The sweet smell of the spices slowing dancing together in the heat of the water. The rhythmic beat of the drums being played in the yard. The sound of the children laughing as they danced around tapping tambourines on their legs. Every car slowing to honk and wave as they drive by. I sat in Mack's yard today as he hosted us to a seafood broil and let my senses take it all in. This is what I image the Lower Ninth Ward is supposed to feel like. A community that centers around each other.
To Mack, it was what he called a small token of thanks for all that we've done this week at The Village. But as I watched the neighbors follow their noses around the corner and grab a plate of shrimp and turkey neck, I knew it was much more. I only hope the students saw it too. With everything he does, Mack shows that it takes more than constructing a house to rebuild a town. He shows how you need to sit down and talk with people to find out what they are really experiencing and what they really need in order to help them. In the middle of a neighborhood that has been almost silenced by the storm, Mack brings the sound of life by bringing the people together. It's an amazing thing to watch.
So on the eve of our last night of service for the week, I'm keeping holding tightly to the sounds, smells and sights of this afternoon because they are what I want to think of when I think about making a difference.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
The Value of Service
Our merry group of twelve are split into two service sites. Four of us are doing drywall on the house of a woman named Gwen. The other eight of us are working with Mack on The Village, the Lower Ninth Ward Community Center. When the bell rings at 5 p.m. each day, we meet up to dry back to Camp Hope. The four coming from Gwen's house inevitably show up with particles in their hair complaining of fighting over tools with the caddy girls who are also at their site. The remaining eight of us typically greet them while lounging in front of The Village talking with Mack. The drywallers are always upset that they've done "more work" than we have. Their complaining has become a joke; today we told them that Mack gave us money to go to the zoo after lunch.
All joking aside, it has got me thinking about the value of service. So many people feel like if you aren't sweating profusely or haven't pulled a muscle by the end of the day that the work you've done isn't worthwhile. And while I wish we had a bit more consistent of a flow at The Village, the work we are doing is laying the foundation for what will be the heart of this community. Isn't that worth just as much? I'm hoping I can get this group to see deeper than the surface labor to see what the bigger picture is of our work. And hopefully, this knowledge can be taken back to LMU so when they are considering service projects with their organizations, they can look beyond just where the biggest muscles are needed.
All joking aside, it has got me thinking about the value of service. So many people feel like if you aren't sweating profusely or haven't pulled a muscle by the end of the day that the work you've done isn't worthwhile. And while I wish we had a bit more consistent of a flow at The Village, the work we are doing is laying the foundation for what will be the heart of this community. Isn't that worth just as much? I'm hoping I can get this group to see deeper than the surface labor to see what the bigger picture is of our work. And hopefully, this knowledge can be taken back to LMU so when they are considering service projects with their organizations, they can look beyond just where the biggest muscles are needed.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
A Shift in Paradigm
So, a downfall of attending an AB Trip is staying at a camp where I am back to sharing nine showers with hundreds of other women. Being a bit of a germophobe and not having had to share a shower in ten years, it's a tougher adjustment than one might think. Especially when most of the stalls are covered in hair that other women have failed to pick up after themselves. And the ceilings are covered with daddy-long-legs and other such crawly critters. So, as I was racing through my shower yesterday (out of fear of touching something, not because of respect for the hot water quota), I realized that I just needed to shift my perspective for the week. Showering is not a luxury...it's a necessity. But come Saturday when I return to my lovely home, I may have to take a shower based on luxury just because I can!
A New Way to start the New Year
Almost ten years ago, Rosanna and I jumped into our fire red rented Dodge Neon and headed across the country for a 21 day adventure. Toward the end of our trip, we made a stop in good ol' N'Awlins. We pulled in late at night and stayed in one of the seediest hostels in which I've ever laid my head. We got up the next day, and fought through the exhaustion and the humidity to make our way into the French Quarter. After finding a new hotel, we walked through the streets of the Quarter and through the vendors of the French Market. We had a jambalaya dinner on a balcony overlooking Bourbon Street and treated ourself to a breakfast of beignets at the famous Cafe du Monde before heading out to our next location. Until three days ago, this was the only time I'd ever spent in New Orleans.
