Evacuting New Orleans - Sarah (and other people)
I should have something to write. I fill up pages in the paper journal lately and get intimidated when I try to write here. It used to be the reverse. Maybe I'm afraid I'll sound silly or something. I don't know.
I've been obsessing over the idea of home. What makes a place home? Why doesn't this house feel like home even though we own it? I know part of the answer to that question is that the woman from whom we bought this place still lives on the upper two floors. We got the house for a great price, but part of the deal was that the previous owner could stay until mid-July when she's going to move in with her daughter in South Carolina. This means that all of us are confined to the first floor with 2 bedrooms and 1 bathroom. In short, we're living in an apartment even though we own the house.
The woman from whom we bought the house is a lovely person, but I don't want to share my living space anymore. I've had to be in less than ideal living spaces for the past 8.5 months, 34 of them in fact if you count this one. I'm ready to be in a place with room to spread out. I know it's only a little while longer, but I want it now dammit.
Actually, what I want is to be in the last place which was home: New Orleans. I know that's not possible, but it's the idea I'm currently fixated on. It wouldn't be this hard if we had left there on our own terms, but we didn't. We got ripped out of our lives and routines and landed here in this completely different place.
That leads to a whole different train of thought, the one in which I think that people are completely sick and tired of hearing me/us complain about: the Hurricane and its aftermath. I haven't really written much about actually evacuating from New Orleans. I'm not sure I have the energy to write about it right now. It involved a lot of packing and driving and telephoning and upset. Ned always told people if we ever evacuate, the safest place for you to be is in the car behind us because if we ever evacuate, there won't be anything to come back to. I guess I didn't really think he was completely right, and I'm not glad he was.
Katrina wasn't supposed to hit New Orleans. It was going into Pensacola, Florida. At least that’s what the forecasters said on Friday, August 26, 2005. We spent the day chatting with Kim and baking a cake for the kids' playgroup. By Friday night, the thing went from a Category 2 to a 3 and it shifted a bit to the west, but there still wasn't much worry about. I cancelled a class I supposed to teach in Mississippi on Saturday so we could clean up the yard and get it ready for a hurricane and board up the windows, and by Saturday night the damn thing was a Category 4 almost 5 and it shifted west again.
We spent Saturday night packing everything of value we could fit into the vans. We took the seats out of the Chevy and jammed it full of boxes: family photos, the kid's toys, some things that were special to people. We put even more into the Nissan. Our neighbors looked at us like we were crazy. I think everyone thought we'd be back in 2 or 3 days. 5 on the outside. We had everything in boxes already. During hurricane season, we don't unpack things. The business records, the financial records, the photos had been boxed up long before Katrina. If they hadn't been, we never would have gotten so much out.
In fact, our hurricane plan only had one major glitch. We had planned to rent a moving truck in order to get out as much as possible, but you can't rent a moving truck after noon on Saturday. The rental places all close until Monday morning. We were stuck with the two vans, so some stuff had to stay behind. We managed to fit everything belonging to the kids in the vans with the exceptions of their swing set, their trampoline, Ethan's drum set, and Ryan’s little pretend kitchen. No small feat.
We fell into bed around 3am, but we couldn't sleep. At 3:30 we got up and checked NOAA. Of course the track was only worse. In the morning, we built a 2-foot sandbag levee in front of the cottage, which is on a slab and was the most likely part of the house to flood. After finishing up packing the best we could, we left on Sunday at around 11am. JM, us, Ethan and Ryan were in the Nissan and Chorus, Kim, and the cats were in the Chevy.
I know it was really hard for Jana because Kim was really upset. She gets upset in a very quiet way, but it was clear she was upset. Kim couldn't focus on all that needed to be done. She kept saying that we needed masking tape for the windows. Jana kept telling here that in New Orleans, 3/4" plywood is what's called for on windows, not masking tape.
My mind is skipping around even as I try to write this. On Saturday, we went to Chalmette to the closet drugstore to our house in order to get Kim's prescriptions filled. They didn't have one of the drugs. The woman said, "Oh, it's alright. Just the leave it here and we'll fill it on Tuesday after the storm passes." Jana said she'd rather not and took the prescription with us. I saw that drugstore a few months after the storm. There was nothing left of it really. The roof was gone and the watermark was at about 10 feet.
