A little life in the Big Easy

The French Quarter last night was pure magic and mystery, deserted, silent, spooky, and beautiful. We walked over to eat at Bennachin, an African restaurant on Royal Street. (See, it’s not ALWAYS gumbo and poboys down here…) Finding the restaurant full, and the night pleasantly warm but not stifling, we ordered food to go and took a walk for the 30 minutes it took for it to be prepared. I can’t remember when I’ve seen the Quarter so quiet. Almost eerie. Now, granted, we were on the end of the Quarter very near Esplanade, so it’s always more residential there than touristy, but nonetheless the quiet moment afforded me the time to appreciate the beauty all around me. And to be thankful, once again, for the opportunity and the privilege it is to live here in New Orleans, a place I have loved so deeply since I was a little girl.

I’d gone back and forth in my mind about writing about the fifth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina here. On the one hand, I didn’t live here at the time, so what do I have to say that could possibly matter? That could resonate, could begin to approach the pain and sorrow those who did felt? On the other hand,  my sister’s home  in the Broadmoor neighborhood of Nola flooded and my mother’s home on 2nd St. in Gulfport, Mississippi was nearly swept away. So, while I was spared, my immediate family was not, and their pain is mine, and my pain is everyone’s who watched, as I did, in absolute horror at what looked like something post-apocalyptic unfolding day by day, those horrible days after the storm. I remember thinking, “Can it get any worse? It can’t get any worse.” And then it would.

As an aside, I would vote for Lt. General Russel Honore for mayor, or governor, or senator, or President, or king of the universe, or whatever that man might want to run for. Even now when I see him on TV, the emotions well up. The dignity and calm he brought to a chaotic situation are other-wordly.

My primary plea to everyone as we come upon this fifth anniversary, and the attendant media rush and rancor about it, is to just remember, please, that this was a human tragedy. That’s someone’s sister, someone’s brother, someone’s son, someone’s mother you see there, in that old footage, standing atop houses pleading for help amidst acres of hot filth and dirty water. Those are people with dreams and hopes and fears experiencing unimaginable loss. And no one deserves to go through what the people here and on the Mississippi Gulf Coast went through.

Think about the people you love, and your home, and your neighbors, and your neighborhood. Think about your daily routine, running to the drug store down the street, going off to work, returning home at the end of the day, to sink into your bed, surrounded by everything you know and love. Now, try to imagine it all gone. All of it. Imagine the anxious uncertainty, the sadness, the despair, the fear.

I know. It’s hard for me to imagine it, too. But I try, because I don’t want to forget, I don’t want any of us to forget, that that is what we are talking about here. PEOPLE.  I understand the need and the desire to figure out who’s at fault, who’s to blame, to figure it all out so we hopefully prevent something like this from happening again. I understand the need to get political about it, and to get angry. I really do. It’s just that, for me anyway, I want to honor the fact that actual human beings persevered against a situation so overwhelming, so seemingly impossible. To me, that is the best way to commemorate the fifth anniversary, by remembering that this happened to people, your fellow Americans, people just like you and just like me, and to be amazed that the folks here and along the Coast were able to come back from it.

Has it been easy? Is everything ok now? Of course not. I’m not suggesting it is. We have a long way to go, to be sure. There are still New Orleanians scattered across the country who want to come home and can’t. Across the street from my mother’s house in Gulfport, there are three big empty spaces, where her neighbors were left, literally, with slabs for homes and they haven’t built back and likely won’t. Five years later, she’s living in a ghost town for a neighborhood block, as many here are also doing.

My point is only that as you watch all the coverage this weekend and hear all the talking heads on TV, take a breath and remember the people involved here. Remember the people. Make it about the people. Be a little kinder. Show compassion to everyone around you. And be thankful for everything that you have, for your loved ones, and even for the daily annoyances that challenge you. Trust me, you’ve got it good.