnie or a Minnie look-a-like scurry out from behind the microwave across the counter and into the hood of the stove - all while I was making a pot of chili. Minnie obviously has no fear of me nor of heat, so I guess we are going to have to step up our efforts to remove her.

Most likely, the little mercenary at James' school, won't be available to hang out in the kitchen waiting to slap a mouse, so I've been looking into traditional traps. I figure if the mouse has to die, it should be a quick death, not the slow, miserable kind that comes with poison or sticky feet or grits.... And the neighborhood stray cats are fed so well by our shotgun-double housemates that I doubt they'll leave the comfort of their flannel-lined porch box to chase a living food source. James is opposed to investing any financial resources toward the mouse's demise, but I don't see another way. Suggestions?

there's more than one way to skin a cat

or kill a mouse...

Much to our surprise - our little Minnie Mouse became a hot topic of conversation during one of our Thanksgiving dinners (yes, we enjoyed multiple feasts and were full for three days following). Our landlords immediately set out to tell us a variety of ways to rid our lives of the beast - some highlights were - sticky traps, which the mouse runs over and remains stuck on until it dies; a complicated contraption involving a paper towel tube, peanut butter, and a bucket (the mouse would scamper into the tube, which is balanced on the bucket in search of the peanut placed strategically at the other end of the tube - the mouse then tips the balance and falls into said bucket????; dry grits with a bowl of water nearby (the mouse is supposed to eat the grits, get thirsty, drink the water, the grits would then expand in the mouses stomach, and the mouse would die). I tried the last one for a couple of nights and decided that, ultimately, I was just feeding Minnie and all of her friends.


Yesterday, a student at James' school came up with an even more brilliant and successful plan when a group of field mice were identified at Capdau. Through the chaos of mouse chasing and fleeing, this fourth grader, walked casually up to the mouse, slapped it with her bare hand - killing it on the spot. She then proceeded to pick it up with a clean white paper towel and happily display it to Mr. McDonald, asking sweetly, "Is this what you wanted?"

back to work

After a week of freedom, filled with po-boys & other foods, ferry rides, and adventuring about, James headed back to Capdau this morning. I wonder what his students will teach him today.

mouse in our house

Who knew that when I wished for a new, little pet to love, it would come in the form of a teeny, tiny gray mouse? Minnie has taken up residence in our kitchen under the stove. She scurries about in the evening, sneaking out to grab a crumb here and there. She doesn't seem to mind if we are in the room as long as we don't make loud noises. I am trying to convince James to make her his class pet, though he hasn't taken the bait yet. Last week I thought a dog would be a great addition to his class. So far, I haven't convinced him that we should have cats or dogs living with us. But Minnie came of her own free will and she is too quick to be caught by human hands, so that means she gets to stay for awhile. This morning I was thrilled to find her teeny footprints scattered all over the surface of our oven in the leftover grease from the amazing tuna James cooked last night. A happy reminder to James that it is important to clean the stove after cooking:) Minnie is really improving our quality of life; she gives us something to talk about besides school and work, she provides hours of entertainment for James who expends a lot of energy trying to catch her, and she makes us keep things extra clean in the kitchen. And if all goes as planned, she may even be the thing that allows me to get a kitten. I'll keep you posted.

Po-boy fest reflections

Los Poboycitos













Amanda Shaw












Some thoughts on Po-boy Fest:
Too many people (like way too many - over 10,000 along a very narrow street - Oak St.)
Not enough po-boys... Is it possible that po-boy fest actually highlighted other types of food?
Excellent jambalaya!!!!!!
6 hours of nearly non-stop fantastic music - Los Poboycitos, Amanda Shaw & the Iguanas (there was another stage, but once we claimed a spot, we never moved again)
Perfect weather
James scored a great t-shirt
Great place to run into friends, co-workers and neighbors (because over 10,000 people were standing in a 5-block area....)
We actually went home and cooked dinner - most likely not what is supposed to happen after a food festival....

Trouble the Water

According to Kathy's recent comment, Trouble the Water, made the Oscar documentary short-list, meaning that they may be eligible for an Academy Award nomination! If you haven't seen this movie, please try to! It is worth your time, your energy and your $$. This film is about real New Orleans people and about Katrina victims and survivors. It is powerful.

