I have to admit, I love being a New Orleanian, but don't necessarily like being a Southerner.

As a person from the Crescent City, I enjoy being from a world-reknowned town, one that has hosted NBA Championships, Super Bowls, NCAA National Championships in football and basketball, national political conventions, one of the great ports in the world, and, without a doubt, the best food you will eat anywhere.

But, as a Southerner, I know my region's past has been cloudy at best.  We tend to live in the past, just look at the number of Confederate flags that fly.  And prejudice is as common as a friendly, "Hi, y'all!"  Which is why something that happened this past week both appalled and thrilled me.

As the election of our first African-American president was completed, I was wondering the reaction the next day.  Though subdued in the majority-white school at which I teach, there was enough negative reaction that our principal noted it on the morning announcements, making sure the students realized we were a part of history and that we should follow the lead of the man who lost the election in getting behind our new president.

The student's reaction was commendable, especially when I pointed to these middle-schoolers that we were the first democratic government based on Western European ideals to elect a black person to its top post.  I cannot say the same for a certain college in south Louisiana.

Apparently a student from a southern Louisiana university said on his internet personal page that he would see to it that "that black man would serve as President for a very short time."

I am starting to think I don't need to live in the South anymore.

New Orleanians are known for many things: knowing how to have a good time, good food, having the ability to know how to take it easy, knowing how to have a good time, corrupt politicians, knowing how to have a good time….

 

Did I mention knowing how to have a good time?

 

In a previous missive, I talked about how in Pre-K (pre-Katrina), when there was weather threatening in the Gulf of Mexico, neighbors would whip out the old grill, fire it up, and invite friends and passers-by to enjoy the freshly charred carcass of choice. 

 

After Katrina, I am amazed at how my city has changed.  You don’t see those used to be all-too-familiar neighborhood bar-b-ques.  Instead, I found Ms. Lady and I whispering quietly to our next door neighbors that we might be leaving.  Call it paranoia, but we consider it caution.  Those neighbors we might have invited to a bar-b-que a few years ago were the ones who would loot our home while we were evacuated.

 

To wit to the aforementioned change, now my city can claim to also be able to know when to take things seriously.

 

According to reports on the idiot box, over 90% of Orleans Parish (we call them parishes in Louisiana instead of counties) left the city in advance of tropical disturbance Gustav, as asked to do by those who know better than we do.  Contraflow, a system designed to help evacuate the city on less than 24-hours notice, worked well, for the most part, as both directions of the interstate that cut the city in two were changed to just one direction: out.  Though our next door neighbors decided to ride out the storm, my clan was part of that 90%.

 

Ms. Lady, Little Guy and I left the city around 9:15 p.m. Sunday night, leaving five cats behind in the house (much to the dismay of the wife) with the promise of our neighbors to keep an eye on them. 

 

The city was in the midst of a curfew as we pulled out of our driveway.  Police cars were stationed every few blocks with their blue lights flashing.  I kept thinking of a large sale at K-Mart.

 

We were the only moving automobile as we exited our city.  A creepy sight, as one of the busiest streets in the city, Canal, could produce only the stationary medium for New Orleans’ finest.

 

Though we passed three New Orleans Police Department vehicles, not one stopped us as we hit Interstate-10 heading west.

 

We drove the two miles of interstate that snakes its way to neighboring Jefferson Parish.  Again, no movement in either direction, though the city police cars had been replaced by Louisiana state troopers and the occasional tow truck, hauling away a broken down vehicle from the last 24-hours of mayhem.

 

The further we travel from the city’s center, the spookier it seems, as traffic is non-existent, while traffic lights, business signs, and street lights glow, as if in anticipation of a patron.

 

We were heading north to Ms. Lady’s father’s abode in rural southern Mississippi.  We evacuated there three years ago for Katrina.  The old girl (Katrina that is) decided to follow us, showing up late the next day, wiping out electricity for miles around while showing the world how poorly the levee system in New Orleans was designed.  We could only hope for better with Gustav.

