spring break 2009

Our good friend, Diane, visited us to help James celebrate his spring break last week. So many highlights - lots of great food, happy chatting, bead collecting and exploring.

Katrina re-visited

On Friday, I was responsible for taking a group of 40 MD's, PhD's and public health students from colleges across the country on a visit to some of New Orleans 'recovery' areas. I struggled with the idea of renting a motor coach, loading it with people, and doing a show and tell of all of the devastation that still exists post-Katrina.

We visited St. Bernard Project located below the Lower 9th Ward in St. Bernard Parish. Some of the lowest ground in the area. People who lived here were 75% home owners making an average income of $38,000 per year. They worked hard and lived comfortably. Katrina wiped out the area. The people here have lost everything and are working to rebuild their lives, the St. Bernard Project is working to help them. Liz McCartney, co-founder of the project, was named the 2008 CNN Hero of the Year because of their efforts. She spoke to our group about her work and about the continued struggle to help rebuild.

The Lower 9th Ward Clinic was another part of our visit and the area where the Make it Right project is hard at work.

Roland was our driver for the day - he has lived in NOLA all of his life. He has survived Hurricane Betsy and Katrina, both times losing his home to the flood. He didn't know he was going to tell his story as we drove along, but once I started asking him questions and realized he was a survivor and that he wanted to talk about it, everything fell into place. He drove us slowly along abandoned streets of St. Bernard and the Lower 9th Ward, pointing out areas where his friends used to live and his children used to play. He told us where the levees were breached and how high the water rose and for how long. He showed us where the church was and where it isn't any longer. He talked about the temporary clinics and the people who came to help and, when asked why he came back he answered, "New Orleans is my home. When I wasn't here, I wasn't anywhere. I had to come back and I'll keep coming back."

In the end, it is necessary and important to talk about what is happening and not happening in New Orleans. I know this, but it doesn't make looking at it or talking about it any easier. The reality is that people's lives were changed forever and they are trying hard to come home - to what they know, to their families, to a place that makes sense to them.

Catching monkeys

Who knew that when we attended the Muses parade that our new pal, Curious George, would fly from the hands of a queen on the float and fall into James' loving arms. George arrived beadless and with some extra nostrils drawn in. Since that time, he has caught some beads of his own, watched some parade action, taken a bike ride or two and been photographed countless times. He lives in a Mardi Gras shrine area that is steadily expanding on our kitchen table. George keeps us focused on the big picture. When life gets tough - you have to take time to stop and catch a monkey.

the not-so-scary monster

Yesterday, James and I were sitting in the sunny spot on the concrete slab in our backyard when we heard a chorus of childlike yells coming from the direction of our neighbor's house. We sometimes hear our little friend, Armani, making similar sounds (semi-dramatic, but not indications of danger)when life doesn't go his way, so we weren't concerned. A half a minute later we hear their dad, Floyd, talking to them, 'That's what happens when you leave the gate open - sometimes animals come in.'

I walked closer to investigate and saw my three young neighbors huddled together on their front stoop and a pretty little smiling australian shepherd below them - tail wagging. Their dad tried to round up the shepherd, but the dog really liked the yard and was doing everything in its power to stay with its new family.

James and I offered to help, so he went around the fence and I went to get some chicken from the fridge. Floyd managed to get a leash around the dog and politely tugged - the dog would move a foot or two before sitting down again. The chicken did the trick. We were able to lure the dog into the street and Floyd closed the gate. Of course, I made a new friend - the dog now sat beside me, rubbed up against my leg, and asked for more. My little neighbors did not want the dog anywhere near me. Still, I pet the dog and talked to it - James told them it was a nice dog and that not all dogs were mean. We walked around the block and the dog followed us, leaving the boys in peace.

They don't like animals. Their response to most living creatures is to search and destroy. I guess this could be typical for small rough and tumble boys, but it seems extreme from my perspective. They want to squash caterpillars, pull crickets apart, and they throw rocks at any bird who flies by. This all disturbs me. So, I pick up caterpillars and talk about the pretty birds and pet dogs in hopes that it will start to seem normal to love all types of creatures - no matter how different and frightening they may seem.

NoLA Rising

NoLA Rising is a non-profit that promotes local artists who create art work relating to the recovery of New Orleans. Later this month, during the first weekend of Jazz Fest, they are having an art sale/fundraiser for a new mural project that they are hoping to get off the ground.

Proctoring the LEAP

Mr. McDonald is proctoring the final day of the Louisiana Education Assessment Program (LEAP) test for his 6th graders.

Translation

James is spending his birthday babysitting 6th graders who are going stir-crazy after being removed from their daily routine to be placed in one classroom to take a standardized test in three-hour increments each day since last Wednesday.

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