electric mist

my louisiana

I always knew we were close when we got to the silos on highway 190. Tall, white, built to house the predominate crop of rice, their domes gleaming in the sun, they were a sign that we were almost to my paternal grandparents' home. I thought of the silos as the three soldiers, guarding a gateway to a different place in time. We would have been driving west two or so hours by that point to get to Kinder, Louisiana, -- just northeast of Lake Charles -- all the way from Baton Rouge, where my parents had moved so my dad could find a job.

My very first memory is of me sitting in the middle of my grandparents' living room on the hardwood floor in their small house, the attic fan rattling, dragging in muggy air from the hot spring day outside the screen door. Aunts, uncles, cousins were standing, leaning or seated in stiff ladderback chairs around the perimeter of the room. Most of the ladies wore cotten print dresses and flat shoes; the men had on slacks and short sleeve shirts, and cowboy boots, of course. A few of the men had their dress straw hats propped on their knees. My Paw Paw (for that's the common term there, Maw Maw and Paw Paw) usually had the nicer chair next to the door. It would be years before I would realize that worn, green, stained-armed, sagging seat, broken-back chair wasn't a throne.

Hazy cigarette smoke swirled above our heads, sucked into the attic fan and the evening light dappled through the open windows (always with screens to keep out the mosquitoes). Something played in the background, a crackly radio sawing out Cajun music, and the quiet room would ebb and flow with stories. Always the stories. Sometimes, the story tellers would be quiet, somber, sometimes picking up to a lively jaunt. Cajuns thrived on the telling, passing along reminiscences, which in turn, passed along heritage. Tales which gained in fame and embelishments with every incarnation. Cajuns loved good practical jokes, crazy lore, and it was more about the event of telling and hearing the story than the facts, anyway. It was, as my friend Kitty says, the 'supped up version. And sometimes, in the telling, they would switch over to Cajun if they didn't want the kids to understand, saddened, though, that they knew the kids wouldn't understand. Most of us grandkids were far flung from our heritage already.

Like my dad, I was born there, in pure Cajun country. Unlike my dad, I would never know the language, not in its full, rich glory, neither French, nor a corruption of it, but an altered language, spoken still in old caf�s with threadbare linoleum and formica countertops in small towns, dim and dusty and far from the interstate. My dad spoke only Cajun until he was in the first grade, when the teachers had been instructed to force all of the kids to speak only English, and stabbed a heritage in its soul without a single blade falling.

I remember spending time in Kinder, sometimes a week in the summer, and exploring the creek in the back, watching the crawfish build their mud huts, "fishing" for them with a piece of bacon tied to a string, running barefoot through grass and always getting stickers embedded in my toes, never wanting to put on shoes in spite of that because the loss of the feel of fresh, cool grass between my toes was a greater loss than the annoyance of the stickers. I remember watching the ceiling fans, listening to the rhythm of the attic fan, and always smelling the dark, loamy aroma of coffee brewed so strong, it practically sat up and had a conversation. I remember my Maw Maw hanging the white sheets on the clothesline that was strung from a post near her back door out toward the edge of the lawn near the creek, and the game we'd make of dodging around them, and the sweet, sunny smell we'd breathe in from them at night, as if they'd absorbed our happiness. I remember the spicy food, the rice with every meal, the constant ribbing and teasing and arguing. I remember the nights so quiet, I'd get up and walk around just to make sure I was sill alive, and I'd sit on the front porch, listening to the crickets and the croaking bullfrogs and the grunts of other animals not far away, sometimes still seeing fireflies dancing in the dark. I remember the biggest treat was hand-cranked ice-cream, which usually signalled our last night there, and I remember the voices in my dreams.

I haven't kept the accent, though I fall back into it as soon as I'm around my cousins or friends back there. I haven't kept as many of the customs, though we do have our own version of a fais do do (party) here every year, with everyone knowing what date and time and if they ever cross my threshold during the year, they have a permanent invitation to return for the party. I haven't kept as many memories as I wish I had, though I can still see my Paw Paw, strong as ever, approaching the porch and taking off his hat before he entered. My dad told me that since I was the oldest granddaughter and we lived with them at the time, my Paw Paw loved to come in from work and chat with me, only I'd cry as soon as he'd approach. It broke his heart, because apparently, I hung the moon, quite a feat for a two-year-old, but I was always an ovearchiever. And then one day, he took off his hat first (a straw cowboy hat), and I laughed and went straight to him. My dad said that he never had a memory of his father without a hat on prior to that, not once. I have no memories of him wearing one.

I'm usually amused by what people think of when they think of Cajuns, or horrified (may Adam Sandler die of a thousand paper cuts from the atrocity that was Water Boy, and no, I'm not even giving it the courtesy of linking to it... in fact, if you substituted any other ethnic background for that main character in that film, there would have a full-on battle cry of discrimination.)

I digress.

Cajuns are not just about the food and the accent, the fais do do, the playing hard. Yes, the food is important, because it was the social gathering. Yes, it's spicey, and full of flavors, as befitting a people who had to flee a country and hide out in a land and learn to live off it, best they could, and use what they had to hand. No, we won't eat everything, though many eat a few things I think are weird. Believe me, we're pretty freaked out over you eating (drinking?) wheat grass and tofu (which I have yet to understand) or go purely vegan.

Cajuns are stuborn, ornery, argumentative, ornery, muleheaded, ornery, determined, bossy, ornery, and in case I didn't mention it, ornery. They each are one hundred percent certain they are right, except when they're not, and it's your fault they weren't anyway, so what are you arguing about? At the same time, we'll work hard to go the extra mile, give whatever needs to be given. I grew up with people who thought it was normal to give whatever they could give and not count it as favors which needed to be repaid. It was just a matter of course that if they needed something in return, it would be done. Part of that came from being a people desperate for survival, clinging to their own cultures and traditions, knowing that to survive, they needed each other as well as their neighbors.

When we'd drive back home to Baton Rouge, the time travel reversed itself as fields fanning out to the side of the car gave way to small towns and industries and then the scary red Old Mississippi River bridge and finally into the suburbs of a city. There was a campaign here not so long ago, and the pithy slogan someone came up with to encourage city pride was, "We are B.R." Each time I'd see that slogan, I'd feel a disconnect, and then I realized, one day, that no, I'm not. I live here, and it's been my home most of my adult life and the few years I spent in Cajun country shouldn't have had such a profound lasting imprint.