And, on another note, Po-boy Fest, here we come!!!!

sensory overload

My brain has not been able to process all of the things that have been going on over the past week or two, therefore, though countless stories are yet untold - I can't even begin to put together the pieces to make sense of them. James and I are doing well - though never more ready for a vacation than we are right now. He gets a week at Thanksgiving and I am insanely jealous. We spent last Sunday sitting in the sun outside - not really doing anything - just being quiet - he may have read a little - we played catch late in the afternoon - I napped - other than that - I can't remember if we did anything. I could use a few more days like that. I'm actually looking past Thanksgiving to our Christmas break and dreaming of the time to find a warm, sunny spot of solitude. I love New Orleans - I am constantly amazed at what this city offers and what it demands.

Some photos of quiet things in and around New Orleans....

ship passing on the river...

the swamp.

View from my window

It's raining today. Clouds keep streaming by over the french quarter and toward the Mississippi.
The building on the left is the previous School of Public Health - it is not abandoned. I-10 runs along the top left of the photo. The Iberville Housing Project is central in the photo.
Old School of Public Health - my bribery/near towing incident took place where you see the line of cars parked. The white lines are the crosswalk - I was parked a few feet closer to the crosswalk than the silverish, white car.

Offering bribes?

You never know what you might do until actually faced with a situation. For example, I've never imagined myself offering a bribe. I've traveled a lot and haggled and given tips and understood that money sometimes equals better service, but I've never had anyone say to me "What can you do to make it worth my while?" That is, until yesterday when watching my Jeep get strapped to a tow truck to be pulled off to car prison for a parking infraction.

Earlier that day, I drove to work with loads of food for a morning meeting - I was thrilled to find on-street parking less than a block from my office with no scary signs warning me of tickets and towing. I parked, gathered my thing, and buzzed off to the office.

At one point during the day, I looked out from 23rd floor window down at my Jeep and noticed something envelope shaped on my windshield, but chose to ignore it because I couldn't see any problem with my parking situation.

When I exited the Tidewater building at 5:05pm, Mr. Tow-guy was lifting the back of my Jeep off the ground, as I realized the situation I began to run toward him and wave my arms for fear that I wouldn't get to him in time. I arrived just as he was climbing back into his truck to leave. I explained my mistake and pointed out that there was no sign. He didn't care and replied simply "You should know the law." I asked for clarification. "The law that says you can't park within 20 feet of a crosswalk." I asked politely for forgiveness - I explained that I normally bike to work - that I had heavy items in tow - that I was new to the city - that I really, really, really didn't want him to tow my car. Nothing worked. So, I stood there - refusing to leave - at which point he made his request for money.

I was instructed to discretely walk to the cab of his truck and lay $20 on the seat and he would inspect my vehicle while I did so. I pulled out all of the money I had in my wallet, $16, and laid it on the seat. He walked up and looked over my shoulder and shook his head - "You're really making this hard for me - all the paperwork - all the hassle. Go on. Go on home now. Don't do it again."

I scurried off, waited for him to release my vehicle, and quickly drove away. I wonder how others might have handled it. Me, I'm really glad I had money in my wallet and that my car was still there when I walked out, I couldn't imagine visiting a tow lot in New Orleans at night.

Po-boys I have known and loved

James is on a quest to discover the best all-around po-boy sandwich in New Orleans (or in the Irish Channel/ Garden District neighborhoods of New Orleans, because that is where we live). I've joined him on this journey, because it is interesting to try new foods and, honestly, nothing else makes him as happy as procuring a sandwich and eating all of it on a Saturday afternoon. A lot of time and energy has been devoted to describing po-boys by others There is even a Po-boy festival upcoming this month (James won't know until he reads the blog)>

In our journeys, we've found that the corner grocery stores actually make the best po-boys at super-low prices. This week, we had Vicki's. Her specialty is the catfish po-boys, no butter and no mayo. Vicki's is on Magazine St. which makes it a nice easy bike-ride from our house. This week we traveled from the grocery to the library on St. Charles to sit in the grass and watch people go by as we happily ate and discussed our food. I eagerly await James' update about the newest location that we'll try, though he's already selecting some as his favorite and we've visited those more than once. So, our survey may be wrapped up more quickly than anticipated. I'll keep you posted.