Now, here I write to you from The Village, a non-profit community center in the Lower Ninth Ward, whose mission it is to assist the people of this neighborhood to come home and become self-sufficient in this post-Hurricane Katrina world. Though still a work in progress, this place provides a little hope to a neighborhood whose devastation has barely begun to be healed.
Just driving from the airport to Camp Hope (our Habitat for Humanity home for the week), it was already clear to see how Katrina has left her mark in this area. We passed by neighborhoods where all of the houses that were see from the street were still boarded up. There are shopping centers where Sears, Blockbuster and Wal-Mart formerly mingled with mom & pop Po Boy shops, all of which are now ghostly versions of their former selves...barely-standing reminders of what one force of nature can do. I had an eery feeling the entire way down Judge Perez Highway. I knew I was in the suburbs of a major metropolitan area, but it felt more like I was in an abandoned village post a major war. Can I really be in America? Can it truly have been 3 1/2 years since this storm? Can our government really have done so little to help its citizens?
Before doing our part to make a difference in this community, my group and I headed down to the French Quarter to take in some sights. Most of the students had never been to NOLA before, so we wanted to fit in as much as we could. We jumped on the street car and rode down St. Charles St. to catch our walking tour of the Garden District. In my previous visit, my knowledge of New Orleans was limited to not much past the Quarter, so I was glad to see a new part of the city. And as we strolled to the front of the Ponchatrain Hotel and met Katie, the firey red-head of approximately 70 years, who was to serve as our tour guide, I knew this would be an enjoyable excursion. Katie relied on her animated features to brief us on the history of the area, including stories of some of the mansions and their previous and current inhabitants. People in the neighborhood waved their hellos because clearly Katie is a regular. But when the former state representative (and neighbor to John Goodman) stopped us to thank us profusely for coming to town to volunteer, I realized that this was no small deed we were doing. The people of New Orleans are so overwhelmingly thankful to all of the volunteers for every little bit that they do. The words and expressions are so genuine that it can't be denied that every little bit is truly making a different. And as we continued on the tour, I saw everything through new eyes. Every thank you we heard the rest of the day seemed to weigh more than any other words.
So, with my increased appreciation for the work we were doing, we set out for our first day of service. We drove into the Lower Ninth Ward, one of the hardest hit areas and one of the least assisted since the storm. We gathered at a small house to meet our service coordinators and were given our assignments. While four of our group went off to a woman's house to do sheetrock, the rest of us went down the street to meet Mack and learn about his dream for The Village. We arrived to the large metal building with little idea of what exactly we would be doing, and quickly were asked to help move some cabinets into a storage shed to protect them from some flooding that had occurred overnight from a major rain storm. Once the items were moved, we were on to trying to sweep the water out of the main room in the center. Before long, we were laying carpet in the future library area. As our hands were covered in glue and our eyes were strained from trying to match the seams of the tiles up, you could already feel how this place would one day be seen by the community. A place for the kids to come and sit instead of getting into trouble. A place for children to learn how to cook instead of learn how to be criminals. And all of this because of one man's vision and dedication: Amazing!
In the afternoon, after a brainstorming session with Mack, Heather (his donation's coordinator) took us on a tour of the neighborhood. She explained to us the meaning behind the markings on the fronts of the houses. During the storm, folks in boats sailed up to each house to search for survivors. An X indicated that the house had been search. The markings on top of the X indicated which agency had assessed the house. The markings to the left of the X indicated on what date the house was searched. And the markings to the right and below the X indicated how many people/bodies and pets were found in each house. Every house has one of these markings. Every house branded with the memory of this storm. And so few that have been erased of this tattoo.
Heather explained to us how many people who have been sent to live elsewhere after the storm are fighting to have the money to move home. Many barely received enough money from insurance companies to make any livable repairs to their houses, and since they are still paying their mortgage, they can't afford to make costly renovations. And if their grounds aren't maintained, the government places a notice on their front door giving them a court date to appear before their home is considered a blighted property. Well, if you're living in Austin, how are you supposed to know that there is a posting on your front door on El Dorado Street in New Orleans? How are you supposed to fight for your home if you aren't given a fair swing?
As I walked down the street, I couldn't help but be reminded of the townships in South Africa. These are communities that we learn about where justice is not being served and people are relying on the heart of the community to find renewal. The feeling is so similar here, except these are our neighbors. These are fellow Americans who many are turning a blind eye to because the media says everything is okay and because Mardi Gras can take place as usual.