 

We made it through Sunday night in the little hamlet outside of McComb with only minor drizzle and no wind of which to speak.

 

Monday morning, we awoke to more rain, which would be the watchword over the next 72-hours.  The electricity failed around 11:15 a.m. that day as winds continued to pick up.  The thrashing of the young oaks and pines lining my father-in-law’s property worried me at first.  That’s all we need is another Katrina.

 

However, things turned out pretty well.  Small gusts of winds around 25-30 miles per hour were felt in this little southern Mississippi hamlet.  Really no damage to speak of, except for an excessive amount of spoilage of my son by his grandfather.

 

As we watch the sheets of water fall, we find out my mother-in-law, who was to evacuate to a town close to us, had decided to stay in her trailer in a small town near Baton Rouge.  Late on the night of Gustav’s landfall, twin oaks crash to the ground, splitting the difference on either side of her home.  One clipped the corner of her house, crushing her car sinking the tires into the mud.  Her granddaughter in Alabama was supposed to get the car next week as a gift.  Miraculously, Ms. Lady’s mom escaped unscathed, as the tree scraped the exterior wall, missing her by a mere two feet.

 

We sweat through Monday night and the morning light brings more precipitation.  Torrential downpours continue throughout the day, as my father-in-law’s pond 200-yards behind the house begins to swell to levels no one can remember.

 

And the rain continues.

 

We find out from our New Orleans next-door neighbors, who had decided to stay, that the only time our neighborhood was without power was Monday, from 7 a.m. until around 5 p.m.  The amount of damage in our Mid-City neighborhood is minimal, and rain a non-issue.

 

Tuesday morning greets us with more rain.  Ms. Lady’s father and I take a trip up I-55 to find a company that makes dry ice.  He wants to preserve his food for as long as he can.  Thirty-five dollars later, we’re heading back home and the food in his freezer and refrigerator will survive.

 

Later that day, another road trip, this time to my mother-in-law’s.  The gash in her roof is sizable, but could be fixable, according to her ex-husband.  We patch it in the rain with a temporary, thick plastic covering and hope the wind doesn’t blow that night.  Her car is not as fortunate.  It’s been almost split in two by the force of the falling oak.  The dome light glows faintly.

 

Now, for the second time in three years, divorced people share a roof as we all head back to my father-in-law’s for another powerless, hot, rainy, humid night.

 

As Wednesday progresses, we learn Ms. Lady’s brother-in-law from Alabama is heading south.  He is one of those people who can fix practically anything.  Really.  Plus, he works on metal roofing for a living, a perfect solution for the fissure in my mother-in-law’s home.  When he arrives that afternoon, the rain prohibits any work.  We’ll try Thursday, he says.  So, for the first time in four days, we’ll see how our home has done, how the cats have faired, and be able to sleep in air conditioning.

 

Our drive from north of Baton Rouge to New Orleans is uneventful.  In fact, it is downright boring.  Ms. Lady continues to comment on how long it’s taking.  Any minute I am expecting the dreaded, “Are we there yet?”.

 

Because of massive traffic tie ups on the interstate system, most of our trip was on U.S. Highway 61, known as Airline Highway to Louisianians.  Small towns are shuttered and vacant.  The few gas stations that have opened their doors have lines blocks long.  Swaths of swampland and villages are darkened without electricity.

 

Coming into the city, we see a patchwork of lights.  Some neighborhoods awash in black.  Some twinkle with power. 

 

We arrive Wednesday night at our home in Mid-City New Orleans around 9:45 to power, five happy-to-see-us cats, and neighbors shouting greetings across the way.  We go to sleep on empty stomachs, but happy to be home.

 

On Thursday, we will help others with their recovery, the way we were helped three years ago.  It’s the circle of life.