But it did.

My Louisiana is a place of swamps and rivers and lakes and eating crawfish out at the fishing camp and drifting in a bateau with my dad, fishing early in the morning for the big bream. My Louisiana is a place of flavors and seasonings, a place of coffee and heat, of mosquitoes at sunset and screen doors. It's a place of hard work, intense play and loyalty beyond life. It's a place of belly laughs and counting on your neighbor.

And I'm glad it's mine.

Hurricane Rita, 1 p.m.

Things here are still gusty, some rain, but for the most part, not bad. At least, in our neighborhood. We just heard from a few family members around the area and they're still without electricity. I haven't been able to reach my oldest son, but I suspect that's more a function of the cell service being down in his area, which wasn't hard hit.

Hurricane Rita, 4 a.m.

For a while now, the wind has howled, then died down, then thrummed again. Several times, I thought there was some sort of engine running outside our window, only to realize again that it was the wind.

The electricity just came back on, though. Pretty amazing, given all that those workers must be having to do.

I'm worried about Lake Charles. I've got family there, and lots of friends. I'm pretty sure they all got out, but still.

I really wish my prediction (below) would have been wrong.

Hurricane Rita, 11 p.m.

We lost power about eight o'clock, and the generator developed problems immediately afterward. I'm operating the laptop and DSL off a converter which we've run to Carl's truck -- mostly so I can go online occassionally and look at the visual reports. We have a radio, plenty of supplies, so we're fine. Carl will fix the generator in the morning, if they don't have power back up by then.

The wind is gusting impressively, but so far, nothing severe, except a few limbs down.

More, later.

Hurricane Rita, outer bands

We're getting the outer bands of wind and rain now. There've been sightings of tornadoes south and east of Baton Rouge.

Carl got extra gas today, and they were changing the prices of the gas as he was filling up. (You know they didn't just get an extra shipment, so they're raising prices in anticipation. Which seems wrong, to me.)

Of course, the national news is covering the new water going over the levees in New Orleans. No big surprise there (sadly).

Hurrican Rita, shifting eastward

I've been up all night, writing, and occasionally checking the weather. By four a.m. this morning, a couple of the stations were reporting that the new projected landfall would be closer to Port Arthur, TX, which is just on the Texas / Louisiana border. I'm looking at the jet stream, and I think it's still going to shift more during the day.

Look:

There's a small pressure system off the coast of Texas where the jest stream is pushing toward the east, and it may be just enough to funnel the hurricane into the northernly flowing jet stream. If so, probably sometime late this evening, we're going to see it shifting more north/northeast than it has been so far, which means that places like Lake Charles are going to take a phenomenal direct hit, and places like Lafayette and Baton Rouge, which will be on the east side of those winds, will get a pretty strong impact, gusts-wise.

Baton Rouge has areas which tend to flood pretty badly, but the majority drains decently well, even in heavy downpours. It's going to be the wind that's going to create problems with downed trees, etc.

Of course, I am so clearly not a weather person, I will be delighted if I'm completely wrong. I certainly don't wish this storm on anyone, but I'm not sure how much more Louisiana can take.

Hurricane Rita

I wrote this last night, then pulled it back down when the weather link I had looked at for the jet stream mentioned below was replaced with a different jet stream pattern. I just watched the weather and they are anticipating changing the track to a more north-easterly direction, which is what I had feared. I suspect we're going to see a continued notheasterly shift toward Louisiana. We're already going to get those east-side winds.

Here's what I wrote last night:

Right now, it looks like Rita is going to hit the Texas coast with a hellish slam, and I dread seeing what it's going to do to Galveston and Houston. I'm also worried about the west Louisiana coastline and places like Lake Charles, which will get the east side of the hurricane. As we've seen, re: Biloxi and Gulfport / Waveland area, being on that east side is deadly.

Not helping matters any is the shift I'm seeing in the jet stream. The front that was pushing the hurricane away from Louisiana and sort of forcing its movement toward Texas looks (to me, a total lay person) to be shifting and sucking air from the Gulf straight north. The hurricane should enter into that northernly flow by tomorrow, and I'm wary of that changing the direction to a more direct hit to the Louisiana coast. (Not that there's going to a single place that's good for it to land.) The national weather media aren't calling it like that, so maybe there's nothing to worry about. Then again, we're in construction, and I've spent 23 years looking at things like the jet stream and how fast the storms move so that I can predict when it's going to rain somewhere. I can usually watch the maps, call Carl and tell him just exactly how long he has before it rains on him. But I haven't ever really tried predicting a hurricane's path, other than to watch the newscasters. Let's hope they know a helluva lot more than I do.

the new normal

I'm having a really hard time even trying to contemplate people talking about another hurricane right now. I want to put my fingers in my ears, squeeze my eyes shut, la la la la la, I can't HEAR you. Because, you know, that always worked when I was a kid.

If Rita strikes toward west Louisiana, it's going to mean the entire southern part of our state will have been harmed within weeks of each other. We still have many many people here who are without homes (and will be so for probably a year or more).

It's a little weird to say things were getting back to "normal" here, because there is a new "normal." We spoke with a realtor the other day (not for ourselves, for a family member) about values / sales around here, and it's a little insane. Property values have jumped, sales have jumped, all sorts of businesses are buying up real estate downtown -- it's just crazy. It was already pretty fast-paced around here prior to the storm, and values have continued to go up every year, but they jumped, according to the realtor, by another 30% after Katrina. He said that while Baton Rouge did double in size after Katrina, the real news is that at least half of those people will stay here permanently. He also said that every rental out there was snapped up within 24 hours of Katrina and big companies, like Exxon, are offering big deals to people to buy out their leases because they have to relocate their executives to Baton Rouge.

This place is forever changed.

I've never lived through a life event where the actual landscape around me altered radically. I've moved, I've had traumatic things happen which will forever be a benchmark of change internally, but I've never had the world around me shift on such a large scale.

On the other hand, the people here seem to really be rallying and pulling together. There's a great determination to at least use the disaster to improve things in the state -- including the politics. I don't know how well that will be accomplished, but I hope it can improve. It certainly can't get much worse, though, right?

