Katrina, Katrina

I lost my voice after the storm;
paralyzed chords without resonance.
Only gasps, sighs, and silence -
silence as dark and deep
as the nights.
My lips tried to shape the sounds,
as I exhaled muted whispers:
but my breath was taken away,
Not even a rasp -
No utterance to convey
the fear, the anger, the despair.
No way to describe what remained,
the sepia images of death and desolation
and shadows;
or how it felt to survive.

Words came back in emotional streams,
black ribbons of mourning,
fluid if not fluent:
Poems and songs playing
slow, solemn tribute;
Dirges and prayers of thanksgiving;
Petitions for strength and for life;
Willful, determined promises;
Oaths to generations
past, present, and future.

Until Spirits stirred
in the cemeteries and abandoned homes,
and we gathered - neighbors, friends,
families and strangers -
to observe our sacred traditions:
We lowered the coffins
and raised our voices -
returning home with
songs of triumph, hope,
and resurrection.

jjm 11/20/05


For a generation of Americans who did not live through the civil rights movement or the Viet Nam war or Watergate, Katrina was their apocalypse.

- Ted Kennedy 11/17/05

Katrina

The five year anniversary. . . hardly a cause for celebration. But we were beckoned, nonetheless, to center stage in a Katrina redux - a morose revue produced and directed by mainstream media. For one week, we were asked to reflect and relive and report - to sate the public’s curiosity.

Immediately after the storm, before the flood devastated our City, I was confident that we would, that we could, rebuild. I told Brian Williams that we would, because we are resilient. We have “good bones.” Tom Brokaw told me that we would, because “it’s New Orleans.”

And, to some extent, we were right. Those who have returned and resumed some semblance of their former lives, did so on their own for the most part. They did it with their own resources – sweat equity or life savings – and they pulled themselves up by their own bootstraps. We were – and are – still blessed to know the kindness of strangers who have invested their time, talents, and resources to rebuild homes and lives. Unfortunately, those who (for whatever reasons) were depending on government aid and waiting for government solutions - are still waiting.

Five years is not enough time to distance ourselves from the fear, anger, horror, despair . . .

Five years is not enough time to rebuild, repair, recover . . .

Five years is just enough time to remove the stench, to adapt to the stomach churning, heart wrenching surges of optimism and disappointment . . .

Five years is too much time to endure the bureaucratic incompetence and stupidity.

Courage is not the absence of despair; it is, rather, the capacity to move ahead in spite of despair.

- Rollo May

A Day at the Movies

It’s as though the Gulf of Mexico is, once again, the stage for a “Cold War” showdown. Unlike the Cuban missile crisis, however, it is hard to get a clear sighting on our enemy. No, as this drama plays out, it’s more like The Manchurian Candidate, though maybe not quite so macabre. Nevertheless, it certainly captures – as did the original manuscript and movie (1962) – television’s role in broadcasting public affairs and shaping opinion and the circus atmosphere that surrounds American politics.

Maj. Bennett Marco (played by Frank Sinatra) was plagued by recurring nightmares. My intelligence informs me with far less drama and surrealism that appearances are not what they seem. So, let us consider this script: If BP Oil is the “enemy,” then government employees (MMS) were the double agents, used by the enemy – like poor brainwashed Sgt. Raymond Shaw. And, top ranking officials play both sides . . . no one’s hands are clean.

Just look at the cast of characters, the conspiracies and covert operations, the propaganda and efforts to control “public information,” the reactionary factions, the uneasy alliances: BP and the other contractors, all levels of government and their legions, industrialists, environmentalists, scientists, engineers, media, and the victims themselves. Try to piece the puzzle together.
At each turn, the plot thickens. Each player, with his own agenda, attempts to persuade, recruit, subvert or politicize . . . using the media to enhance his personal image, to elevate his position, to protect his interests. And, the media, in turn, does the same.

All the while, the policy makers and “deciders” from every side deploy foot soldiers to the front lines, who – without their “uniforms” or identification badges – are citizens like you and me, merely “extras” doing their best given the limitations of their roles. Or, are they brainwashed zombies? Or, dupes sent to distract us? Or, are they willing accomplices, whose motives are as sinister as the faceless enemy’s?