For almost a week now, media, family, and neighbors alike were worrying about staying in New Orleans with the tropical disturbance Gustav seemingly aiming for New Orleans.

To tell you the truth (not that I'd lie about it), they may have been right.  I'm now packing up my valuables and getting ready to head north.

The problem I have is questioning whether the authorities in New Orleans will be able to protect my property while I am gone.

After Katrina, looters floated up to our house in boats, kicked in the doors, windows, and walls, and destroyed what little was left from the federal flood.  The city promises they will be vigilant in keeping order and protecting.

I have my doubts.

As New Orleans prepares for the possible approach of tropical disturbance Gustav, one of the local paper's pundits put our city into a perspective that I believe most out-of-towners don't really get.

Jarvis DeBerry, though a Mississippian by birth, has claimed New Orleans as his own.  His perspective is an interesting one:

Wednesday evening, as the rush hour was petering out, a teenager standing next to the streetcar tracks on Carrollton Avenue gave passers-by a show with his tuba.

It was a sight to behold: not just because the teenager was embracing a concert tuba, as opposed to the kind popular with brass bands, but also because there was a time in our recent past when neither streetcars nor teenagers could be seen, nor could random acts of music be heard.

Two days before the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina and a handful of days before Gustav could theoretically hit the city, the young man's streetcar-line concert represented how far we've come since Aug. 29, 2005, and what we stand to lose if Gustav hits.

If a focus on the city's quaint mass-transit system and a kid practicing his horn seems misplaced at such a time as this, understand that such are the scenes that make New Orleans what it is.

One can find fast-paced living and speedy transit systems in any number of American cities. One can also find in such places a well-regulated and orderly kind of quiet. But ours is a city where people take their time moving from one place to the next and remain open to unexpected entertainment along the way.

The fact that so many ambient sights, sounds and smells of pre-Katrina New Orleans also define the city's environment today is not to suggest that the city is fully recovered. Anybody who's seen the city recently knows there is still so much to be done. But we're heading in the right direction, even as we pray that Gustav does not render our three years of hard work meaningless.

I believe our city is one that has a feel unlike any other.  Something that makes it unique.  Not to treasure this city would be a sin.

For the complete article, go to:

http://www.nola.com/news/t-p/deberry/index.ssf?/base/news/121998803756200.xml&coll=1

While the rest of New Orleans makes numerous trips to mega, home-improvement centers preparing for the latest version of the end of the world (that tropical disturbance called Gustav that won't arrive until next week, and might not even come close to New Orleans anyway), Ms. Lady and I got a taste of what real life is all about Wednesday: we celebrated our son's 1st birthday.

Little Guy got the gratuitous dive into his first taste of frosting, smeared it everywhere, fed some to me (and to the cats), and had an overall great time of it.

I'd say it grounded us for awhile.

Now, back to screaming and running around in the streets, the way the news media is telling us to do.

(Sigh)

Every tropical disturbance seems to whip all the local media into an uproar.  Call it the post-Katrina factor, if you will.

Though Gustav, the latest weather problem in the Carribean, looks like it might head toward the Gulf Coast, there is no way, at this time, to accurately pin-point where it will make landfall.  In fact, forecasters say it should be next Tuesday, September 2, when it hits the coast.

So what do people do for now?

Well, if you listen to the radio and watch the idiot box, you start filling your tubs with water and buy every battery you can find RIGHT NOW!!!  In fact, Ms. Lady and I received two phone calls today asking what our plans were when/if Gustav strikes.

I'm not saying Gustav won't come our way.  I'm saying let's not panic, people.  The mega, super-duper, larger than the Superdome home improvement centers don't need any more of our business than they're already getting.

And, PLEASE lay off the "doom and gloom" TV and radio goof balls!  Armegeddon isn't here.  Yet.

We have worked on emptying the FEMA trailer across the front of our property for months.  It was one of those things where you didn't want to set foot in the thing ever again, because you had spent over two years in the tin can.

