happy 1st birthday, miss junie-jean

yesterday, before my dad and i decided to get the hell out of new orleans AGAIN to avoid rita, my cousin came over to get the stuff she and her husband had left when they evacuated.

katie is 3 years older than i am. when i was 9, she was 12, and she lived with us for a summer when her parents were going through the roughest divorce in all of divorce history i think. (think lifetime movie here). but i resented her so much that summer because i needed my mom's attention and clearly, katie was getting it. (it was also the summer, mom announced she was pregnant with christopher... oh the chaos) but we've grown up a lot since then. i respect and admire her. she lives in this great apartment in the bend of bayou st. john with her husband. everytime i go over there, i think of the book "night jasmine" because the main character ends up living on the same street. her husband, justin, just earned his masters degree in english. they are a very hip and cool couple. combined, they have baskets of old records in their living room - beatles to billie holiday. deep down, i want to grow up to be katie in a few years.

katie and justin, have the most beautiful baby in the world. juniper jean windham. to us, she's junie. she's a pepper. pure spunk. sarah and i started babysitting for her this summer. no exaggeration - junie is the happiest child. ever. and i give her credit for bringing the cousins closer together once again.

it's hard to believe we've had junie in our lives for a year already.

katie and justin stayed at our house during katrina because they just didn't feel safe in their apartment overlooking the bayou. rightfully so. by the grace of God, some of neighbors made sure that they did not stay when the waters began to rise on tuesday after the storm. they made it to tuscaloosa via baton rouge. junie got sick in the hecticness, but they found a pediatrician who took good care of her when they were temporarily settled. whew. now they are back in baton rouge because justin got a job teaching english for LSU for a little while. just until they can come back to new orleans, he tells me.

3 weeks later, junie has grown up so much. she's repeating phrases, walking, giving high-fives. she even has a pair of new red mary-janes. she's still smiling away, as if nothing has happened, bringing a constant source of comfort and hope. she's not going to remember new orleans before the storm, or being carried through waist-deep water to leave my house, or sleeping in makeshift beds all over the southeast region as her parents got things settled. but katie and justin are going to bring her back to new orleans and she's going to grow up in a better city. i'm so excited for her.

here comes rita - our lady of prompt succor, pray for us.

talked to pammy today during the four minutes i get to be online. i needed the talk, the banter, the memories of garlic hummus in 204. she's been a trooper and come to mardi gras TWICE. she claims to be good with a hammer (and i can vouche for her) and has offered to help rebuild new orleans. done. but get this story: pam goes to the red cross - moved by what was happening in new orleans - to get whatever training she needs to be sent down here to help. they TURN HER AWAY because TECHNICALLY she's not a rhode island resident. (she's from new york, but living in providence) hm. tell me how that makes sense.

it's raining here in fairhope. i like to fall asleep when it's raining. i want to fall asleep and get rid of a lot of the heavy thoughts in my head. confessional matters perhaps, but i've gone to confession and that's supposed to make you feel better, right? i need to remember how to let go of the things i need to let go of. (insert serenity prayer here) now is as good a time as any. nothing like a hurricane (or two) to make you re-think some things you've done, decided upon, given up on, hoped for - and then keep an eye open for the next opportunity in it all.

i tell ya, patience is the name of the game right now. bring it on.

mmm blue nitrile gloves are so hot....

day 2 of living in the top two floors of 237:

tonight i had one of the greatest showers of my life. it was just above freezing cold because my dad turned off the hot water heater when he came 2 weeks ago. i've never had a bucket of icewater dumped on me (not that i remember at least), but it was just like that. we instinctively gasp for air and start shaking when shocked with cold water. but that was exhilarating. it forced me to breathe - taking the biggest, most productive breaths. it was as if i hadn't breathed in the last 3 weeks. i don't think i have. i recommend a really cold shower, just to clear your mind.

tonight, dad and i were clearing out the cabinets in our den. the cabinets underneath the giant wall of bookcases. he was taking care of the liquor cabinet, and i was taking care of the games and videos (most of which were still dripping water and/or growing mold). he pulled out a bottle of whiskey (i think) that had this great schwegman's label. SCHWEGMANS! classic. still drinkable whiskey, my dad promised, and i carefully wiped down the bottle with diluted bleach to make sure the mold was gone. he then pulled out this bottle - herbsainte, i think - but it had on the label "THE new orleans spirit" and "served at the old absinthe house, new orleans, louisiana." dad then proceeded to explain to me what absinthe was (ha. oh absinthe... it makes the heart grow fonder), and how when they made it illegal, this particular liquour is what was served. key ingredient in the szazerac. i made sure i kept that bottle. now, my father was a bartender in grad school, so he does enjoy his spirits - like any good new orleanian - so i hoped that him telling these stores would put "good thoughts" in his head about our city.