But, in the midst of all of this, I am writing, working on the book, keeping an eye on that deadline coming up. And wonderfully, in spite of being in shock and profoundly changed on some levels, this novel has brought me great joy. I'm writing a story about a kick-ass Cajun woman who battles incredible odds to try to save her brother. She's a little bit Terminator, a little bit Tazmanian Devil rolled into one, and mostly, she's a lot of fun. I love this character, and I love that it's set in south Louisiana (not, ironically, New Orleans, but in Lake Charles / Lafayette and Baton Rouge.) It's a crazy, funny, raucous world I can escape to, and it energizes me. It also helps (greatly) that I have an amazing agent and an equally amazing editor. They each called and wrote and were incredibly supportive. It's made me feel protected, which helped make writing the book exciting and fun. It's hard work, of course, but it's what I thrive on. I can't imagine how other people have coped without having this sort of outlet. I hope to blog more about this process and what I've learned in the near future. Meaning, I really hope there aren't any more hurricanes or bad news to keep reporting. I crave normal. Whatever that's going to be, I guess, I'd like to get there.

(I never was terribly patient. I was really tired of being pregnant by month four and ready to boot the kid out by month five. Wiser heads prevailed.)

As for the hurricane(s)... I'm still delivering lots of supplies and books to various shelters and families who need the items. I don't know what affect the new hurricane will have on this, but right now, the need has shifted away from needing supplies or clothes and into other more long-term needs (educational supplies for the schools, for example, which have taken on nearly 7000 new students in this parish alone). I'll be making a run tomorrow to lots of places and will update on what I learn from them. If you've asked me what you can send and I have your e-mail, I'll try to respond directly. Many of you sent things already, and I've tried to make sure you were thanked directly... but at one point, there were so many boxes and deliveries happening, I may have missed a few of you. For that, I apologize -- I really wanted to make sure everyone knew where their gifts went and that they were greatly needed and appreciated.

I'm off to write on the book. Bobbie Faye has some butts to kick, and that, I assure you, is going to be a blast.

where grace lives

I passed a man at a shelter the other day. He was tall and lanky and sunburned, dressed in cut-offs and a soaked blue t-shirt, with a grubby baseball cap shoved on top of muddy curls. There was something about his lean, sinewy body that made me think of the shrimpers I've seen down in Cocodrie -- it's a hard life and it makes for no-nonsense, self-sufficient men.

He was sitting in a metal folding chair, slumped forward, his elbows on his knees, and the exhaustion in his shoulders made me ache. Between his feet was a medium sized box, and he was staring down into it. The box held some basic necessities: toiletries, canned goods, a pair of socks, and a pair of underwear. I realized, then, that he was barefoot -- the grime around his ankles marked him as having abandoned his shoes somewhere along the way. His large feet were probably too big for any of the donated shoes stacked up at a one of the neaby tables.

When I looked back at that box, I wondered what he must be thinking. My first thought, without seeing his face, was that this wasn't much to give a man after he'd lost everything. This wasn't much to hold onto for a man like that, and maybe he was angry at having lost everything, or frustrated that this is what he'd been reduced to. I had no words that would be of use, no words which could do any good, and I began to turn away when he suddenly looked up and caught my eye.

He had tears on his cheeks. When I stood there, not sure what to do, he shrugged and said, "I can't believe how generous people are. I can't believe total strangers would go out of their way to help so much."

I mumbled something about it being the least we could do, as neighbors, and I moved off into the crowd, feeling wholly inadequate and humbled in the face of such grace.

A few days later, we located a guy and his family who'd had to evacuate New Orleans. Their home? Right near where that levee broke. It was under ten feet of water.

I wish you could meet Keith. We'd hired him before as a sub-contractor when we had work in New Orleans, and Carl had always been impressed with him as a very hard worker. He is one of those rare, wonderful stories, where the guy grows up in the ghetto, makes a choice to change his life and better himself, works hard, has a family, and is slowly climbing out of the pay-check to pay-check rut. We'd gotten a phone call when he was evacuating, but couldn't receive the call (it went to voice-mail) and then couldn't find him afterward. Finally, after a few days, his phone was working again and he got in touch.

When Keith and his extended family complied with the forced evacuation, they believed they'd be going back the next day. After all, they lived in the inner city, in an apartment. There might be wind damage and a little flooding in the street, but they'd be home by the next day. They took nothing but the clothes on their backs. It was an extended family evacuating -- cousins and their families all hitching rides together -- and there simply wasn't much room in the vehicles to carry anything extra with them. They never dreamed they'd see their street on the TV News, completely under water.

Keith told Carl where he was staying. They'd run out of money, there was no room in the shelters, and no place to go except for the home of one lovely, wonderful aunt, who took them all in. All of them -- cousins, spouses and kids. All 45 of them, in one house, which has maybe a thousand square feet of living area. They were living in tents in the back yard, completely unsure what to do next.

We brought a few supplies from our home, and a couple of boxes someone had generously sent me which had diapers, baby wipes, new underwear, toiletries and a few toys inside. Keith's wife was careful to count the toys and remove the extras for us to give to other kids. These two boxes probably could have made a family of four or five slightly more comfortable, but this big family of 45 carefully shared everything and made it seem as if we'd given them manna. One mom picked up a bag of diapers and underwear for her kids and clutched them. She turned and gave me the biggest hug, the warmest smile.

For the kids, the one new toy they had was like Christmas. They finally had something to do,, instead of wondering why they couldn't go home, why couldn't they have their bike or their doll. Not understanding that everything back home was still under ten feet of water that was growing ever more toxic by the minute.

We stayed a while, listening to their stories, listening to the kids play, taking photos (the cutest kids ever). Most of the adults didn't know what was going to happen to their jobs. Several had seen their place of business destroyed by winds or water; others couldn't reach their bosses and had heard they weren't going to move back and try again. In the midst of all of this pain, in the midst of the stories, there was a moment where they all stopped, looked at one another. Then the aunt said, "But all my family is here. We're all alive. We're the lucky ones." And they all nodded.

I was in awe.

By the next day, more boxes were showing up here with supplies. More and more people wrote to ask what we needed. More and more people were as outraged and frustrated as we were here, and they wanted to help. I know many donated to charities, but these boxes -- they keep showing up, filled to the brim with things people need, with supplies damned near impossible to find in some of these areas. I get to bring them to the shelters and to the people who need them, and the recipients treat me like a hero, but it's not me. It's you. It's every single one of you who sent a box or a prayer or letters of support.

