what i saw today

I drove about four miles away from my office today - into the neighborhood called 'Desire'- to visit George Washington Carver High School. First Book did another book distribution and I was there to take photos. I mapquested the school, having never been there before and got directions to 3059 Higgins Blvd. When I turned onto Higgins, I knew immediately that the school was not open, nor were the houses surrounding it inhabitable.

Though I know what it is like here - I live here now. I'm still shocked. My stomach always turns. My heart yearns for something different. Something better. Something. Anything to be done. I drove past the abandoned school, looking for some sign of life.
I drove farther than I needed, but I couldn't stop looking.








When I pulled over, I was given directions to trailers that now held the students -only a few blocks over and surrounded by rotting, gaping houses, useless street lights, cars with flat tires, and trash.

It rained last night, so the grassy areas underneath the trailers were like mini-marshes. Water lapped over onto the cement sidewalks. Students - every one black - every one wearing a uniform of a bright orange shirt and khaki pants, goofed around in the breezeways.

I had trouble paying attention in the classroom. I kept looking at the kids, trying to see into their lives. Later, when looking through the photo release forms, I recognized the handwriting of one student and then her name. Tiffany. She was the brightest student in my summer school class at Reed. Planning to go to college, she was in summer school, not because she did poorly, but because she missed too many days during the year at her regular school. When she told me over the summer that she went to Carver, I had no idea which school that was, what it looked like or where she lived. Now I do. Tiffany wasn't in class today.

what's happening in the projects

Right now, I'm eating my lunch, looking out the window, watching the projects.A tiny baby in a white onesie is learning to walk. Another tiny person in a similar outfit is waddling around more successfully. Some women are standing nearby. A guy is playing basketball on the new court donated by a Hornet's player last month.A police officer just drove up on the sidewalk through the center of the houses and parked in the middle of the common area/lawn. No one has exited the car.Someone is walking along another sidewalk carrying grocery bags.3 other people are walking slowly through the center - each headed in opposite directions.It isn't raining yet, but it looks like it will today.The police officer is now standing on the sidewalk beside his car.

James and the giant sycamore

broken sandals

our street, like many other streets in new orleans, is covered with large white painted letters creating SOS messages on it. yet another memory of katrina. i bike over them, drive over them, and walk over them on a daily basis. seldom do i look down and read them. though sometimes i do. if you look up our address on google earth and zoom in - you can read the messages. it is creepy and bizarre and i only did it once.

today, as i was headed for work, i noticed a pair of metallic gold summer sandals lying in the middle of the road - interestingly enough, they acted as quotation marks surrounding the giant words 'need water' sprawled in white across the black asphalt. the sandals had a broken strap and were abandoned there.

i wonder who, upon hearing the snap of the vinyl, would simply step out of, or kick off the useless shoe and then unstrap the other - leaving both behind. preferring to walk along barefoot, both feet exposed on the gravely, uneven pavement peppered with shattered glass and nails, rather than looking for an alternate solution. choosing not to be bothered to pick up what had become trash in order to drop them in one of the many garbage cans that line the street.

i wonder if she had to walk far to get home? if she noticed where the sandals fell? if she read the words? or, if, like me, she chose to stop seeing the white paint as letters creating messages, and instead, waits for the day when they are finally erased by time and our daily passage over them.

"If not me, then who?"

James' new mantra began on Sunday evening at a First Book party. He met a fellow science teacher who recently graduated from college, trained through Teach for America and began working at a local high school last fall. During the first week of classes, his computer was stolen while he was standing just outside his classroom in the hallway trying to stop a fight.

This teacher keeps showing up each day - just like James. He plans on continuing next year, too. He often is not supported by his principal, by other teachers, or by his students. Many mornings (maybe most mornings) he doesn't want to get out of bed and do his job - but he does. He told James his mantra- some days he repeats it over and over and over and over - just to keep going.

"Because - unfortunately," he told us,"If not me, then no one."

From the parade to the pot

If you show up at NOLA's St. Patrick's Day parade - you have to be prepared to catch cabbages, carrots, onions, garlic, potatoes, and anything else that could be used in a stew. Five cabbages and approx. 17 bags of baby carrots made their way home with us. Since we live in the Irish Channel, we are on the St. Patrick's Day parade route. Cabbages are still strewn about in the streets, in various fields and parking lots, speared on wrought iron fence posts - all waiting for a passerby to claim them. Stories circulate about parades past - and everyone seems to know the same friend who had a stray cabbage fly through their living room window. Amazingly, St. Patrick's Day has yet to come - the real party is supposed to be tomorrow.