we have been on a roll - punching through walls, pulling out sheetrock that was still damp and insolation that was still sitting in a pool of water. gross. but hopefully, when we pulled out all the wet stuff, it stopped the mold from colonizing our entire first floor. (i had my first storm nightmare last night - it involved me waking up scratching, thinking my body, my pajamas, my bed, my sheets, my walls, and all the furniture in my room were covered with mold. it was pretty awful) we moved all the furniture, including two pianos (ours and my grandmother's - it's not weird, i promise), trying to make sure we got to all the walls. i sprayed EVERY hole we made and the walls with bleach. lots and lots of bleach. from the outside, our house looked fine. no roof damage, and the oak tree just lost a lot of branches. but upon closer inspection, it looked like the bricks had actually shifted slightly off the slab, as if something had hit it. well, i guess that's what sustained hurricane winds of over 140 mph will do. we do have the neatest pile of trash on the block, we decided. mr. don from across the street was the impartial judge and he concurred. good for us.

i've learned more about construction and demolition in the last 2 days than i have ever wanted to know.

i need to do something super-feminine now - like get a pedicure or facial or go get dressed up for no reason.

3 weeks, and one day ago today, i left new orleans with my mom, sarah, and christopher. feels like years ago.

we're going home tomorrow. me and my dad. going home to begin cleaning our house. mom is going to stay here in fairhope, alabama, because christopher is now in school. the plan is to go back and forth to trade off - so mom can get back to see her house and i can be the grownup and get christopher to school and swim practice here. going back for good is just as complicated as getting out, it seems. my parents can't officially be back in new orleans until st. catherine is open for christopher - even though our house is habitable. (eh, we didn't really need anything on the first floor, right?) for some people, there is the added dimension of whether there is employment in the area. i guess there's a small blessing that my dad does the things he does with the internet and phone calls.

for those who have watched me argue with krentel, who have eaten homemade waffles or redbeans and rice (or SANDWICHES! mmm sandwiches), or have drunk frozen margaritas (on the fourth of july, perhaps?) at our bar/kitchen, the barchairs survived, but they are currently jammed between the bar and the buckled floor. i think a very VERY small part of my mom's subconscience is glad - she's going to get a new kitchen when this is all over. but i digress.

obviously, my feelings change from moment to moment. i haven't yet really sorted through my feelings of loss, of disappointment, of confusion, or a general fear about what i'm supposed to be doing right now. which direction i'm supposed to go. where i'm supposed to be. where is it PRACTICAL for me to be. (ew, being pragmatic. soooo not me. give me the whimsical anyday.) who i am supposed to be with. it's way too much to be holding in. but as i told my wonderful roommate before she left for peru yesterday, there will be a night where i'm going to need to cry and yell and pound a pillow and then get a really big hug. i feel sorry for the person that is going to have to witness that.
the good thing is knowing that i'm 22 and can do whatever i want. and knowing that what i want is to settle in new orleans.
my dad has this delusion that life is better in fairhope, alabama. he has these dreams of being able to sit at this coffeeshop in the middle of "downtown" and be in the company of artists and authors (because that's pretty much who lives in this little bohemia). he loves the little shops - filled with antiques and books. he loves the little cafes and pubs and how friendly the people are.

and he's right. it's a wondefully quaint place.

but i just want to yell at him, YOU CAN DO THAT IN NEW ORLEANS. YOU CAN HAVE ALL THAT IN NEW ORLEANS.

i want to remind him of how he and mom used to live off of esplanade ave, and take me in my little carseat to cafe du monde at 6am on saturday mornings when i was a newborn. and how, 22 years later, the vietnamese woman that STILL works at cafe du monde, recognized them and remembered them bringing me in a carseat. or how he WILL NEVER EVER be satisfied with a church unless they skip the sign of peace, give communion at a communion rail, and say the important parts of mass in latin - all things that st. patrick's in the warehouse district offers. i want to remind him of how in new orleans, everyone is related to everyone else in less than 6 degrees. or how good the soufle potatoes are on christmas eve at antoine's or a sunday afternoon dinner at galatoire's (and he first took me to galatoire's when i was 6 weeks old). i want him to remember how on saturday afternoons, he would take us on a streetcar ride all the way down st. charles ave., only to turn around at canal street to ride all the way back up to grab a hamburger at the camillia grill. because God knows, I want to give my kids the same memories.

maybe it's a lost cause. but then again, it's good to remind myself why i love this place. i'm throwing in the towel yet.

"the very thought of you makes me stop before i begin. because i've got you under my skin."

::holding::

Dear America,

I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana.

We have arrived on your doorstep on short notice and we apologize for that, but we never were much for waiting around for invitations. We're not much on formalities like that.