We got Jo to go on NOAA and find the eastern edge of the storm. The government was telling everyone to go west since the storm was coming in from the east, but with the whole city going west, it didn't seem like a good idea. Jo told us Montgomery, Alabama was the closest place we could go and even there we'd still get clipped by the edge of the storm.
We told Ethan and Ryan that it was New Orleans' Road Trip Day and everyone from the city was going on a road trip. It was the only way we could think to make it make sense to them without scaring them. The I-10 was packed. Over the 5-mile bridge across Lake Ponchatrain all the lanes and the breakdown lanes were outbound only. About halfway across, Ethan said he needed to poop. We told him we were really sorry, but we couldn't stop. We told him he could poop in his pants and we'd change them later. He said, "That's disgusting!" and held it for about 6 hours before we could stop.
The traffic didn't let up until after the contra flow ended. There were times when we were going 12 miles an hour and the hurricane was going 15. An interesting thing: When people stopped along the side of the road, the white folks were walking their dogs and the black folks were picnicking. I still haven't figured out why.
Kim doesn't like car trips. She told Chorus at least a dozen times, "Let's just stop here and find a hotel. My treat." I don't think she realized that we were evacuating. I guess it was just beyond her ability to take in the fact that in one week she was diagnosed with emphysema and vascular dementia and evacuating ahead of a hurricane.
It took about 18 hours to get to Montgomery. We had to take back roads and we were lucky that we had a room reserved. The entire hotel was filled with evacuees. That wasn't a bad thing really. Everyone could understand each other and support each other. The hotel staff had no idea what to make of us. The TVs were going constantly showing pictures and making dire predictions. It was real and surreal at the same time.
We were only in Montgomery for 2 days. After we realized that we couldn't go back, we went to Florida to Jo's parents' condo, but that's another story entirely.
I'm not sure why I've gone about this. I am sure that this isn't best retelling of the events. It's jumbled and confusing and I know I've left things out, but it is the first time I/we've put it down in writing. There's a lot more to the story. Going back the first time (and the second time and the third time). Finding out about our house. Finding out about friends' houses. Losing our lives and having to create them again.
I guess eventually I'll write some of that, but for now, I have to deal with the emotions this much brought up. I need some tea and a little bit of mindless television.
-Sarah (and a number of other people)
I've been obsessing over the idea of home. What makes a place home? Why doesn't this house feel like home even though we own it? I know part of the answer to that question is that the woman from whom we bought this place still lives on the upper two floors. We got the house for a great price, but part of the deal was that the previous owner could stay until mid-July when she's going to move in with her daughter in South Carolina. This means that all of us are confined to the first floor with 2 bedrooms and 1 bathroom. In short, we're living in an apartment even though we own the house.
The woman from whom we bought the house is a lovely person, but I don't want to share my living space anymore. I've had to be in less than ideal living spaces for the past 8.5 months, 34 of them in fact if you count this one. I'm ready to be in a place with room to spread out. I know it's only a little while longer, but I want it now dammit.
Actually, what I want is to be in the last place which was home: New Orleans. I know that's not possible, but it's the idea I'm currently fixated on. It wouldn't be this hard if we had left there on our own terms, but we didn't. We got ripped out of our lives and routines and landed here in this completely different place.
That leads to a whole different train of thought, the one in which I think that people are completely sick and tired of hearing me/us complain about: the Hurricane and its aftermath. I haven't really written much about actually evacuating from New Orleans. I'm not sure I have the energy to write about it right now. It involved a lot of packing and driving and telephoning and upset. Ned always told people if we ever evacuate, the safest place for you to be is in the car behind us because if we ever evacuate, there won't be anything to come back to. I guess I didn't really think he was completely right, and I'm not glad he was.
Katrina wasn't supposed to hit New Orleans. It was going into Pensacola, Florida. At least that’s what the forecasters said on Friday, August 26, 2005. We spent the day chatting with Kim and baking a cake for the kids' playgroup. By Friday night, the thing went from a Category 2 to a 3 and it shifted a bit to the west, but there still wasn't much worry about. I cancelled a class I supposed to teach in Mississippi on Saturday so we could clean up the yard and get it ready for a hurricane and board up the windows, and by Saturday night the damn thing was a Category 4 almost 5 and it shifted west again.