I don't know how to explain it. There is the immediate help, of course. So many things needed by so many people. Baton Rouge has doubled in size from evacuees, and for those who can get to the stores, they're crowded and often stripped of goods. I've seen clerks stocking shelves only to have items plucked out of their hands before they could even set it down. I've had to go to four or five stores sometimes to find things that we need, though that's easing up a bit now. And while it's helpful and useful and much needed, it's more than that.

It's that we're not alone.

The rage I feel right now is palpable (and Miss Alli expressed it so freaking well). I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that we live in a country that can put men on the moon, which can help build an international space station, which can go to other countries with every sort of aid, but we could not get water to people trapped on an overpass for days. I cannot wrap my mind around why they were trapped in the first place, since there were trucks passing them by. FEMA trucks, who wouldn't stop. I don't understand that. It's just one scene of so many, and it makes no sense. People died on that overpass, when help just drove right by them.

I cannot understand how we can have media crews showing the devastating events down at the Convention Center and the Superdome, and FEMA not "know" they're there. How do we live in a country which can drop aid to everyone else in the world, and no one could drop water and food to the people trapped there? How can we handle going in to war-torn areas and get aid to people there, but a few thugs prevented us from helping Americans? How?

And how is it that now, more than two weeks later, I'm still getting reports from the outlying areas that FEMA still hasn't shown up?

Still. Hasn't. Shown. Up.

Even with all of the publicity, even with all of the realization of the screw ups, even with all of the common knowledge of the devastation, there are still shelters where there are elderly and families with newborns and they have only gotten help from people like you and me and, in some cases, the Red Cross. Four days after the hurricane, when I had discovered that neither FEMA nor the Red Cross had made it to Covington, I cornered the FEMA guy in charge over at the LSU / Triage area and told him about the need. He really didn't look interested. I badgered him. (I am good with the badgering.) He was a big guy, hulking over me, and I had the sense that he was barely refraining from swatting me like an incessant fly, but I kept up with the badgering and only when I mentioned that the people were in a depressed (read: somewhat poor) area did he actually start paying any attention. Well, "attention" is generous. The man had me write down the information in a notebook, promised me someone would get out there soon, especially to evacuate those with medical needs. Then he clapped the notebook closed, turned to another person standing there and started chatting.

When I went to the shelter Saturday, I asked the Red Cross Volunteer (who'd arrived on day seven, three days later) if FEMA had shown up. She said they had driven by once and dropped off some ice (which was gone in an hour) and they hadn't been back. At that point, it was day twelve.

The newspaper, the following day, showed another city entirely forgotten: Bogalusa. No one had been there, no one had called, no supplies, lots and lots of damage.

I don't understand these things. I know I live in America. Well, last time I checked, Louisiana was still in America. Maybe something happened somewhere that someone forgot to mention to us, but yeah, pretty sure we're still in America. And the magnitude of the inept response (including local) is staggering.

It was like watching someone I love get gutted and lie there bleeding and knowing that help was standing a few feet away, talking about golf scores.

So when I say to you that you've made a difference, I don't mean it lightly or in any sort of frivolous way. When it suddenly became clear that we were the ugly, unwanted step-child of the government, or worse, the beaten, neglected child of the local officals who were hastily trying to cover up their long-term abuse with loud excuses, you made us feel human again. So many of you -- giving, calling, writing, trying. Feeling the outrage on our behalf. Knowing it belonged to you, because you were us, we were a part of this country, and you cared. We needed you, and you were there, and the outpouring of that grace and hope helped to get us through the worst of the days when we were watching in horror as our own people died, as our friends and family were left, as people were treated worse than we'd ever ever treat an animal.

You made a difference. A big difference. And I thank you.

soon...

I haven't posted since I've been bringing things out to shelters and others who need help. And those things were so generously donated, I am blown away. Completely. Blown. Away. by the kindness and generosity of people who asked if they could send things. So many have... and it's been a real help.

There will be an entry on this and photos tomorrow.

Katrina / Slidell, Covington, Triage

Slidell area people -- if you haven't been reading the comments on the two or three Slidell entries below, various people have been reporting news as they've found it. (For example, the Slidell Memorial Hospital did not collapse as was reported in comments earlier, but is still standing.) Also, there are still requests for information on missing people. In at least one case, someone in the comments is trying to reach someone else who left comments about information requested -- so check, please, if you left a request.

Slidell / Covington shelter -- I was not able to get back to the Covington shelter as I had hoped. The first two days after posting that plan, I was completely thwarted by the fact that there was absolutely no gas to be found in my area. It was eerie how every single gas station was empty. Finally found some yesterday, but had a lot of other things I had to do. However, my son went and discovered two good pieces of news: the Red Cross finally showed up and there is at least a nurse there, and sometime yesterday the shelter got its electricity back, so they at least have the ability not to sit in 95+ degree heat. We did not get their names (no time to do so), and there are at least 30 to 40 people there from the Slidelll area. This shelter is the William Pitcher (spelling?) High School in Covington, if you're trying to track someone down there.

LSU Triage -- to my shock, LSU made an abrupt decision yesterday to close down the triage at the P-MAC. The ER / Trauma doctor who was staying with us was very concerned about this because they were still getting in busloads of patients, in spite of the fact that the FEMA people stamped this "Mission Complete." According to our wonderful volunteer doctor (who is so highly qualified, Louisiana was extremely lucky he showed up, paid his way here, wouldn't accept donations or anything for his help) -- anyway, according to the Doc, this is the worst time to shut down a triage after this sort of disaster. Especially with the news coming out of New Orleans about how dangerously bad the toxic levels of the water are. (Mere exposure to the water -- not just drinking it -- will cause a host of severe illnesses.) The Doc said that within the next few days, we were going to get many people getting sick from having been exposed (and it takes a few days for some of these things to incubate), plus many volunteers / rescuers were starting to come in will illnesses. In addition, many many of the elderly and nursing home people will have had enough time to become septic or have the more serious complications develop from being deprived of their medicines or in such severe conditions. In fact, after the LSU / FEMA people made this decision to "go dark," and declare this "mission: complete," there were two busloads of patients who arrived. On one bus, was a little boy, whose mother only knew that he was going to be at the P-Mac. The doctors were extremely frustrated that their hands were tied and they had to send the busses on to Lafayette (a full hour away from Baton Rouge). Our Doc assured the driver that the child wouldn't be lost -- he'd be in the system. It might take the mom a couple more days to find him, but she'd be able to find him. But still. There's no way to get back in touch with the mom from this end, and the thought that yet another family is separated, that another mom is going to have the extra and unnecessary stress of having to find her child in addition to the fact that the child was sick (hence sending him to the P-Mac... it's just ludicrous. I don't know what the hell the FEMA / LSU people are thinking.

