Goggles? Check. Respirator? Check. Extra gas? Crap. No extra gas. Once again, gasoline is in short supply, and those precious red, plastic cans are sold out. Oh, yeah. And I have to figure out the best way to drive around 2 million de-evacuating (devacuating?) Houston-ites.
Rita has blown over, and the trip is back on. I'm heading east tomorrow (I hope) to Nicholson, Mississippi, an hour outside of New Orleans where I'll meet up with John and Zack, and we'll form a sort of neo-apocalyptic Three Musketeers of reconstruction, wielding our hammers with fury and might. Or something like that.
At various moments, this thing has felt like it must be a different century. Mass population migrations? Packing provisions? Leaving the womenfolk and children behind?* This stuff doesn't happen anymore, right? When Katrina blew through, it rolled back the clock and created a new frontier in the middle of the Gulf South with New Orleans at it's epicenter, a no-man's-land, surrounded by concentric rings of progressively increasing normalcy. In the passing weeks, the normalcy has gradually flowed back in (although Rita briefly put that on hold). Now some things are really back up and running. Others are still in the stone age.
I'm looking forward to going back, and taking the first little step towards rebuilding our New Orleans lives, even though I know it won't be easy seeing my home like that.
And I have no idea when my next post will be. Check back in. If I don't manage to update in the interim, I'll definitely have plenty to say when I get back in a few days.
* This is not a comment on my gender politics. It's just how things have worked out.