How to make groceries in a pirogue

I went to a job interview yesterday where I was told that in Alabama, experience doesn’t matter. To work in the mental health field you have to have a bachelors in psychology or sociology. I could get a non-degreed position with the geriatric population, however they want a man for the job because of the lifting required. It’s not a job I would take anyway, bedpans aren’t my forte. It was quite disappointing, rather insulting, and just the blow I didn’t need. As it is now, I’m hoping the lady didn’t know what she was talking about. I know I’m more qualified than some kid fresh out of school, but its apparently the state’s rule not hers. Non-degreed positions pay about 15K per year. Well, piss on that.

To make myself feel better I promptly drove about an hour and 45 minutes to Huntsville on a whim to see Alabama A&M’s campus, the closest school that offers a masters in social work. It was a pretty campus, and the students seemed to be friendly as I stopped every five minutes to ask for directions here or there. I’m going to go ahead and apply, and the program would start this summer.

After consulting with my husband, who is steadily growing a business here in Florence, we decided that he will support us while I get the masters. We’ll just move somewhere halfway between Florence and Huntsville before school starts this summer. This made me feel much better. I especially felt better when he said Alabama would not be permanent, but just a good jumping off point.

I don’t mean to be down on Alabama, the people have been so nice to us. Of course, we’re white and straight. Some people do cross to the other side of the road if you’re tattooed, but I’ve heard that has let up in recent years. This is quite a culture shock. Some places don’t have the option of high-speed internet yet. Hence, I’m blogging this from Chris’s parents rather than where we’re staying. The only wine they serve at the bars is white zinfandel. And when I say bars, I’m referring to the two that are here. Everything is a chain, Chili’s, Applebee’s, etc. There’s a fairly sharp gender divide, where the women stick together and the men stick together. I can stay occupied if I am in school, but otherwise I’ll end up atop a watertower.

Here is a rather cryptic picture, that I felt was poignant. A flooded out hearse with the superdome in the background…I pass the superdome on my way to work everyday. It’s hard to imagine that it’s the place Chris and I had season tickets to watch the Saints.

Communications were slowly coming back, but evidence of how people needed to communicate before was evident in that messages were spraypainted on buildings, and business was conducted by cardboard signs on the side of the road.

The garage on this building reads, “Do not condemn, Call XXX_XXXX”

More examples of spraypaint and sign communication:

Pritchard Place was formerly beautiful old mansions. They burned to the ground, to add insult to injury.

Here are a few pictures of my friend Michelle’s old house, luckily she had already moved away, but I thought she’d be interested. Even a few feet of flood water means that the house at the very least will need to be gutted. These houses have mold growing over everything, floor to ceiling.

This house got the front blown off, it almost looks like a doll house now. The spray paint on the front is on all of the houses. It tells you when it was searched and by who. It also tells how many people died in the house. Most say zero, but I saw a few 1’s and 2’s.

This house’s roof was blown to the side and is resting on the neighbors roof.

Boats in strange places:

Here is an example of the growing trash barriers throughout the city as people arrived to clean up what was once their home.

I miss my city. It’s hard to believe it is October already. Chris and I have barely begun to put our lives back together. When I turned my keys in on my final day of work, I realized the only key I had left was to my car. My friend Molly was nice enough to let me keep her house key, which made me feel a little better. I don’t know what we’re doing. I just can’t wait until we have our own home again, and jobs. I hope in a year from now we can look back on this time and tell the story of how we made it through. At this point, though, we haven’t made it back to normal. It’s like a nightmare that you just can’t wake up from.

I’m back up in Florence, AL now. Away from the destruction, but not back to any sense of normalcy. I have pictures I’ll have to fool with to give you a sense of my journey back to NOLA.

Well, I have pictures that I will eventually put on my blog, but even those won’t really do it justice. The destruction here is unreal. I saw home video of a friend’s trip to St. Bernard parish yesterday that is indescribable. 80% of the New Orleans flooded. All of St. Bernard did. Everyone’s ceilings are sitting on the floor of their houses after falling from being waterlogged for so long. Boats are on top of roofs from when the flood subsided. Cars are standing on end.

Trash barriers on the sides of the roads grow every day. The smell in some places makes you wretch. Mail comes spurratically to Jefferson Parish. In Orleans, we stop by the post office because there is no mail yet. Garbage men are truly the unsung heroes of the world, and we cheer them whenever we see them.

Every intersection is a four way stop, and in some places you have to swirve to avoid a boat or perhaps a power line or tree limb. Traffic is returning now and getting bottlenecked at strange times, probably because they close down some roads periodically for work being done.

Life is starting to return and at first felt hopeful, but it weighs on me a little more everyday. A friend who has been working for FEMA said you get used to it after a while.

The bar and restaurant industry are the first to return. There is a swath of Orleans along the river that didn’t flood, and every bar or restaurant that has the staff to reopen is hopping. However, gas stations and grocery stores close about 7 or 8. So do stores like Wal-mart and Target.

Some areas of Orleans that don’t have power yet are as dark as the country at night. It’s pretty scary and has kept me from going out much in the city after dark. When I have gone out, I don’t stay out long because it just feels like I’m doing something dangerous.

I’m not sure yet when I’ll head back to Alabama.