(Well, I suspect what they're thinking is that they want to get things back to normal, which sadly, just can't be done in time for the home football schedule, so they're forcing the issue.)

I asked the Doc what would happen to all of the emergency patients who now aren't going to have a triage to go to, especially since there's a fairly large volume of people, still, and he said they'd be dumped on the local hospitals, who are already over-extended. It's a wrong-headed, crazy decision, and one that the local press isn't likely going to comment on. (Most people don't want to dis the home team, especially since they did put themselves out and spend so much money and effort establishing the triage in the first place.) I'm proud that they set it up, and proud that they did so much good, but this is a bad decision. Even I -- so not a medical person -- can see there's going to be a big need for a little while longer. Why not just move it to one of the other facilities they just set up? I dunno, but it's distressing.

Katrina / LSU Triage

When you drive up Nicholson onto the southern end of the LSU campus, rising to your right is the enormous stadium (under even more expansion), with its parking lot a construction lay-down yard. To the left, Alex Box Stadium, with all of the national championships proclaimed proudly on the exterior walls.

If you look a little past the stadium on the right, you'll see the Pete Maravich Center or P-MAC for short. (It's what many of us old LSU grads still refer to simply as the "Assembly" Center.) Its white dome and curved concrete ramps will always hold a special place in my heart -- it's where I officially became an LSU student, years ago. Back before there was computer registration, we all "walked through" registration, where we battled and jockeyed in lines on the floor of the Center to claim a "card" for the class we wanted -- a slender 3 x 7 card with "chads" punched out, indicating the class for which we'd just enrolled. We'd take the cards and climb to the second level and walk around the corridor, stopping at the various tables set up for each task required and then finally, on to pay our fee bill.

It was exciting to be a part of that crowd. It was fresh, it was hope, it was a beginning into all potential. It was a promise of something bigger to come.

Yesterday, Carl and I drove onto campus and parked in the Alex Box parking lot, took the crosswalk and headed back toward the P-Mac. There was the white dome gleaming in spite of being overshadowed by the behemoth stadium. There was the newly renovated Mike-the-Tiger cage, a luxiourious enclosure complete with rocks to climb, a waterfall, a very large pool and plenty of space to run and play. It was a far far cry from the sad little cage he used to have. Good for Mike. Next came the concrete ramps which had long ago made me feel like I had been racing up up up toward a future.

Then there was the fence. A fence. There had never been a hurricane fence preventing access to the ramps. Or military standing outside said fence. So around the P-MAC we went, getting to the LSU campus side, making a sharp left turn to walk up the street. There's a large white posterboard sign on the guard's gate in hasitily written print which says, "Ambulances" and has an arrow.

The P-MAC is still on my left, and now as I look across the fence and beneath the mezzanine, there are tables set up. There are many people who prove to be volunteers behind the tables and many evacuees in front, having just gotten in from New Orleans. There are tables of clothes and shoes (which run out just as soon as the volunteers can get some in), tables of water and food to eat right then, as well as canned goods and other supplies to take with them... for many of them will try to bunk with family for the night, and that family may not even know they're coming. There's a table set up with laptops so the people can send a message.

As we keep moving around the P-MAC, I can tell we're reaching the serious part of this operation, where there are nurses and techs taking medical information, where higher priority (read: in grave danger) patients are taken in immediately to the triage center and where those in dire need but less life-threatening are interviewed by nurses and their stats recorded on brand new files. Nurses and doctors and all sorts of techs ebb and flow through this space. Thre are Guards with guns (wholly over-kill, but they're there). There are volunteers of all shape and sizes -- from LSU students to firemen to police to little grey-haired church ladies.

We sign in at the non-medical volunteer station and go in to see what their needs are. We are there to volunteer our home to medical staff, now that extended family and friends don't need it. We've heard the staff is working twenty-hour shifts and some of them have no place nearby to just crash and relax.

When you walk inside the entrance, you walk down a slight slope until you reach the wide, round base of the P-MAC. Purple seating has been pushed up against the walls. The last time I stood at floor level like that, I was seventeen, and I remember I stood for a moment in awe of the swarm of people, the organized chaos, the feeling of a small city set to work on one task. It was, in many ways, the same. But this time, that small city was made of white temporary screens to give the patients some privacy, there were rows of I.V. bags.

There is a M*A*S*H unit in my campus. A field unit triage on the floor of our basketball arena. There were doctors and nurses and plenty of techs, and helicopters beating overhead and a row of ambulances, sirens blaring, on their way in.

There is a M*A*S*H unit. In Louisiana. In my university.

In the USA.

I am still having a hard time wrapping my mind around the necessity of that. That we had so many people wounded in a major catastrophe, that we've lost an entire city, that we're still finding and rescuing people, six days later. That there are so many families who can't find loved ones, so many families who were crying with gratitude because they were able to put on someone's cast-off shoes.

In the USA.

There in front of me was a little city of survivors, and they were being helped by some of the hardest working people I've ever seen.

To my immediate left was the staging area for the medical supplies, and there were many volunteers working and busy. They were, I learned, completely out of thermometers. I asked the supply person what she had left when I overheard this fact, and she held up a huge thermometer -- the kind they'd use on a cow or something. I think I flinched. I checked out what else they needed and then we went out and bought some thermometers (not an easy find). When I brought them back a dozen later, she practically hugged me and cried. You'd think I had brought her gold.

What concerned me was that all of the supplies were in brown cardboard boxes or black plastic containers, and they were all on the floor. Which, though it wasn't insanitary (they were all individually wrapped), it was an extreme difficulty for the staffers to find anything. I showed Carl.