And we might be staying around your town for a while, enrolling in your schools and looking for jobs, so we wanted to tell you a few things about us. We know you didn't ask for this and neither did we, so we're just going to have to make the best of it.

First of all, we thank you. For your money, your water, your food, your prayers, your boats and buses and the men and women of your National Guards, fire departments, hospitals and everyone else who has come to our rescue.

We're a fiercely proud and independent people, and we don't cotton much to outside interference, but we're not ashamed to accept help when we need it. And right now, we need it.

Just don't get carried away.

For instance, once we get around to fishing again, don't try to tell us what kind of lures work best in your waters.

We're not going to listen. We're stubborn that way.

You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard.

We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't.

But we'll try not to judge you while we're in your town.

Everybody loves their home, we know that. But we love South Louisiana with a ferocity that borders on the pathological. Sometimes we bury our dead in LSU sweatshirts.

Often we don't make sense. You may wonder why, for instance - if we could only carry one small bag of belongings with us on our journey to your state - why in God's name did we bring a pair of shrimp boots?

We can't really explain that. It is what it is.

You've probably heard that many of us stayed behind. As bad as it is, many of us cannot fathom a life outside of our border, out in that place we call Elsewhere.

The only way you could understand that is if you have been there, and so many of you have. So you realize that when you strip away all the craziness and bars and parades and music and architecture and all that hooey, really, the best thing about where we come from is us.

We are what made this place a national treasure. We're good people. And don't be afraid to ask us how to pronounce our names. It happens all the time.

When you meet us now and you look into our eyes, you will see the saddest story ever told. Our hearts are broken into a thousand pieces.

But don't pity us. We're gonna make it. We're resilient. After all, we've been rooting for the Saints for 35 years. That's got to count for something.

OK, maybe something else you should know is that we make jokes at inappropriate times.

But what the hell.

And one more thing: In our part of the country, we're used to having visitors. It's our way of life.

So when all this is over and we move back home, we will repay to you the hospitality and generosity of spirit you offer to us in this season of our despair.

That is our promise. That is our faith.

(Chris Rose for The Times-Picayune Chris Rose can be reached atnoroses@bellsouth.net.)

those aren't my words. but they are damn good words, so i wanted to share. they were written by the same journalist that decided to poke fun at the tarot card readers in jackson square in new orleans by wearing a black beret and sitting out there one day with a magic 8 ball and a book called "existentialism." he sat out in the square all day, making 5 whole dollars from unsuspecting tourists. it turned out to be one of the funniest articles i've ever read. chris rose knows and loves new orleans. enough said.

so i guess anyone who would be reading this right now - close friends, or the ones that stalk me on facebook - know that i'm not living in a castle in england. my life is officially on hold as i play the role of a displaced person. i woke up on the morning of august 30th in houston to 2 emails - one from my cousin who had ridden out hurricane katrina in our house telling us that she had to get out because of the rising water, another one from england telling me that they didn't expect my work permit to go through so don't even bother flying over. awesome, great britain, awesome. so no newcastle in warm pint glasses, no running around a castle in my socks, no seeing michael buble at the apollo in london, no fabulous accents, no flying to rome, ireland, france, china on a whim because i CAN. for about a week, i kept thinking that someone in their "home office" would pick up my application for a work permit, see that i'm from new orleans, and say "we need to get this lovely young lady OVER HERE NOW - GET HER A WORK PERMIT THIS INSTANT!" ah no such luck.maybe one day i'll get to do all those things as a temporary british citizen, but not right now.

the last two weeks have been a blur. the last thing i really remember was spending the night in baton rouge with the fantastic people i know there. (ironic, considering the amount of alcohol i drank that night in total). the next day, i woke up to 10 voicemails from my mom wanting me to get home before contraflow - the beginnings of the evacuation from new orleans. now i've found myself in fairhope, AL - via bunkie LA, alexandria LA, houston TX, pearl MS, and birmingham AL. separated from the only people who can really understand what it means to miss new orleans, and facing the end of life as we know it. dramatic, but true.

if i was to be uber-positive about all of this, it would be to say that i did get out of new orleans with a good portion of my stuff - because i really thought i'd be able to fly out of houston when we evacuated. i brought some great pictures - 204 outside of golden crust on the last day of classes, the group that came to mardi gras this year at pat o's (real women drink EVERY drink on the pat o's drink menu), some great dancing shots at the commencement formal, brett and i on block island, ann and i on groovy day in the seventh grade. the pictures were a nice surprise when i was digging through my bags this week. makes me excited that i can be back in providence soon. if i can't be in london, or new orleans, i'm glad i can be in providence. as much as i fought that idea back in may. the abbey hasn't seen the last of me yet.

if you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.