Duct tape

If you ask a kid to close his mouth because he is talking too much and then realize that the kid thinks he can't close his mouth because he doesn't understand that he can actually breathe through his nose without the assistance of said mouth - what do you do? You instruct the kid to hold his lips together with his fingers and practice breathing in and out through the nose and you follow with a demonstration. Which, interestingly, isn't sufficient for proving that the kid can survive with a closed mouth, because the kid tries to mimic your methods, but repeatedly and frantically lets go of his lips and gasps for air. However, if the kid (being the genius that only a kid can be) asks for some tape - to secure his own mouth for this new and exciting experiment - and you just happen to have some duct tape on the desk for some other reason. It's only for the sake of science that you peel off a couple of inches and hand it to the kid. The duct tape becomes a learning apparatus - a tool used to enhance a kid's ability to see clearly that a person with a duct-taped mouth, can, in fact, breathe through their nose and survive. If the kid is so thrilled by the experiment that he wants to leave the duct tape on his mouth for the remainder of the class - and you "reluctantly" agree. It is only for scientific purposes - to continue to gather data about how long a person can live and breathe with no air movement through their mouth. If class enthusiasm is at an all time high because of the duct tape experiment and other students beg to be included.... well..., science is pretty wonderful, isn't it?

A moment in history

James and I don't have a television or the internet in our home (our way of remaining sane and focused), so last night we ventured out to Parasol's, a neighborhood bar/restaurant, to watch the election unfold. While there, the people sitting next to us struck up a conversation. They were a couple from across the river in Gretna who decided to come to Parasol's because this was the stomping grounds of the gentleman's grandfather. This was his grandparents and parents neighborhood growing up - the family lived in close proximity to one another - all within a few blocks of the place we were sitting. His family moved across the river when he was a teenager, but he returned often to pay tribute to his grandfather. As he was talking, he suddenly pointed to the wall just behind me and said "Do you see that box over there?" We looked over to see an opening covered with particle board just behind the standing cooler/refrigerator, which now holds canned and bottled beverages. "Blacks used to have to order through that window. Even though the door was open - they couldn't come inside - they had to stand in line out there. My granddad used to tell me about that."

Half an hour later - James and I watched as Barack Obama won the electoral votes of our country and was announced the 44th President-Elect of the United States of America. We traversed three generations of a family's and a nation's history in just a few minutes and we watched as the world celebrated a victory that cannot be described with words.

little friends

Yesterday I arrived home and was walking through the kitchen, when I looked out of my window to see my neighbor and his little boys, waving their arms wildly from their driveway - beckoning for me to come outside. Not sure if it was an emergency, I rushed out the front door only to be met by my little friends who had already rounded the corner from their gate and were rushing toward ours.

I opened the gate and was immediately surrounded by small happy boys jumping up and down and yelling "This is for you - this picture is for you!" "This is for James - this picture is for James!" The smallest, having no school picture to share, jumped up and down and waved his arms back and forth saying "Hi Hector - Hi - Hi Hector!!! (Sometimes, they call me Hedder, but mostly they get my name confused with Hector, who is a character on their favorite cartoon - Thomas the Train)


The little jumping boys decided it was play and planting time, and tried to muscle their way into the backyard to dig in the dirt. I love my neighbors...

NOLA Halloween

After work on Friday, James and I sat on our front porch watching people go by. We hoped for trick-or-treaters, but was told that all of the kids in our hood pile up in cars and vans to head over to the Garden District where the candy is coveted - and the decorations are to die for.

At about 6pm, we set to work on our costumes, which involved painted faces and draped fabric - he in ghostly white, me in haunting black - (photos to follow) - After reaching a point of satisfaction with our outfits, we went back to the porch and actually had one little girl of about three years wander over to somehow imply without words that she had a bag and that candy belonged in it. She received a bounty being our one and only customer (and I didn't let James scare her - though he really wanted to).