Carl went to Lowe's, which was closed already. When he explained what he needed and why, they let him in and sold him the wood below cost. He went back today and a wonderful group of New Orleans people who were displaced and staying with family volunteered and helped him build the shelves. They built five large sets, so now most of the supplies are up and organized and easy-to-find.

They were, however, out of thermometers again. They had had five hundred people go through that very morning, and were expected more bus loads that evening, and no more thermometers in the surrounding area to be purchased.

Carl came home with a doctor from Tennessee who'd been working an ungodly amount of hours. He's sleeping now, and will go back on duty in a little while and we hope he makes this his home-away-from-home. I have a friend of Pooks' on her way in -- she's a nurse -- and she'll work from here, too, I hope.

I went back today, to check on the needs, got information, volunteered, saw the shelves Carl had built get put to good use.

There were more helicopters and ambulances when I left. I looked back over my shoulder and saw a helicopter landing on the side, on what I think is the tennis court area.

There is a M*A*S*H unit at my university.. The doctor staying with us said it was now the largest emergency room in the country. And the sad thing is, they think it'll be needed there for three or so more weeks.

I am very proud of all the people working so hard there who are trying to make that possible. Maybe, hopefully, to the people coming in there, the white dome will have been a sign of hope. Of possibility. That there will be a future. I don't know, and I don't know it's enough.

I took a few photos of the shelves and the triage area. To my knowledge, they weren't letting media in there at all, but they let me take these photos:

The supply situation prior to the shelves.

After the shelves.

Triage during a quiet moment. There are more than 300 beds in this arena, though it's difficult to tell from this angle.

Jake, then Carl, then our wonderful volunteers. I wish I had thought to get everyone's name! If they read this -- thank you!

Katrina / Slidell people...

I've learned this evening that there are about thirty or so Slidell evacuees in the Covingtong shelter. This includes the elderly and some families with kids as well as two people with newborns. I am going there tomorrow morning to get all of their names and to take photos of them so we can get their info out to their families. I will be blogging their names and photos (for those who allow me to) and I will also put all of their names into the Red Cross database. In addition, anyone from other areas, I'll also be getting all of their names, too. There's about 65 people at that shelter. I understand there's another shelter somewhere near this one; I'll try to find it and check on them, as well.

FWIW, I cornered a FEMA hancho and told him about the shelters and that no FEMA people had shown up there, yet. He didn't seem to care. I badgered him, because there are elderly there, they are sleeping on the floor on cardboard, they need to be taken out of there. When I emphasized the word "elderly," he finally seemed somewhat interested. It wasn't until I mentioned that the second shelter was in an impoverished area that he asked me to write down the information so he could check to see if anyone is going out there to them.

There was a Red Cross doctor there today, for the first time. I am extremely upset that the only volunteers they'd been having had been members of my family. My son and his girlfriend brought all sorts of supplies, paid for by funds from many friends, especially a big-hearted group of people over on Knife Forums.

More tomorrow.

KATRINA / SLIDELL HIGH RESOLUTION IMAGES

My wonderful, amazing friend, Ed, sent me this site which has high resolution images of Slidell. You can zoom in on neighborhoods.

NOW BEFORE YOU CLICK -- read this:

You will first get a pink and blue graphic. You will need to click on the Slidell area box. You'll get another weird graphic which has areas of Slidell outlined in green -- and and first, I thought I was supposed to click one of those areas. Nope. You'll see a bunch of little black boxes... that's what you click on. It's not clearly organized yet (meaning, I can't tell where that black box corresponds to on the pink map), but those of you from there may well understand it much better.

Slidell High Resolution Photos

Here is the link to the Master Map for other areas of the state. MANDEVILLE PEOPLE -- YOU CAN'T SEE ANYTHING much -- seriously, it's mostly of the lake, so I don't want you to get your hopes up:

Louisiana High Resolution Map

PLEASE PASS THESE LINKS ALONG TO OTHER SITES SO MORE PEOPLE CAN SEE THEIR HOMES.

Katrina / News from Slidell

Dawn posted this in the comments, and I thought I'd move it here (with her permission) since it has a lot of Slidell news:

I live in Tanglewood, my house is fine, no water. I lost all trees but they did not fall on the house. My parents live off of Thompson Road on Le Fleur, they had water 2 feet and trees on house, through the roof. My in-laws live off Thompson Road on Ranch Circle, they had water and lots of tree damage. My husband and father have been in Slidell working on homes. It is very scary with armed guards with guns and people frantic for gas. If you go to Slidell, make sure you have enough gas to make it back to Baton Rouge, there is no gas around. Cars are being stolen by people who are stranded. Pharamcies have been robbed. It is not a place for women and children now. My mother and I are in North Louisiana with family until electric power is restored and it is safe to return to our homes. I was born and raised in Slidell, from what I understand it does not look like the same place. I have friends on North Blvd that were fine and did not sustain any damage.

Westchester and the south side of town was heavily damaged. Water was high to Fremeaux. Most properties on Hwy 11 were lost. Most property on Lakeview/Rat Nest Road was lost. Most of Eden Isles is covered with water and now mud. Boat Stuff on Front Street had 6 feet of water. Rescue workers drove boats over the fence to get additional boats to use in rescue efforts. Many lives have been lost, however many survivors have been located.

Katrina / Hammond & surrounding area

My son went through Hammond today (9/3) and there are some places (mostly commercial) which have power. Word is that it's still going to be days before they can get power up elsewhere. There was some cell phone service there.

Downed trees all over (Covington / Mandeville) getting cleaned up, but a terribly long way to go. No word yet on when power might go back on. Covington nursing homes in real need for some items, particularly personal hygiene, fans (very hot in there, and the floors sweat and are slippery).

Jefferson Parish people will be allowed back in their parish and into their homes starting at 6 a.m. Monday morning. The line to get into the parish starts at 6 p.m. the night before. (I don't know where this forms or what routes you'll be allowed to take. WBRZ will announce it. Let me know if there's a need for me to report here, but they'll probably put it up on their website.) The parish president warned that you needed to have enough gas to get you there and home again, because there was absolutely no gas to be had in the parish.

Plaquemine Parish got fed up because they just now got a FEMA representative to show up there today. That's just insane. (See the Plaquemine photos below.) They asked for permission to break through their levee two days ago -- the water in their city was much higher than the water in the river, and there was no way to drain it, and no one would call them back. They finally took it upon themselves to blow the levee so they could drain the water and start finding bodies... this is not supposed to impact the water in New Orleans.

