(no subject)
So I got this format for my LJ that has "page summary" on the side, so if there are people I don't talk to often but love reading their LJ because they are a) well-written and b) catch me up on their lives, I can just see at a glance if they've posted. Easy and convenient, right?
Yet I still end up scrolling through the entire page because, well, convenience is often lost on me. If central heating and air was not established before I came of age, I would probably still sweat in the summer and freeze in the winter.
In other news, I went to New Orleans with the college group from St. Luke this fall break for the second time (the first being last Spring Break). It was, again, such a great experience. On the first trip, we all developed a bond which only grew stronger with this trip. We had a couple of newbies, and I ended up actually being ashamed at my worry that they wouldn't just meld in to the dynamic right away.
The work was hard, but it was such a morale-booster to see how much the city is beginning to regain a bit of its dignity. Streetlights are starting to work. Plumbing is in place. Gas stations are open. FEMA trailers don't define the landscape. It's all this stuff that people don't realize takes so long to advance when they haven't encountered something of this magnitude before. If it takes years to build Rome and a day to knock it down, you can't expect it'll go back up in a day, or even a year. These things take time, but despite all the red tape brought on by a government which has chosen these people's tradgedy as a campaign issue and yet another reason to divide along partisan and racial lines, private citizens - survivors and volunteers are building it back up. And this, ladies and gents, is why I am a libertarian, and why I think socialism is hogwash.
Of course the city will never be the same. Some of its finest have left and will never return. My group gutted the house of Pablo and Elizabeth *can't spell their last name*. They are this extremely cute old Spanish couple. She taught ESL (english as a second language) in the next parish over. Their house was about three blocks away from where the 17th street levee broke. They left in only one car full of things before the hurricane hit and have not been back since. When we arrived, we were the first to see the house in over a year. The flooding was up to the rafters, so the ceiling had already fallen in. The refrigerator was turned on it's side - still full of food. The bathroom still had the hand towel on a rack and her bathrobe on a hook. It was all so...personal. So raw.
Pablo was there when we arived and most of each morning. Most of the time, he would putter around in the garage. It was as if he wanted to be there, but didn't want to take part in hauling items which represented thirty-five years of his and his wife's lives hauled out to the curb. Sometimes, he'd see something in a pile and look around for the closest person to talk about it with. Of course, whatever we were doing, we'd drop it and let him take us for a cruise down memory lane. He really loved music. Once, he stopped me because he knew I was a music major and he wanted to share this ruined book with me which some NPR or PBS guy had written about how to listen to music. He would then leave, have lunch with Elizabeth, and she would come back with him for a little while and tell him how much she appreciated what we're doing. She insisted on giving us all hugs, even though we were all Katrina-dusty and moldy.
She said, "Well, it's my mold...I mean, it wasn't there last time I was here, but it's still mine!"
They've moved perminantly to Arkansas, and they have no family. Pablo was telling Jimmy (college minister) how it's hard because all the people that made the community home before are now spread to the winds. Elizabeth told me she's enjoyed getting to catch up with some old friends she hadn't seen since she left. The last day, she came with huge grociery bags full of delicious deserts, apples, and chocolates from this old (obviously re-opened) grociery store with a famous bakery. She insisted upon us taking them and eating them for lunch.
It almost felt wrong to take something from her, because, in the words of Bethany, "It already feels like we're taking so much of her life and shoving it out to the curb."
But, in the words of Elizabeth, "They're just things. You can buy more things. So often, we have too many things, anyway."
Yet I still end up scrolling through the entire page because, well, convenience is often lost on me. If central heating and air was not established before I came of age, I would probably still sweat in the summer and freeze in the winter.
In other news, I went to New Orleans with the college group from St. Luke this fall break for the second time (the first being last Spring Break). It was, again, such a great experience. On the first trip, we all developed a bond which only grew stronger with this trip. We had a couple of newbies, and I ended up actually being ashamed at my worry that they wouldn't just meld in to the dynamic right away.
The work was hard, but it was such a morale-booster to see how much the city is beginning to regain a bit of its dignity. Streetlights are starting to work. Plumbing is in place. Gas stations are open. FEMA trailers don't define the landscape. It's all this stuff that people don't realize takes so long to advance when they haven't encountered something of this magnitude before. If it takes years to build Rome and a day to knock it down, you can't expect it'll go back up in a day, or even a year. These things take time, but despite all the red tape brought on by a government which has chosen these people's tradgedy as a campaign issue and yet another reason to divide along partisan and racial lines, private citizens - survivors and volunteers are building it back up. And this, ladies and gents, is why I am a libertarian, and why I think socialism is hogwash.
Of course the city will never be the same. Some of its finest have left and will never return. My group gutted the house of Pablo and Elizabeth *can't spell their last name*. They are this extremely cute old Spanish couple. She taught ESL (english as a second language) in the next parish over. Their house was about three blocks away from where the 17th street levee broke. They left in only one car full of things before the hurricane hit and have not been back since. When we arrived, we were the first to see the house in over a year. The flooding was up to the rafters, so the ceiling had already fallen in. The refrigerator was turned on it's side - still full of food. The bathroom still had the hand towel on a rack and her bathrobe on a hook. It was all so...personal. So raw.
Pablo was there when we arived and most of each morning. Most of the time, he would putter around in the garage. It was as if he wanted to be there, but didn't want to take part in hauling items which represented thirty-five years of his and his wife's lives hauled out to the curb. Sometimes, he'd see something in a pile and look around for the closest person to talk about it with. Of course, whatever we were doing, we'd drop it and let him take us for a cruise down memory lane. He really loved music. Once, he stopped me because he knew I was a music major and he wanted to share this ruined book with me which some NPR or PBS guy had written about how to listen to music. He would then leave, have lunch with Elizabeth, and she would come back with him for a little while and tell him how much she appreciated what we're doing. She insisted on giving us all hugs, even though we were all Katrina-dusty and moldy.
She said, "Well, it's my mold...I mean, it wasn't there last time I was here, but it's still mine!"
They've moved perminantly to Arkansas, and they have no family. Pablo was telling Jimmy (college minister) how it's hard because all the people that made the community home before are now spread to the winds. Elizabeth told me she's enjoyed getting to catch up with some old friends she hadn't seen since she left. The last day, she came with huge grociery bags full of delicious deserts, apples, and chocolates from this old (obviously re-opened) grociery store with a famous bakery. She insisted upon us taking them and eating them for lunch.
It almost felt wrong to take something from her, because, in the words of Bethany, "It already feels like we're taking so much of her life and shoving it out to the curb."
But, in the words of Elizabeth, "They're just things. You can buy more things. So often, we have too many things, anyway."