Happy Mardi Gras!

Though I dreaded it, last week I went to see my grandmother's house.

In the background to the right you can see the pink installation Brad Pitt set up to draw attention to his redevelopment project. I wasn't planning to go there at all. I prefer seeing it on the Today show. But my cousin Bebe-- yes, I have one--needed a ride to our house on Christmas and specifically asked if I would pick her up. So after seeing the art installation-- you drive through it like the natural disaster version of Great Adventure Wild Safari, eh-- I took a deep breath and headed toward my grandmother's since it was on the way.

There are still no street signs. The installation is located in the same spot my father's mother lived for a short while on Jourdan Street. It was a sturdy, paint-worn house with the biggest yard ever. There was a huge tree. And when I close my eyes I see the oak leaves above my head and hear the creaky gate. I remember the view from the yard into the kitchen door and I remember the taste of her cooking---try as I might I cannot make rice like she did. Perfect long grains and always the best gravy over just about anything. I used the map hardwired in my head since childhood to count how many blocks to North Derbigny and then over ...is it one block or two? And now I'm disoriented. I look to my right and see a tan one story cottage with the remants of a terracotta colored roof. And I frown because that house is past my grandmother's...

I force myself to look to my left. I put the car in reverse and slowly back up the estimated length of three houses. That's where Gram house is. Was. I see a field of grass. In fact, I can see all the way past Reynes Street (pronounced like my name), Tennessee, and Deslonde to Brad's houses. That's when I look down to the pavement and see the numbers spray painted on the street.

This is where I drank six-ounce Cokes through a crazy straw; licked the cake batter out of the bowl while I watched Electric Company instead of going to school; soaked in the tub with Mr. Bubble and Zest soap, dried off with the 'good towels' and sprinkled way too much baby powder all over the floor. Here is where I tried on fancy hats, red lipstick, Estee Lauder perfume, and high heels then admired myself in a mirror with pictures of my cousins, shoulders draped in white fur stoles because they were graduating high school tucked in the corners.

Here is where I sat on the concrete porch playing jacks-- onesies and twosies while my Gram showed off by snatching eighties and ninesies before the ball hit the ground, flipping the jacks in the air and catching them on the back of her hand, then blowing my mind by doing the whole thing over but with a peach pit because she didn't have multicolored metal jacks and a bouncy rubber ball when she learned. It's where I slid around on the very same porch with the hose pipe in my Wonder Woman underoos while my PawPaw polished his new Impala. Where the rose bushes grew right up over the front window and the Claiborne Avenue bus passed all day and night long.

Here is where my grandfather mixed tobacco for his pipe sitting in his tweed covered recliner. And if I kissed his stubbled cheek and asked really sweeeeetly, he let me turn the huge, black and white, floor model Zenith to whatever I wanted. Even Mr. Rogers when the baseball game was on.

Here is where all my trophies from dancing school and science fair ended up on the dining room sideboard between the crystal punch bowl, fancy candle stickholders, dishes of peppermint candy, and bowl of big, fake plastic flowers.

This is where that is.

A little bit of home

This made me homesick...

It's so hard to say goodbye...

I knew this day would come...but I put it off as long as I could. My license plate was due to expire tomorrow. It has a little sticker that shows when your registration expires, you know. Well, usually you get a renewal notice in the mail and you can take care of everything online. But I didn't get a renewal notice.
I waited and waited and waited...until today. This morning I made a very stressful call to the Louisiana Department of Motor Vehicles. I was freaking out a little...you never know when you're going to have a Katrina moment...even two years later. Anyhow...I didn't get a renewal notice because the state of Louisiana decreed that I had an 'insurance lapse' when I insured my car with an out-of-state carrier while I was dislocated. This struck me as ridiculous. Hundreds of thousands of people were dislocated and people had to make whatever temporary arrangements they could. and excuse me for choosing the best quote and having NO clue about this 'law.' Anyway after about 45 minutes of heated exchange with the DMV representative, I threw in the towel. They wanted me to fax in proof of my current insurance and since I am still not insured in Louisiana, I decided my time was better spent doing what I didn't want to do...cutting my last ties to my home state.
I spent half a day in the New York Department of Motor Vehicles, Harlem Office....and I do mean half the day--almost four hours--getting a New York driver's license and plates. Sigh. And just to throw salt in it all, I registered to vote here too. That cut the deepest. Louisiana politics are the best entertainment ever and I'll miss casting my absentee ballot.
So now I'm a New Yorker, I guess. I have to drill holes in my bumper (!) to display my new front plate. It's real bittersweet, y'all...My mother joked (I think she was joking) that this meant I wasn't coming home again.
Maybe though I will not be the victim of vandalism/burglary anymore. My car has been broken into twice and I really think it's because I had out-of-state plates...But I know I'm going to have trouble finding my car now...

fleeting moment

Today I was this close to freaking out. Since last night, I had been calling my mother and father and not getting an answer. I didn't think too much about it until I got to work this morning. It's not like my father to not answer or reply to my message, my mother is another story--she doesn't even know how to check her voicemail and doesn't want to learn.