Our neighbors were having a party across the street, so we decided to do front door delivery of candy. We must have looked pretty interesting - walking over - I saying "trick-or-treat" repeatedly and James booing - arms in the air. At some point, one of the group outside, yelled, "It's the neighbors! Get your camera!" Chaos ensued - children ran about - adults complimented our costumes - photos were taken - candy was shared.

We headed off to the french quarter on our bikes (not an easy task with the flowing fabric) - stopping to watch the Halloween parade and catch some beads - then to look at others in festive attire - arriving in the french quarter to the most fabulous costume party I have ever witnessed. Jellyfish with glowing tentacles, walking broccoli and cauliflower, giant carebears, presidential candidates, adam and eve, skeletons, forest nymphs, knights, queen elizabeth and her ladies in waiting, a television, it is a blur of one amazingly decorated person after another.

Hours went by and we only had to walk along Frenchman street and look at every person on display. This is the beginning of festival season in New Orleans.

Trick-or-treat

Ray Nagin Float


Teacher dress up



Mr. McDonald's students

public health

I’m currently in San Diego for the American Public Health Association Annual meeting. Learning about my new professional field – public health. I know it has been confusing to those who read the blog – I left UF and the International Center to come to New Orleans to be a teacher – and instead, took a job at a wealthy, private university as the manager of a leadership training program. Seemingly bizarre – I know.

Here’s the background – a year ago, I read a book “Mountains beyond mountains: The story of Paul Farmer – a man who could cure the world.” (title may not be exact) - the book opened my eyes to a world of public health inequities that I had never wrapped my mind around before. I was overwhelmed and inspired by Farmer, a doctor who focuses his work on curing infectious diseases in populations of the extremely poor – predominantly Haitian peoples. I started to investigate the organization, Partners in Health, that he founded.

I began taking Spanish classes (though still struggling with this) and reading more about public health both in the United States and abroad – with the idea that my interest in international studies, education, management, and even the arts could somehow fit together to lead me in the right direction.

I didn’t imagine that I would be a health professional, but possibly an administrator or educator for public health programming. When James and I decided to look into moving to New Orleans – I am interested in teaching in public school at some level, but I believe that I can have a larger impact by using the skills that I have outside of a typical school setting.

When applying for a variety of teaching positions, I also looked into the university setting and, on a whim, applied for a job that I in no way thought I was qualified for – a program manager for a graduate-level leadership training program in Tulane’s school of public health and tropical medicine. I went on the interview and took one look around and asked myself “what am I doing here? I didn’t come to New Orleans to work in a university,” and turned around to leave - at the same moment that the director walked out to greet me. Exactly two hours after the completion of our interview - she called to offer me the job.

Three months later, I am sitting in the San Diego airport waiting for my flight back to New Orleans. I’ve spent five days being filled with new information about public health in the US and abroad – meeting doctors, administrators, and educators. Learning how health policy is made and how public health initiatives are funded (or not) by the government and private organizations. Again, I’m overwhelmed and inspired.

My job has been a roller coaster of meeting new people, learning new terminology, revitalizing a program that was withering away due to nearly a half year of neglect, teaching a graduate level course, identifying and managing scholarships and their recipients. So much has been happening that I was wondering if I was working in public health or in just another office environment.

This trip and my regular interaction with my students over the past couple of weeks, have helped me to begin to ground myself in the reality that is my current career. I do not know where it will lead me, but I know I’m on the right path. You'll hear more about this as I weave my way through this new endeavor.

Mr. McDonald's Pocket Hood Dictionary

James' students have been teaching him how to converse with other people in the hood. One motivated student compiled the definitions into two dictionaries for him - a full-size and a handy pocket sized. Here are some of the helpful tidbits included.

Whats up? Whats popin? Whats good? = hello, hey, hi

homie, son, potner = boy

that what up. for show. = that's good

I got the munchies. I got that good. Where the grub at? What they got to snack on? = food talk

I starving dog. = I'm hungry.

Who dey? = calling somebody

Holla back. = Call me.

chillin. coolin = taking a break.

chill. = stop.

cool out. chill out = cool down.

peace out. see you. = good bye.

bounce. roll out. split out. get out. = leave.

