Aug 24, 201209:43 AM
Living, loving, laughing, and learning in the new New Orleans
The Rainy Season
This is the street outside of my office last week. I had an umbrella for once.
Photo courtesy of Sarah Ravits
As I write this, it’s raining. And, in fact, it has been raining every single day this month, it seems. I have had to wade to work on more than one occasion. I don’t even try to make outdoor plans this time of year, and my umbrella always seems to be exactly where I don’t need it (in my car if I’m in my office; in my office if I’m in my car). But given that we’re at the peak of the really bad part of hurricane season, I will gladly take a daily rainstorm over the worse alternatives.
Growing up, I have a fuzzy memory of picking up tree branches on DeSoto Street after a tropical storm in, probably, 1984 or ’85; I remember being devastated in 1989 when the threat of Hurricane Hugo meant my mid-September birthday party had to be rescheduled; and in 1992, I was furious that my friends who started school early got time off for Hurricane Andrew whereas I didn’t get to miss school because my school didn’t start until after Labor Day (there was no logic to this, obviously, but I was 11 and looking for proof that my life was unfair). In other words, hurricanes affected my life only in the very pettiest of ways when I was a kid.
Then, the autumn I went away to college, there was Hurricane Georges. If anything, I was irrationally jealous again; I had this bizarre sense that something exciting was happening back home, and I wasn’t a part of it. I wanted to be evacuating or stockpiling canned goods and batteries; instead I was taking a French quiz on the plus-que-parfait. When I came back home for Thanksgiving, everyone was still telling their hurricane stories – “We couldn’t find a hotel till Memphis”; “We stayed at the Hyatt”; “We evacuated with six dogs and a cat” – and I sat and listened with growing annoyance.
And then, of course, there was Katrina. I dodged that bullet, too, but this time I at least had enough sense to be grateful and to sit and listen to hurricane story after hurricane story with my stomach in knots and tears in my eyes.
Gustav hit the summer we moved back, and I suddenly had my own evacuation plans to make: Ruby had just been discharged from the hospital for what we initially feared was a brain tumor (I have now blocked the name of what it actually was, although I know it started with the word “benign” – way to not bury the lede, people who name diseases! – and also included the word “cerebellar,” which would have been a whole lot scarier if it hadn’t been preceded by the word “benign”), and we had about one day after bringing her home from Children’s to decide what to do. In the end, we went to St. Louis and stayed with Ruby’s grandparents. They are lovely people and were very gracious about opening their house to us, my mother and three dogs over 100 pounds – but you could also tell that this, to them, was further proof that no one should ever live in New Orleans.
I almost thought they were right for a second. After all, it was my very first summer back and just three years after Katrina, and here we were evacuating. But then Gustav passed us by, and we returned home and immediately went to Bacchanal with some dear friends, the kinds of friends I suspect you can only make in New Orleans, and we stayed up too late and drank wine and listened to music and told our evacuation stories while the wind whipped down from the levee and the banana trees swayed all around us. “Worth it,” I thought. “Totally worth it.”
And now it’s been another four years, and all we’ve had is a couple of tropical storms. (Side story: Last summer, my husband assured me he was taking care of provisions when Tropical Storm Lee was headed our way. I went home, expecting bottled water and canned beans, to find that he had stocked the fridge with four bottles of champagne and a tub of Langenstein’s Better Cheddar dip. Ultimately, it was not a bad way to ride out a mild storm, but I think if Hurricane Isaac becomes more of a threat, I will be the one procuring the necessities.)
I am not, as yet, really worried about Isaac. A friend of mine commented yesterday, “I don’t want a bad hurricane or anything, but a few days off would be pretty nice,” and I nodded my head in agreement – which just goes to show how quickly you can forget, how quickly hurricanes can again just become a petty thing, a minor annoyance or an excuse for an unplanned vacation.
What are your plans if Isaac turns this way?