Anyhow I started calling again and again I realized. The fact that I wasn't getting through only made me want to call more. My imagination was racing. My parents still can't get a landline at the house. So they both have cellphones and it didn't make sense that neither of them was answering. The smaller the intervals got between my calls...I had to do it...the more my anxiety increased. Finally my mother answered. She had been having reception problems and everything is fine.

It's things like that I think about. There's no going back to normal...there's only getting better from here. Nothing will ever be the same as before. I catch myself in moments doing things and reacting to life in ways that are so vulnerable and fragile. Sigh. It's fascinating and scary at the same time. None of what I'm writing probably makes much sense. But I'm trying not to be too conscious of that.

Post-traumatic stress is like having a fire drill every day. You know there isn't really a crisis but your body and emotions react as if there is one. And there are all kinds of trauma. There is the trauma of disaster or major events, but there is also trauma caused by personal experiences like psychological or physical crisis. It's hard for me to decide how much detail to blog about, but I have had all three. Most of them I had put into some sort of perspective. But Katrina is like a bad child tearing through the house pulling things off shelves and out of drawers. So things completely unrelated to Katrina get pulled out of mothballs. And just like a fire drill, your brain goes into its files and references anything associated with trauma to figure out how to cope with the latest event.

After having been almost completely shut down, it has been a shock to my system to be thrust back out into life again. And it's taking more time and patience and effort than I would have imagined to get my equilibrium back.

It's not all bad though...the most important memory in my mind's file is that I am strong and able. So most days, even when it doesn't seem like it, I have been sustained by the sincere belief that things will get better. I can't imagine what things what have been like it I wasn't so stubbornly convinced of that. And as I said, lately I have actually had more than just moments where everything seem back in sync. Like when you finally get a signal for the radio station you're searching for...

So that's why I post all the silly stuff. It makes me smile. And I'm not going to stop smiling, no matter what.

My buddy...

I've finally made the time to figure out how the Blogger functions work. I also reloaded the software for my Treo and downloaded all the photos I carry around. I found one of me and Gram when I brought her back to New Orleans last fall.

I realize my posts have gotten pretty dry without photos...but now that I've figured out how to sync the photos from my Treo and got a new camera (thanks for the subliminal trickery Brunsli!) once again I am promising to do better.

So here's the pictures of Gram and I moments before I sprinted back onto the plane bound back to NYC...You can see why I've been hesitant to post my pictures. In these, I have huge bags under my eyes. I'm not wearing any make up either. But when I saw them again, I had to post them. I love Gram! She was so ready to go home. She had been giving me a hard time for days. I love her expression. She was so determined to get home. That morning we got up extra early and she even carried Sam on her lap while I pushed her wheelchair through the airport. I don't think she gave a second thought to me leaving, she was singly focused on being back home.

Sigh..

I don't even know if anyone evens reads my blog anymore, but I ccertainly haven't abandoned it. Today I figured I would just go ahead and post, maybe explain my lapses. If anyone is out there, I'd love some feedback.
I've been living in NYC about a month and a half. The new place is coming together. I wasn't up to having my Housewarming/Katrina Anniversary party. Too much more needs to happen before I feel comfortable having a party here. But I did have some friends over for dinner which was great fun.
Who knows what I thought was going to happen, but I am still looking for a traditional, full time job. Once I got here, I thought things would just fall into place. I'm still optimistic, but my attention has been divided. My mother decided she did not want Katrina's anniversary to find her in Virginia. Daddy came up last weekend and they packed up and set off for New Orleans. The only trouble is the house isn't finished. So there s nowhere for them and Gram to live. Gram is here in NYC with me. I can't figure out how I would look for a job and keep her so I've put my job search on hold again. I'm also waiting for my mother to find them a place so I can get Gram and Sam on a plane down there.
Today the whole thing was dragging me down a bit...I'd be thrilled to have Gram visit under any other circumstance, but I'm growing keenly more aware that I need to get focused and plugged in here and I haven't been doing that. Since I arrived I've been going back and forth to Virginia, and just generally fuzzy in my movements.
So I haven't much been in the frame to blog. I don't even know what to say. Who knew this would all still be dragging on?