I wager, by Christmas, there will be at least a dozen books published about the BP Deepwater Horizon disaster: eyewitness accounts, photo journals, scientific analyses broken down for the layman. And, someone will – if they don’t already – have movie rights.

All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. . .

-William Shakespeare

Summer’s for the Bugs

Amidst the uncertainty that defines our waking hours and restless nights in this summer of 2010 – the summer of “The Spill” – some things are constant. Some small things, at least.

This I know: summer is for the bugs!

Summer arrives with the junebugs, rattling around the porch light, clinging to the screen door, dancing to the tireless chorus of cicadas. Ancient scarabs heralding the changing season.

Countless grasshoppers – green, yellow and black, large, small – hide in the grass, emerging when my back is turned to devour my roses.

Of course, the mosquitoes have survived the winter and attack relentlessly, dictating when and how we can venture out of doors.

Thankfully, there are also the “mosquito hawks” - the dragonflies, with their gossamer, iridescent wings. Magical, mythical creatures.

All of these bring childhood memories to me – of long summer days and damp summer nights, in an era before air conditioning. Of sunny days that glowed, golden. Of three-dimensional-green woods with shady trails leading to the coulee – a magical setting for young imaginations.

My grandson will learn to mark the seasons and will recognize these harbingers of summer. Alas, lightning bugs have not survived decades of urbanization. I’d gladly trade a junebug or two for just one that he could hold in the palm of his hand and carry to the dark corner of the back yard in a mason jar to release with wishes and wonder.

Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight.

- Author Unknown

It's Time to Stop and Smell the Roses

Whew, just a month and a half ago, I was celebrating a new job and spring and music and life . . . then, like for so many others, everything went awry.

The loss of America’s largest and most productive wetlands and the devastating impact of the deepwater oil rig explosion on thousands of workers, residents, and families have become a palpable weight on my heart, my brain, my spirit. It’s hard to think or feel outside of this box.

But, in truth, I am relatively unscathed by this event. I may be inconvenienced, but my life hasn’t really changed. My anger and frustration are symptoms of “the caregiver syndrome” – not having answers and solutions, not being able to “make things better.” So, for me, it should be a predictable cost of doing business. I say this to convince myself. I can’t implode. If there’s a possibility of helping someone with real problems, I can’t get mired in my own sorry self.

So, this weekend, I took a fresh look at my world (while I was cutting the grass that hadn’t been tamed for two weeks). My neighbor cut my front lawn. My roses are still blooming. The grass feels good under my bare feet. My husband, my heart, listened to me for hours and sent me an email message – quoting The Little Prince. My grandson has 6 teeth and is still the most delightful gift in my lifetime. My dumb little Lhasa still makes me laugh out loud.

As shallow or mundane as this may seem, it helped me regain some semblance of perspective so that I can – maybe – fulfill my mission, or at least continue on the path.

Life could be vastly improved if we could count our blessings as self-actualizing people can and do, and if we could retain their constant sense of good fortune and gratitude for it.

- Abraham Maslow

Courage is not the absence of despair; it is, rather, the capacity to move ahead in spite of despair.

- Rollo May

PARADISE LOST

It’s only beginning. I know this. I don’t know (no one knows) how to deal with the long-term – the likelihood that a substantial part of Louisiana will physically disappear, and with it, the culture, industry, wildlife . . . no, I can’t deal with this.

But, daily, I “deal” with people who are immediately impacted – the real victims in this awful disaster. The people who won’t be able to come back or rebuild because the land and waters they live and work on have been taken away. I watch CNN and MSNBC, but rarely do their reports provide more than an underwater view of the oil “spill” – the rest is redundancy.

And, in our frenetic response to the oil, we’ve all but forgotten about the individuals who were on the rig, and their families. The dead and permanently damaged humans who were on the front line - the first tier of those impacted by this “incident.”

Tonight my husband (of 30 years) and I spoke briefly about the need for mental health/grief counseling – including counseling for the counselors. My beloved observed that, since the Deepwater Horizon BP Oil Disaster, "you've been drinking more, and you've been angry." My response was “I haven’t had time to drink more, but I sure as hell am angry.”

Finding the center of strength within ourselves is, in the long run, the best contribution we can make to our fellow men.

