We are in New Orleans right now. Philip and I slept from 9:30PM-9:30AM, that's 3x the amount of sleep Philip has been getting each night for the last month. This trip feels in many ways like other trips to New Orleans. Last night we had gumbo and barbecue shrimp for dinner. The kids got to choose between about 5 different dessert options and were served dessert exactly as they described it to Mema. Ramona had a big bowl of ice cream and Sumner had a brownie with about 8 strawberries. Mema announced with enthusiasm, "Every night is a dessert night here." (In Boston Tuesday and Fridays, in theory, are reserved for dessert) Ramona wants to be the center of attention. Sumner dug into his dad's old legos and went to town and then later was pretty pumped to find about 10 Choose-Your-Own-Adventure books that Philip read as a kid. When we woke up, we went down stairs and sat by the window eating bagels and drinking cold drip coffee (Philip) and tea (me). It feels like coming home.
But then, there are the little things. When we got off the airplane, the airport felt much the same. The Lucky Dog stand was open and there was even the same guy with a big bald white head at the security exit. When we left the terminal, I noticed that several of the big stores were closed at 4:30 on a Tuesday. We couldn't help but think about the thousands of people who made there way here during the flooding to be taken to new lives in a whole other region of the country. Imagine getting on a plane to somewhere safer, but totally unknown. There were also the people who slept at the airport. I remember the pictures taken of the sick and elderly right were we walked to get our luggage.
On the wall along the escalator to the baggage was a sign that stated the EPA's recommendation for cleaning your house: Don't let elderly and children back until clean up is done, don't mix ammonia and bleach, don't take off you mask and gloves until you've changed clothes, etc.
Also, most of the people in the airport were white. I saw a few black people who I guessed were middle class based on their dress, talk, and luggage. I noted this and told Phil, but he thinks I was exaggerating--we will see as we tour the city: who's back? Ramona commented, "Look at all these people coming to see their memas and pops.” People are people to Ramona.
Then we got in the car and drove straight to Mema and Pop's house. As soon as we exited the airport we saw trailers lined up along the highway. We saw fences down and boarded window. This is all along the part of the city that made it, the burbs. I mentioned a blown over fence and Mema said, "That's nothing." We saw a lot of blue roofs. FEMA has put up blue tarps roofs on people's homes that lost their roofs to the storm. As we passed one pile of wood, I realized it was not just a pile of wood, but a disassembled house.
I also noticed traffic, a lot of it, going the other way on the freeway. Mema explained that it is people commuting back to Baton Rougue or their temporary homes somewhere else.
And the stories. Every time someone Philip's mom and dad know or we know comes into the conversation, we hear yet another incredible story of how people are making out after the storm.
We didn't see much. We haven't been to New Orleans proper yet. We haven't made it out of the house after sleeping for half the day, but we will. Philip and his sister want to tour the city together so that they can share their reactions and memories of what was their childhood. We’re waiting for her and her husband. So I think we'll go out on Friday, after spending Thursday eating and eating and giving thanks for what we have.
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