Now, we're done.  Everything that belongs to us is out.  Now Entergy comes on Wednesday to disconnect the power, and FEMA follows up with moving the trailer.  What happens to it afterwards, I'm not sure.  I understand FEMA will have all the travel trailers crushed because of possible formaldehyde issues.

As Ms. Lady sat on the kitchen floor of the little 8' x 32' metal container tonight, she said, "This wasn't a bad FEMA trailer, was it?"

She was right.  For two years, we had a place to stay, to watch our property while out home was being rebuilt, to have a child, to watch our son grow for eight months.

To tell you the truth, I'm glad we lived in that thing.  It made our lives different. 

We could hear what went on in our streets.  And we went outside and did something about it on a regular basis.  We didn't cringe behind walls when we would hear any problems crop up.  The walls were too thin!  We became braver because of that little trailer.

Thank God we had that FEMA trailer.

And, believe it or not, thank God for FEMA.

Since Katrina, the mood is decidedly different when any tropical disturbance heads our way.  Even though Fay will do little more than be a breezy thunderstorm for New Orleans, people have been flying to the mega home improvement stores for supplies.  When we went to pick up our dinner from a local restaurant tonight, there was one table occupied.  And that was at 7:30 p.m.!

Pre-K (before Katrina), people would hold hurricane cookouts and parties.  Neighbors would come over, grills would be burning and you could tell folks were ready to have a good time, despite the warnings of impending doom. 

Katrina changed a lot of things in our city, some more tangible than others.

Fact: Most of the United States is tired of hearing about Katrina and its after effects.
Fact: New Orleans is tired of dealing with its after effects.

Here are some truths about the post-Katrina world in New Orleans:

 - Our government is completely dysfuntional. 

Example 1: The billions of dollars from the federal government has found its way into too few peoples' hands to help them rebuild.  The state program set-up to dole out the funds, "Road Home," decided that 5.5-feet of water, complete reconstruction of our home, and $300,000 dollars worth of repair do not qualify us for any of the aforementioned federal funds.  So, we're almost $200,000 in debt, with half of a house completed.

Example 2: Last night, the illustrious mayor of the city of New Orleans, C. Ray Nagin, received the inaugural Award of Distinction for Recovery, Courage and Leadership from an honorary committee packed with his political allies.  While people protested outside, on the streets of New Orleans, hizonner and his cronies celebrated his award in a glitzy ballroom in the Ritz-Carlton on Canal Street.  Why does "The Emperor's New Clothes" come to mind?

Example 3: Thousands of house remain boarded-up, shells of their former selves because of a lack of help for the citizens of this great city.  Yet, city managers and workers have yet to devise a plan of attack that will work with these citizens to get them back into their homes.  It's been three years.

 - Those that care wanted input into the rebuilding of our city, got to give that input, and are now being ignored.  Months and months of planning for the future by citizens of New Orleans have been thrown into the trash by those in charge.  We continue to see those ingenious ideas ignored, moth-balled, in favor of a friend of a government official.

Yes, Katrina is old news.  Believe me, the people of New Orleans agree.

I find that most days as a teacher can be culled into a few descriptors:

 - A great day in which everyone does what is needed to accomplish the days activities.  These happen once every 4.2 years.  That is my scientific estimation.  Take it for what's it's worth.

 - A decent day when the kids do what they're supposed to do, but parents find ways to show why they should not have had children.  These happen once every 2.25 years, again an estimation on my part, and one that is worth the paper upon which this blog is written.

 - A so-so day when some kids seem like a "Three Stooges" episode, parents are clueless, and a few staff and faculty will find a way to ask questions at the most inopportune time.  This does occur, but only every 6-to-7 months.

 - Crappy days are here again, when kids all claim Pluto as their home world, parents send socks in their kid's lunch boxes, and staff and faculty become blithering idiots, bent on the destruction of their classes and any within a 200-meter radius.