- Rollo May

Beached

Grand Isle, the Cajun Bahamas, only six square miles of land. Grand Isle, safe haven for Pirate Jean Lafitte. Grand Isle, the last populated Louisiana barrier island, first inhabited in the 1700’s. Grand Isle, home to 1,600 permanent residents. Grand Isle, at the edge of America’s largest and most productive estuary system.

Although Louisiana’s beaches don’t compare with the white sands of Florida, Grand Isle offers the comfort of family. It’s a community that has maintained its identity and integrity; that stubbornly refuses to succumb to adversity or commercialization. I hadn’t visited Grand Isle for nearly 45 years - until this year. This is my second visit in two weeks. I should be walking on the beach, playing in the surf. . .

But, this year is different. The beaches are closed. A stench fills the air. Commercial and charter fishing has been shut down. The community is besieged by media, transient workers, military, government and industry forces. The absence of children is noticeable. 2010 will not be remembered for its celebrations, fishing rodeos, its hurricanes, or the economic recovery that seemed so close. This is the year of the Deepwater Horizon BP oil catastrophe.

There won’t be family gatherings or picnics on the beach this Memorial Day. There won’t be shrimp or crab boils. Will it be any better for the 4th of July? Labor Day?

Hurricane season, starting June 1, will demand more than the usual wariness. This year, plumes of oil, mixed with chemical dispersant, pose a toxic threat. Even a minor disturbance in the Gulf . . . there’s no way to prepare this year.

But, here I am in my "official capacity" as a Business Continuity Consultant – with two listening ears and a shoulder to cry on, a smidgeon of common sense and a tad of technical assistance to offer. Somehow, it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be enough.

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.

- Dr. Seuss

Other Voices

The other voices I've been listening to these past weeks belong to commercial fishermen, deckhands, property owners and small business owners whose lives have been turned inside out by the Deepwater BP Oil disaster. Hard to wax romantic.

So, when I received this anonymous e-mail comment regarding my blog, I was amused inspite of the writer's apparent sarcasm. And, for a brief moment I stopped thinking about the inadequacy and ineptitude of the response to oil gushing into the Gulf.

(Thanks, Anonymous. I must admit I've never had so many other voices conversing at one time in my head. )

But then Victor Hugo asked, "Ou est ma chapeau?" Tillich responded, "What child of six has not asked himself the question 'where do I fit in to the totality of cosmic reality?'" To which Kris Kristofferson asked "Why me Lord?" To which I respond "Twas brillig in the slithey toves and Jesus loves me this I know." To which someone said "Silly rabbit!"

Anonymous

Make a Joyful Noise!

Jazz Fest weekend! New Orleans is saturated with sound - sensory overload! I end my day listening to classical music, unwinding, when the Cambridge Singers rush through airwaves into my living room. I'm overwhelmed. Tonight, I salute the masters of music, inspired at this hour by

When Mary Through the Garden Went by Sir Charles Villiers Stanford.

My God, what sweet sounds -
the choir’s timbre, voices
too pure to be mortal, these
unseen waves, sonic vibrations -
scintillating ephemeral
glimpses of the Spirit
formed by human lips
from the depth of human hearts.

The artist transfers a vision
from his mind’s eye
to canvas or clay,
using colors and textures
with masterful command
to create a tangible, tactile,
temporal object to hold
and behold. . .

Dancers leap and sway,
moving to the rhythms
and currents of musical scores,
creating visual expressions
of lyrical themes,
the pageantry of passion, life,
and death intersecting space
leaving no trace. . .

Ah, but, the composer’s gift
mystifies me most -
bringing order to the cacophony,
capturing and combining airs,
from inside his head, translating,
then encoding melody, harmony,
and tempo for other voices -
a sorcerer-magician whose
work exists in ether.

Try to remain with a feeling and see what happens. You will find it amazingly difficult. Your mind will not leave the feeling alone; it comes rushing in with its remembrances, its associations, its do’s and don’ts, its everlasting chatter. Pick up a piece of shell. Can you look at it, wonder at its delicate beauty, without saying how pretty it is, or what animal made it? Can you look without the movement of the mind? Can you live with the feeling without the word, without the feeling that the word brings up? If you can, then you will discover an extraordinary thing, a movement beyond the measure of time, a spring that knows no summer.

J. Krishnamurti, Commentaries on Living

Untitled

My soul is one
with the sun and sky,
the wind and mother sea.
My ancestors’ souls
intertwine with mine
beyond the galaxy.