Carl and I volunteered at the LSU Triage and I have much positive news from there, they are doing an amazing job. There are some needs. More about this in the morning.

Katrina / self-employed and unemployment relief

The Department of Labor just announced a new initiative: If you are self-employed or you are a recent hire and you wouldn't ordinarily qualify for unemployment benefits, you now do. They have set up a disaster-relief fund and they are aggressively looking to sign up anyone affected by Katrina who needs the income help.

Call: 1-866-4-USA-DOL (1-866-487-2365)

Katrina / helpful links

WJBO has been compiling all of the Missing Persons Links.

Josh Britton, who has been doing a great job getting information out from LSU, blogs that a lot of vounteers here are going around to the shelters and trying to record and then log onto the computer all of the evacuee's names. They think this may take them a week to do because there are so many.

Also, Josh is asking for brainstorming help to make this process better. There really needs to be one sort of database without having to re-enter all of the information already entered. A lot of well-meaning people started up websites, but the information is spread out. Any suggestions?

If you're looking for information on a location, this site is where you can go. If you HAVE INFORMATION about a location, please go fill it in. The site is extremely easy to use. If you have any confusion about how to post there, write to me and I'll walk you through it. I am happy to help.

If you want to donate to a local effort, I highly recommend The Healing Place. 100% of your donations will go to the relief effort and they will provide you with a tax receipt. They are highly ethical, hard-working, down-to-earth people, and they are helping numerous sheltes here.

Katrina / how it should have worked

There are two posts in the comments section to the last blog which are excellent. I want to emphasize that I was exhausted when I posted the Mayor's rant and neglected to mention that I still believed, in spite of his passionate outbursts, that his incompetence was a huge cause of all of these problems. I was about to list all of the ways, and then beloml posted this in the comments. I've linked to the blog beloml references, but if there is a more direct link and someone knows it, please e-mail me and I'll correct it. I think it's worth moving up to the top (as is the other comment, which I will do later):

Actually, this comment in Donald Sensing's blog makes a lot of sense to me:

Disaster preparedness is the responsibility of State and Local authorities ­ in this case LEMA (The Louisiana Emergency Management Agency).

There is a state-wide director for disaster relief in every state ­ that person is called the Governor. There is a local director for disaster relief in every municipality ­ that person is called the Mayor.

FEMA is a coordinating body that assists State and Local authorities in getting the resources they need.

Because they are the “go to” people most folks are under the impression that they are in charge, and in fact if the State and Local authorities abdicate control over a disaster area they will take over.

Typically after the initial response to a disaster the local guys do just that, leave FEMA in control. That’s because they have the experience and personnel to manage disasters of this scale.

Disclosure: I’m a volunteer coordinator for MEMA (The Missouri Emergency Management Agency), I’ve been through three major floods and a few big storms that generated enough tornado damage to get the affected counties disaster relief ­ believe me when I tell you what we are seeing from FEMA now is lightyears ahead of what I’ve seen from them in the past.

Typically it took two to three days just to get the disaster declaration, then another two to three to get FEMA deployed ­ of course by then the local guys had been on the ground working around the clock for five or six days and we were more than happy to dump everything in FEMA’s lap. That’s the way the system is designed.

Bush saw that and tried to skip a few steps to speed things up, he pre-declared the areas disaster areas. So what we are seeing in NO is the result of a convergence of factors:

First, the storm damage was bad, but the flooding has made relief efforts ten times harder than anything they could have imagined.

Second, Mayor Nagin’s performance has been pathetic. This is the worst case of poor planning and criminal incompetence I’ve ever seen.

Like I said, Bush declared the gulf coast area a Federal Disaster area on Saturday ­ two days before Katrina hit.

That freed up FEMA resources for local and state coordinators and allowed for the pre-positioning of supplies so they could be rapidly deployed to the affected areas.

Mayor Nagin waited until the last minute to call for an evacuation of the city, but the poorest people could not evacuate ­ why weren’t school busses used to get them out of town?

Mayor Nagin made the last minute decision to declare the Superdome and COnvention centers as refuge relocation points ­ why weren’t they stocked with water, food, bedding, generators, and fuel? Why weren’t hospitals offered additional resources by the Mayors office?

Mayor Nagin made the decision to allow looting and told the police to focus on Search and Rescue ­ but looting hinders S&R efforts (as we’ve seen) and no one I know could believe that decision ­ it’s emergency management 101, preserving order preserves life.

There’s plenty of blame to go around ­ Blanco deserves her share too ­ but the real culprit in the aftermath here is Nagin.

Katrina / Mayor of New Orleans rant

For everyone who didn't get to hear the full version of the rant by the Mayor of New Orelans yesterday (and wow, isn't is just a little miraculous that all of this federal help finally started showing up?)... here's the link, thanks to my friend Pooks.

The Mayor's Rant

A commenter over on Diane's blog named Todd made an excellent point when he said:

"You know the part that creeps me out about this? The department responsible for much of the response to this is Homeland Security. Yes, the one that is supposed to protect everyone in the event of a tragedy bigger than 9/11 (you know - the one that the republicans wouldn't shut up about in the election). Here they had, in essence, a planned attack with days of warning to get their shit together and respond and this is the result. How are they possibly going to do everything they say they're going to do should a tragedy of similar scale happen without previous announcement in a major city?"

Katrina / aid

WAFB and Healing Place mentioned below are now swamped with goods (we thank you!) and can't physically handle more. All of our phones are so overwhelmed with the call load, I cannot call out, so I can't make the connections to find out where to send the things you all are wanting to send. I am very very frustrated. If there is anyone outside of the Baton Rouge area who wants to track down other refugee sites (in any state) who have needs, PLEASE do so and put it in the comments for me. I will update this site as soon as you do.

Katrina / damage photos

For everyone looking for info on their neighborhood, go to this very cool site. Use the zoom button on the left to find your area. Be sure to only post info, not questions. This is a phenomenal resource -- let's get everyone to fill in what they know, okay? Send this link everywhere. Huge huge thanks to Jette and friends in her office.

Link swiped from Brendan: Plaquemine Parish photos and more New Orleans satellite images.

Also, new entry below this -- my rant / furious response to Speaker Hastert's ugly comments.