More river photos

Mississippi river bike path

James and I went for a bike ride last night to take photos of my daily route along the river.

Walking in our neighbor"hood"

Last week, I was biking home from work and a girl of about 8 or 9 smiled and waved at me and said hello, then as I passed, she turned and yelled, "White lady, you are going the wrong way - you must not know you are in the hood!" I looked back over my shoulder at her - she stood with arms crossed and lips pursed, shaking her head.

I wasn't sure if she was angry with me or warning me.

James and I live in the Irish Channel of New Orleans - to our south is the Mississippi River, to our east we are separated from the St. Thomas Housing Project by Jackson St., the Walmart, and a few additional blocks. To our north 7 blocks is Magazine Street, which separates the Irish Channel from the Garden District(possibly the wealthiest neighborhood in New Orleans proper), to our west are houses and neighbors of varying income levels. In other words, we live among the richest and poorest in New Orleans - right in the middle of it all. We take walks regularly and are constantly amazed by how, in a few blocks in any direction, the economic status and demographic changes completely.

Mostly people treat us very kindly while we walk along - we recognize many of our neighbors, we stop and chat with those who seem interested in us and wave to some and nod at others. We acknowledge everyone we pass and they offer us the same respect. We sometimes receive words of warning about what times we should walk or which roads to avoid and for what reason. We take all of the advice into consideration and generally heed the warnings of the people who seem to know the most and to have our best interests at heart (those people who actually walk around and sit outside and ride their bikes - like we do ). We do not as readily accept the advice we receive from people who don't spend time on their porch or who don't talk to their neighbors or who run from their car into their house or live in a gated and locked home or community because they are frightened by their world.

We do not see ourselves as bold or brave or noble or stupid or naive or misguided. We are two people who like to live our lives by participating in our neighborhood, by talking to people who are interesting and who tell a good story, by taking walks, by riding our bikes, by planting things in our yard, and by eating poboys from the corner grocery store. We aren't fancy and we aren't plain. We aren't special. We just want to belong in the place that we live and we want to honor the people we live among.

From my window

From my office on the 23rd floor of Tulane's Tidewater building, I can see the Mississippi River, Interstate 10, 2 cemeteries, the PowerBall sign, and the Iberville public housing project. According to the 2000 census, this housing project contains 2504 residents, 99.5% African American, 61.9% female, and 68% female households (meaning no adult male present). The median income in 2000 was $4,621. One of the buildings was never repaired after Katrina, so it has no roof or windows.

I don't look out my window often enough, but when I do, I watch the people in the projects. James loves my view and always asks me what is happening on the river or in the french quarter or if the traffic is bad, but I never remember to look at those things. I always watch the kids running home from school in their white shirts and dark pants, I see the teenagers piling into cars, I see police cars circling the area, and I imagine what their lives are like down there. What does it look like inside? Is there mother home waiting for them? I never see the women who are the heads of the household. Is that because they are at work or because they never go outside?

It feels so strange for me to watch them from above. They don't know that I've seen them or that I'm thinking about them. I've walked and driven by, but it looks completely different from down below - dirtier - less inviting. I wonder if that is how the residents feel about it, too.

An assortment of bruises

Part II of The Teacher's Party


Mr. W & Mr. B left the casino with loads of cash (or $100 in winnings each) - they wanted a cab, but we had our bikes - so we piled on - Mr. W as driver and I as passenger of my bike - and James as driver and Mr. B as passenger on his. Mr. W doesn't know how to ride a bike - I learned this immediately, because he couldn't pedal more than two feet at a time before stopping. He would turn violently in the opposite direction of the potential fall. This was hysterical to me, so I could not stop laughing, which frustrated Mr. W even further - he kept repeating in his teacher voice - "Heather - listen - you have to stop laughing - I can't concentrate if you keep laughing." This made me laugh harder, because only a person who does not know how to ride a bike needs to concentrate when biking - though he was adamant about the fact that he was a skilled bikeman. I tried to take over the position of pedaler - but Mr. W was too heavy.


