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.

A series of unexpected events

• James came home whipped after Friday's pizza party


• As he pulls up, he hears free ticket info on the radio, dials and wins!


• We discuss our evening plans, the show isn't until 10pm, and it is 5


• He says "ferry" and within 10 minutes, we have grabbed some $$ and our bikes and are riding the Jackson Street Ferry across the Mississippi to Gretna for Happy Hour


• After a fantastic, ferry excursion we bike to Gallatusas for 1/2 price appetizers and drink specials - there just happens to be a guy with a guitar doing some great covers, we enjoy the outdoor seating and the setting which feels like a different world


• We catch the 8:30 ferry back to New Orleans proper and bike along the river to One-Eyed Jacks in the French Quarter (where are free tickets await us) though we're quite early and decide to tour around a little


• As we lock our bikes and look around, James is surprised to see a 1st grade student from his school and her mother, he recognizes her immediately, because she is the only white student at Capdau and she could pass for Alice in Wonderland.


• We chat for awhile and then set off on our walk
  


• Immediately, after rounding the corner, we are suddenly surrounded by folks dressed up as pirates in front of the Absinthe bar. We are informed that it is National Talk Like a Pirate Day.


• The Absinthe was purported to be "real", but we tasted it and do not believe that it is


• We left the pirates and returned for the show at One-Eyed Jacks, where the opening band Clockwork Elvis was playing


• They were continuously interrupted by a mad-scientist and a Eminem-wanna-be (all part of the weird show they created)


• Clockwork Elvis was followed by a surprise burlesque show - where Roxy LeRogue, Stormy Gayle and Perle Noire shimmied and shook and removed many layers of fabric (but not too many). This portion of the evening was entertaining for a few minutes, but they each did multiple performances so we or (maybe just I) was over it.

• The main band finally came to the stage around midnight - Conspiracy of Geniuses or something like that. They dressed as mad scientists and played really loud, really bad hard rock music. We left during their first song.
• We called it a night and biked home - smoky and sleepy, but happy
  

Friday at Capdau

On Friday, I visited Mr. McDonald at Capdau. His sixth grade won a pizza party because they designed the best poster on the floor (he claims to have had nothing to do with their victory). He invited me to stop by at lunch and be an on-looker in his world, but he made it clear that I must not let them know who I was. So, I was ready with my Tulane badge and my "you should go to college and become a doctor" lecture. I was very excited, but arrived much later than anticipated because it was hard to get away from Tulane.

After arriving at Capdau and signing in, a student walked me to his classroom, where he was standing outside looking perplexed. Just as he saw me, a female student saw him, and ran up to him exclaiming "Mr. McDonald, I have to change clothes. I spilled juice all over myself." She was absolutely correct, she had a bright red stain that began at her neck and covered her shirt and her pants all the way down to her knees. He looked from me to the student, and asked her "Okay, do you have something to change into?" Of course, she did not. He sent her to the office to ask for help.

He quickly told me that things were not going well - the pizza was an hour late, so the students had numerous meltdowns while waiting. I was following him into the classroom when a student spotted me and yelled "Oooh, Mr. McDonald - Is that Heather?" She looked from him to me - I was surprised that he told them my first name, so I didn't respond. She asked again, "Are you Heather?" Mr. McDonald tried to recover, "No, this is Ms. Barrett." The student, Brianna, saw my name-tag and moved in for a better look. "It IS Heather! Everybody this Mr. McDonald's girlfriend!" She invited me in and offered me pizza and something to drink. After which, she and some of her friends did little dances around me while asking me a variety of questions. They seemed extremely pleased that he had a partner and that I was willing to come to school to meet them. They invited me back on another day and told me I should come earlier before all of the pizza is gone and maybe we could watch a movie together.

Mr. McDonald was certain that the day was a dismal failure, but I thought it was pretty great.

Snow day

I've never seen a man happier than JFM when he was granted freedom last Friday due to Hurricane Ike. He dropped me off at work in the pouring rain and wind at 7am and trudged off to school, grumpy. However, upon arrival, his principal waved frantically from the door telling him to go home - school had been canceled! He actually still went to work for about an hour before they kicked him out officially. During which time he had already called me three times to tell me about different lunch specials around town that serve .25 martinis....

So, Mr. McDonald enjoyed a free day. He convinced me to leave a little early and we had a late lunch at Eleven 79, a fancy-pants Italian restaurant in our neighborhood with great lunch specials. We dined next to congressmen and business people and giggled a lot (though, maybe that was due to the chianti).

Pinky, Pinky & more Pinky

Pinky's tuna cocktail

Evidence that Jill & Pinky were sad when we left...