Beyond Katrina

I try to read the Times Picayune online everyday. It's a little way of staying connected to New Orleans. Today there is a fascinating article on the fates of many New Orleans public school students, flung far and wide to make their way in different educational systems.
For some reason, reading about these kids really struck a chord with me. I used to have this recurring dream that I was back at my public high school being told I had failed a math class and therefore hadn't graduated. The implication being that my undergraduate and graduate degrees were invalid and even fraudulent. I also admit to taking those online tests of 'basic high school knowledge' and not faring well, despite the fact that I took not only trigonometry but also calculus...I hate memorizing formulas and never committed to the difference between cosine and tangent.
The students themselves are a mixed lot. Some flourished, some floundered.
It's my turn to do the same. So far, I've been on a couple of job interviews in NYC but nothing has panned out. It has, predictably triggered an existential fit. Am I going to cut it in the New York job market? Am I a competitive candidiate?
I feel like I'm about to jump in the double dutch ropes while they are turning 'red hots.' On the side, I'm weaving and ducking and estimating...and I'm not in yet. I'l still have to catch the rhythm and keep it up when I get a leap. I could slide in or I could fall off.
I've been pretty optimistic so far. And I really do think things are going to be just fine. It's a question of how long it will take for things to fall into place that I can't predict. Or what my life will look like when it does. What kind of life will I settle into in New York?
I even contemplated going back to school. Finding a skill --for once-- for the market, refocusing my efforts. I feel like quite the generalist right now....capable, yes but not as qualified as the perfectionist in me prefers.

New York, New York!

My posts have been sporadic because, as I mentioned, I am trying to get myself back into the swing of things post-Katrina. Having spent many months in Virginia with my mother and grandmother, I realized the one-year anniversay of the hurricane was fast approaching and I determined that it would find me moving forward.
I've been going back and forth to New York City looking around, looking for work, and looking for a place to live.
This last time I found a place to live. I signed the lease for an apartment in Upper Manhattan. After a decade of threatening and thinking about moving to New York, I am as close as I have ever been...contractually obligated to pay rent on an apartment there for a year (lol). Now all I have to do is get the little bit of furniture I've accumulated from Virginia into my new place. If any of you have suggestions on how I could hire three or four people to unload my moving truck, suggestions on what to pay, etc. I'd appreciate.
I also appreciated the apartment search suggestions. I just needed too much hand-holding this go-round. I'm not sorry I went with a broker...but next time I'll have a better idea of what's going on and I can be more cagey. I wanted someone to do the winnowing out and negotiating for me, so I went the broker route. When it's time to move again, I'll have the advantage of already being in the city, knowing my way around much better, and hopefully having more financial resources.
I live just below Washington Heights (or in it, I'm not sure)...it was a hot spot for awhile, but all of Harlem is in danger of gentrification. My building is pre-war and on a pretty quiet block. I won't know until I move in how the neighbors are, the building, etc. 90% of my neighbors speak Spanish...incuding the super so it's going to be fun to dust off those college lessons and try to hang. My building has an elevator and on-site laundry. I didn't want to let those features be deal-breakers ...but I'm ecstatic I got them both. I am going to cojole Gram into a visit very soon (which she is NOT happy about) and when it gets cold, I can avoid at least one chore-trip (I hate sitting around the laundromat).
Tuesday I go back to clean everything, re-paint (all the walls are yellow, yuck), do my own extermination ritual, put down shelf-liner, hang window shades, etc.
I've already changed the utilities, but I need to get an appointment for cable.
So the only thing outstanding is finding a job...I am thinking good thoughts and staying calm.
I AM going to change my location on the Sisterlocks website. If anyone is interested in a very meticulous trainee who is building her speed, let me know!

Daddies

Since it's Fathers' Day, I'll say a little bit about fathers. Those of us who are very lucky, like me, have Daddies. The words have very different connotations. Every person has a father, whether or not they know them, whether or not they like them. Daddy is a word that conveys a certain familiarity, a vulnerability, an affection, that is hard to come by and much rarer than the biological tie between father and child.

My daddy is not perfect. But he has always been there. Many women, and men, grow up without knowing what its like to have the man responsible for their existence constantly present. Fortunately, I do not know that absence. Through all his foibles, victories, setbacks and triumphs, my father was there. I have had the privilege of seeing firsthand what it means for a man to commit to being a parent, a spouse, a son. And that has made all the difference. That has provided me the chance to see and appreciate the humanity of every other man that I have met, to define who I am as a woman in relation. I have never felt the void of identity and affiliation that so many struggle to overcome.

