The Saints won again! Dear Lord...could this be the year? And Dallas delivered quite the prettily wrapped package today by losing so spectacularly to Philly. First-round bye is OURS.
Anyway, the most important thing of all is that Christmas is finally over. No one I know seems to have been excited about it this year. I only shopped and made jewelry because I felt I had to do it. I was purely driven by the need to conform.
I didn't bring a single decoration to school this year. My classroom is now as it was weeks ago. My mom hung a wreath on the door, and we bought a tree on sale for $10 at Lowe's last Sunday after the Saints game. It stayed on the porch until Wednesday, then got brought inside, and has a grand total of zero lights and 8 ornaments on it. Those ornaments are the ones that were downstairs already based on the fact that we bought or received them this year. No stockings are hung by the chimney with care, and who really gave a shit if St. Nick would be here? We had dinner at home...mom, dad, Geoff, me, Mark. We visited Lance and Mimi, then the Cabin exchanged secret Santa gifts. We did Midnight Mass because my mom would cry if we didn't. We went to Pam and John's, but were late to that because we were coming in from Morgan City.
Yes, we got fairly decent things, but with no place to put them, it doesn't matter. Mark gave me a lovely necklace, but I don't deserve it.
But we were talking about it last night, and Geoff mentioned that he was shocked that he wasn't in the mood for Christmas this year, but was last year. I noted that last year, we NEEDED Christmas. This year, it seemed trivial and we really didn't need it.
Holidays are a joke.
Showing posts with label holiday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holiday. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Part 14: A Katrina Kristmas
Recap: We had the first true Thanksgiving of our lives.
December 1 was my father's birthday. It was nice to be here for him, but celebrating was hard. He and my Uncle Dan had finished gutting their business, then pressure washed it with bleach, and were at a stopping point. The building owner was taking care of the carpentry, but until they got an electrician, they could do nothing else. Every few weeks, he would come home and say, "I think I found an electrician." But the electricians would never show up. In early December, he found a guy who would do it, but couldn't start until the first of the year. So the waiting game continued; however, there was a goal set for it. His mood improved as much as it could at that point.
Once again, I decided that my students needed so much more for Christmas. The class had grown to 14 at this point. So I went to town, buying a fake tree on sale at Big Lots for $13, and tiny ornaments at various stores, plus decorations from Party City and Wal-Mart. Stores were slowly starting to reopen, so this was a little easier than I expected. I went to Target and bought boy gifts and girl gifts in the $1 discount section. I made chocolate-covered pretzels. I made cards for each of them. I wrapped and baked and made ornaments for the whole class. I was exhausted. But it was so satisfying.
And my "partner?" She bought candy canes the night before school let out, and pencils. Then she had asked if I was doing anything for them, because she heard that the other teachers were giving presents to their classes, so she supposed we should do the same. I told her about the $1 presents, and she offered to give me half the cost if they could be from both of us. Ok. Fine. Go right ahead. The morning of the last day before break, she signed the tags. I never saw the money. It was only $7, so I don't really care, but it's the principle of the thing. I left out the baking and the handmade gifts. I didn't tell her about those. Then she signed those tags and brought her candy canes and pencils, purchased at a drug store on her way home from the Christmas pageant the night before. I was very glad that I did what I did, and that mine were so much more...if you understand.
The Christmas pageant was a lot of fun. Mark had to work, but I brought my parents with me. I think it did them a lot of good. They were not very into Christmas. They didn't want a tree.
Mark and I bought the tree at Home Depot. You may laugh, but their trees are amazing and inexpensive. We used my Rav4 to get it, and we strapped it to the roof using the luggage rack. I was very excited about my car purchase when I realized we could do that! My parents were out to dinner with their friends. To tell the truth, my dad did not want the tree. My mom secretly wanted one., I think. I told her our plan to buy one, and she teared up. We got home, and they were not back yet. We waited in the den, where the tree stood, like two grinning idiots. Finally, my parents got back. They came in through the front door. The tree was in the den, which connects to the foyer. There is no door. You couldn't help but see (and smell) the tree when you walked in. Yet, my father missed it. For the record, he lost his right eye in an accident when he was very young. However, he sort of had to walk around it to get pst the sofa and into the den. Then, he walked through the den and down the hall to his room. My mom stood there with a bewildered look on her face, then called him. He came back, and we showed him what we'd done. His whole reaction was, "I told you I didn't want a tree."
We said we'd paid for it, that we would take care of decorating and disposing of it. My mom seemed pleased. She told us to use our own decorations, which we had rescued from our attic back in October. That was strange. They were our decorations, on our tree, in my parents' house. Their ornaments, which had never missed a Christmas, rested quietly in boxes in their attic. Maybe next year...
When all was said and done, though, we got a begrudging, "It is a pretty tree" from my father. No more words were said until Christmas passed and he wanted it out of the house.
It may seem like a minor problem to some people, but giving a Christmas list was next to impossible this year. What do you get for the people who lost everything? Couldn't get anything big, because where would we store it? Couldn't get anything small, because what would we do with it? I told people, "Look around your house. If you see something you have that you love, then buy us one of those. Chances are, we don't have one any more and probably need it." We ended up with some gift cards and useless stuff. A few nice things, too. Danny and Connie gave us New Orleans-themed T-shirts. Mine has a crown and says, "New Orleans Rules." Geoff and Mark each got shirts that say, "Save NOLA."
A few months earlier, I would have been embarrassed to wear a shirt with my city on it. Hard to explain. But it's kind of like in the movie "Airheads," where they talk about going to a concert while wearing a T-shirt for the band they're going to see. "Don't be that guy!" they say. Does that help? At this point, I owned two. This one, and one that, instead of "I (heart) NOLA," says, "I (fleur de lis) NOLA." It struck a chord with me. And, these shirts generally give some proceeds to charity. I now own a third shirt, which says, "Lakeview -- If you rebuild it, they will come." I'm wearing it right now, actually.
We had a nice, quiet, low-key Christmas. It was lovely. Dinner with mom and dad and Geoff. Geoff spent the night, and it was like old times. Except I slept in Geoff's room, he slept on the sofa, and Mark was there.
Mark bought me a guitar to replace the one he was going to give me for Christmas. If you look back at the pictures of our house, there is a picture of me holding the destroyed one on our front lawn.
The day after Christmas, Mark came down with a horrible stomach virus. We'd spent Christmas Eve at my Aunt Pam and Uncle Johnny's house. John had come down with the bug right before everyone came, and spent the evening holed up in his bedroom. But, somehow, Mark caught it anyway. It was miserable.
Around this time, my mom tackled the wallpaper in their bedroom. While Mark was holed up in the bathroom or trying to sleep in our room, she and I were spraying the walls with a vinegar and water solution to ease the peeling process. We'd tried steamers and other methods, and this one, while painstakingly slow and difficult, was the best. It took a few months of grabbing some hours here and there to get it done.
New Year's Eve was tons and tons of fun, though, but not all of that can be described. Let's just say it was a night to remember for all involved. We set up the bedsheet on Geoff's house and projected movies again. We had fireworks. We had alcohol. We each brought a dish. And we had all of us reunited for the first time since Kate's birthday in June. Good times, great friends, great food, great drinks. We threw out a big F-bomb to 2005 and welcomed 2006 with open arms and drunken sloppy kisses. New Year's was cathartic. We couldn't wait for Carnival season...that's Mardi Gras to the rest of you. We were curious to see how that would pan out.
Stay tuned for part 15: Mardi Gras...or Bust?
December 1 was my father's birthday. It was nice to be here for him, but celebrating was hard. He and my Uncle Dan had finished gutting their business, then pressure washed it with bleach, and were at a stopping point. The building owner was taking care of the carpentry, but until they got an electrician, they could do nothing else. Every few weeks, he would come home and say, "I think I found an electrician." But the electricians would never show up. In early December, he found a guy who would do it, but couldn't start until the first of the year. So the waiting game continued; however, there was a goal set for it. His mood improved as much as it could at that point.
Once again, I decided that my students needed so much more for Christmas. The class had grown to 14 at this point. So I went to town, buying a fake tree on sale at Big Lots for $13, and tiny ornaments at various stores, plus decorations from Party City and Wal-Mart. Stores were slowly starting to reopen, so this was a little easier than I expected. I went to Target and bought boy gifts and girl gifts in the $1 discount section. I made chocolate-covered pretzels. I made cards for each of them. I wrapped and baked and made ornaments for the whole class. I was exhausted. But it was so satisfying.
And my "partner?" She bought candy canes the night before school let out, and pencils. Then she had asked if I was doing anything for them, because she heard that the other teachers were giving presents to their classes, so she supposed we should do the same. I told her about the $1 presents, and she offered to give me half the cost if they could be from both of us. Ok. Fine. Go right ahead. The morning of the last day before break, she signed the tags. I never saw the money. It was only $7, so I don't really care, but it's the principle of the thing. I left out the baking and the handmade gifts. I didn't tell her about those. Then she signed those tags and brought her candy canes and pencils, purchased at a drug store on her way home from the Christmas pageant the night before. I was very glad that I did what I did, and that mine were so much more...if you understand.
The Christmas pageant was a lot of fun. Mark had to work, but I brought my parents with me. I think it did them a lot of good. They were not very into Christmas. They didn't want a tree.
Mark and I bought the tree at Home Depot. You may laugh, but their trees are amazing and inexpensive. We used my Rav4 to get it, and we strapped it to the roof using the luggage rack. I was very excited about my car purchase when I realized we could do that! My parents were out to dinner with their friends. To tell the truth, my dad did not want the tree. My mom secretly wanted one., I think. I told her our plan to buy one, and she teared up. We got home, and they were not back yet. We waited in the den, where the tree stood, like two grinning idiots. Finally, my parents got back. They came in through the front door. The tree was in the den, which connects to the foyer. There is no door. You couldn't help but see (and smell) the tree when you walked in. Yet, my father missed it. For the record, he lost his right eye in an accident when he was very young. However, he sort of had to walk around it to get pst the sofa and into the den. Then, he walked through the den and down the hall to his room. My mom stood there with a bewildered look on her face, then called him. He came back, and we showed him what we'd done. His whole reaction was, "I told you I didn't want a tree."
We said we'd paid for it, that we would take care of decorating and disposing of it. My mom seemed pleased. She told us to use our own decorations, which we had rescued from our attic back in October. That was strange. They were our decorations, on our tree, in my parents' house. Their ornaments, which had never missed a Christmas, rested quietly in boxes in their attic. Maybe next year...
When all was said and done, though, we got a begrudging, "It is a pretty tree" from my father. No more words were said until Christmas passed and he wanted it out of the house.
It may seem like a minor problem to some people, but giving a Christmas list was next to impossible this year. What do you get for the people who lost everything? Couldn't get anything big, because where would we store it? Couldn't get anything small, because what would we do with it? I told people, "Look around your house. If you see something you have that you love, then buy us one of those. Chances are, we don't have one any more and probably need it." We ended up with some gift cards and useless stuff. A few nice things, too. Danny and Connie gave us New Orleans-themed T-shirts. Mine has a crown and says, "New Orleans Rules." Geoff and Mark each got shirts that say, "Save NOLA."
A few months earlier, I would have been embarrassed to wear a shirt with my city on it. Hard to explain. But it's kind of like in the movie "Airheads," where they talk about going to a concert while wearing a T-shirt for the band they're going to see. "Don't be that guy!" they say. Does that help? At this point, I owned two. This one, and one that, instead of "I (heart) NOLA," says, "I (fleur de lis) NOLA." It struck a chord with me. And, these shirts generally give some proceeds to charity. I now own a third shirt, which says, "Lakeview -- If you rebuild it, they will come." I'm wearing it right now, actually.
We had a nice, quiet, low-key Christmas. It was lovely. Dinner with mom and dad and Geoff. Geoff spent the night, and it was like old times. Except I slept in Geoff's room, he slept on the sofa, and Mark was there.
Mark bought me a guitar to replace the one he was going to give me for Christmas. If you look back at the pictures of our house, there is a picture of me holding the destroyed one on our front lawn.