After returning to our New Orleans neighborhood, I was biking home when I noticed a beautiful lab-type puppy in the street. The dog bounded toward me - happy - dirty and neglected looking. I continued on my way home after chatting with the puppy but couldn't stop thinking about it. Maybe it was lost due to the hurricane. Maybe it needed me. I mulled over a potential plan for the dog's capture and taming, so it could become my pet. (All while James was at UNO taking night classes.) I didn't have any good dog treats, but my mom's dogs like carrots, so I put some carrots in my pocket and headed out. I couldn't figure out the best way to entice the dog, should I drive my car and grab it and put it in the jeep? That seemed dangerous - and the dog was wet and filthy. Should I ride my bike and try to get it to follow me? If I walked would I need a leash? All questions I pondered as I walked down the block near the Walmart where I had seen the dog earlier. Once I arrived to the spot, the dog was no where to be found, no neglected puppy to take home, I wandered home defeated. The next day, on my way to work, it was there again! Still dirty, but not so skinny as I thought it was the day before (maybe it was drying off). I couldn't rescue and tame it and take it home since I was biking to work, so I decided to do so on my way home. That afternoon, it was missing again. The next day was Saturday, and I convinced James to bike by the area on our way to the Tulane football game to see this sad, neglected creature (secretly plotting for him to fall in love with it, so we could tame it and take it home.) I was overjoyed when I saw the puppy gallup toward us, but was surprised to note that it was clean and fluffy and kind of chubby-looking and that it had run out from underneathe someone's house (which was pretty much the same spot I'd seen it everyday). James liked the dog very much and agreed that it was beautiful and wonderful and very nice, but he did not agree that it needed to be rescued and tamed and it definitely did not need to come and live with us. Sigh. I e-mailed Jill to tell her about the dog ( I thought I'd get some sympathy since she is so in love with Pinky) - her response was - 'OMG, it's just rude to rescue a dog that already has owner.' Personally, I think 'rude' is a bit strong. In any case, I've given up my rescue mission for the moment.

Neck-n-Neck

Just after I biked from Tchoupitoulas onto the service road that runs along the Mississippi this morning, a tugboat came into my view heading along downriver toward the gulf, following my same path. I wondered to myself as I looked over at it, if I were going the same speed, because it seemed to be really throwing up some waves and moving quickly. It was moving a little ahead of me. I saw a barge about 1/2 mile down and reasoned that the tug was headed for it, so I started really pedaling. Soon, we were neck and neck, and I felt like I was flying. We made it to the barge - the tug kept going and so did I. We raced past the warehouse containg mardi gras floats, past the silent cruise ship port, under the bridge - where I pulled into the lead, past the civic center where people were lined up yesterday receiving emergency food stamps due to Gustav, past the few remaining military vehicles in town until we reached Riverwalk - I must have been 20 yards ahead by then(and I was getting a few stares at this point) when, suddenly, and much to my dismay, the tug was no longer in my sight due to the large mall with no windows on the first floor. Sweaty and laughing and possibly a bit crazy-looking (none of which atypical of a NOLA resident), I arrived to work in about half of the time it normally takes me. I love biking to work.

Back in the Big Easy

We returned on Sunday in the late afternoon to find a pretty normal-looking New Orleans. Yes, trees were down all over, so were fences and signs, and there were broken windows. But in comparison to Katrina damage, this was pretty minimal. There aren't that many trees left, and, honestly, in a lot of cases, it is hard to tell if the fences, windows and signs were a result of this storm or left over from three years ago.

It wasn't easy to come back on Sunday with Ike looming, but we arrived anyway and started to slowly make the rounds through our neighborhood to find out where people went when they evacuated and what their projections were for the next storm. Most said they wouldn't leave again, no matter how bad the storm.

Mayor Nagin calling Gustav, "The mother of all storms," in an attempt to get everyone out of town, was effective in emptying out the city, but left a bad taste in the mouths of those who left. Some went to Baton Rouge where the storm hit hard, others went to shelters. We saw nearly 300 evacuees at a shelter in Birmingham and talked with a couple of them who said that they couldn't sleep because there was too much noise and they didn't feel safe with their eyes closed on a cot surrounded by strangers. The shelter itself was clean and cool and meals were served with great regularity, but it was, in fact, still a shelter.

Two giant televisions were blasting the current news throughout the civic center while children ran in circles squealing and throwing things and too tired adults were curled up on cots with small, white pillows over their heads. The center was a sea of red-cross blankets and suitcases. Bathrooms were port-a-potties and showers were huge outdoor tented enclosures. Outside, other evacuees wandered about or sat in the nearby park staring blankly - waiting to be told if they could return home soon or if they had a home to return to.

Still, they survived and did have homes to come back to - and so did we. Yesterday was tough getting started, but once we got to work, I think James and I both felt great relief to moving forward in our lives here. Even if only for a few days until the next big event.

Here are some current articles that might be of interest:
Nagin sees response to Gustav as success

Ike makes landfall in western cuba

Mr. McDonald

James' homeroom class on the first day of school....

Mountain time

As of Wednesday last week, James and I decided it was best to get to the woods. We weren't especially pleasant - due to all of life's uncertainties- and we couldn't stop watching the Weather Channel and Intellicast and NOLA.com and CNN and Tulane's emergency website + anything else we could find. We knew we couldn't return to NOLA for a few days at least because of electrical outages and water and sewage issues and so forth.

We escaped to the first mountains we could find - Cherokee National Forest in Tennessee. It wasn't our intention to stop as soon as we encountered a little nature, but we saw the Ocoee River and a sign that said Cabin Rentals and immediately pulled over. The forest ranger didn't know about the cabins, but he did point us to the Chilowhee campground. We went to check it out and promptly parked in a spot and didn't leave for three days. With no cell phone access, we were able to spend time resting and walking and looking and remembering what the easy life is like. We cooked over campfires and took countless walks in the woods. Our only contact human interaction was with each other and the campground host who pointed us to the groceries and ice that we needed. She granted us 30 days free camping due to our evacuee status; which was an unneccessary kindness, but greatly appreciated.

Today we are in Birmingham again, where we will gather our things and head back to New Orleans. School will start for both us tomorrow - hopefully, we will be able to return to some state of normalcy. We'll be really relieved to see the end of hurricane season this year.