Not a Good Rememberer: Katrina+10

I've never had a great memory, but this time of year, my disinterest in the past is purposeful.

In three days, it will be a decade since the most powerful hurricane of my lifetime struck not only America, but also the place I grew up. Landmarks along the entire Mississippi Gulf Coast were demolished. Beautiful homes are now slabs. Sites of childhood memories are gestured to with the opening remark, "Well, that used to be..."

Ten years is a milestone. I get that. Many places have come a long way, and some haven't, and there's a lot to talk about. Also, as sick as it is, people love a tragedy. Why else would some weirdos in New Orleans have profited off Katrina tours in the Lower Ninth post-storm?

Photo credit: Washington Post

Yes, Katrina affected many people and places I love, but I didn't even live on the Mississippi Gulf Coast when the storm hit, so I'm not sure why I'm still such a baby about seeing footage and hearing stories. But I am oddly grateful when I hear that others have similar feelings.

I guess as my cousin so eloquently posted on Twitter, "Just hearing the word Katrina makes me sick."

Exactly.

I visited New York City a few years after 9/11, and still vividly remember the rawness on some residents' faces when someone asked about their experiences around that day.

(No. I'm not even trying to compare Katrina to a deliberate act of terror by a person or group. And I am certainly not insinuating I will ever in any way understand what NYC residents felt that day or in those years to follow.)

But a horrible thing marred and scarred and tore up my beautiful home, and it's painful to relive. Every time. And when I see the concrete slabs that were once foundations of antebellum homes, I want to stand and tell all the people, "This isn't just a vacant lot! Something beautiful was here and an actual disaster ruined it! People aren't being lazy. They had to get back to work!"

I appreciate empathy and sympathy and well wishes for affected areas. I do. And I'll always be proud to tell of my hometown's resiliency and to wear the label of a place that is still valiantly rebounding from a thing so horribly inflicted upon them, and my gratitude for nationwide responders' immediacy to our situation still brings me to tears.

I think that for me, though, the prompted rememberance of Katrina is almost like when someone criticizes another's family, or upbringing, or something else literally so close to one's home. If the person deeply tied to it brings it up, it's safe. If it's CNN or a nosy tourist, ummm... Maybe not so much.

"Angel Tree" on the Mississippi Gulf Coast,
one of the many wood sculptures created from
remaining oaks by artists who donated their time.

There is, however, what I believe is an excellent and even digestible-for-me feature from the Washington Post on the Mississippi Gulf Coast by DeNeen L. Brown, and I hope it gets great exposure.

So....this is admittedly one of those times when I feel like blogging exactly equals journaling, and there is no real conclusion, but as Anna Nalick sang in Breathe, "If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside me, threatening the life it belongs to."

As for Katrina and #katrina10, well, good riddance. The storm may have flattened our landscape, but it made our hearts stronger.

Still, forgive me if I choose not to remember too much.

Wednesdays in New Orleans, DC in May: Yada, Yada, Yada.

In my first job out of college, I went to Washington, D.C. every May for a conference. Stressful, huh? :-) Truly, we did have to go to meetings and such, but in those five years, I really got a feel and developed a strong love for our nation's capitol. I still fondly refer to those times as "DC in May."

Since I moved to Baton Rouge to work for Hancock Bank, I've spent a lot of Wednesdays in New Orleans. Between our past sponsorships of the Young Leadership Council (YLC)'s Wednesday at the Square and our current sponsorship of 2nd Harvest Food Bank of Greater N.O.'s Harvest the Music, I have become well acquainted with NOLA. Well, at least one particular square in NOLA. :-)

Last night, during a rare lull in customer/prospect entertainment in our tent, I was mulling over these Wednesdays and how great they've been for me. Anything that can take a city I'm not familiar with -- or, in this case, a particular part of a city I'm not familiar with -- and make it part of who I am and what I do cannot be duly complained about. I try to complain, but really, it's not logical. Just because I sweat from 2-9pm each Wednesday does not mean I'm not in the Crescent City listening to fabulous jazz and smelling delish jambalaya. And...each week I get to see the Superdome in person. Really? I gripe?