The day after Christmas, Mark came down with a horrible stomach virus. We'd spent Christmas Eve at my Aunt Pam and Uncle Johnny's house. John had come down with the bug right before everyone came, and spent the evening holed up in his bedroom. But, somehow, Mark caught it anyway. It was miserable.
Around this time, my mom tackled the wallpaper in their bedroom. While Mark was holed up in the bathroom or trying to sleep in our room, she and I were spraying the walls with a vinegar and water solution to ease the peeling process. We'd tried steamers and other methods, and this one, while painstakingly slow and difficult, was the best. It took a few months of grabbing some hours here and there to get it done.
New Year's Eve was tons and tons of fun, though, but not all of that can be described. Let's just say it was a night to remember for all involved. We set up the bedsheet on Geoff's house and projected movies again. We had fireworks. We had alcohol. We each brought a dish. And we had all of us reunited for the first time since Kate's birthday in June. Good times, great friends, great food, great drinks. We threw out a big F-bomb to 2005 and welcomed 2006 with open arms and drunken sloppy kisses. New Year's was cathartic. We couldn't wait for Carnival season...that's Mardi Gras to the rest of you. We were curious to see how that would pan out.
Stay tuned for part 15: Mardi Gras...or Bust?
Monday, May 22, 2006
Part 13: A true Thanksgiving
Recap: Last time, I was moved to 7/8 and found myself with a sourpuss teaching partner. My insurance check came, and I bought a RAV4. We treated the kids to an awesome Halloween, because there weren't many places to trick-or-treat. Neighborhoods were desolate or unsafe, so we had a big fair.
We entered November, and it got to the point where sleeping on an air mattress on the floor of my brother's old bedroom at my parents' house was no longer an option. We went to a few mattress shops, and finally found a lovely deal on a Serta mattress and bedframe. I even got a Serta sheep for buying it! They delivered it that first week, and it was like heaven. The mattress we had before the storm was not chosen by us. It was a wedding present, and I think it was a pillow top, which is way too soft and does nothing for your back. It was hard to sleep on. Tiny Katrina blessing number 82, I think. The new one is firm and high and lovely beyond description. That first night of sleeping on it was the first half-way decent night of sleep I'd had since August. I think it was the first time I slept the whole night. Especially since somewhere between ordering the mattress and having it delivered, a catfight happened on the air mattress, and it now had a slow leak that left me half on the floor each morning.
One weekend in November, my in-laws came to help drag our stuff out to the front. They had not been to New Orleans at all since the storm. It was the first time they'd seen "it." They were pretty speechless.
That day, we saw, finally, the elderly woman next door. If you remember correctly, we were unsure of whether she had evacuated or not, but the national guard's markings on her house indicaetd that she'd made it out. She'd left for the storm, but left her cat Ginny, who we called Splotchy, outside. She never did find out what happened to her. This is horribly sad to me. Hopefully, she was one of the rescued cats who was adopted by someone in another part of the country. I'd like to think that's what happened.
Thanksgiving was approaching, and it was a strange feeling. How odd to feel thankful at a time like this. There was a lot to be thankful for, this was true. Here's a partial list:
1. None of my family members died.
2. My grandma was placed in a home in Hammond, La., and was now an hour away, as opposed to the 6-hour drive to Houston.
3. We had a mattress now!
4. I got more money on my car insurance than I thought, and I bought a sweet new car.
5. We were not scattered across the country any more.
6. Most of the family didn't lose their homes. Or their businesses. In fact, everyone lost one or the other. At least everyone was left with something.
7. We'd made it through the first couple of months.
8. Yeah...that's about it.
9. Ah wait...one more thing....Mark was finally home! He was sprung from the RV and was allowed to come back to New Orleans! However, he now works from 5 p.m. until midnight. I will not see him, really, except for weekends.
We had dinner at my Uncle Dan and Aunt Connie's house, one of the few houses in Lake Vista that didn't flood. Lake Vista is the subdivision between flooded Lakeview and flooded Gentilly. They live at the end of their cul de sac, and had zero damage, other than tree damage. Every tree suffered some sort of damage, be it broken branches, total uprooting, or a loss of leaves. It looked like spring when it was still summer. And it stayed that way until ... well, they still haven't really all come back. The trees all lost too much.
To get there, we had to drive through my neighborhood, standing (or not, in some cases) so forlornly and so desolately. There is nothing sadder than a house with no windows or partial windows, a busted down door, and a coffee-colored water mark somewhere near the roof. The grass is gone, the shrubs are dead. The piles of debris are at least as tall as the houses. Children's toys litter the piles of rubbish, and you can see clothing, photos in frames (or what used to be photos in frames), and snippets of your neighbors' lives. All on the ground, mold-ridden, soggy, and brownish. Untouchable. Heartbreakingly thrown into a pile.
Makes it even harder to put Thanksgiving into perspective.
We had to pass my father and Uncle Dan's service station. Piles of debris as high as the station. Gas sign still showing a pre-Katrina price of $2.49. Broken windows on the garage. No electricity, just like the houses. No life at the pumps. The missing ice machine, which was reportedly spotted on someone's roof a few blocks away. A shell of a building.
Thanksgiving gets harder and harder to swallow.
Then, a couple miles down the road, we reach my aunt and uncle's street. The first part of the street, including the house they used to live in, has water marks. It gets increasingly lower as you reach the end of the street. And then, an oasis. My relatives have a lush-ish green lawn. Flowers back in the garden. Flooring. A pang of jealousy rushes through. It's a good thing they're such good people. Otherwise, I'd have hated them. Would you blame me? Does that make me a horrible person?
The meal was a little toned down. The mood was solemn. But it was the first time we'd all been together since the storm. And that was a good thing.
That weekend, we shopped around, and finally bought a bedroom set. A dresser, a headboard/footboard combo, and two night stands. Delivery date? Eight weeks to get to the store, up to two weeks to get to us.
Next time: Part 14: Christmas: either very easy, or very hard.
We entered November, and it got to the point where sleeping on an air mattress on the floor of my brother's old bedroom at my parents' house was no longer an option. We went to a few mattress shops, and finally found a lovely deal on a Serta mattress and bedframe. I even got a Serta sheep for buying it! They delivered it that first week, and it was like heaven. The mattress we had before the storm was not chosen by us. It was a wedding present, and I think it was a pillow top, which is way too soft and does nothing for your back. It was hard to sleep on. Tiny Katrina blessing number 82, I think. The new one is firm and high and lovely beyond description. That first night of sleeping on it was the first half-way decent night of sleep I'd had since August. I think it was the first time I slept the whole night. Especially since somewhere between ordering the mattress and having it delivered, a catfight happened on the air mattress, and it now had a slow leak that left me half on the floor each morning.
One weekend in November, my in-laws came to help drag our stuff out to the front. They had not been to New Orleans at all since the storm. It was the first time they'd seen "it." They were pretty speechless.
That day, we saw, finally, the elderly woman next door. If you remember correctly, we were unsure of whether she had evacuated or not, but the national guard's markings on her house indicaetd that she'd made it out. She'd left for the storm, but left her cat Ginny, who we called Splotchy, outside. She never did find out what happened to her. This is horribly sad to me. Hopefully, she was one of the rescued cats who was adopted by someone in another part of the country. I'd like to think that's what happened.
Thanksgiving was approaching, and it was a strange feeling. How odd to feel thankful at a time like this. There was a lot to be thankful for, this was true. Here's a partial list:
1. None of my family members died.
2. My grandma was placed in a home in Hammond, La., and was now an hour away, as opposed to the 6-hour drive to Houston.
3. We had a mattress now!
4. I got more money on my car insurance than I thought, and I bought a sweet new car.
5. We were not scattered across the country any more.
6. Most of the family didn't lose their homes. Or their businesses. In fact, everyone lost one or the other. At least everyone was left with something.
7. We'd made it through the first couple of months.
8. Yeah...that's about it.
9. Ah wait...one more thing....Mark was finally home! He was sprung from the RV and was allowed to come back to New Orleans! However, he now works from 5 p.m. until midnight. I will not see him, really, except for weekends.
We had dinner at my Uncle Dan and Aunt Connie's house, one of the few houses in Lake Vista that didn't flood. Lake Vista is the subdivision between flooded Lakeview and flooded Gentilly. They live at the end of their cul de sac, and had zero damage, other than tree damage. Every tree suffered some sort of damage, be it broken branches, total uprooting, or a loss of leaves. It looked like spring when it was still summer. And it stayed that way until ... well, they still haven't really all come back. The trees all lost too much.
To get there, we had to drive through my neighborhood, standing (or not, in some cases) so forlornly and so desolately. There is nothing sadder than a house with no windows or partial windows, a busted down door, and a coffee-colored water mark somewhere near the roof. The grass is gone, the shrubs are dead. The piles of debris are at least as tall as the houses. Children's toys litter the piles of rubbish, and you can see clothing, photos in frames (or what used to be photos in frames), and snippets of your neighbors' lives. All on the ground, mold-ridden, soggy, and brownish. Untouchable. Heartbreakingly thrown into a pile.
Makes it even harder to put Thanksgiving into perspective.
We had to pass my father and Uncle Dan's service station. Piles of debris as high as the station. Gas sign still showing a pre-Katrina price of $2.49. Broken windows on the garage. No electricity, just like the houses. No life at the pumps. The missing ice machine, which was reportedly spotted on someone's roof a few blocks away. A shell of a building.
Thanksgiving gets harder and harder to swallow.
Then, a couple miles down the road, we reach my aunt and uncle's street. The first part of the street, including the house they used to live in, has water marks. It gets increasingly lower as you reach the end of the street. And then, an oasis. My relatives have a lush-ish green lawn. Flowers back in the garden. Flooring. A pang of jealousy rushes through. It's a good thing they're such good people. Otherwise, I'd have hated them. Would you blame me? Does that make me a horrible person?
The meal was a little toned down. The mood was solemn. But it was the first time we'd all been together since the storm. And that was a good thing.
That weekend, we shopped around, and finally bought a bedroom set. A dresser, a headboard/footboard combo, and two night stands. Delivery date? Eight weeks to get to the store, up to two weeks to get to us.
Next time: Part 14: Christmas: either very easy, or very hard.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Part 12: Surviving Middle School
Recap: Last time, at the last possible minute, I had been moved from teaching 3rd and 4th grade up to teaching 7th and 8th grade. This was both devastating, as I had really bonded with my partners and had already seen the kids that day, and thrilling, as my certification area is 6-12 English.
I gathered the few thigns I had in our 3/4 classroom. It didn't amount to much, as it is my first year teaching. I had a few books on space, which was one of the subjects I was teaching, a couple of containers, a rolling cart we'd purchased, my easel from childhood, my name plate for my desk, and...well...that's about it. Oh, the sweater I'd left at school and the variety pack of Sharpies I'd treated myself to for getting the job. Forgot about those. But that was it. I trudged up the stairs to what was going to be my new room, and my heart sank. It was pretty bare. Glenda, the teacher I was now partnered with, decided at the last minute that she would return. They put the few kids returning from the high school's 7/8 class in that room, as well as a few overflow kids. They had merged 7/8 A and C, as well as 7/8 B and D, to make two classrooms, but they were to capacity. We became 7/8 E. The other two decided to name themselves 7/8 Q and 7/8 X, "because these letters don't ever get any love." It was a last minute classroom with last minute students and last minute teachers. I felt like we were an afterthought. We had 11 students, while the other two had 17 each. I felt very small and very alone all of a sudden. There were no bulletin boards set up, no decorations, no nothing. Just desks. And only one small teacher desk. There was also a refrigerator, as the iguana from next door, Lou, requires vegetables. Our room had the space for the mini fridge.
How all of these classroom animals survived, I'll never know. Apparently, the military had commandeered the school (we were under marshal law, remember), and we think they were feeding the animals. I don't think any of them died.
My new co-teacher sized me up for a minute, spit out a few things about the schedule and where some books were, and then disappeared. I looked at the barren room and my heart sank.l This was to be a totally different experience.
I spent the whole weekend worrying. I didn't know if things would work out. I hoped they would. There was only one away to find out.