How blessed I am
to have this time
to feel the sun’s warm rays,
the wind’s soft breath,
the sea’s salt waves,
on endless summer days.

I see my parents
and hold their hands,
in loving memories.
I’m thankful for
this mortal taste
of God’s Infinity.

We can speak without voice to the trees and the clouds and the waves of the sea. Without words they respond through rustling of leaves and the moving of clouds and the murmuring of the sea.

- Paul Tillich

A Gentle Awakening

After an unusually severe winter, Spring has arrived; not suddenly or abruptly with the turning of the calendar or the change to daylight saving time. No, Spring slipped in – as is her habit - softly, delicately.

As the days gradually grow longer and the temperature tiptoes toward lukewarm, the leaf buds on the oak appear - only the size of a squirrel’s ear at first. Clover blankets the still dormant lawn. A patch of sweet peas volunteer, seeded by last year’s vines, to bedeck the lattice fence behind the statue of St. Francis with pale green foliage and fragrant lavender blooms. The bulbs I planted in February pierce the soil with their slender blades – some will be daffodils, but I can’t remember what else I chose for the patio.

The azaleas show new leaves, but, within weeks, their greenery becomes obscured by pink and white blossoms. Over the course of the same weeks, I remove the remains of potted avocados and other casualties of winter, and trim back the ginger lilies and the banana that was a gift from a St. Louis guest. I place tiny begonias, petunias and impatiens in the planters and hanging baskets. The roses awaken, their new foliage almost wine-red, gradually moving across the color wheel to shades of green. The wisteria, still without leaves, fills vacant branches with cascades of sweet-scented blooms.

This Spring, we take measures of other subtle changes. Over the past three months, my grandson has mastered the arts of crawling, standing alone and walking. His first teeth emerge and give new character to his smile. He celebrates his first birthday in City Park’s Storyland. For myself, a long-awaited-not-entirely-new job moves me from the ranks of self-employed; it is my first full-time employment (with benefits) in over a decade. This change is imperceptible to the clients with whom I work.

As I rake the leaves for the last time, and dust off the lawn mower, I realize how precious these days are and how much I will miss Spring when she steps aside for Summer to take her place.

The sacred is in the ordinary, in one’s daily life, in one’s neighbors, friends and family, in one’s backyard.

- Abraham Maslow

Revaluing

In the private sector, for-profit businesses do what they do so they can make money! The object is to create profits for the principals – the owners and shareholders. This may be an oversimplification, but I think it’s a fair generalization. If it weren’t about profits, we’d call these businesses something else.

I get it. And, I’m all for it. But, I worry that businesses (i.e., the owners, shareholders, and managers) become so focused on the bottom line, that they become self-serving. Their purpose is to continually increase profits, salaries and bonuses. Their vision is to beat not only their competition, but also their own records so they can reap still higher benefits – even to outperform their peers within the organization.

In a recent article in The Nation, historian Tony Judt was quoted, when “asking ourselves whether we support a proposal or initiative, we have not asked, is it good or bad? Instead we inquire: Is it efficient? Is it productive?” He explained, this perspective is spawned from the “propensity to avoid moral considerations, to restrict ourselves to issues of profit and loss – economic questions in the narrowest sense.”

The author suggested that this prejudice is a relatively recent phenomenon, “haunting the United States and parts of Europe” for the past thirty years. Certainly, the deregulation of certain industries may have exacerbated the situation – as we’ve seen with the banking sector, but I’m afraid this compulsion to maximize private revenues over managing social risk or addressing a “greater good” isn’t so new. Until recent years, we’ve tolerated or turned a blind eye to “sweat shops,” pollution, and pernicious business practices – that allowed moguls to develop their dynasties, their private fiefdoms at the expense of others.

Maybe, in the aftermath of our economic collapse and our collective bankruptcy, we will say “Enough, already!” Maybe, as we rebuild our lives, we will restore some measure of social conscience in our business practices. Maybe, we will take this opportunity to revalue our motives, as they are the basis for our decisions. Maybe, we will be able to envision a more balanced, sustainable "marketplace." Maybe, we will be connected by a collective vision, and recognize the awesome power that comes from our hearts. Maybe, what “we” do will make a difference in what “they” do.

So let us then try to climb the mountain, not by stepping on what is below us, but to pull us up at what is above us, for my part at the stars; amen.