And then Heather took us into a house that has not been touched at all since the day the storm hit. The front door wide open, we climbed the steps and were immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of mold. Couches, the living room table, curtains, a flat screen television, dishes, the fridge, chairs...all of it thrown together like a stew of furnishings. Someone's entire life left to rot under their fallen roof, damaged from the storm. The bedroom covered in books, shampoos, contents of the dresser...clothes still hanging in the closet. Picture frames and photo albums laying around the house. All of this proof that the family picked up to leave for what they hoped would be a couple of days, not forever. I stood among their belongings feeling helpless. I felt overwhelmed at the idea of having to gut the property; remove the belongings from their home. And I felt heart broken at the idea that these items have been left possibly forever. And as I considered what I was feeling, I imagined what it must feel like if I were the homeowners. What if this were my home? Would I have the strength to fight for it? I don't know.
What I do know is that right now I'm doing my part to fight for this community. Mack believes in the importance of the physical labor involved in creating the community center, but he also believes in the power of the networking and community outreach. He's helped me remember that it's just as important to get the word out about what little has been done in the Lower Ninth Ward and other areas since the storm. And 80% of what has been done has been accomplished by volunteers. When you see these houses firsthand and listen to these statistics, it makes sense why the thank yous are so heartfelt and genuine. Because even after 3 1/2 years, the volunteers are needed just as much now as they were on the first day.
Now, here I write to you from The Village, a non-profit community center in the Lower Ninth Ward, whose mission it is to assist the people of this neighborhood to come home and become self-sufficient in this post-Hurricane Katrina world. Though still a work in progress, this place provides a little hope to a neighborhood whose devastation has barely begun to be healed.
Just driving from the airport to Camp Hope (our Habitat for Humanity home for the week), it was already clear to see how Katrina has left her mark in this area. We passed by neighborhoods where all of the houses that were see from the street were still boarded up. There are shopping centers where Sears, Blockbuster and Wal-Mart formerly mingled with mom & pop Po Boy shops, all of which are now ghostly versions of their former selves...barely-standing reminders of what one force of nature can do. I had an eery feeling the entire way down Judge Perez Highway. I knew I was in the suburbs of a major metropolitan area, but it felt more like I was in an abandoned village post a major war. Can I really be in America? Can it truly have been 3 1/2 years since this storm? Can our government really have done so little to help its citizens?
Before doing our part to make a difference in this community, my group and I headed down to the French Quarter to take in some sights. Most of the students had never been to NOLA before, so we wanted to fit in as much as we could. We jumped on the street car and rode down St. Charles St. to catch our walking tour of the Garden District. In my previous visit, my knowledge of New Orleans was limited to not much past the Quarter, so I was glad to see a new part of the city. And as we strolled to the front of the Ponchatrain Hotel and met Katie, the firey red-head of approximately 70 years, who was to serve as our tour guide, I knew this would be an enjoyable excursion. Katie relied on her animated features to brief us on the history of the area, including stories of some of the mansions and their previous and current inhabitants. People in the neighborhood waved their hellos because clearly Katie is a regular. But when the former state representative (and neighbor to John Goodman) stopped us to thank us profusely for coming to town to volunteer, I realized that this was no small deed we were doing. The people of New Orleans are so overwhelmingly thankful to all of the volunteers for every little bit that they do. The words and expressions are so genuine that it can't be denied that every little bit is truly making a different. And as we continued on the tour, I saw everything through new eyes. Every thank you we heard the rest of the day seemed to weigh more than any other words.
So, with my increased appreciation for the work we were doing, we set out for our first day of service. We drove into the Lower Ninth Ward, one of the hardest hit areas and one of the least assisted since the storm. We gathered at a small house to meet our service coordinators and were given our assignments. While four of our group went off to a woman's house to do sheetrock, the rest of us went down the street to meet Mack and learn about his dream for The Village. We arrived to the large metal building with little idea of what exactly we would be doing, and quickly were asked to help move some cabinets into a storage shed to protect them from some flooding that had occurred overnight from a major rain storm. Once the items were moved, we were on to trying to sweep the water out of the main room in the center. Before long, we were laying carpet in the future library area. As our hands were covered in glue and our eyes were strained from trying to match the seams of the tiles up, you could already feel how this place would one day be seen by the community. A place for the kids to come and sit instead of getting into trouble. A place for children to learn how to cook instead of learn how to be criminals. And all of this because of one man's vision and dedication: Amazing!