Monday morning was hard. I kept seeing my 3/4s, and they were all happy to see me. But I had to stand with the 7th and 8th graders. My little ones were confused. We decided it would be best for the other teachers to break it to them. I looked at this new class of mine. They were taller than me in some cases. These aren't typical 7th and 8th graders, either. They have been failed in every sense of the word by other schools. I have 15-year-olds in my class. Many cannot read or write scrpit. A couple can't tie their shoes. Most are afraid of school, having had horrible experiences at other schools. We are their beacon of light; their last resort; their salvation. The days can be long and hard sometimes, like when one 15-year-old 8th grader talks about how he loves Thomas the Tank Engine. Or when one child's anger management issues surface, and he starts seething for no reason. Or when a 15-year-old 8th grader can't read the word "the" but is otherwise extremely intelligent. But then there are the rewarding days, like when that last child reads an entire page in reading class. It takes him about 20 minutes, but he can DO it. Or when a child with an eating disorder trusts you enough to have you be the person she confides in and realizes she needs help. Or the moment you see that light bulb physically go off above a child's head. Or when that very first child gets off the bus in the morning, greets you with the biggest smile ever, and tells you "Good Morning!"Nothing more rewarding.
We spent the first few days on some healing issues. We gained a few kids, including one whose brother was in the room next door as an 8th grader. They lost their home and it was easier to have both kids in the same school. For that first week, though, I had nowhere to hang my hat, so to speak. We shared the tiny teacher's desk while we waited to see if another was available. No drawer space was cleared for me, so I lived out of a tote on the mini-fridge. The low point came when Glenda referred to me, twice, as "my helper."
I don't know if you know much about co-teaching. Essentially, it's like the mother and the father overseeing their children. Two teachers, sometimes trading off teaching the full class, other times breaking into groups and teaching two different subjects in the same room at the same time. We are equals, like parents. But, since I was a rookie without a degree in education or a master's in it, like SHE has, I was nothing. She was curt, she cut me off, she belittled me in front of the kids, like when I was reading something for them to reflect on, and she walked up to me and loudly said, "Slow down, please." She was rude to me and to the children. She refused to get my name correct. Eventually, after hearing the kids call me by name, she eventually got it right. It wasn't until January, when I went ballistic over it, that she stopped even trying to pronounce my first name correctly. That's an issue of respect. She had none, and I received none.
The worst came when a girl in the class wrote in her journal this direct quote: "I hate my teacher. She's so mean. But at least the assistant makes it fun." The assistant. That's how the kids saw me, because that's how she treated me. We were both new, we were both displaced, we should have been there for each other. But we were not. I tried. Believe me, I tried. But there comes a point where you can't give any more. I gave up by the end of October. This was the second week of October.
The other teachers were nice, but it took a while to break into the circle. Their dislike for my co-teacher manifested itself in ousting me. Then they started noticing how she treats me, and they took me in. Thank goodness.
Once I saw that journal entry (she had folded the page, but Glenda had opened it and I didn't know it had been folded, so I read it.), I knew something had to change. It wouldn't be my new partner's attitude, that was obvious. So I went to the storage room with the maintenance people, and we found a desk. It was missing a leg. But Mr. Mike quickly located it and fixed the desk. Later that afternoon, they delivered it. It was huge. It had more drawers and more surface area. When they delivered it, the kids were so funny. They were excited for me, because I had my own space now. They all wanted to help clean it and move me into it. Best line of the day whispered to me from the girl with the journal entry: "Your desk is bigger than hers!" This was because she still saw me as the assistant. So I sort of cleared that up gently. I was no longer the assistant. And, best of all, because we all have our petty moments, was her obvious envy over the desk. She kept eying it up and making comments about its size. Sorry. You claimed the other one and wouldn't let me even have half a drawer to store my purse. You snooze, you lose.
The weekend of Halloween, Mark was very ill. But he still came in town. My insurance check for my car arrived that week, so my parents, Mark and I went to buy a car. We decided on a Toyota, without a doubt, because we've had such great results with our Toyotas. Then, I decided, after gazing at Kevin's and then sitting in Kurt's brand new RAV4 , that that was what I wanted. It had room to throw in lots of things to evacuate. As I told the salesman, "An SUV saved my life. Why wouldn't I want one?" After about 5 hours, we drove my brand new green RAV4 home. No more driving mom's car.
For Halloween, the other two classes worked together and had a haunted house for the little ones. Just another thing we were left out of at the beginning, for whatever reason. So, feeling sad about how sad my students were, we hastily organized a "haunted pumpkin patch." We let them bring costumes (older kids couldn't wear them on Halloween), and made paper pumpkins. The little ones were trick-or-treating in the middle school and high school classes anyway, so when they knocked on our door, the kids sprang into action. They hid in the room and made scary noises. They showed the little ones the pumpkin patch, and each child got to take home a handmade pumpkin. Some were foam, others construction paper, but they all loved it.
In the afternoon, we had the school's annual Penny Party. There were booths all around. One of my 3/4s put me in the "jail" for leaving the class. One of my 7/8's "bailed" me out. I worked a little in the hair spraying and face painting booth, and walked around and observed the kids. My teaching partner was put in jail a few times, and was eventually released on "good behavior" each time because none of the kids bailed her out, and I pretended not to see her. Petty, again, but you get what you give, lady.
Follwoing the Penny Party, we had the Pelican Party. Normally, these are two different events, but because we didn't know how trick-or-treating would go, with so many people not being home and with so many neighborhoods being unsafe or uninhabitable, they combined the two events to give families something to do. They had space walks, a DJ, and tons of food. All Saint's Day was one of the holidays we lost, but we were able to come in for 9 a.m. that day since we were required to stay so late the night before.
After that, I ran home, changed into a costume that wasn't Catholic school approved (it had a low V-neck. That's all. I wore a different set of clothes during the day with my fangs and my wig, so it wasn't a problem. But I had a more fun version of my vampire getup for later.) and went to "the Cabin," as we affectionately refer to Kevin and Geoff's/Alicia and Kurt's. It's just easier to say, you know? The other roommate, Alex, had come in for the weekend, and he was firing up the barbecue for the first time since the storm. We had a lot of fun. It was the biggest gathering of all of us since the storm. We had a blast, took crazy pictures, ate tons of food, and imbibed a little. Halloween was something we needed.
Coming up next: Part 13: A true Thanksgiving
I gathered the few thigns I had in our 3/4 classroom. It didn't amount to much, as it is my first year teaching. I had a few books on space, which was one of the subjects I was teaching, a couple of containers, a rolling cart we'd purchased, my easel from childhood, my name plate for my desk, and...well...that's about it. Oh, the sweater I'd left at school and the variety pack of Sharpies I'd treated myself to for getting the job. Forgot about those. But that was it. I trudged up the stairs to what was going to be my new room, and my heart sank. It was pretty bare. Glenda, the teacher I was now partnered with, decided at the last minute that she would return. They put the few kids returning from the high school's 7/8 class in that room, as well as a few overflow kids. They had merged 7/8 A and C, as well as 7/8 B and D, to make two classrooms, but they were to capacity. We became 7/8 E. The other two decided to name themselves 7/8 Q and 7/8 X, "because these letters don't ever get any love." It was a last minute classroom with last minute students and last minute teachers. I felt like we were an afterthought. We had 11 students, while the other two had 17 each. I felt very small and very alone all of a sudden. There were no bulletin boards set up, no decorations, no nothing. Just desks. And only one small teacher desk. There was also a refrigerator, as the iguana from next door, Lou, requires vegetables. Our room had the space for the mini fridge.
How all of these classroom animals survived, I'll never know. Apparently, the military had commandeered the school (we were under marshal law, remember), and we think they were feeding the animals. I don't think any of them died.
My new co-teacher sized me up for a minute, spit out a few things about the schedule and where some books were, and then disappeared. I looked at the barren room and my heart sank.l This was to be a totally different experience.
I spent the whole weekend worrying. I didn't know if things would work out. I hoped they would. There was only one away to find out.
Monday morning was hard. I kept seeing my 3/4s, and they were all happy to see me. But I had to stand with the 7th and 8th graders. My little ones were confused. We decided it would be best for the other teachers to break it to them. I looked at this new class of mine. They were taller than me in some cases. These aren't typical 7th and 8th graders, either. They have been failed in every sense of the word by other schools. I have 15-year-olds in my class. Many cannot read or write scrpit. A couple can't tie their shoes. Most are afraid of school, having had horrible experiences at other schools. We are their beacon of light; their last resort; their salvation. The days can be long and hard sometimes, like when one 15-year-old 8th grader talks about how he loves Thomas the Tank Engine. Or when one child's anger management issues surface, and he starts seething for no reason. Or when a 15-year-old 8th grader can't read the word "the" but is otherwise extremely intelligent. But then there are the rewarding days, like when that last child reads an entire page in reading class. It takes him about 20 minutes, but he can DO it. Or when a child with an eating disorder trusts you enough to have you be the person she confides in and realizes she needs help. Or the moment you see that light bulb physically go off above a child's head. Or when that very first child gets off the bus in the morning, greets you with the biggest smile ever, and tells you "Good Morning!"Nothing more rewarding.
We spent the first few days on some healing issues. We gained a few kids, including one whose brother was in the room next door as an 8th grader. They lost their home and it was easier to have both kids in the same school. For that first week, though, I had nowhere to hang my hat, so to speak. We shared the tiny teacher's desk while we waited to see if another was available. No drawer space was cleared for me, so I lived out of a tote on the mini-fridge. The low point came when Glenda referred to me, twice, as "my helper."
I don't know if you know much about co-teaching. Essentially, it's like the mother and the father overseeing their children. Two teachers, sometimes trading off teaching the full class, other times breaking into groups and teaching two different subjects in the same room at the same time. We are equals, like parents. But, since I was a rookie without a degree in education or a master's in it, like SHE has, I was nothing. She was curt, she cut me off, she belittled me in front of the kids, like when I was reading something for them to reflect on, and she walked up to me and loudly said, "Slow down, please." She was rude to me and to the children. She refused to get my name correct. Eventually, after hearing the kids call me by name, she eventually got it right. It wasn't until January, when I went ballistic over it, that she stopped even trying to pronounce my first name correctly. That's an issue of respect. She had none, and I received none.
The worst came when a girl in the class wrote in her journal this direct quote: "I hate my teacher. She's so mean. But at least the assistant makes it fun." The assistant. That's how the kids saw me, because that's how she treated me. We were both new, we were both displaced, we should have been there for each other. But we were not. I tried. Believe me, I tried. But there comes a point where you can't give any more. I gave up by the end of October. This was the second week of October.
The other teachers were nice, but it took a while to break into the circle. Their dislike for my co-teacher manifested itself in ousting me. Then they started noticing how she treats me, and they took me in. Thank goodness.
Once I saw that journal entry (she had folded the page, but Glenda had opened it and I didn't know it had been folded, so I read it.), I knew something had to change. It wouldn't be my new partner's attitude, that was obvious. So I went to the storage room with the maintenance people, and we found a desk. It was missing a leg. But Mr. Mike quickly located it and fixed the desk. Later that afternoon, they delivered it. It was huge. It had more drawers and more surface area. When they delivered it, the kids were so funny. They were excited for me, because I had my own space now. They all wanted to help clean it and move me into it. Best line of the day whispered to me from the girl with the journal entry: "Your desk is bigger than hers!" This was because she still saw me as the assistant. So I sort of cleared that up gently. I was no longer the assistant. And, best of all, because we all have our petty moments, was her obvious envy over the desk. She kept eying it up and making comments about its size. Sorry. You claimed the other one and wouldn't let me even have half a drawer to store my purse. You snooze, you lose.
The weekend of Halloween, Mark was very ill. But he still came in town. My insurance check for my car arrived that week, so my parents, Mark and I went to buy a car. We decided on a Toyota, without a doubt, because we've had such great results with our Toyotas. Then, I decided, after gazing at Kevin's and then sitting in Kurt's brand new RAV4 , that that was what I wanted. It had room to throw in lots of things to evacuate. As I told the salesman, "An SUV saved my life. Why wouldn't I want one?" After about 5 hours, we drove my brand new green RAV4 home. No more driving mom's car.