I guess my rambling point is that things that were not once commonplace for me often become that way, but do I really stop to think about what I'm learning from them? A few of my examples are:

• Having a nephew.
• Knowing the streets of my new city.
• Living what life is like before, during and after a massive natural disaster hits your hometown.
• Dealing with death.
• Experiencing heartache.
• Experiencing it again.
• Knowing what it feels like to gain weight.
• Seeing the other side of the coin.
• Having hurtful misunderstandings with friends as adults.
• Hurting someone else's heart by being true to my own.
• Realizing that change does not always equate lack of loyalty.
• Prioritizing a healthy balance, knowing I'm the only one who can do that for me, and doing what it takes to get there.

(As most of you know, I truly could go on and on.)

I well remember the first time I complained because I needed to get my nails done but really didn't have time. As soon as that flittered through my mind, I increduously wondered, "Seriously. When did you get spoiled?"

Even though work is the primary reason, when DC each May becomes a chore and Wednesdays in New Orleans are just another thing to check off before the weekend finally gets here...wow.

Whatever happened to Carpe Diem?

Seizing the day isn't just about being in a fabulous city and not being acutely aware of that. It also applies to the not-so-fun stuff -- being hurt by a friend. Hurting someone else. Those aren't great. No one I know would look at those as great, or I doubt they'd very often say it out loud if that was their perspective.

But while I'd love to progress from my tenderhearted nature of those things rocking my world, I also really hope to never see those things as commonplace. I've been hardened before, and it's just not a good look for this redhead. I want to seize it all -- the good, the bad and the ugly. All those days have been given to me, and they're mine for the taking. Or the wasting. Totally my option.

So, in the words of Lee Ann Womack years ago, I hope I still feel small when I stand beside the ocean. Because really, it seems to be the only way to truly live.

Again: Let it go, let it go, let it go!

This evening, I got to see one of my favorite bands in the world -- Cowboy Mouth -- in one of my favorite cities in the world -- New Orleans -- with one of my favorite people in the world -- Tiffany Hess -- during one of my favorite times in the world -- spring.  That's good stuff.

Also good is the reminder that's it's essential to let my hair down, enjoy life as it is, and for the love of Pete, to occasionally let it go.

I remembered posting about this a while back, but didn't remember until I ran a blog search that it was almost two years ago! Time flies.

As I read back over the original post, it quickly came back to me what was going on then. This is very morbid, but a lot of people around me were going through a lot of insurmountable things. Like death. And terminal illness. And really, severe, harsh devastation. Like family members who were missing all of a sudden. I remember wondering why, and wishing that I didn't feel so much for others that I let it get me down as well.

Those things were terrible, and still are to remember, but thankfully, I'm not at the same point now. Each year, and season, and day presents its own issues. But whether we're gasping for what feels like our last breath or trying to keep our heads above water, life can feel like a tidal wave whose pressure never ends. Providentially, those tides really do ebb and flow, and we have our life boats and rafts and, of course, the ever-necessary sunscreen of friends and family that keep us afloat and comfortable when we need survival and health the most.

My original post from 2008 is below. This time I'm also including audio of Cowboy Mouth performing one of the best songs ever, "Jenny Says."

Let it go, let it go, let it go?

(Posted Summer 2008)

One of my favorite bands in the world is Cowboy Mouth. And one of my favorite songs of theirs is "Jenny Says."

Lately, it's been easy to let things get to me. There's been lots of sadness around me, and subsequently, in me. I don't like that.

I know that without the sad times, I can't really experience the truest joy of the good times. But I'm beginning to think there's only so much sadness a girl can take.