In the afternoon, after a brainstorming session with Mack, Heather (his donation's coordinator) took us on a tour of the neighborhood. She explained to us the meaning behind the markings on the fronts of the houses. During the storm, folks in boats sailed up to each house to search for survivors. An X indicated that the house had been search. The markings on top of the X indicated which agency had assessed the house. The markings to the left of the X indicated on what date the house was searched. And the markings to the right and below the X indicated how many people/bodies and pets were found in each house. Every house has one of these markings. Every house branded with the memory of this storm. And so few that have been erased of this tattoo.
Heather explained to us how many people who have been sent to live elsewhere after the storm are fighting to have the money to move home. Many barely received enough money from insurance companies to make any livable repairs to their houses, and since they are still paying their mortgage, they can't afford to make costly renovations. And if their grounds aren't maintained, the government places a notice on their front door giving them a court date to appear before their home is considered a blighted property. Well, if you're living in Austin, how are you supposed to know that there is a posting on your front door on El Dorado Street in New Orleans? How are you supposed to fight for your home if you aren't given a fair swing?
As I walked down the street, I couldn't help but be reminded of the townships in South Africa. These are communities that we learn about where justice is not being served and people are relying on the heart of the community to find renewal. The feeling is so similar here, except these are our neighbors. These are fellow Americans who many are turning a blind eye to because the media says everything is okay and because Mardi Gras can take place as usual.
And then Heather took us into a house that has not been touched at all since the day the storm hit. The front door wide open, we climbed the steps and were immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of mold. Couches, the living room table, curtains, a flat screen television, dishes, the fridge, chairs...all of it thrown together like a stew of furnishings. Someone's entire life left to rot under their fallen roof, damaged from the storm. The bedroom covered in books, shampoos, contents of the dresser...clothes still hanging in the closet. Picture frames and photo albums laying around the house. All of this proof that the family picked up to leave for what they hoped would be a couple of days, not forever. I stood among their belongings feeling helpless. I felt overwhelmed at the idea of having to gut the property; remove the belongings from their home. And I felt heart broken at the idea that these items have been left possibly forever. And as I considered what I was feeling, I imagined what it must feel like if I were the homeowners. What if this were my home? Would I have the strength to fight for it? I don't know.
What I do know is that right now I'm doing my part to fight for this community. Mack believes in the importance of the physical labor involved in creating the community center, but he also believes in the power of the networking and community outreach. He's helped me remember that it's just as important to get the word out about what little has been done in the Lower Ninth Ward and other areas since the storm. And 80% of what has been done has been accomplished by volunteers. When you see these houses firsthand and listen to these statistics, it makes sense why the thank yous are so heartfelt and genuine. Because even after 3 1/2 years, the volunteers are needed just as much now as they were on the first day.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
pulled in multiple directions
recently, i've been feeling in the midst of a tug of war. i often find myself caught between feeling accomplished at work and feeling balance at home; between getting enough rest and getting enough exercise; between spoiling everyone i love and saving for a rainy day. but the area i've felt most stretched is making time for myself and making time for others. i've been given some feedback lately that there are folks with whom i work that feel hurt that i don't spend enough time with them outside of work. and while it's flattering to have people enjoy spending time with me, it can be difficult to put myself on the back burner because of fear of unintentionally hurting someone's feelings. this is also a bit different from another piece of feedback i received this semester about reminding myself that i don't have to be all things to all people. so which is it? (another place where i'm caught in the middle).
this is on my mind tonight because today i had to have a conversation because of this exact situation, and to add to the pull in two directions, it also involved dragging work into something personal, blurring the lines of something for me to which i've been so looking forward. fortunately, i was able to talk through all of what i was thinking and feeling with my supervisor, who really understood what i was feeling. she helped me realize that i needn't hold myself accountable for how everyone else feels because we have a number of people who take things too personally at times because they forget to see the bigger picture. it felt good to know that i wasn't selfish or uncaring to want to keep some things for myself. now if only everyone else could understand these things!
now i sit here wondering how to break the cycle and get out of the middle. and i fear this isn't possible without hurting people's feelings. but i'm trying to remind myself that i can't be responsible for other people's baggage. although, that's much easier said than done. so today i didn't break the cycle; instead i gave in to craziness. and now i can't help but wonder what i've perpetuated and when i'll start putting myself first.