For Halloween, the other two classes worked together and had a haunted house for the little ones. Just another thing we were left out of at the beginning, for whatever reason. So, feeling sad about how sad my students were, we hastily organized a "haunted pumpkin patch." We let them bring costumes (older kids couldn't wear them on Halloween), and made paper pumpkins. The little ones were trick-or-treating in the middle school and high school classes anyway, so when they knocked on our door, the kids sprang into action. They hid in the room and made scary noises. They showed the little ones the pumpkin patch, and each child got to take home a handmade pumpkin. Some were foam, others construction paper, but they all loved it.
In the afternoon, we had the school's annual Penny Party. There were booths all around. One of my 3/4s put me in the "jail" for leaving the class. One of my 7/8's "bailed" me out. I worked a little in the hair spraying and face painting booth, and walked around and observed the kids. My teaching partner was put in jail a few times, and was eventually released on "good behavior" each time because none of the kids bailed her out, and I pretended not to see her. Petty, again, but you get what you give, lady.
Follwoing the Penny Party, we had the Pelican Party. Normally, these are two different events, but because we didn't know how trick-or-treating would go, with so many people not being home and with so many neighborhoods being unsafe or uninhabitable, they combined the two events to give families something to do. They had space walks, a DJ, and tons of food. All Saint's Day was one of the holidays we lost, but we were able to come in for 9 a.m. that day since we were required to stay so late the night before.
After that, I ran home, changed into a costume that wasn't Catholic school approved (it had a low V-neck. That's all. I wore a different set of clothes during the day with my fangs and my wig, so it wasn't a problem. But I had a more fun version of my vampire getup for later.) and went to "the Cabin," as we affectionately refer to Kevin and Geoff's/Alicia and Kurt's. It's just easier to say, you know? The other roommate, Alex, had come in for the weekend, and he was firing up the barbecue for the first time since the storm. We had a lot of fun. It was the biggest gathering of all of us since the storm. We had a blast, took crazy pictures, ate tons of food, and imbibed a little. Halloween was something we needed.
Coming up next: Part 13: A true Thanksgiving
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Friday, November 18, 2005
Part 8: Mark and Loy's Bogus Journey.
Ok...I'm out on Thanksgiving Break, so even though I have to make an exam, grade an exam, and make classroom Christmas decorations, I am probably going to update more regularly. A lot has happened, and I feel I'm getting further and further behind.
Recap: We went back to Metairie for a day to check on my parents' house, which suffered mild damage (We would later learn that mild means $25,000 to the insurance company...) and my brother's, which almost flooded, had it not been raised 3-4 feet above the street, which had 3-4 feet of water in it.
That weekend, Mark and Mr. Loy, his dad, decided to rescue Mark's car from the parking garage. We had no transportation, so if his job called him back, what were we going to do? When we went to Metairie, we got my mom's car, which had water in the back footwells. But that was going to be for me to go back and forth to Nicholls for school. Mark spoke with his bosses, who said that they had set up in Baton Rouge, and as soon as he could get there, he had a job. So on Saturday morning, Mark and Mr. Loy got in the white pick-up, which could blend in with rescue workers, grabbed Mark's press pass, and decided to try their luck. When they got to the first military checkpoint, the guy told them, "If you have a press pass, you can go pretty much anywhere." They drove on. It got increasingly hard to get into the city. The second checkpoint, the guys leaned in to savor some of the truck's air conditioning. South Louisiana is so humid and miserable, especially in the summer. These poor, wonderful men were standing in the blazing heat and humidity in fatigues, working so hard to help us, and my F-I-L was more than happy to do them that small courtesy.
Detour after detour cropped up. Streets were blocked by trees, water, and houses knocked off foundations. It took them a lot longer than it should have to reach the garage. We got phone calls every now and then updating us on their progress. We got increasingly anxious. Finally, the phone rang again. It was Mark.
"We're in the garage, and the car is fine. The tires have air, the gas tank is full, the windows are intact, and all of our stuff is inside."
I was overjoyed. That meant our wedding album, our photo albums, my childhood favorite stuffed animals, one of Mark's guitars, my bound copies of The Nicholls Worth and Mark's KNSU tapes, plus our yearbooks, were safe. I cried.
When they went to leave, there was a convoy of mail trucks, presumably bringing local mail to safer places. We later learned everything went to Houston until Hurricane Rita came, then it was bounced to Baton Rouge, then BACK to Houston, and was finally forwarded slowly. Anyway, the convoy was huge. Mr. Loy cut into line, with Mark following. There was only one way out of the city, so they were stuck in the convoy for quite some time. They stopped for a little while, and the guy in the mail truck behind them got out to stretch his legs. He came up to the window and said, "Man, if I'd known you were U.S. Mail, I'd have let you in line easier!" Mr. Loy laughed. "Well, we aren't. We're just trying to get the hell out of here." "I hear you!"
When they pulled up at the house, I was so relieved. We started unloading the car. Then, it hit me: we were unloading everything we owned. That was it. All of our worldly belongings fit into the one car. That was a harsh reality I wasn't entirely prepared to face. Mr. Loy doesn't say much about the trip, other than that "It's way worse than they show on TV."
A new thought occurred to me around this point. We are the new face of homeless. Thanks to FEMA, the Red Cross, my forumers, and my uncle, we were able to buy a lot of clothing. To see us walking down the street, there were no indications that we were homeless. Unless you count the blank stares and the hangdog looks.
I don't think I addressed the blank stares. But, even today, almost three months after Katrina, it happens. If you haven't spoken to one of us, you can't possibly understand the look. It's a far off stare used only when thinking about or talking about what happened to the city or yourself or friends or family. It involves staring stoically into space, focusing on nothing, speaking in a strange, almost monotone voice frought with bewilderment, melancholy, fear, and confusion. I caught myself doing it one day, then noticed that almost everyone I spoke to did the same thing. It's a haunting, ghostly sight to behold. And even now, I see it and catch myself doing it.
On Wednesday, we sat outside the Bayou Vista Wal-Mart in an Allstate tent. We waited for about an hour, then found out that I would get my full coverage on my 1994 Toyota Corolla, because I had comprehensive coverage. However, we only had renter's insurance. Flood insurance was not offered to us. In fact, we thought we couldn't get it as renters. We have discovered, too little too late, though, that flood IS available to renters. Good to keep in mind for whenever we get our own place. However, as we only had renter's insurance, we learned that unless the house collapses on us, will will get nothing. I have never before wished so hard that my house would collapse. Unbelievable.
Thursday, my parents and Geoff went back to rip out the carpeting in my parents' house. I was unable to help because I had class, and I would not have made it back in time. This time, I had a horrible night at school. The teacher said, "No one wants to do special ed anymore, so we aren't going to cover that." She also said, "Schools use technology for the sake of using technology. It doesn't help the students. Instead, it's a crutch." So I raised my hand and talked about the special needs school where I teach, how we allow dyslexic and dysgraphic students to use a personal word processor called an AlphaSmart in order to get their words across. It's a brilliant tool...even for kids who can write well....it hooks up to the computers and transfers data...so there is no waiting in line for the two computers in our classroom. The teacher's reaction? "Well, that's just a Band-Aid approach. That won't help them in the real world." Then she moved on and didn't talk to me again.
Until...
A man in my class, who is a preacher, and a teacher at a public high school down there, brought up that the New Orleans children were not socializing with the other kids. That they were not mingling. He couldn't understand it. He walked up to a group of them and asked if they had all known each other before transferring there. They said no. They had gone to McMain, Archbishop Rummel, O. Perry Walker, Newman, and some other schools. If you know ANYTHING about New Orleans-area schools and neighborhoods, you would know that ordinarily, kids from these schools would NEVER be caught dead talking to each other. He went on for a few more minutes. Other people in the class voiced their assent. I raised my hand and waited patiently. Eventually, the professor called on me.
I addressed that conversation. I said, "Actually, you need to let these kids be alone. Right now, they need each other. Because if Katrina didn't happen to you, then you don't get it. Yes. You all evacuated. Yes, some of you have damage to your homes. But look at where you are and what your damage was. You complained about your uprooted tree. You complained about missing shingles from your roof. Yes. That is inconvenient. Yes, that is an expensive thing to fix. However, these kids have lost their homes. Their posessions. Their transportation. Their schools. Their friends and family, either to our new diaspora or to storm-related deaths. Their parents' jobs. Their way of life. Their sense of security. And none of you get it. Yes, everyone here is this region has been accommodating. Usually warm, friendly, and welcoming. But you all don't get it. You're back at work. Back at school. You maybe lost electricity for a few hours. It may be months before we have electricity again. You have minor damage to your homes, but you're living there. We dont't know when we will be allowed back home. My home near the 17th St. Canal is still flooded to the roof. They've only just finished damming it; now they have to pump it. It is supposed to take months. Be thankful that these kids have each other. Right now, they're all they have. And kids from the schools you listed normally would not socialize with each other. This is amazing that they'er even standing near each other without fighting. Give them time. Right now, they need to be with other people who understand what they're thinking, feeling, and experiencing. Because none of you understand what it's like to have your whole life stolen from you. You think you do, but you aren't even close. Let them be aloof with each other. In time, they will socialize. But right now, they need each other."
I was never called on again.
Geoff went to River Ridge to stay with Calie and her family around this point. I don't totally blame him for wanting to do that. I was suffocating in Morgan City. But I had nowhere to go. I had to stay. I wished he would have stayed. It was someone close to my age I could socialize with. I alienated the people in that one class just by speaking up for the children. But someone had to. I didn't want him to leave. Mark was going to go work in Baton Rouge a few days at a time. I would be all alone. I spent my days with my parents. We made day trips to Houma and Thibodaux to buy clothes and generators and pressure washers and the like. He intended to come back after a week, but that enver happened, because....
...The next week, while I was in class, my mother texted me saying that Jefferson Parish President Aaron Broussard had announced that people could begin returning to the parish according to zip codes that weekend. My parents were elligible for return that weekend. But I was going to stay in Morgan City a little longer.
The day my parents returned to Metairie was very sad. Mark came home for a couple of days after that, but then he went back to Baton Rouge. I was alone in Morgan City with my in-laws. My parents suggested moving in with them the next weekend. I was going to commute the hour to Thibodaux twice a week for school. Then Mark pointed out to me that the JP curfew was 8 p.m. My class ended at 7:30 p.m. I wouldn't get to the parish until 8:30, if I left on time. And I didn't have a JP I.D. I had an Orleans Parish one. I would not be able to enter the Parish. I resigned from Nicholls the next Monday. On Tuesday, we went to Patterson to visit the aunt who raised my father-in-law. She'd had a mild stroke, and we went to visit her. She looked okay, but was very run down. On the way back, they announced on the radio that the JP curfew was being extended to midnight. I dropped out for no reason.
But UNO was going to offer off-campus and online courses. I could enroll in those! The list came out, and only one of my four classes was offered. I would not be able to afford school next semester if I had to pay tuition again next semester, and my father, whose business met the same fate as my home, would not be able to pay for it again. So I made the executive decision to wait until the Spring semester to reenroll. That's very frustrating. It puts me further away from finishing.
That week, Hurricane Rita raged into the Gulf. She appeared to be making a beeline for either Texas or New Orleans. I panicked. I wanted my parents out of Metairie. My dad was convinced that the storm wasn't coming. It didn't, as you know, hit New Orleans. But suddenly, they added Morgan City to the cone of probability. I found out when Geoff texted me, asking me, "Are you wearing a T-shirt that says "I heart hurricanes" or something?" Mark was in Baton Rouge. People IMed me and e-mailed me, texted me and called me, all telling me to evacuate. My in-laws did not think we needed to evacuate. I called Mark in hysterics, begging him to come home. I didn't know where we could go. If I went to Baton Rouge to be with him, then we'd have to stay in the RV he was sleeping in. I didn't want to be there if the storm moved more easternly. I know what happens to mobile homes and campers in storms and tornados. I didn't want to go to Metairie. If the remaining levees were weakened any by Katrina, I was afraid Rita would do them in. I had a major panic attack. I had nowhere to go. I gassed up my mom's car, which my dad had finished cleaning and was now smelling sweet. As the outer bands of Rita blew ashore, I was pumping gas. The wind caught the door and slammed it shut on my arm, leaving a huge bruise. Mark asked his bosses about Rita, and what did they think he should do. They asked if his family was staying in Morgan City, and they told him, "Go be with them."
