In addition to shelving and re-shelving our eight books at the library, I take on as much freelance writing as I can find. A recent email from a construction industry clearinghouse: Could I find places of worship in New Orleans, take pictures of storm damage and draft an article for the website? I certainly could, and am glad always for more work, but I was surprised to realize how reluctant I’ve been to go back. Yesterday’s was my first visit to the city since mid-August, before the storms. Baton Rouge to New Orleans is an 80 mile drive I’ve made maybe 200 times. It’s usually a happy trip, one I shell out good money for in gasoline and bar tabs. This time they had to pay me to do it.
On a tip from Steve’s friend Andrea (now working as an insurance estimator), I met with the pastor of a Baptist church in the Ninth Ward area. That neighborhood, as we know from news reports, suffered some of the worst flooding. I drove around a bit, carefully between huge piles of debris and the clearing crews, not quite recognizing places I’ve seen for twenty years. I took my photos, some of building interiors obviously untouched since the waters receded—no footprints in the dried mud. Stuff still on top of stuff.
In Arabi, St. Bernard Parish, where my friends Tom and Jennifer once lived, the destruction was worse. Buildings I knew as landmarks were no longer there. I got lost. I had to ask directions to streets I’ve found many times in the dark and a little bit drunk. But there in Arabi, a distinctive neighborhood (as each is in New Orleans), I found a little humor, too. “Arabians” are known for poking fun at themselves—their idioms (“Where y’at, dawlin? How’s yer mom an’dem?”) and their blue collar roots. Some are still at it. I take that as a good sign.
“Like New…” Maybe true!
Weird effects (they were everywhere, even three months later):A neighbor’s water heater suspended on a fence.