this is on my mind tonight because today i had to have a conversation because of this exact situation, and to add to the pull in two directions, it also involved dragging work into something personal, blurring the lines of something for me to which i've been so looking forward. fortunately, i was able to talk through all of what i was thinking and feeling with my supervisor, who really understood what i was feeling. she helped me realize that i needn't hold myself accountable for how everyone else feels because we have a number of people who take things too personally at times because they forget to see the bigger picture. it felt good to know that i wasn't selfish or uncaring to want to keep some things for myself. now if only everyone else could understand these things!
now i sit here wondering how to break the cycle and get out of the middle. and i fear this isn't possible without hurting people's feelings. but i'm trying to remind myself that i can't be responsible for other people's baggage. although, that's much easier said than done. so today i didn't break the cycle; instead i gave in to craziness. and now i can't help but wonder what i've perpetuated and when i'll start putting myself first.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
a new hope
i left the gym today feeling lighter. not because i perspired my way through 8.5 miles on the bike, but because after i climbed the stairs to my polling place and voted in the 2008 presidential election. it was my fourth time voting in a presidential election, but for some reason, it felt different. it felt more inspiring. maybe it's because i truly feel excited about barack obama. or maybe it was the latte i treated myself to after my ballot was submitted. but either way, i took a deep breath and smiled at the world around me.
and now i go to bed, proud of my country for proving that you don't have to be an old, white man to be elected president of this great nation. and, regardless of your chosen candidate, i am proud of everyone i know for getting out to vote and play a role in this important day. the only way i could sleep more soundly was to know that californians chose NOT to vote hate and discrimination into our state constitution by putting limitations on the definition of marriage. unfortunately, i'm not sure that that's going to happen, but instead of laying here worrying about it, i think i'm going to take a deep breath and let the hope of it all be the louder voice in my head.
and now i go to bed, proud of my country for proving that you don't have to be an old, white man to be elected president of this great nation. and, regardless of your chosen candidate, i am proud of everyone i know for getting out to vote and play a role in this important day. the only way i could sleep more soundly was to know that californians chose NOT to vote hate and discrimination into our state constitution by putting limitations on the definition of marriage. unfortunately, i'm not sure that that's going to happen, but instead of laying here worrying about it, i think i'm going to take a deep breath and let the hope of it all be the louder voice in my head.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Inertia
What have you done today to fight the inertia?
This question is a new driving force in my life. I've been in a strong battle against lethargy for, well, 30 years now. And especially recently, it feels as if it's only gotten worse (or maybe I'm just attuned to it). And while knowing some of the medical reasons behind my battle does help on a cognitive level, it doesn't help me make any progress. So instead of being overwhelmed by the task of finding energy, I am trying to take it in small steps. So as long as once a day I do something to fight inertia, I feel like I'm chipping away at the larger daunting task.
So, what did I do today to fight inertia? I wrote a little, and my goal is to follow the writing with a little reading and a trip to the grocery store. Oh! And I checked my PO Box and went to the bank. Wow! I've done more than I realized. I'm calling today a victory in my battle!
This question is a new driving force in my life. I've been in a strong battle against lethargy for, well, 30 years now. And especially recently, it feels as if it's only gotten worse (or maybe I'm just attuned to it). And while knowing some of the medical reasons behind my battle does help on a cognitive level, it doesn't help me make any progress. So instead of being overwhelmed by the task of finding energy, I am trying to take it in small steps. So as long as once a day I do something to fight inertia, I feel like I'm chipping away at the larger daunting task.
So, what did I do today to fight inertia? I wrote a little, and my goal is to follow the writing with a little reading and a trip to the grocery store. Oh! And I checked my PO Box and went to the bank. Wow! I've done more than I realized. I'm calling today a victory in my battle!
Rain in California
What is it about rain in Southern California that makes students run out of their buildings, dancing and shouting? Yesterday, the skies opened for approximately seven solid minutes of actual rain drops, and immediately, four students from two different apartments shot outside as if gold was falling from above. It's actually an incredible sight to watch such a genuine reaction of joy to something that in other parts of the country is so common place...even dreaded. It was a moment that you realize that everything truly is relative.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)