I forgot to mention my job and why I was moving back to be with my parents. My school opened a high school in a former elementary school in Metairie this year. My school, which was located in Mid-City, miraculously survived the storm. The priest stayed at the Church, taking in elderly parishoners who stayed. They were forced to leave....the parishoners climbed the bell tower to manually ring the church bells, then father celebrated Mass the Saturday after the storm. The National Guard came in and told them they had 15 minutes to get to the nearby bridge, or they would be arrested. Evacuation was mandatory. Father asked them to give him a few minutes to finish Mass and grab a bag. They told him okay. They were airlifted to the airport and wound up on a plane chartered by and containing Al Gore. They flew to Tennessee and were taken to a Catholic church there, where everyone was just wonderful to them. But although the school was not damaged, there was no electricity or running water, and the rest of the neighborhood was inaccessible. So, to get our children back where they belonged, they decided to move the elementary school to the high school in Metairie. It's about 3 miles from my parents house. The Archdiocese of New Orleans was laying off most of the teachers. But with us being a special needs school, as well as the darling of the head of the Catholic schools, plus having such a wonderful administration, they were able to keep all of the 80 percent returning faculty and staff. We were to report to work on Monday the 26th, then would caravan to Mid-City to move everything. We were vacating for a full year, and we would allow a damaged school to use our facility during our absence. I can't believe how lucky I was to end up at this school. Something was actually going my way for once since this whole ordeal began. I would be one of the lucky few to continue receiving my salary and insurance. For the rest of the Archdiocesan teachers, most of them would be let go October 1. I felt guilt and relief at this thought. I mean, I could have found a dinky job on my own to get money, but health insurance? That was not necessarily a given.
However, with Rita looming, was this in the bag? Stay tuned for Part 9: Battling a storm, Round 2.
Recap: We went back to Metairie for a day to check on my parents' house, which suffered mild damage (We would later learn that mild means $25,000 to the insurance company...) and my brother's, which almost flooded, had it not been raised 3-4 feet above the street, which had 3-4 feet of water in it.
That weekend, Mark and Mr. Loy, his dad, decided to rescue Mark's car from the parking garage. We had no transportation, so if his job called him back, what were we going to do? When we went to Metairie, we got my mom's car, which had water in the back footwells. But that was going to be for me to go back and forth to Nicholls for school. Mark spoke with his bosses, who said that they had set up in Baton Rouge, and as soon as he could get there, he had a job. So on Saturday morning, Mark and Mr. Loy got in the white pick-up, which could blend in with rescue workers, grabbed Mark's press pass, and decided to try their luck. When they got to the first military checkpoint, the guy told them, "If you have a press pass, you can go pretty much anywhere." They drove on. It got increasingly hard to get into the city. The second checkpoint, the guys leaned in to savor some of the truck's air conditioning. South Louisiana is so humid and miserable, especially in the summer. These poor, wonderful men were standing in the blazing heat and humidity in fatigues, working so hard to help us, and my F-I-L was more than happy to do them that small courtesy.
Detour after detour cropped up. Streets were blocked by trees, water, and houses knocked off foundations. It took them a lot longer than it should have to reach the garage. We got phone calls every now and then updating us on their progress. We got increasingly anxious. Finally, the phone rang again. It was Mark.
"We're in the garage, and the car is fine. The tires have air, the gas tank is full, the windows are intact, and all of our stuff is inside."
I was overjoyed. That meant our wedding album, our photo albums, my childhood favorite stuffed animals, one of Mark's guitars, my bound copies of The Nicholls Worth and Mark's KNSU tapes, plus our yearbooks, were safe. I cried.
When they went to leave, there was a convoy of mail trucks, presumably bringing local mail to safer places. We later learned everything went to Houston until Hurricane Rita came, then it was bounced to Baton Rouge, then BACK to Houston, and was finally forwarded slowly. Anyway, the convoy was huge. Mr. Loy cut into line, with Mark following. There was only one way out of the city, so they were stuck in the convoy for quite some time. They stopped for a little while, and the guy in the mail truck behind them got out to stretch his legs. He came up to the window and said, "Man, if I'd known you were U.S. Mail, I'd have let you in line easier!" Mr. Loy laughed. "Well, we aren't. We're just trying to get the hell out of here." "I hear you!"
When they pulled up at the house, I was so relieved. We started unloading the car. Then, it hit me: we were unloading everything we owned. That was it. All of our worldly belongings fit into the one car. That was a harsh reality I wasn't entirely prepared to face. Mr. Loy doesn't say much about the trip, other than that "It's way worse than they show on TV."
A new thought occurred to me around this point. We are the new face of homeless. Thanks to FEMA, the Red Cross, my forumers, and my uncle, we were able to buy a lot of clothing. To see us walking down the street, there were no indications that we were homeless. Unless you count the blank stares and the hangdog looks.
I don't think I addressed the blank stares. But, even today, almost three months after Katrina, it happens. If you haven't spoken to one of us, you can't possibly understand the look. It's a far off stare used only when thinking about or talking about what happened to the city or yourself or friends or family. It involves staring stoically into space, focusing on nothing, speaking in a strange, almost monotone voice frought with bewilderment, melancholy, fear, and confusion. I caught myself doing it one day, then noticed that almost everyone I spoke to did the same thing. It's a haunting, ghostly sight to behold. And even now, I see it and catch myself doing it.
On Wednesday, we sat outside the Bayou Vista Wal-Mart in an Allstate tent. We waited for about an hour, then found out that I would get my full coverage on my 1994 Toyota Corolla, because I had comprehensive coverage. However, we only had renter's insurance. Flood insurance was not offered to us. In fact, we thought we couldn't get it as renters. We have discovered, too little too late, though, that flood IS available to renters. Good to keep in mind for whenever we get our own place. However, as we only had renter's insurance, we learned that unless the house collapses on us, will will get nothing. I have never before wished so hard that my house would collapse. Unbelievable.
Thursday, my parents and Geoff went back to rip out the carpeting in my parents' house. I was unable to help because I had class, and I would not have made it back in time. This time, I had a horrible night at school. The teacher said, "No one wants to do special ed anymore, so we aren't going to cover that." She also said, "Schools use technology for the sake of using technology. It doesn't help the students. Instead, it's a crutch." So I raised my hand and talked about the special needs school where I teach, how we allow dyslexic and dysgraphic students to use a personal word processor called an AlphaSmart in order to get their words across. It's a brilliant tool...even for kids who can write well....it hooks up to the computers and transfers data...so there is no waiting in line for the two computers in our classroom. The teacher's reaction? "Well, that's just a Band-Aid approach. That won't help them in the real world." Then she moved on and didn't talk to me again.
Until...
A man in my class, who is a preacher, and a teacher at a public high school down there, brought up that the New Orleans children were not socializing with the other kids. That they were not mingling. He couldn't understand it. He walked up to a group of them and asked if they had all known each other before transferring there. They said no. They had gone to McMain, Archbishop Rummel, O. Perry Walker, Newman, and some other schools. If you know ANYTHING about New Orleans-area schools and neighborhoods, you would know that ordinarily, kids from these schools would NEVER be caught dead talking to each other. He went on for a few more minutes. Other people in the class voiced their assent. I raised my hand and waited patiently. Eventually, the professor called on me.
I addressed that conversation. I said, "Actually, you need to let these kids be alone. Right now, they need each other. Because if Katrina didn't happen to you, then you don't get it. Yes. You all evacuated. Yes, some of you have damage to your homes. But look at where you are and what your damage was. You complained about your uprooted tree. You complained about missing shingles from your roof. Yes. That is inconvenient. Yes, that is an expensive thing to fix. However, these kids have lost their homes. Their posessions. Their transportation. Their schools. Their friends and family, either to our new diaspora or to storm-related deaths. Their parents' jobs. Their way of life. Their sense of security. And none of you get it. Yes, everyone here is this region has been accommodating. Usually warm, friendly, and welcoming. But you all don't get it. You're back at work. Back at school. You maybe lost electricity for a few hours. It may be months before we have electricity again. You have minor damage to your homes, but you're living there. We dont't know when we will be allowed back home. My home near the 17th St. Canal is still flooded to the roof. They've only just finished damming it; now they have to pump it. It is supposed to take months. Be thankful that these kids have each other. Right now, they're all they have. And kids from the schools you listed normally would not socialize with each other. This is amazing that they'er even standing near each other without fighting. Give them time. Right now, they need to be with other people who understand what they're thinking, feeling, and experiencing. Because none of you understand what it's like to have your whole life stolen from you. You think you do, but you aren't even close. Let them be aloof with each other. In time, they will socialize. But right now, they need each other."
I was never called on again.
Geoff went to River Ridge to stay with Calie and her family around this point. I don't totally blame him for wanting to do that. I was suffocating in Morgan City. But I had nowhere to go. I had to stay. I wished he would have stayed. It was someone close to my age I could socialize with. I alienated the people in that one class just by speaking up for the children. But someone had to. I didn't want him to leave. Mark was going to go work in Baton Rouge a few days at a time. I would be all alone. I spent my days with my parents. We made day trips to Houma and Thibodaux to buy clothes and generators and pressure washers and the like. He intended to come back after a week, but that enver happened, because....
...The next week, while I was in class, my mother texted me saying that Jefferson Parish President Aaron Broussard had announced that people could begin returning to the parish according to zip codes that weekend. My parents were elligible for return that weekend. But I was going to stay in Morgan City a little longer.
The day my parents returned to Metairie was very sad. Mark came home for a couple of days after that, but then he went back to Baton Rouge. I was alone in Morgan City with my in-laws. My parents suggested moving in with them the next weekend. I was going to commute the hour to Thibodaux twice a week for school. Then Mark pointed out to me that the JP curfew was 8 p.m. My class ended at 7:30 p.m. I wouldn't get to the parish until 8:30, if I left on time. And I didn't have a JP I.D. I had an Orleans Parish one. I would not be able to enter the Parish. I resigned from Nicholls the next Monday. On Tuesday, we went to Patterson to visit the aunt who raised my father-in-law. She'd had a mild stroke, and we went to visit her. She looked okay, but was very run down. On the way back, they announced on the radio that the JP curfew was being extended to midnight. I dropped out for no reason.
But UNO was going to offer off-campus and online courses. I could enroll in those! The list came out, and only one of my four classes was offered. I would not be able to afford school next semester if I had to pay tuition again next semester, and my father, whose business met the same fate as my home, would not be able to pay for it again. So I made the executive decision to wait until the Spring semester to reenroll. That's very frustrating. It puts me further away from finishing.
That week, Hurricane Rita raged into the Gulf. She appeared to be making a beeline for either Texas or New Orleans. I panicked. I wanted my parents out of Metairie. My dad was convinced that the storm wasn't coming. It didn't, as you know, hit New Orleans. But suddenly, they added Morgan City to the cone of probability. I found out when Geoff texted me, asking me, "Are you wearing a T-shirt that says "I heart hurricanes" or something?" Mark was in Baton Rouge. People IMed me and e-mailed me, texted me and called me, all telling me to evacuate. My in-laws did not think we needed to evacuate. I called Mark in hysterics, begging him to come home. I didn't know where we could go. If I went to Baton Rouge to be with him, then we'd have to stay in the RV he was sleeping in. I didn't want to be there if the storm moved more easternly. I know what happens to mobile homes and campers in storms and tornados. I didn't want to go to Metairie. If the remaining levees were weakened any by Katrina, I was afraid Rita would do them in. I had a major panic attack. I had nowhere to go. I gassed up my mom's car, which my dad had finished cleaning and was now smelling sweet. As the outer bands of Rita blew ashore, I was pumping gas. The wind caught the door and slammed it shut on my arm, leaving a huge bruise. Mark asked his bosses about Rita, and what did they think he should do. They asked if his family was staying in Morgan City, and they told him, "Go be with them."