So along with my all-time favorite Bible verse (John 10:10 - "I have come that they might have life, and have it more abundantly."), the help of wonderful friends and family, and being on the look-out for those day-to-day pleasures that make life more fun to live, I am going to make an effort to live by Cowboy Mouth's lyrics this week:

I've got no reason for the things I fear

The things that plague me when I see and hear

A dime's a nickel and a nickel's none

I throw myself into the Sunday sun

That summer Sunday when you went insane

You said you're going, but instead I came

I'm throwing oranges in an apple cart

The ties that bind are tearing me apart

Jenny says turn off the radio

Jenny says turn off the light

Jenny says turn off the video

You beat yourself up to bring yourself down

Let it go, let it go, let it go

Let it go, let it go, let it go

When the world keeps coming down on me

I let it go

I've got no reason for the things I say

She turned toward me then she turned away

There's lots of voices in a modern world

They take their toll upon a modern girl

I've got no reason for the things I fear

The things that plague me when I see and hear

I press my finger on an itchy trigger

What once was small right now is so much bigger

Jenny says turn off the radio

Jenny says turn off the light

Jenny says turn off the video

You beat yourself up to bring yourself down

Let it go, let it go, let it go

Let it go, let it go, let it go

When the world keeps coming down on me

I let it go

I've got no reason for the things I do

The dealer deals and then the deal is screwed

You throw your cards up on the playing table

My name is Cain and I am now unable

I've got no reason for the things I fear

The things that plague me when I see and hear

A dime's a nickel, a nickel's none

I throw myself into the Sunday sun

Jenny says turn off the radio

Jenny says turn off the light

Jenny says turn off the video

You beat yourself up 'cause you love it

Let it go, let it go, let it go

Let it go, let it go, let it go

When the world keeps coming down on me

I let it go

Let it go, let it go, let it go

Let it go, let it go, let it go

When the world keeps coming down on me

I let it go

I let it go, let it go, let it go

I let it go, let it go, let it go

I let it go, let it go, let it go

I am really going to make an effort with this (and living life more abundantly, and paying attention to those "small" daily delights God blesses us with) this week, and I'd really love it if those of you who pay attention to things like MySpace moods and statuses (or stati?!) would keep me accountable on this.

Just remind me -- when the world is coming down on me, I let it go.

Grazie.

Rebirth.

This week, for the first time, I had the opportunity to hear the infamous Rebirth Brass Band in New Orleans. They were fantastic! I was mesmerized!

Their name, though, accompanied with my current season of self-evaluation, made me think a little about how great it was to experience some Rebirth internally. Sure, the band was amazing, but really, so is going through a time when you allow yourself to think about the old, ponder the present, and hope for a better new.

Quite a melody.

Ain'ts no more!

I dare anyone to speak badly of the New Orleans Saints....  WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!

Bless you, boys!!!!!

On the Nightstand: In The Sanctuary of Outcasts

I recently finished one of the most stellar, well-written, and compelling non-fiction books I've come across in at least two years.

In the Sanctuary of Outcasts, a memoir by Mississippi-born and bred and former Louisiana resident Neil White, is a detailed account of one man's drive for success, his mistakes, and his payment for those errors. Not only is the writing ridiculously captivating and page-turning for any reader, but the entire novel is set in Mississippi (mainly Oxford and the Gulf Coast), and Louisiana (New Orleans, the Baton Rouge area, and Carville).

Ok. I'm going to stop trying to summarize this work myself and just quote the author's own website:

Daddy is going to camp. That’s what I told my children. A child psychologist suggested it. “Words like prison and jail conjure up dangerous images for children,” she explained.



But it wasn’t camp.

Neil White, a journalist and magazine publisher, wanted the best for those he loved—nice cars, beautiful homes, luxurious clothing. He loaned money to family and friends, gave generously to his church, and invested in his community—but his bank account couldn’t keep up. Soon Neil began moving money from one account to another to avoid bouncing checks. His world fell apart when the FBI discovered his scheme and a judge sentenced him to eighteen months in federal prison.