The dog whisperer

Lesson of the day:
If a dog leaves her home at 4:30pm in the afternoon on a leash with owner in tow- you can pretty much guarantee that her little bowels are full and that she is on a mission to relieve them. If she comes out of the gate to find you -(a tall happy stranger) standing there - and if she is particularly old and excitable - picking her up will probably cause some unintended discharge of excrement.

Recipe for Permanent Expulsion

Bring a gun to school on Monday.
Carry it in your book bag.
Show it to some friends.
Try to find a buyer.
Bring a gun to school on Tuesday.
Carry it in your book bag.
Show it to some friends.
Try to make a deal with the boy who is flashing his wad of cash.
Bring a gun to school on Wednesday.
Get removed from Mr. McDonald's class along with all of the other 6th grade boys. Shift nervously from side to side while the principal searches yours and the book bags of all of your peers.
Raise and drop arms repeatedly while chanting the chorus,
"But it only uses pellets" and
"I wasn't going to use it - I just wanted to sell it."

Beautiful morning

I've been carpooling with James, so I get to work really early. With the time change, I can watch the sun come up from my 23rd floor office. I love the quiet time alone - looking out the window - watching ships move slowly along the Mississippi - and the French Quarter begin its daily routine.

Jenny (fer)

Jennifer, Kayla & Kendall


As a kid, I believed that my little sister was the best thing since sliced bread. Though my mom birthed her - I thought she was my baby. I spent equal amounts of time doting on her and bossing her around. Through the years, I've grown up - but, somehow in my mind, she has always been 'little.'

During my visit with Jenny(or Jennifer as she is now more commonly known) and her family a couple of weeks ago, I was shocked and amazed to see her as she really is. An adult. Not just any adult either. Kind of a 'super-mom' adult. Running a successful business from her home, heavily involved in her daughter's school - volunteering in the classroom and for the PTA, planning birthday parties and vacations, making sure everyone eats on a somewhat regular schedule and, somehow, still finding time to sit with me and have a real conversation.

This new view of my Jenny has caused much reflection, wonder and pride. But not the kind of pride that I've felt before for her - the kind where I might actually somehow be responsible for her success in life. I can take no credit. Jennifer is her own woman now. I'm just proud to know her.

Breastfeeding at Sci High

In a bold and empowered move, my friend, Marci, and I visited NOLA's Sci High to give a presentation about breastfeeding to the students there. We imagined some opposition, some indifference, some "ooohhh grosses" - but still hoped for at least a little interest.

What we got was a class of 12 females (2 of which are mothers) and 3 males - all of whom had opinions and questions about offering your breast to a baby as food. We spent the entire 90 minutes in an engaged discussion about why formula companies and doctors want mothers to bottle feed formula to their babies, how each mammal produces milk that is uniquely suited for her infant, why Louisiana has one of the lowest breastfeeding rates in the country, and why blacks are less likely to breastfeed than whites.

Prior to our arrival, these students and their teacher were not well-informed - these discussions came out of the questions and concerns that they had. Does it hurt? Will your breasts sag? What if you don't want people to see you do it in public?

By the time we left, many students were certain that a mom, if informed on the topic, would choose to breastfeed her baby. Most were even angry that moms aren't given all the information they need to make the best choice. They are right. Moms should understand their choices - dads should, too.
Some videos we shared:

Breastfeeding Commercial

Salma Hayek

Tyra Banks

Wad of cash

Recently, Mr. McDonald found himself trying to explain to one of his students why it isn't a good idea to carry a wad of bills in your pocket and, why, if you happen to do so, it is an even worse idea to continually pull the $ from your pocket to look at it, count it or to display it to others.

The student, who normally does not pay much attention to what Mr. McDonald says, was unusually interested in this bit of advice. To him money is for handling and showing off, and he hadn't seemed to consider that by doing so, he was opening himself up to many possible evils. People may wonder where he, as a middle schooler, acquired so much cash; his classmates may be interested in having what is his; he might drop it, lose it, misplace it, or in some other way damage it.

If you have something of value shouldn't you guard it a little more cautiously?

James flies solo in DC

James had several opportunities for alone time while in DC and on his way home. Find him above at the museum and with Rev. Al Sharpton.

More DC

Washington Monument


Albert Einstein by Robert Berks
At the National Zoo

Surprise visit

Much to my surprise, our friend Lorie greeted us at the door of the Kalorama Guest House where we stayed while in DC. She and her significant other, Lance, made a weekend excursion from Philadelphia to spend time with us while we were in town.