I forgot to mention my job and why I was moving back to be with my parents. My school opened a high school in a former elementary school in Metairie this year. My school, which was located in Mid-City, miraculously survived the storm. The priest stayed at the Church, taking in elderly parishoners who stayed. They were forced to leave....the parishoners climbed the bell tower to manually ring the church bells, then father celebrated Mass the Saturday after the storm. The National Guard came in and told them they had 15 minutes to get to the nearby bridge, or they would be arrested. Evacuation was mandatory. Father asked them to give him a few minutes to finish Mass and grab a bag. They told him okay. They were airlifted to the airport and wound up on a plane chartered by and containing Al Gore. They flew to Tennessee and were taken to a Catholic church there, where everyone was just wonderful to them. But although the school was not damaged, there was no electricity or running water, and the rest of the neighborhood was inaccessible. So, to get our children back where they belonged, they decided to move the elementary school to the high school in Metairie. It's about 3 miles from my parents house. The Archdiocese of New Orleans was laying off most of the teachers. But with us being a special needs school, as well as the darling of the head of the Catholic schools, plus having such a wonderful administration, they were able to keep all of the 80 percent returning faculty and staff. We were to report to work on Monday the 26th, then would caravan to Mid-City to move everything. We were vacating for a full year, and we would allow a damaged school to use our facility during our absence. I can't believe how lucky I was to end up at this school. Something was actually going my way for once since this whole ordeal began. I would be one of the lucky few to continue receiving my salary and insurance. For the rest of the Archdiocesan teachers, most of them would be let go October 1. I felt guilt and relief at this thought. I mean, I could have found a dinky job on my own to get money, but health insurance? That was not necessarily a given.
However, with Rita looming, was this in the bag? Stay tuned for Part 9: Battling a storm, Round 2.
Friday, January 07, 2005
When keepin' it real goes wrong....
So I'm going to be vague on this because I don't want this person (who won't know this is here) to know I said it, but I have to get it off my chest because I got really embarrassed and I feel bad.
So this person I know thought that he/she...I'll call this person "Pat..." had been exposed to a disease that can be kinda deadly and was feeling bad, so I looked up on the Internet the causes, etc. (Don't worry....it was a false alarm because the original sick person apparently doesn't have this deadly diease.) So I'm reading along, and one thing the site says is that other viruses in a person can cause it to happen. Including herpes. So, I say, "Uh-oh, Pat.....better quit sleeping around!" And Pat says. "I have herpes!!!" And I say, "Shut up." And Pat says, "No, seriously. I got it from my ex, Jordan. (I love gender-neutral names....) Jordan was my third, I was Jordan's 300th, practically."
Pardon me while I scream like Howard Dean.
How do you get out of something like that? As I told Kate, no more bringing circle jokes into the unsuspecting public. Sheesh. I'm mortified. And I am willing to bet Pat was, too.
In other karmic news, though, yesterday, a kid I will refer to as "Surfer chick" and I were building a popsicle house at work. She said, "Hey, I'm going to give you horns, okay?" I'm thinking in terms of bunny ears.
Oh, how wrong I was.
SHE GLUED A FLIPPIN' POPSICLE STICK TO MY HAIR!!!!!
Yes, to my hair. With so much glue, it soaked all the way through to my scalp. So I went to wash it out, but it was too far back for me to see. So I went to Jean's office, where i found Nijel, too. I said, "You know, there are days when I love my job, and days that make me want to quit. Today is one of those days." I turned around and showed them my hair. "Know any ways other than getting in a shower and actually washing my hair to get glue out of it?" They didn't, of course.
So I just had to let it dry. Then, I obsessed over picking the glue out as it dried. I looked like I needed 42 bottles of Selsun Blue. It was all flaking on my chocolate colored shirt and everything. Surfer chick and one of the Rachels helped. Ok...attempted to help. All they did was remove chunks of my hair. It hurt so bad.
Then, I get home. And I am in the kitchen, talking to Mark, when I knock over the stack of Christmas cards on the counter. He's holding Lily. As I bend over to pick up the cards, she gets wiggly, jumps onto the china cabinet, misses/bounces off, and LANDS ON MY HEAD!!!
A FLIPPIN' CAT FELL ON MY HEAD!!!
It's rainin' cats...hallelujah it's rainin' cats, meow meow!
On her way down, she clawed my right arm, and I have a puncture wound now.
Then, we were taking down our Christmas stuff, and I got behind the tree to get the rear ornaments. I leaned over to unplug the lights, and I smacked my head on the corner of the windowsill. It left a red mark. Today, it feels bruised, but you can't really see it. However, I never realized how often one touches one's forehead throughout the day. Everytime I push my hair out of my face....every time I rest my head on my hands....Torture.
So, I think I've paid my dues for the herpes joke attempt.
Incidentally, Pat is okay with it. Surfer chick was banished to the Game Room yesterday until she drew me a card with Cartman on it. It was hilarious. Cartman was saying, "I uh, I uh, screw you guys, I'm going home." Under that, it said, "If he won't say sorry, then I will. I'm sorry!" On the inside was a drawing of the back of my head with a popsicle stick stuck to it. Under that, it said, "It wasn't funny" and had an insert arrow pointing to the word, "That," which was written above wasn't and funny. It said on the next page, You're cooler than chocolate and black nail polish, and those are pretty cool. I love you, Aunt Mae." All was forgiven, It's hanging on my fridge. Lily is fine. And my head still hurts. And Mark? Mark's still laughing at that series of unfortunate events. Bum.
So this person I know thought that he/she...I'll call this person "Pat..." had been exposed to a disease that can be kinda deadly and was feeling bad, so I looked up on the Internet the causes, etc. (Don't worry....it was a false alarm because the original sick person apparently doesn't have this deadly diease.) So I'm reading along, and one thing the site says is that other viruses in a person can cause it to happen. Including herpes. So, I say, "Uh-oh, Pat.....better quit sleeping around!" And Pat says. "I have herpes!!!" And I say, "Shut up." And Pat says, "No, seriously. I got it from my ex, Jordan. (I love gender-neutral names....) Jordan was my third, I was Jordan's 300th, practically."
Pardon me while I scream like Howard Dean.
How do you get out of something like that? As I told Kate, no more bringing circle jokes into the unsuspecting public. Sheesh. I'm mortified. And I am willing to bet Pat was, too.
In other karmic news, though, yesterday, a kid I will refer to as "Surfer chick" and I were building a popsicle house at work. She said, "Hey, I'm going to give you horns, okay?" I'm thinking in terms of bunny ears.
Oh, how wrong I was.
SHE GLUED A FLIPPIN' POPSICLE STICK TO MY HAIR!!!!!
Yes, to my hair. With so much glue, it soaked all the way through to my scalp. So I went to wash it out, but it was too far back for me to see. So I went to Jean's office, where i found Nijel, too. I said, "You know, there are days when I love my job, and days that make me want to quit. Today is one of those days." I turned around and showed them my hair. "Know any ways other than getting in a shower and actually washing my hair to get glue out of it?" They didn't, of course.
So I just had to let it dry. Then, I obsessed over picking the glue out as it dried. I looked like I needed 42 bottles of Selsun Blue. It was all flaking on my chocolate colored shirt and everything. Surfer chick and one of the Rachels helped. Ok...attempted to help. All they did was remove chunks of my hair. It hurt so bad.
Then, I get home. And I am in the kitchen, talking to Mark, when I knock over the stack of Christmas cards on the counter. He's holding Lily. As I bend over to pick up the cards, she gets wiggly, jumps onto the china cabinet, misses/bounces off, and LANDS ON MY HEAD!!!
A FLIPPIN' CAT FELL ON MY HEAD!!!
It's rainin' cats...hallelujah it's rainin' cats, meow meow!
On her way down, she clawed my right arm, and I have a puncture wound now.
Then, we were taking down our Christmas stuff, and I got behind the tree to get the rear ornaments. I leaned over to unplug the lights, and I smacked my head on the corner of the windowsill. It left a red mark. Today, it feels bruised, but you can't really see it. However, I never realized how often one touches one's forehead throughout the day. Everytime I push my hair out of my face....every time I rest my head on my hands....Torture.
So, I think I've paid my dues for the herpes joke attempt.
Incidentally, Pat is okay with it. Surfer chick was banished to the Game Room yesterday until she drew me a card with Cartman on it. It was hilarious. Cartman was saying, "I uh, I uh, screw you guys, I'm going home." Under that, it said, "If he won't say sorry, then I will. I'm sorry!" On the inside was a drawing of the back of my head with a popsicle stick stuck to it. Under that, it said, "It wasn't funny" and had an insert arrow pointing to the word, "That," which was written above wasn't and funny. It said on the next page, You're cooler than chocolate and black nail polish, and those are pretty cool. I love you, Aunt Mae." All was forgiven, It's hanging on my fridge. Lily is fine. And my head still hurts. And Mark? Mark's still laughing at that series of unfortunate events. Bum.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Dove Promises are the DEVIL!
The devil, I tell you!
I bought some to put in candy bowls for our Christmas get-together which got cancelled because we got snowed in in the M.C., and since Mark isn't into them, I'm left to do battle with them on my own. Ugh. Hello, cellulite!
SO, here's Over's feedback on the previous post:
"lol..you make me sound like such the picky asshole! :)
"see, the intrinsic problem with renaming under to over is that overusage of the name. you'll say over21 jeff, and some people will think you mean me, and some will think you mean under. and no matter how much you try to make them update their mindset, it will never truly be solved that way.
"my proposal? wait til i'm 30, and then change the names. then we can still be over and under, with ages, except then it'll be over30jeff and under30geoff. no confusion, and accurate readings.
"but you're the creative one. all i ask is that i dont have the word Fart in my title."
So e-mail me and let me know what you think.
Remind me to tell you one of the most foot-in-mouth stories ever later on...
I bought some to put in candy bowls for our Christmas get-together which got cancelled because we got snowed in in the M.C., and since Mark isn't into them, I'm left to do battle with them on my own. Ugh. Hello, cellulite!
SO, here's Over's feedback on the previous post:
"lol..you make me sound like such the picky asshole! :)
"see, the intrinsic problem with renaming under to over is that overusage of the name. you'll say over21 jeff, and some people will think you mean me, and some will think you mean under. and no matter how much you try to make them update their mindset, it will never truly be solved that way.
"my proposal? wait til i'm 30, and then change the names. then we can still be over and under, with ages, except then it'll be over30jeff and under30geoff. no confusion, and accurate readings.
"but you're the creative one. all i ask is that i dont have the word Fart in my title."
So e-mail me and let me know what you think.
Remind me to tell you one of the most foot-in-mouth stories ever later on...
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
'Cause I'm a LIIIIIAAAAAARRRRRRR!
So, I have some time, and here I am. I lied. You get me at least this once more before the year ends.
I'll start with a holiday wrap-up.
Work with a hangover #1 and work exhausted #1: My Kate is here. We had a party for her, complete with Lance's food and Lance's alcohol. Word to the wise: never let a man with a serious love of the drink fix you a drink. He made me an apple martini that I think is still scalding my esophagus.
Work exhausted #2: We went to Alicia and Kurt's on Tuesday that week to celebrate Caroline's birthday with fresh baked cookies and a showing of "Napoleon Dynamite." That movie ruled. Whaddaya know...you CAN make a friggin' hilarious movie without gross-out humor!
Work with a hangover #2 and work exhausted #3: We went to '80s night at One Eyed Jack's. Yes, Devon, the Morrissey look-alike was there. But no Dead or Alive. Must have been too cold for them.
I broke out of jail free by taking a half day on Friday. First, there were snow flurries in the morning. We bundled up the kids...hats...coats....gloves....scarves...and one pair of mittens. But, wouldn't you know it, as soon as we got out there, the flippin' snow had stopped. Waste of a trip.