But it was no ordinary prison. The isolated, beautiful colony in Carville, Louisiana was also home to the last people in the continental United States disfigured by leprosy. Hidden away for decades, this small circle of outcasts forged a tenacious, clandestine community, a fortress to repel the cruelty of the outside world. It is here, in a place rich with history, where the Mississippi River briefly runs north, amidst an unlikely mix of leprosy patients, nuns, and criminals, that Neil’s strange and compelling journey begins. He finds a new best friend in Ella Bounds, an eighty-year-old, African-American, double-amputee who had contracted leprosy as a child. She and the other secret people, along with a wacky troop of inmates, help Neil re-discover the value of simplicity, friendship and gratitude.

Funny and poignant, In the Sanctuary of Outcasts is an uplifting memoir that reminds us all what matters most.

I really do highly recommend this read for anyone who likes great writing, interesting non-fiction, sheer honesty, and other people's views of the South.

Also, if any of you hear of a book signing with this guy anywhere in Louisiana or Mississippi, please let me know. I'd really like to meet him.

And finally, thanks a billion to Angela Long, who recommended it to me! Best read in a while, by far.

Dear Saints: I believe!

So I was driving this afternoon and heard on the radio that one of my all-time favorite bands, Cowboy Mouth, redid a song to reflect their love for the Saints.

Here's the reworked version of "I Believe," compliments of Mix 92.3:







Geaux Saints!

I believe!

Mmmm mmmm good.

Five things I've had to be thankful for this week are:

5. The goodness of life. Life really is great, fabulous stuff, especially when I stop letting its pesky details get in my way.

4. A job that allows me the occasional work trip to New Orleans. Ok, so a lowlight was a bum on a bike asking me for $20 -- hello? twenty BUCKS? are we in a recession or not?! -- but since he was dressed better than me, I felt no guilt about skipping on my merry little way.

3. Friends who stick closer than brothers.  Ok, so I've never had a brother. But I have cousins who come VERY close, and friends who make an effort to rank right up there.

2. Creativity. Without it, I really might just....sob. Uncontrollably. And often.

1. Texting. I know, we're back to my tweenager state of mind again. But it's such a fun, fantastic way to keep up with peeps without all the monotonous voice mails or calling at inopportune times.

:: happy sigh ::

WATS

Every Wednesday from April till mid-June, I go to New Orleans for work. Hancock Bank sponsors a concert series in Lafayette Square (it's free, so if you're in the area, come on out!). The concert series is called Wednesday at the Square (lovingly referred to many of us as "WATS") and is put on by the Young Leadership Council in N.O., and is really fantastic.

As Community Relations chick for HB-Louisiana, I'm responsible for managing our part of the event and making sure it goes well. This year, like everyone, we're cutting back and saving money. This means that "managing the event" now includes things like hauling coolers full of leftover drinks back and forth, moving tables, etc. (This might read like a complaint, but please don't get me wrong -- I'm SO thankful to have a job. Just a little sore from it every week!)

Now that the end of the series is in sight, though, I'm finding myself less motivated to get moving and haul the coolers to the car. For instance, right now. ;-) However, I know I'll miss this fun part of my job once it's over. I'm pretty sure I won't miss the fresh bruises I have each Thursday, but seriously? New Orleans once a week? I'm such a whiner!

However, all whining and gratitude aside, I will be holding the 2nd annual Wednesday NOT at the Square the evening of June 24. I'm not sure what will be involved, but I'm pretty sure that these things will NOT be involved:

1. lifting anything heavier than a plate of food;


2. sweating like a pig;


3. dealing with NOPD parking tickets (even though I have a parking pass on my car);


4. driving 1.5 hours each way to my destination;


5. making notes on my phone for what I'll need for the next week.

Who wouldn't love a night like that?! If you're in BR that evening, please plan to join me!