From my father I have learned how to forgive, how to laugh, how to be vulnerable. I have learned what to do. I have learned what not to do. And as I met men and women who were not fortunate enough to have shared their lives with their fathers, I have gained a tremendous respect for my father's dedication and true commitment to his responsibilities. I feel very blessed and very loved. Thank you, Daddy.

Besides my father, I was also fortunate enough to have the love of another man. My PawPaw! He was a Grandfather, in every sense of the word. He also gave me unconditional love and unwavering support. There was never a moment when he was alive that I felt uncertain. No matter what I went to my grandfather for, he had it. Without saying much, my grandfather never failed to let me know how very special I must be. That nothing was too good or far from reach for me. That anything I wanted was mine. Some people call that spoiling, those people are wrong--and possibly jealous. I know better. Grandfathers are for raising the bar and creating limitless possibility. With my grandmother, my grandfather gave me security and that allowed me to dream and wish beyond the limits of my experience, to be daring, to be generous, to be kind, and to have the highest expectations of myself.

So today is Fathers' Day... I am very grateful for my father and my grandfathers, but I am lucky for my Daddy and my Paw Paw!

In September 2003, I moved back home. Literally. This was an unexpected turn and not at all desired at the time. But by now, I have come to terms with the situation and actually see it as a positive. Being back at home has allowed me to examine some of my decision-making processes, especially where my "career" is involved. It has also allowed me to address some very real material concerns. The issue of career had become convoluted with other concerns like self-definition and lifestyle.

I realized as far back as 1997 that the tail was wagging the dog. I was pursuing a career path merely because I had already embarked upon it; with little consideration to whether it was fulfilling or enjoyable to me. This went on until 2002 when I finally decided to jump out of the hamster wheel and see the whole, wide world. Since then there have been some bumps. I had a position at a non-profit that turned out to be a hellish experience. It lasted only a year, but ended badly. Having no previous experience with such, I had a lot of difficulty figuring out how to handle the situation. It took an objective observer to point out to me that the mess had been largely engineered by someone whom I trusted.

Well, that threw me into a different sort of tailspin. But it did catalyze me to consider that I was handling what I started calling my "quarter-life crisis," all wrong. Rather than finding career security and then being able to address my personal goals, I needed to honor myself first and let a career that complemented those values manifest itself. That may sound idealistic or completely flaky, depending on the day, but that's my plan and- as is my way- I'm sticking to it.

Being back at home has been a great help because it's encouraged me to distinguish between a job and a career. What one is willing to do for the sake of career, is not the same as what one is willing to do for a job. A career is a journey, a job is a financial arrangement. Since I am not concerned with where I will lay my head, I have looked at myself and work with a new perspective. That has been very enlightening for me.

Though I was under no dire pressure to do so, I took the first job that was offered to me when I got back home. I definitely need income, but I could have held out for a better position. I had time and latitude. That I did not was all wrapped up in how I see (saw) myself. Not just as an individual entity, but in relation to other people in my life, society, and so on. I could not bear the idea of not having an answer when people asked, as they will inevitably, what do you do? I could not bear the idea of taking up space and resources in my family home. I could not shake the fear that by not 'succeeding,' I had failed. I loathed myself for not 'knowing' what I wanted to do next; even though I realized that there was no way I could 'know' without exploration.

And the failure wasn't failure. I knew objectively that I was doing pretty well. It was the lack of control and ownership over my accomplishments, my choices, and myself that was bothering me so. In A Voice From the South, Anna Julia Cooper poses the question of human validity in her essay "What Are We Worth?" Mine was a crisis of self-worth. I could measure that worth externally--by how well my job was going-- or I could measure it internally--by how well my life was going. I had the opportunity to walk away from the external measure back in 1997, but I was not ready to face myself. It seemed easier to go with the superficial, to listen to what others had to say- and so I went for another six years. But I think I always knew that eventually I would have to reckon with myself.

I have had to systematically challenge every fear I have ever harbored to get to this point. My fears of betrayal, scarcity, and failure have all been manifested. My ambivalance about trusting others, my hesitance to hope...Some may call it a crisis of faith, but I see it now as an opportunity to re-learn something that as a child--when things were far more desperate-- I knew instinctively. That God would never bring me this far to leave me and that I am destined to see and do great things. I was a pretty cool kid, right? Yeah, I was. And I still am...