Then, I learned that in order to get out of a grocery store alive on Christmas Eve, one must play Quarterback. Sheesh. I actually plowed down some old people just to buy candy for my grandparents-in-law. Wishing I hadn't in retrospect. Very glad I pawned off that ugly-ass steal-a-gift item that I got at the office Chanukkah party. It was a plaque thingy...hand-painted....that said, "Chocolate lovers know that life is sweet!" Well, in my book, if you're the type of person to display plaques like, "Grandchildren are God's way of compensating us for growing old" in your kitchen, then you should love that sort of thing. So I pawned that piece of crap onto her. She says she liked it. I hope she didn't.
We started the night at Maw Maw and Pops' house, where we dined on such delicacies as chicken salad sandwiches and ham sandwiches, made from pre-packaged meat, and snacky items. We were the only ones who had to open gifts, simply because one branch of the family left early, and so everyone did the exchange two nights previous. So everyone sat down to boredly watch us open our gifts. We scored with the third season of (Everybody...in a deep, gravelly voice) "24" and "Elf." Mark got a cool music trivia game. The cats got lots of gifts. And then there was me.
I AM SO ANGRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What did my grandmother-in-law give me for Christmas??? First off, the lesser sins: we established long ago that I hate pink, and that no one should ever buy me anything pink. So imagine my dismay at opening the big box (she doesn't wrap things individually...she gives you a whole box full of stuff) full of pink??? She obviously can't decide whether I'm 12 or 68, because she bought me pajamas that were bright pink and say "Angel" and some stupid slogan all over them, and an old lady night gown with a fuschia housecoat. Ever see that episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" where Marie gives Debra one to match hers? Well, I got one to match all of the women in the family. Yes, hideous and kind of offensive...but.....
I cried Saturday night over this one....She gave me Dr. Phil's new book, "Family First," on how to raise a "phenomenal family." ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RUDEST. PRESENT. EVER!!!!!!! First off, we work cruddy little jobs with zero benefits and hardly any pay. Second of all, I'm about to start grad school. And third of all, we've only been married 2 1/2 years, and we're only 25!!! It was all I could do to keep from yelling, throwing the book at her, and walking 90 miles home in sleet. I mean, if I was a fan of Dr. Phil, then I could see giving me the book. But I'm not. Even if he does look like my dad. But she clearly gave me this book as a big hint that she wants great-grandchildren ASAP. Keep on waiting, lady. Because she doesn't know it, but I don't want to have children. It'll be a cold day in her grave before she gets great-grandchildren from these loins.
I thought maybe I'd overreacted to this, but when I tell it to people, they get angry for me. Which makes it worse, because I'm realizing how justified I am. Eff bees.
We went to midnight Mass, which I only stayed awake during because I felt it was my wifely duty to slap Mark's thigh once in a while to wake him up. The priest spoke like Emo Phillips. But he was fat, so it was in a slightly lower octave. And it was so weird to walk into midnight Mass at midnight and have our pick of seats. Dang. You have to get to SPN by 11 p.m. or you have to stand. No Chrisssamiss Daaaayyy, though. Denied.
We woke up Christmas morning to be told by my MIL that it had snowed. We looked outside, and sure enough....it was a white Christmas!!!
There were icicles on everything and just a smidgen of snow on the ground. It sleeted all morning, then turned to snow. Full-out snowflakes! We were eating lunch at his grandparents' house, and I was the only one who was seated perfectly so that I could see through the doorways to the back porch, where I noticed it was coming down hard and was all snow. So we interrupted dinner to have a snowball fight! It continued snowing and we got snowed in!! It was only like 2 inches, but south Louisiana isn't prepared to handle snow. All roads leading back to New Orleans were shut down. Too many bridges. Most of the ride down to my in-laws is mostly through swamp areas. We were stranded with no clean clothes or underwear. Wal-Mart, Rite Aid, CVS, and the grocery stores were all closed. Stupid podunk town!!! We had to wash our underwear and clothes that night. Luckily, we'd spent the night Friday, so we had pajamas. But all we had were the clothes on our backs, our pajamas, and the dress clothes for church.We couldn't leave until almost 2:30 Sunday afetrnoon because we were waiting for roads to open. But here in New Orleans, you can hardly tell it had snowed.
At work, our playground is always in the shade, so there was some snow left Monday morning. We had a snowball fight at work this morning with the kids. I totally nailed a girl I hate. But it's in the upper 50s today. And it'll be in the mid-70s this weekend. Go figure.The worst part? I had my camera out to bring with me Friday night, and I said, "What am I going to take a picture of?" So I left it HOME. My in-laws took a bunch of pics, though. And, when we got to my parents' house yesterday for a belated Christmas celebration (even sadder, we were expecting to be home Christmas night, so we left our gifts to each other at home, and we didn't get to exchange them until last night!!), what did they give us but a digital camera???? Grrrr.......
We got a bunch of gift cards for Christmas, and some hot chocolate mix, and a stir-fry pan, and Chappelle's Show season 1, and a cool caller-ID/answering machine dual phone set from my side of the family, to name a few things. Yeah...who has the cooler family? But, to be fair, his parents gave us the recliner. To Mark, I gave the Metallica history book, "America: the Book" by those crazy kids at The Daily Show, a Wonder Woman figure (long story), a South Park T-shirt, and a cool nice shirt. He gave me a scarf, the new CD from Muse, a chord book and the Weezer tab book because he's going to teach me to play guitar, and a gorgeous amethyst necklace. Yeah...who's the cooler spouse...HINT: not me!
Work with a hangover #3 and work with exhaustion #4: Calie and Geoff brought us to Nick's bar and we met Kate, Caroline, and Kurt there. It was fun and all, but not a place I'd like to frequent.
Work exhausted #5: Went to see "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" with Kate, Caroline, Keith, Alicia, Kurt, Gootee, and some of his family members while Mark worked a crappy shift. It was good, but I prefer Tennenbaums. Hung out at Starbucks later. Kate dropped me off, and we talked for a while. Still had to shower. Blah.
I hate my job. I've got an application for Starbucks...anyone else know anywhere else that's hiring? Stop me before I go postal. Life pretty much sucks right now. I read something online earlier about how when people ask this guy what the best year of his life is, he always says, "This one, because we haven't seen next year yet." Well, I don't see it that way. My answer is, "Hopefully next year, because the last few have been utter crap." Flip.
I'll start with a holiday wrap-up.
Work with a hangover #1 and work exhausted #1: My Kate is here. We had a party for her, complete with Lance's food and Lance's alcohol. Word to the wise: never let a man with a serious love of the drink fix you a drink. He made me an apple martini that I think is still scalding my esophagus.
Work exhausted #2: We went to Alicia and Kurt's on Tuesday that week to celebrate Caroline's birthday with fresh baked cookies and a showing of "Napoleon Dynamite." That movie ruled. Whaddaya know...you CAN make a friggin' hilarious movie without gross-out humor!
Work with a hangover #2 and work exhausted #3: We went to '80s night at One Eyed Jack's. Yes, Devon, the Morrissey look-alike was there. But no Dead or Alive. Must have been too cold for them.
I broke out of jail free by taking a half day on Friday. First, there were snow flurries in the morning. We bundled up the kids...hats...coats....gloves....scarves...and one pair of mittens. But, wouldn't you know it, as soon as we got out there, the flippin' snow had stopped. Waste of a trip.
Then, I learned that in order to get out of a grocery store alive on Christmas Eve, one must play Quarterback. Sheesh. I actually plowed down some old people just to buy candy for my grandparents-in-law. Wishing I hadn't in retrospect. Very glad I pawned off that ugly-ass steal-a-gift item that I got at the office Chanukkah party. It was a plaque thingy...hand-painted....that said, "Chocolate lovers know that life is sweet!" Well, in my book, if you're the type of person to display plaques like, "Grandchildren are God's way of compensating us for growing old" in your kitchen, then you should love that sort of thing. So I pawned that piece of crap onto her. She says she liked it. I hope she didn't.
We started the night at Maw Maw and Pops' house, where we dined on such delicacies as chicken salad sandwiches and ham sandwiches, made from pre-packaged meat, and snacky items. We were the only ones who had to open gifts, simply because one branch of the family left early, and so everyone did the exchange two nights previous. So everyone sat down to boredly watch us open our gifts. We scored with the third season of (Everybody...in a deep, gravelly voice) "24" and "Elf." Mark got a cool music trivia game. The cats got lots of gifts. And then there was me.
I AM SO ANGRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What did my grandmother-in-law give me for Christmas??? First off, the lesser sins: we established long ago that I hate pink, and that no one should ever buy me anything pink. So imagine my dismay at opening the big box (she doesn't wrap things individually...she gives you a whole box full of stuff) full of pink??? She obviously can't decide whether I'm 12 or 68, because she bought me pajamas that were bright pink and say "Angel" and some stupid slogan all over them, and an old lady night gown with a fuschia housecoat. Ever see that episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" where Marie gives Debra one to match hers? Well, I got one to match all of the women in the family. Yes, hideous and kind of offensive...but.....
I cried Saturday night over this one....She gave me Dr. Phil's new book, "Family First," on how to raise a "phenomenal family." ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RUDEST. PRESENT. EVER!!!!!!! First off, we work cruddy little jobs with zero benefits and hardly any pay. Second of all, I'm about to start grad school. And third of all, we've only been married 2 1/2 years, and we're only 25!!! It was all I could do to keep from yelling, throwing the book at her, and walking 90 miles home in sleet. I mean, if I was a fan of Dr. Phil, then I could see giving me the book. But I'm not. Even if he does look like my dad. But she clearly gave me this book as a big hint that she wants great-grandchildren ASAP. Keep on waiting, lady. Because she doesn't know it, but I don't want to have children. It'll be a cold day in her grave before she gets great-grandchildren from these loins.
I thought maybe I'd overreacted to this, but when I tell it to people, they get angry for me. Which makes it worse, because I'm realizing how justified I am. Eff bees.
We went to midnight Mass, which I only stayed awake during because I felt it was my wifely duty to slap Mark's thigh once in a while to wake him up. The priest spoke like Emo Phillips. But he was fat, so it was in a slightly lower octave. And it was so weird to walk into midnight Mass at midnight and have our pick of seats. Dang. You have to get to SPN by 11 p.m. or you have to stand. No Chrisssamiss Daaaayyy, though. Denied.
We woke up Christmas morning to be told by my MIL that it had snowed. We looked outside, and sure enough....it was a white Christmas!!!
There were icicles on everything and just a smidgen of snow on the ground. It sleeted all morning, then turned to snow. Full-out snowflakes! We were eating lunch at his grandparents' house, and I was the only one who was seated perfectly so that I could see through the doorways to the back porch, where I noticed it was coming down hard and was all snow. So we interrupted dinner to have a snowball fight! It continued snowing and we got snowed in!! It was only like 2 inches, but south Louisiana isn't prepared to handle snow. All roads leading back to New Orleans were shut down. Too many bridges. Most of the ride down to my in-laws is mostly through swamp areas. We were stranded with no clean clothes or underwear. Wal-Mart, Rite Aid, CVS, and the grocery stores were all closed. Stupid podunk town!!! We had to wash our underwear and clothes that night. Luckily, we'd spent the night Friday, so we had pajamas. But all we had were the clothes on our backs, our pajamas, and the dress clothes for church.We couldn't leave until almost 2:30 Sunday afetrnoon because we were waiting for roads to open. But here in New Orleans, you can hardly tell it had snowed.
At work, our playground is always in the shade, so there was some snow left Monday morning. We had a snowball fight at work this morning with the kids. I totally nailed a girl I hate. But it's in the upper 50s today. And it'll be in the mid-70s this weekend. Go figure.The worst part? I had my camera out to bring with me Friday night, and I said, "What am I going to take a picture of?" So I left it HOME. My in-laws took a bunch of pics, though. And, when we got to my parents' house yesterday for a belated Christmas celebration (even sadder, we were expecting to be home Christmas night, so we left our gifts to each other at home, and we didn't get to exchange them until last night!!), what did they give us but a digital camera???? Grrrr.......