Mr. B and James were long gone - and we were still only a block away from the casino. We switched again and this time I held my breath to keep from making any laughing noise - we were able to slowly and unsteadily make our way down the river road. Mr. W kicked my shins and calves with every pedal and he kept sitting on my lap, which pushed me further and further off the bike seat. After the sheer delight of the situation passed (which was about a mile into it), the extreme pain of being kicked and sat on became too much to handle, so I demanded Mr. W stop the bike and I decided to walk the remainder of the trip.

A few hundred feet later we found James & Mr. B who had doubled back to look for us - so we switched bike partners. I got to ride with my sweetie who knows how to pedal a bike - and Mr. B got the non-pedaler. We went another mile or so before they had reorganized again - with Mr. B biking alone and Andrew running along beside. Mr. W had procured a basketball along the way and was showing off his moves. He was also whining about how far we had gone and wanted to know if we were ever going to get there. Wherever "there" was - only James seemed to know for sure.

We arrived at the Saint, James' destination of choice, a bar he had been wanting to check out. The evening continued with pork rinds (Mr. B's choice), several phone calls to Mr. W's girlfriend, a dance contest between the boys, and Mr. B's failed attempt to win over a hot lady 1o years his senior. James tried to intervene on his friend's behalf, but the hot lady said Mr. B was just too young, however, she thought James looked about the right age for her. All the while, Mr. W kept asking me advice on how to get his girlfriend, whom he adores, to stop talking to him about their relationship while he watches TV. I reflected for a moment and thought back to a lesson learned in teacher training - always give students two options, so I replied, "You have two choices - deal with it - or - date an older woman. They are usually more secure and definitely more interesting." Mr. W was unimpressed and went back to text-messaging his young, cute chatty patty, but at least he stopped asking me questions for which he didn't really want the answer. And I could concentrate on icing my many new bruises.

The teacher party

Recently, the UNO Charter Schools had a party at the Louisiana Children Museum to celebrate teachers. Dress was "After 5:00," which meant different things to different people. I wore a dress that I could bike in, James wore khakis and a guayabera. We arrived to food and drinks catered by Martin's Wine Cellar and lots of teachers ready to have a good time. We sat at mini tables in mini chairs and ate and socialized. My friends, Mr. B and Mr. W, from teachNOLA came along. Competition was fierce in the various kids areas - whose fastball was the fastest? who could shimmy up the rope the fastest? hit the wedge the hardest? I didn't participate, but James was showing his competitive side.

Some guy who could be mistaken for Jesus wandered into the party and asked if he could use Mr. W's cell phone. Mr. W was a little wary, but his curiousity won out so he handed the guy, we'll call him "J", the phone. J called his girlfriend and launched into a long and involved story about how he left the hotel to get Abita Beer and found the store with no problem, but when he walked out of the store, he got turned around, and couldn't remember which direction from which he had come. He also didn't remember the street the hotel was on or the cross street or the name of the hotel. He didn't have the beer anymore either. He got really tired and frustrated and had decided that the beer was the source of his problems and maybe if he put it down, he would find his way. He had been wandering around quite awhile when he happened upon the teacher party, he thought we looked friendly, so he came in to ask for help. After telling his story, J received information from the person on the other end of the line and handed the phone back to Andrew. James was so taken with the story, he pointed out a cooler of Abita beer sitting by the door. "You should take some with you - we aren't drinking beer tonight." J seemed confused, so Mr. B and James walked him over to the cooler and told him take a few. J was grateful and was getting ready to leave, but instead walked over and looked at James, and he said "I'm going to need that bag you offered." So, James found a little bag and they put a few more beers in it. J waved goodbye and was off -hopefully to the right place.

After the party, we visited Harrah's Casino, where Mr. W & Mr. B gambled and doubled their money at the blackjack table and I cheered them on, while James wandered off to smooze his way into a $27 buffet - he didn't resurface for at least an hour - which was of great concern to Mr. W and Mr. B who couldn't believe that James and I don't keep minute-by-minute cell phone tabs on each other.