On the Mall with Lorie & Lance


"The whole box like that" was the response Lance received when returning the freezer burned ice cream bar he purchased only moments before.


with Robert Mueck's 'Big Man' at the Hirshhorn - To demonstrate the scale

A little piece of New Orleans for the president

Zulu coconut delivered to President Obama


WASHINGTON -- The president of the Zulu Social Aid and Pleasure Club presented President Barack Obama with a hand-painted, personalized Zulu coconut in the Oval Office on Monday afternoon, marking the 100th anniversary of the black Carnival club and the election of the first African-American president.
....
Zulu First Lady Patricia Wade Hamilton, who was hugged twice by the president and said she would never clean the clothes that came in contact with him.

"He's a very handsome man from a female perspective, " she said shortly after leaving the White House.

Read more: http://www.nola.com/news/index.ssf/2009/03/obama_to_receive_zulu_coconut.html

Three one-way tickets

Two Saturdays ago, James and I scurried into a cab at 4:30am and headed off to the airport. Along, the way, I was surprised to see the city alive with Friday night party-goers beginning to head home. We were leaving as Mardi Gras weekend was just getting rolling.

We arrived in DC a few hours later, and were repeatedly struck by the tidiness of the streets and metro, the reserve of those passing by, the complete organization of a city in which every aspect seems managed, and by the countless mailboxes - there must have been one on every corner.

We spent four days in a city that functions by creating a system for everything. Step on to the metro in the 10 seconds that the door is open - open your bag for a routine search when entering the capitol - leave your backbag and coat with the coatcheck guard at the museum. We were herded through each experience and we, like cattle,we did not disobey. We stood in in line, handed over our belongings, and did so with little disruption.

James and I parted ways on Wednesday, he returning to NOLA, I continuing on to Charlotte to visit my family. Ove the next four days, I drove from Rock Hill, SC where my mother lives to Kannapolis, NC where my sister lives - along with hundreds of thousands of other folks who call themselves Charlotteans, but live not at all in Charlotte, NC. Charlotte is the central point, where the jobs are, where the restaurants are, and where most people I know now refuse to live.

While in Kannapolis, I was a 'guest speaker' for my niece's 1st grade class. The topic was wind and hurricanes, and it was my job to talk about my experience with hurricanes and to answer questions. Besides the inevitable "How many dead people did you see during the hurricane?" and "Did your house blow down?" - the questions were sweet and innocent, as were the kids. They stretched their arms high above their heads and their eyes pleaded for me to pick them, but they did not speak out of turn. They sat in their spot on the floor until they were told to move to the next spot and they said please and thank you and smiled and laughed and talked to me and talked to each other. Their teacher(s) - there were three in one classroom, were attentive to their needs and respectful of them as individuals. The principal(s) - three for the school, each of whom I met later at an evening function, knew the kids and knew many of the parents and supported the teachers.

James picked me up at the airport yesterday morning, and as we drove from Kenner into NOLA, I couldn't help but notice with fresh eyes - the brokenness of the city. The buildings in disrepair that we passed - one after another after another. The abandoned houses, the trash in the streets, the ever bumpy roads.

The day was sunny, so after arriving home we took a walk to St. Charles, which was a major parade route for Mardi Gras. Our neighbors smiled and waved at us as we walked along. We stopped often to look at the blooming azaleas and beads dangling from sycamores and oaks. As we turned from St. Charles to head down Philip back to our house - we heard a brass band. We turned to see a second line parade a few streets over wandering through the streets. Someone had died and loved ones were gathering together to send that person off New Orleans style.

Babylon, Chaos, Muses

We arrived at 6:00pm to watch the Krewe of Muses parade, only to be surprised to find that the two parades ahead of it had just started. We were on the parade route at Napolean and Camp for over four hours. Krewe of Babylon led the first parade. As floats ambled by - beads,flowers, games, dolls, and other trinkets are throw to on-lookers. James was the shocked and thrilled recipient of a child-sized stuffed monkey.

Krewe of Chaos parade followed Babylon.



Kim Roberts, Trouble the Water filmmaker and rapper, led the Krewe of Muses parade. High-heeled shoes represent the Muses - and most items thrown are shoe-related. Beaded and decorated shoes are created by a group of artists and are highly sought after during the parade.
Marching teams, like the Pussyfooters, the Camel-Toed Lady Steppers and the Bearded Oysters are featured in Muses. Hopefully, I'll have photos of them to post soon.

ship fetish

James' favorite passtimes continue to be photographing ships on the Mississippi and riding the ferry.

King Arthur parade