- M.C. Escher

Mardi Gras Masquerade

Unlike their country cousins,
Who modestly cover their limbs
With cloaks of Spanish moss,
Our brazen oaks line the Avenue,
Bedecked with shiny beads,
Chronicling Carnival’s festive nights,
Eagerly waiting, limbs outstretched,
Dressed for the next parade.

Happy Mardi Gras 2010!

The most beautiful and profound emotion we can experience is the sensation of the mystical.

- Albert Einstein

World Champs!!

The New Orleans Saints are Superbowl Champions. It takes my breath away.

If we did all the things we are capable of, we would literally astound ourselves.

- Thomas Edison

Business, Politics, Government

Strange bedfellows, indeed!

Corporations gaining more clout as “persons” with First Amendment rights! A slate of candidates for mayor of New Orleans boasting that they’ll clean up government, run the city like a business, and making pie crust promises (easily made, easily broken) that I’ve heard repeated every four years for most of my adult life! Elected officials and community “leaders” falling like dominoes!

It worries me that people seem to have forgotten their high school civics! Every time I hear someone argue that government should/could be run like a business – or that business management experience is a necessary credential for public office, I cringe. I don’t doubt that there are transferrable skills, but government is radically different from business – in structure, operations, and purpose. They don’t share the same mission!

The structure of our government – with separate and distinctly different branches – was designed for the very purpose of preventing any one individual or group from amassing such power as to usurp the power of the citizens. The legislative branch writes and enacts laws, approves/adopts budgets, and subsequently approves spending. The executive branch sets policy, initiates programs, proposes spending, and administers the daily operations. And, the judicial branch is responsible for administering (oft-times interpreting) the law and resolving legal conflicts.

So, here’s the problem with the notion of running government like you run a business. There are limitations imposed, presumably to protect the public trust, that dictate how the CEO (i.e., the Mayor) can conduct city “business.” For example, government is bound by public bid laws, legislative oversight, and civil service regulations. The simple act of purchasing office supplies or equipment is no longer so simple. The Mayor can’t tell his secretary to run to Office Depot because they’re having a sale! True, there is waste and inefficiency, but "cleaning house" is hard because civil servants are protected from the vagaries of politics (like teachers who earn tenure) and can’t be fired without cause (serious cause).

And that division-of-power thing between the executive and legislative branches means that the City Council members are not under the Mayor’s authority – they don’t work for the Mayor! They are not his minions! They are the counter-balance to the power of the Mayor’s office. The Council sets policy through the enactment of laws, subject to charter, federal and state constitutional restrictions. The Council approves the operating and capital budgets for the City, working from the recommendations of the mayor; and they continually monitor revenues and expenditures for local government operations (i.e., they monitor the administration's spending).

What about the pie-crust promises to lower taxes and “fix” our public schools? Well, the Mayor doesn’t have much authority to do anything about either of these issues. Property tax assessments are the distinct responsibility of another elected official – the Assessor. Although, in preparing annual budget proposals, the Mayor may recommend rolling back the millage, or suggest that the City doesn’t need to collect the full millage, such action must be “blessed” by the Board of Liquidation and the City Council. Likewise, the public school system is governed by a separate (elected) body, the School Board, that derives its power and authority from the State, not the Mayor! And the Recovery School District is even further from the Mayor’s dominion!

I guess my final thought on this is that our elected officials – the Mayor, the Council, the Assessor(s), the Judges – all of them – are making a choice to be public servants when they run for office. I'd like them to have at least an inkling of what that means and how it's done! They should hold our interests and needs – as citizens, natural persons – in their sights. (When I speak of “persons” that does not include corporations – that are creatures of the state, recognized as “entities” for purposes of taxation, contracts, and property ownership.) Their personal missions should be compatible with the big picture of why government exists: “to establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility. . . promote the general Welfare, etc.” The purpose of government is not to increase profits for the moneyed few; rather our representatives in government – our agents – should strive, ALWAYS, to be good stewards.

It’s ironic, I think, that the politicians who are in trouble with the law got in this position because of their “business” dealings!!!!

"Government is a trust, and the officers of the government are trustees; and both the trust and the trustees are created for the benefit of the people."

- Henry Clay

"The object of government is the welfare of the people."

- Theodore Roosevelt