Eric & Kelly's Wedding

http://www.flickr.com/photos/31161134@N05/sets/72157608026809793/

This past Friday night, I flew to Charlotte, NC, was picked up at the airport by my mom & Steve,shopped at the Trader Joe's, drove to Rock Hill, SC where they live, had dinner at a little restaurant they enjoy, stayed up til 1:00am, slept restlessly, got up at 6:00am, chatted with them for a bit, borrowed their car and set off for Fripp Island, SC. The drive was supposed to be 4 or so hours, it took more like 6 because I followed mapquest's directions. I arrived at the island at 2:00ish. Took a quick bike ride with the groom-to-be, said hello to the sleepy bride, met a bunch of people who were hung over from the wild rehearsal dinner/ shin-dig the night before, helped set up the reception area, received a lesson from Kelly, the bride, in loading film in a medium format camera - only to later discover that the batteries were dead in the camera, changed clothes, loaded film in the Nikon I brought with me, road in a golfcard/bike caravan to the wedding site, hoped for rain not come, hugged people, said hello, watched the bride & groom get married on the dock (very sweet and beautiful setting), took a few photos, posed in a few photos, headed to the reception, took a few more photos, chatted with people I haven't seen in a long time, had a few margaritas, watched people dance, ate some fantastic food (seafood boil - lowcountry style and Marble Slab Creamery Ice cream instead of cake - nice touches), watched my good buddy from high school, Brian Love, have a dance-off with a guy at the party, he was impressive - he did the worm and other breakdancing moves, started dancing myself, found a microphone - talked into it - thought that was pretty fun - tried to get others to talk into it, too, danced some more, gave up on the nikon ( i couldn't see to focus any longer) and used my mom's digital camera to capture moments, was informed the party was ending, helped clean up, went back to the house where all the friends were staying (16 of them, I think), chatted and ate potato chips, watched people make paperbag jewelry, talked about bikes and cars and new orleans, couldn't find a free spot on the floor, so slept in my mom's car instead (it was actually very comfortable), got about 3 hours of sleep, rain kept pouring down and I was worried that there would be flooding on the island, the sun came up around 7:15, I started driving back shortly thereafter, lots of huge, scary puddles on the island, and the rain kept coming, drove out of the rain in about an hour, the ride back to Rock Hill was much quicker because I didn't use mapquest directions - maybe 4 hours, got back to my mom's, ate lunch, showered, had a nap, chatted with my mom & Steve, waited for my sister and her family to arrive, went to the park with them for a picnic, set up the picnic and was told by the park ranger we were in a reserved area, picked up the picnic and moved to the other side of the park, played soccer with my nieces, Kayla (6) and Kendall (2), went for a walk, swung on swings, listened to stories, told stories, headed back to my mom's for birthday celebration (Jen's birthday was last week, mine is this week), was showered with wonderful homemade presents from Kayla and Kendall - plus a video of them singing the birthday song to me, ate cake and ice cream, played in their nonnie-made store upstairs, hugged them goodbye several times, headed off for the airport with mom & Steve, flew two hours back to New Orleans, arrived to a sick James waiting for me, drove the half-hour home and made it to bed close to 1:00am.

Backyard Planting

James and I purchased a digital camera recently - he is learning to use it. I get to sometimes touch it but not without significant instruction ahead of time. So, now we will actually have our own photos to upload to the blog.

This Sunday, my buddy, Lavar, burst through the gate and into our yard when he saw me, yelling "I found some more seeds and we have to plant them RIGHT NOW!!!" The seeds to which he was referring, were flower bulbs that he dug from his dad's yard (probably without permission, but we didn't discuss the particulars). James had some plants that he brought home and I was going to put in pots and in the ground, so Lavar and I set to work.

We repotted, we loosed pot-bound roots, we dug nice new dirt, we watered. Then, when there was nothing else to plant, we dug up weeds in the yard and planted those in the remaining plastic pots- because it was too difficult to explain the difference to an opinionated 5-year-old who thinks the weeds are the prettiest things in the yard.

Some Recovery School District "highlights"

Many of the teachers that I worked with over the summer are assigned to the NOLA Recovery School District (RSD), these operate on the state budget and are managed within New Orleans. James' school is a charter school run by the University of New Orleans, so he is not considered an RSD employee - though his sch0ol is a part of the larger heading of schools in recovery. (It's extremely complicated to sort out the differences.

What this means to James is that he actually is working with a school system that is functioning, even though he is struggling with classroom management issues and other new teacher problesms, the administration of UNO could be considered somewhat reasonable at this point.