We spent Saturday night packing everything of value we could fit into the vans. We took the seats out of the Chevy and jammed it full of boxes: family photos, the kid's toys, some things that were special to people. We put even more into the Nissan. Our neighbors looked at us like we were crazy. I think everyone thought we'd be back in 2 or 3 days. 5 on the outside. We had everything in boxes already. During hurricane season, we don't unpack things. The business records, the financial records, the photos had been boxed up long before Katrina. If they hadn't been, we never would have gotten so much out.
In fact, our hurricane plan only had one major glitch. We had planned to rent a moving truck in order to get out as much as possible, but you can't rent a moving truck after noon on Saturday. The rental places all close until Monday morning. We were stuck with the two vans, so some stuff had to stay behind. We managed to fit everything belonging to the kids in the vans with the exceptions of their swing set, their trampoline, Ethan's drum set, and Ryan’s little pretend kitchen. No small feat.
We fell into bed around 3am, but we couldn't sleep. At 3:30 we got up and checked NOAA. Of course the track was only worse. In the morning, we built a 2-foot sandbag levee in front of the cottage, which is on a slab and was the most likely part of the house to flood. After finishing up packing the best we could, we left on Sunday at around 11am. JM, us, Ethan and Ryan were in the Nissan and Chorus, Kim, and the cats were in the Chevy.
I know it was really hard for Jana because Kim was really upset. She gets upset in a very quiet way, but it was clear she was upset. Kim couldn't focus on all that needed to be done. She kept saying that we needed masking tape for the windows. Jana kept telling here that in New Orleans, 3/4" plywood is what's called for on windows, not masking tape.
My mind is skipping around even as I try to write this. On Saturday, we went to Chalmette to the closet drugstore to our house in order to get Kim's prescriptions filled. They didn't have one of the drugs. The woman said, "Oh, it's alright. Just the leave it here and we'll fill it on Tuesday after the storm passes." Jana said she'd rather not and took the prescription with us. I saw that drugstore a few months after the storm. There was nothing left of it really. The roof was gone and the watermark was at about 10 feet.
We got Jo to go on NOAA and find the eastern edge of the storm. The government was telling everyone to go west since the storm was coming in from the east, but with the whole city going west, it didn't seem like a good idea. Jo told us Montgomery, Alabama was the closest place we could go and even there we'd still get clipped by the edge of the storm.
We told Ethan and Ryan that it was New Orleans' Road Trip Day and everyone from the city was going on a road trip. It was the only way we could think to make it make sense to them without scaring them. The I-10 was packed. Over the 5-mile bridge across Lake Ponchatrain all the lanes and the breakdown lanes were outbound only. About halfway across, Ethan said he needed to poop. We told him we were really sorry, but we couldn't stop. We told him he could poop in his pants and we'd change them later. He said, "That's disgusting!" and held it for about 6 hours before we could stop.
The traffic didn't let up until after the contra flow ended. There were times when we were going 12 miles an hour and the hurricane was going 15. An interesting thing: When people stopped along the side of the road, the white folks were walking their dogs and the black folks were picnicking. I still haven't figured out why.
Kim doesn't like car trips. She told Chorus at least a dozen times, "Let's just stop here and find a hotel. My treat." I don't think she realized that we were evacuating. I guess it was just beyond her ability to take in the fact that in one week she was diagnosed with emphysema and vascular dementia and evacuating ahead of a hurricane.
It took about 18 hours to get to Montgomery. We had to take back roads and we were lucky that we had a room reserved. The entire hotel was filled with evacuees. That wasn't a bad thing really. Everyone could understand each other and support each other. The hotel staff had no idea what to make of us. The TVs were going constantly showing pictures and making dire predictions. It was real and surreal at the same time.
We were only in Montgomery for 2 days. After we realized that we couldn't go back, we went to Florida to Jo's parents' condo, but that's another story entirely.
I'm not sure why I've gone about this. I am sure that this isn't best retelling of the events. It's jumbled and confusing and I know I've left things out, but it is the first time I/we've put it down in writing. There's a lot more to the story. Going back the first time (and the second time and the third time). Finding out about our house. Finding out about friends' houses. Losing our lives and having to create them again.
I guess eventually I'll write some of that, but for now, I have to deal with the emotions this much brought up. I need some tea and a little bit of mindless television.
-Sarah (and a number of other people)