We got a bunch of gift cards for Christmas, and some hot chocolate mix, and a stir-fry pan, and Chappelle's Show season 1, and a cool caller-ID/answering machine dual phone set from my side of the family, to name a few things. Yeah...who has the cooler family? But, to be fair, his parents gave us the recliner. To Mark, I gave the Metallica history book, "America: the Book" by those crazy kids at The Daily Show, a Wonder Woman figure (long story), a South Park T-shirt, and a cool nice shirt. He gave me a scarf, the new CD from Muse, a chord book and the Weezer tab book because he's going to teach me to play guitar, and a gorgeous amethyst necklace. Yeah...who's the cooler spouse...HINT: not me!
Work with a hangover #3 and work with exhaustion #4: Calie and Geoff brought us to Nick's bar and we met Kate, Caroline, and Kurt there. It was fun and all, but not a place I'd like to frequent.
Work exhausted #5: Went to see "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" with Kate, Caroline, Keith, Alicia, Kurt, Gootee, and some of his family members while Mark worked a crappy shift. It was good, but I prefer Tennenbaums. Hung out at Starbucks later. Kate dropped me off, and we talked for a while. Still had to shower. Blah.
I hate my job. I've got an application for Starbucks...anyone else know anywhere else that's hiring? Stop me before I go postal. Life pretty much sucks right now. I read something online earlier about how when people ask this guy what the best year of his life is, he always says, "This one, because we haven't seen next year yet." Well, I don't see it that way. My answer is, "Hopefully next year, because the last few have been utter crap." Flip.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Have a seat...your memo will be right with you.
Yayyyy our recliner is coming tonight!!!!!!!!!!! YAYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!! And the in-laws come through.... We wanted a recliner for the den, because, as anyone who has ever been to our house knows, it's impossible to entertain. One sofa, some metal folding chairs, and the straight-backed kitchen chairs? Not fun.
The chair is lovely. As the name implies, it reclines. And it swivels. So you can spin around and see who's talking to you.
It's a sage green, and it's comfortably squishy, yet well-supporting. Whew. There is nothing comfortable to sit in or lay on in our house. The mattress on our bed sinks in because it's too soft and it hurts my back. The sofa is too wide in the seat, and the cushions reject you. And the kitchen chairs are fine for dining, but to watch a movie or hang out in? Not fun.
The coolest part? It's a microfiber chair. This means it is COMPLETELY STAIN-RESISTANT. Do you KNOW what this means to me????? Do you know about my spasticity??? Ask my family. They lived with it forever. Ask Mark. He shakes his head at me on a daily basis. Ask Roman. He got to see it up close and personal in trip camp last summer. I fell in a hole on the streets of Memphis.
Walking in Memphis.....I got my feet 10 feet underground.....
Apparently, we could write an entire essay on the chair, and with a little soap and water, get it spotless again. Perhaps I will move this blog to the chair. Maybe, instead of Post-It Notes, I'll leave Mark messages on the chair. "Don't forget to take out the veal if you want dinner tonight. And don't even THINK about sitting here until the dishes are done."
The chair is lovely. As the name implies, it reclines. And it swivels. So you can spin around and see who's talking to you.
It's a sage green, and it's comfortably squishy, yet well-supporting. Whew. There is nothing comfortable to sit in or lay on in our house. The mattress on our bed sinks in because it's too soft and it hurts my back. The sofa is too wide in the seat, and the cushions reject you. And the kitchen chairs are fine for dining, but to watch a movie or hang out in? Not fun.
The coolest part? It's a microfiber chair. This means it is COMPLETELY STAIN-RESISTANT. Do you KNOW what this means to me????? Do you know about my spasticity??? Ask my family. They lived with it forever. Ask Mark. He shakes his head at me on a daily basis. Ask Roman. He got to see it up close and personal in trip camp last summer. I fell in a hole on the streets of Memphis.
Walking in Memphis.....I got my feet 10 feet underground.....
Apparently, we could write an entire essay on the chair, and with a little soap and water, get it spotless again. Perhaps I will move this blog to the chair. Maybe, instead of Post-It Notes, I'll leave Mark messages on the chair. "Don't forget to take out the veal if you want dinner tonight. And don't even THINK about sitting here until the dishes are done."
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
I bet they'll pick the goat.
On Monday, I was working at the front desk, and found out about two momentous events happening simultaneously. Both equally thrilling, both quite memorable.
First, Sen. Joe Lieberman was coming to talk to the kids and light the menorah. His granddaughters are students. Anyway, I got to meet him...one of the first to do so....at the desk. His son was with him, and he gave a personal introduction. He said, "This is Aimee (stupid Blogger won't let me put my accent, yet it let me do it as my title...so I'm going to bold and italicize all of my accented e's from now on.). She runs the Kids Konnection program that the girls go to." And apparently I get glowing reviews by the girls at home, because Sen. Lieberman said, "Oh, they love that Konnection!" Score one for me.
At the same time he was due to arrive, J3's mom was bringing in some goats for animal show and tell. Their names are Jack and Jill, and they were only 6 days old. THEY WERE SO CUTE!!!!! They weren't much bigger than Lily, and not much smaller than Shazzy. They were very docile and very light...I got to hold Jack for a second because Salad Tosser was losing her grip on him.
And out of the two events, which one will the kids remember most?
I bet they pick the goats.
First, Sen. Joe Lieberman was coming to talk to the kids and light the menorah. His granddaughters are students. Anyway, I got to meet him...one of the first to do so....at the desk. His son was with him, and he gave a personal introduction. He said, "This is Aimee (stupid Blogger won't let me put my accent, yet it let me do it as my title...so I'm going to bold and italicize all of my accented e's from now on.). She runs the Kids Konnection program that the girls go to." And apparently I get glowing reviews by the girls at home, because Sen. Lieberman said, "Oh, they love that Konnection!" Score one for me.
At the same time he was due to arrive, J3's mom was bringing in some goats for animal show and tell. Their names are Jack and Jill, and they were only 6 days old. THEY WERE SO CUTE!!!!! They weren't much bigger than Lily, and not much smaller than Shazzy. They were very docile and very light...I got to hold Jack for a second because Salad Tosser was losing her grip on him.
And out of the two events, which one will the kids remember most?
I bet they pick the goats.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
David Lee Roth lights the menorah....
And so do James Caan, Kirk Douglass, and the late Dinah Shore-ah.
And lately, so do I! Well, I don't touch the real one. But I do color in the flames on a paper one each day at work.
I like Chanukkah. I love gelt (especially the dark chocolate), I love latkes, dreidel is fun, and standing with the kids as we light the menorah together is so much fun. I like buying Chanukkah gifts for baby Ben. I love seeing the kids each afternoon and hearing about/seeing what they got for Chanukkah, and I like their anticipation about going home to get their next gift. Today, the Salad Tosser (it's a dance she made up, I swear) asked me what I got for Chanukkah last night. I told her I don't celebrate Chanukkah. She said, "Why not? I celebrate Chanukkah and Christmas. You can, too!" "But my family isn't Jewish," I said. "That's okay. you can still celebrate it. Just do it here with us!" How cute and warm and fuzzy. I love how accepting these kids are of our differences, you know? Mirit wished me a happy Chanukkah a few minutes ago, and said, "I can say that because I count you as one of us. You're around Jews like 24/7, so you count." Why can't all people in the world be this accepting? Sigh.
I finished my Christmas shopping today!!! YAYYY. Now I just have to do Mark's birthday.
Sorry I'm not funny today, but I started working out again last night and I'm tired and sore and my brain kinda hurts. I'll think of a humorous topic for tomorrow.
And lately, so do I! Well, I don't touch the real one. But I do color in the flames on a paper one each day at work.
I like Chanukkah. I love gelt (especially the dark chocolate), I love latkes, dreidel is fun, and standing with the kids as we light the menorah together is so much fun. I like buying Chanukkah gifts for baby Ben. I love seeing the kids each afternoon and hearing about/seeing what they got for Chanukkah, and I like their anticipation about going home to get their next gift. Today, the Salad Tosser (it's a dance she made up, I swear) asked me what I got for Chanukkah last night. I told her I don't celebrate Chanukkah. She said, "Why not? I celebrate Chanukkah and Christmas. You can, too!" "But my family isn't Jewish," I said. "That's okay. you can still celebrate it. Just do it here with us!" How cute and warm and fuzzy. I love how accepting these kids are of our differences, you know? Mirit wished me a happy Chanukkah a few minutes ago, and said, "I can say that because I count you as one of us. You're around Jews like 24/7, so you count." Why can't all people in the world be this accepting? Sigh.
I finished my Christmas shopping today!!! YAYYY. Now I just have to do Mark's birthday.
Sorry I'm not funny today, but I started working out again last night and I'm tired and sore and my brain kinda hurts. I'll think of a humorous topic for tomorrow.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
I could go for some yellow cake....with chocolate icing.
Just don't drop that...
So I was away for a few days. Don't expect me to do stuff on the weekends. And I was at work all day yesterday and today.
I don't care much for holidays, except that holidays = time off from work. I'm just crotchety like that, I guess. But what I DO like is that people come in town. The Wonger is due here quite soon, and my Kate is coming very soon. Yayyyy!!! People I miss! Par-tay!
Mark and I were discussing Christmas music tonight. Specifically, how Christmas music is often depressing. Ever heard "The Christmas Shoes?" Look it up. I dare you not to bawl. And I'm not just crying because it is country music. I find all Christmas music to be sort of sad, and it brings tears to my eyes, so I do not listen to it. But why do Christmas songs have to be so depressing in subject matter, i.e. the aforementioned song?
There's one Christmas song, though, that brings tears of laughter to my eyes. The church my parents go to has a midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, and it's a REAL midnight Mass, not some 10 p.m. rip-off like Mark's parents' church. Anyway, they play this song that's got a calypso beat to it EVERY year. And this same old guy from the choir has this as his solo EVERY year. And he sings in a monotone baritone with a fake Island accent. This is a pretty non-Islander guy, too. I mean, he's as far removed from teh Islands as he could be. And he has a really obnoxious voice. And he pronounces it "Chrisssss-a-misssss Dayyyyy." And there's all sorts of weird instruments going on. Every year, my family nudges one another and chokes on laughter. And every year, at the end of Mass, the priest includes a special thank you to the choir for being extraordinary as usual, and points the guy out and everyone applauds. Except for us. We snort with laughter and poke each other in mock dismay as we cover our own giddiness. This year will be weird for me, though, because we'll be with the in-laws and I won't get to participate in this. Ah, well. Such is life.
Kate's listed on IMDB!!! She's gonna make it after allllllll!
So I was away for a few days. Don't expect me to do stuff on the weekends. And I was at work all day yesterday and today.
I don't care much for holidays, except that holidays = time off from work. I'm just crotchety like that, I guess. But what I DO like is that people come in town. The Wonger is due here quite soon, and my Kate is coming very soon. Yayyyy!!! People I miss! Par-tay!
Mark and I were discussing Christmas music tonight. Specifically, how Christmas music is often depressing. Ever heard "The Christmas Shoes?" Look it up. I dare you not to bawl. And I'm not just crying because it is country music. I find all Christmas music to be sort of sad, and it brings tears to my eyes, so I do not listen to it. But why do Christmas songs have to be so depressing in subject matter, i.e. the aforementioned song?
There's one Christmas song, though, that brings tears of laughter to my eyes. The church my parents go to has a midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, and it's a REAL midnight Mass, not some 10 p.m. rip-off like Mark's parents' church. Anyway, they play this song that's got a calypso beat to it EVERY year. And this same old guy from the choir has this as his solo EVERY year. And he sings in a monotone baritone with a fake Island accent. This is a pretty non-Islander guy, too. I mean, he's as far removed from teh Islands as he could be. And he has a really obnoxious voice. And he pronounces it "Chrisssss-a-misssss Dayyyyy." And there's all sorts of weird instruments going on. Every year, my family nudges one another and chokes on laughter. And every year, at the end of Mass, the priest includes a special thank you to the choir for being extraordinary as usual, and points the guy out and everyone applauds. Except for us. We snort with laughter and poke each other in mock dismay as we cover our own giddiness. This year will be weird for me, though, because we'll be with the in-laws and I won't get to participate in this. Ah, well. Such is life.
Kate's listed on IMDB!!! She's gonna make it after allllllll!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)