Today was a combination of a so-so and decent day.  Without going into details, suffice it to say this: a 15-minute meeting lasted over an hour, kids found ways of losing books given to them just a few days earlier, parents aren't that bad, but staff and faculty find ways to turn what little time I have during the day into a witch hunt for various items.

Ah, the life of a teacher.  As I tell my students, that's why we get paid the big bucks.

Ms. Lady was told to go to the doctor late today because of some minor problems with the stitches.  You see, two weeks ago, she had her gall bladder taken out.

The trip was a waste.  The nurse said everything was fine, and if she got a fever of 104, that she should call back.  I wonder what that trip to Ocshner is going to cost...

Afterwards, a little Chinese.  We found out our son does not like Sesame Chicken, but does like anything to do with rice!

When we drove up in the drive way, we realized our next-door neighbors had invited us for dinner that night.  After feeling like idiots, we called and went over.

Two dinners in one night is a little much.  But the company was phenomenal.

Why?  Why do we worry about things of which we have no control?

I worry because

 - Ms. Lady and I saw our insurance bill go up 90% from last year because of Katrina.
 - my oldest daughter is now a home owner and I can't help her right now.
 - one of my friends is dying of cancer and I don't know what to do besides pray.
 - Little Guy is growing up and I'm getting old.
 - my immediate family seems more and more closed-minded as they get older.
 - I'm not sure I can be the teacher my students need me to be.
 - I get to see my favorite of people in the whole world only twice more, then our time together is over.

Learning to cope with one's demons is a life-long process, I know.  But this is the one demon that seems to get the best of me on a regular basis: the worry demon.

Don't get me wrong.  I have no problem sleeping at night.  Ms. Lady says I fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.  I say it's because I work so hard (yeah, right...).

Still, this worrying thing CANNOT be good for the heart or the soul.  So, I've decided to stop worrying about worrying.  Instead, I'll take that teacher's advice I heard a while back:

26 Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?

27 And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?

Matthew 6:26-27

Why do babies have to go through the "crying through the night" thing?  I wish there was an easier way!

Last night, it was our turn.  Ms. Lady and I know we should have done it sooner.  We also know it is for his own good: learning to go to sleep without having to be rocked everytime.  But the crying does get to you after awhile.

Thank God Little Guy only cried for 20-minutes last night (I must have worn him out Saturday).  And he only awoke at 2:00 a.m.  I got up, laid him back down, changed his diaper and, after a short cry, he was back asleep.

Night #1 wasn't that bad, knock on wood....

It's amazing to me how many people do this blogging thing.  I've considered it a chance to get a peep hole view into the lives of those I know (and those I don't).  So, I thought I'd give this thing a shot on my Facebook page.  Any comments are welcome.  Just shoot.

Earlier today, my brother-in-law and sister were kind enough to donate their day bed and trundle bed to Ms. Lady and me.  We used my BIL's truck and hauled it upstairs to Little Guy's future room.  Now, if only we can keep the one mentally challenged cat we have from peeing on it.....

So, Ms. Lady and her mom have headed out to beautiful Walker, Louisiana for the semi-monthly auction of antique furniture.  While we have tried to refurnish our home after the federal flood that followed Katrina, we have found most furniture stores WAY over our heads in price.  So, we thought we'd give an antique auction a try.  So far, so good.  Five pieces of furniture, less than $1,400.00, and all of them are true antiques.  Not bad.

Little Guy and I are enjoying the day together.  He's been EVERYWHERE in this house, except the cat litter.  Thank God I was able to shut the gate in time before he made any discoveries I would have regretted later.

He did get to crawl back and forth in the hallway upstairs while I took care of the laundry.  He loved exploring and kept retracing his steps (crawls?) between what will be his room and the laundry closet in the hall, continually pointing to the ceiling fan in his room and the light in the hall.  I couldn't help but laugh.