Katrina / Legislators and one pissed off Cajun girl

You know, I wasn't going to blog about this, because I'm furious, and there probably should be some sort of blog lock key that couldn't be opened unless you're calm and relaxed. I heard about the following from Diane whose response and comments section were dead on... but then the anger escalated when I saw this over on Brendan Loy's homepage by a Guestblogger and the guestblogger seemed to agree that there was a point in raising this issue:

It makes no sense to spend billions of dollars to rebuild a city that's seven feet under sea level, House Speaker Dennis Hastert said of federal assistance for hurricane-devastated New Orleans.

"It looks like a lot of that place could be bulldozed," the Illinois Republican said in an interview Wednesday with the Daily Herald of Arlington Heights, Illinois.

(source: here)

To make it worse, I've seen agreement with this comment by people on my e-mail groups (when they know I'm on there, reading).

I know my readers aren't saying this. I know millions of generous people are donating. This is addressed to the ones debating the issue.

What the hell?

Let's break this down...

Where are you going to put 1.3 million people? Are you going to grant them land somewhere and rebuild their homes there, and make sure that they have their family around them, the way they did before? Can we have your home? Your lands? Are you going to spend the billions of dollars to move all of the industries near them so they can have jobs? Are you going to try to recreate their cultural history as well as their culture so that they have something resembling their heritage to pass on to their kids? Heritage wouldn't just be damaged -- it would be destroyed and ruined forever. There is no other city in this country like New Orleans, and no other heritage like that of south Louisiana. It's where the Cajuns fled to (I'm Cajun) from Nova Scotia. It's where the Creole people came to be. It's all the African American culture that can't be replaced and frankly isn't duplicated elsewhere. It's the Italian and Hungarian villages which were still here. And so much more.

But, okay, so let's say we do that. Let's say, just for argument's sake, that we declare that a city which has a likelihood of a repeat disaster shouldn't be rebuilt back in that location.

Then the next time the west has earthquakes, or wildfires, there'd be no sense in rebuilding there, because it's just gonna happen again. And be sure to not spend any money on rebuilding things like the Twin Towers because we'd better not put up something that's just going to be a target again for another terrorist attack. While we're at it, all those towns and cities in the plains states destroyed by a tornado? Not gonna get rebuilt. Or the hurricanes which struck places along the east coast? Oops, too bad, pack it up and move inward.

Where are we all gonna live? Arkansas? And by "all" let me clarify -- I don't just mean New Orleans -- I mean every city, every town ever hit -- when it needs to be rebuilt, are you going to move those people, too?

My angry response would be to say that I'm sorry our catastrophe, death and destruction is inconvenient and expensive. We'll be sure next time to only die when it's gonna work out for the rest of the country.

For the record, I understand it's going to be expensive. But geez Louise. I went to a house last night trying to help someone find her mom. The house was well north of New Orleans, in Mandeville. Her mom could have been dead inside that house, along with her invalid sister. This same woman cannot find her brother or her uncle or her son. I've never met or corresponded with this woman before, and I'm trying to help her find her family. And there are thousands like her. When I finally, finally got through to the State Police Missing Persons line today (which required dialing out over a hundred times due to heavy call volume overwhelming the city's phone system), the man helping me typed the mom's name onto a list. I asked him how many people were on his list, and he said, "Over 7,000." And that's just in the Mandeville / Covington area that he was handling.

The world is only beginning to have an idea of the scope of the personal tragedies here. Baton Rouge, which is barely equipped to handle its own citizenry (pop maybe around 300,000) has swelled overnight. I know at a minimum, we've gained another hundred thousand or so. Over. Night.

We never, ever, in a million years, would have said, "We don't think we should rebuild your city" if it had happened to you. Our people have shown up and helped in every single tragedy this country has had. We wanted the people in New York to know that we stood with them, shoulder to shoulder, to rebuild their city however they thought best. Same with the cities destroyed in the earthquakes years ago. We have always shown up for this country. I cannot believe that when we have dead bodies in the street, when we have real screw ups at FEMA and Homeland Security, when we have not gotten the help we were supposed to have gotten, and when this is clear from the reports, that some people are going to also debate just not rebuilding.

But even with all of that, even with all of the difficulty, even with all of the heart break and fury and frustration and anger and tears, let me tell you something about us: we don't quit. We may have a lot of strikes against us, we may be the lowest state on the poverty level, we may have a lot of things wrong with this place, but we don't quit, we don't throw away heritage, and we especially don't throw away homes and family connections.

We don't quit. Ever.

Katrina -- urgent needs list

I have talked to several churches, and here is their urgent needs list:

new underwear / socks (all sizes)
baby clothes, diapers, all baby items (wipes, etc.)
hygiene items (toothbrushes, toothpaste, personal hygiene items -- combs, shampoo, soap, etc.)
bottled water
non-perishable food

If you want to drop it off or send it, WAFB Channel 9 news is acting as a drop-off / distribution point for all of the churches and shelters. Their address is:

WAFB
844 Government St.
Baton Rouge, LA 70802

If you want to donate directly to a local charity which will be purchasing the above items, please donate to The Healing Place Church. I am not a member there, but I know a lot of those people and seriously, I have never met better people -- down-to-earth, incredibly ethical and hard-working. They jumped in immediately and all of your dollars will go directly to the relief effort. They are putting up a website today (so if you click and it doesn't work, please try back tomorrow).

The Healing Place

For those of you who want to send books / magazines and toys for the kids, I'm still trying to get through to the place which requested them to get their address. More when I have it.

Blogburst -- blogging for hurricane relief

Glenn Reynolds of Instapundit has organized a "blogburst" -- where bloggers all blog today with organizations where people can donate to the disaster relief. I'm supporting The American Red Cross, but PLEASE PUT HURRICANE KATRINA in the memo section, or the money you give goes into the general fund instead of being specifically earmarked for this area.

I'll have more up on local charities this evening. I'm also still asking about specific areas.

Another missing person site

The Red Cross is putting up this excellent site:

Missing Persons Site

Please please please check that out and participate there when looking for someone you love. My readership has certainly grown with this story, but I am but a tiny molecule in a bucket of water compared to the number of people who would be chcking the Red Cross site. You'll probably have much better luck there. Feel free to continue posting names in the comments because you just never know when you'll get lucky -- but also go post there.