The RSD in general is a mess. I hear horror stories from my friends about how the administration is causing daily uncertainty, confusion, and overall chaos in their lives. Examples follow:

Some terminology used by the RSD:

Surplus– This is the term used for teachers who are deemed “extra” and removed from their existing classrooms and schools and placed in a different school without warning or their or their principal’s approval.

Ms. A's story -
Jenny A. or Ms. A, my co-teacher this summer, was given notice on last Friday that she was a part of the “surplus” – for the past six weeks she had been working hard at Dibert Elementary where she taught 6 classes in Science, Social Studies and Reading – she had approximately 19 students in each class. Because she did not have a minimum of 23 students in each class and she was the newer of the two teachers in her subject matter, the RSD deemed her unnecessary in her school. They called her on Friday morning and told her to report to the RSD office – she did not know why. When she arrived they explained that she was no longer a teacher at Dibert and she, instead would be a teacher at Banneaker. She was instructed to return to Dibert, finish teaching that day, pack up her room, and begin teaching at Banneaker on Monday morning. When she asked what would happen to her students, she was told that her students would combine into the other classes meaning that those classes would have as many 39 students in them.

After much confusion and a horrible day of telling her students goodbye, Ms. A called Banneaker and asked for instructions for Monday morning. She was told by the principal that because she was a new teacher, Banneaker was most likely not interested in having her as a teacher. Ms. A explained that she was given no choice in the matter - the principal told her that she was sympathetic and that Ms. A could come and interview on Monday morning, but she was not guaranteed a position.

On Monday morning, Ms. A showed up for the interview and was given little hope that there was a job at that school. She returned the RSD office and explained the situation - she was informed that she had to be on a school site in order to be paid for that day, so she need to go back to Banneaker. More discussion ensued. The administrator finally told her to go back to Dibert and teach her classes there until they worked out the problems with her placement. Ms. A returned to Dibert and to her very confused students, and tried to explain that she was just there temporarily until they located another school for her.
Ms. A is heartbroken. She is a new teacher; she previously was a social worker. She is just trying to learn lesson planning and classroom management. She has just learned all of her students’ names and is learning things about them. She liked her school, her principal, and her peers. Her work was hard enough and now she is in completely uncertainty – as are her students.

Schedule change – These occur as often as needed until the school’s administration determines that students are equally distributed among teachers and that they are in the “appropriate” class for their learning level.

Mr. Anderson's story -
At Reed (the school I taught in this summer) schedules have been changed no less than four times for each teacher since the beginning of the school year. School started has officially been in session for 6 weeks, which means that another member of my teachNOLA cohort , Mr. Anderson, has not had a consistent class of students for more than one week at a time and schedules are still not set.

He cannot, therefore, learn students’ names, maintain classroom management, or create a positive classroom culture (all things we were taught during our summer training). He has no ability to teach students anything, because they know that the situation will not last. In a few days, they will be rearranged again. His hope is to make it until January as a teacher.
Mr. Anderson is a retired college professor who came to New Orleans to help kids who needed him. He has so much to offer and no defined set of students to which to offer it. When asked what his plan was at this point, he answered, “To show up every day until January. Maybe by then I’ll have the classroom management issue down, if I can’t manage them by then, perhaps I’m in the wrong field.” When asked if he wanted to get together one night soon (he is our neighbor), he replied, “You can always find me at the bar on Magazine and Jackson, I go there every day after work.”

neighbors

Yesterday, I had three little helpers when I was working in my yard. They each dug a bulb from their yard and carried it over to my yard to help transplant them (with their dad's permission, of course). We happily walked to the flowerbed, where in the next 5 minutes, complete chaos ensued. Huge holes were created, bulbs were twirled around by their leaves, rocks were found and thrown. The garden adventure ended quickly but will not soon be forgotten....

60th birthday party

Our neighbor had a party to celebrate his oldest sister's 60th birthday. He invited all of his relatives and some of the neighbors. During the party, a second line band played, and he grabbed an umbrella and started to dance New Orleans style.

The band leader came out of retirement after Katrina because he felt that the school system still needed help.