Archive for May, 2011
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Vacations are great. Vacations are awesome. Vacations bring me joy, expand my life experience, save my sanity.
But, for me, no matter how much fun I’m having, no matter how delightful the company, no matter how awesome the weather, somewhere around the end of a week away, I feel it. It’s a niggle in the neck, a breath in the chest, a softening of the laugh lines—it’s the desire to be home. Not just to sleep in my own bed, use my own shower, and root through a closet instead of a suitcase but also to be in the city I love, to feel grounded among familiar surroundings, to return to family and friends.
I recently considered this sweet hankering for home in a whole new light.
Last week, I was on vacation in New Orleans. During the day, I was working with the St. Bernard Project.
No, it has nothing to do with large, cask-bearing dogs.
St. Bernard Project is a 501(c)(3) organization working to rebuild homes and lives of Katrina survivors. I can attest, from first-person experience, that these are good people doing things the right way for the right reasons. Using volunteer labor, they are able to rebuild an average-size home for just $15,000. (Which, in case you’re really bad at Math, is freakin’ incredible.)
St. Bernard Project’s namesake is St. Bernard Parish, which was devastated during Katrina. St. Bernard Parish was one of those close-knit communities, with families who had lived in the area for generations. Proud Americans. Good blue-collar folk who cut their own grass, throw a good potluck party, help out their neighbors, know how to stretch a paycheck, and love a football team that wears black and gold.
Yeah. Pretty hard, as a Pittsburgher, not to feel the affinity.
In August 2005, the hurricane had passed and they were mostly okay. Then, the levees broke. And the water rose—fast. And every home in St. Bernard Parish was flooded. Every single home. Population-wise, imagine flooding every home in Etna—as well as every home in Aspinwall and Allison Park and Glenshaw.
Mother Nature certainly had her hand in this, but despite the personafication, weather has no capacity for intent nor intelligent thought. On the other hand. The government left citizens stranded, first on rooftops, then in noxious FEMA trailers. Contractors took the last of people’s savings, did no work, and disappeared. Insurance companies were, at best, ridiculously inefficient or, at worst, despicable, horrible, rotten, oh-you-better-believe-there’s-a-special-place-in-hell bastards.
Note: Local officials had re-zoned St. Bernard as NOT being in the flood plane—only a couple of years before the levees broke and flooded the entire area. Insurance reps told homeowners they didn’t need flood insurance, and people who had paid premiums for years dropped flood coverage. They still had hurricane insurance. But the insurance companies said, no, this is all flood damage, not hurricane damage. (Tomato-tomahto—either way, I’m pretty sure it’s a rotten one.)
I am no expert on all that went on in New Orleans. But I do know that there are far too many layers (and not enough cuss words) to tell the complete tale here.
But here’s my point: When I’m away, I miss home after 6 days.
In St. Bernard Parish, it’s been nearly 6 years. And there are still people waiting to get home.
Not preaching. Not arm-twisting. Just sharing. I know you good-hearted peeps have other charities and other commitments. But, should you be interested, I will tell you this. The St. Bernard Project volunteer experience is sweaty and dirty and grueling . . . and absolutely fantastic. It may sound crazy but last week was, truly, one of the best vacations I have ever been on. Heck yeah, the ability to enjoy New Orleans’ sunshine, beignets, barbecue, booze, jazz, art, and unique ambience in the evenings is an awesome post-work perk, but, still. To escape the cube. To use the body and the brain. To feel, at middle age, like maybe something you did actually mattered. To work really hard—without any stress. Damn. It was freedom. It was soul defibrillation. It was cool, y’all. If you or anyone you know is looking for a volunteer or fundraising opportunity or would like to make a donation, go to http://www.stbernardproject.org/. Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/stbernardprojectBooya
Osama Bin Laden is dead, and I am glad. I believe he will burn in hell. And you can tell Rashard Mendehall that God and I are fine with my what is in my heart.
{While you’re at it, you can tell the media that social media commentary is not news—unless, instead of being an actual journalist, you are a lazy moron.}
It’s okay to be glad he is dead. As Winston Churchill said, “You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.”
I understand the burial at sea. I appreciate that last rights were respected; that took some class. And I really appreciate that there’s no gravesite/shrine.
But still. I wish I lived near the ocean. So I could go there and spit in it and fall on my knees, eyes unabashedly to heaven, in thankful rejoicing.
I hate terrorists. (Yes, hate.) And I’m okay with that.
If you want to give evil the benefit of the doubt, if you want to keep your heart open to the idea of really really bad people someday transforming, you go right ahead. But don’t preach at me about real love and true hate until you’ve reached your 40s.
Anyone who knows me knows I have never been an Obama fan. But, whatever my personal opinions about government and leadership, I don’t see the point of blindly, immediately bashing every single thing the man does or says. Read this.
The cause of securing our country is not complete. But tonight, we are once again reminded that America can do whatever we set our mind to. That is the story of our history, whether it’s the pursuit of prosperity for our people, or the struggle for equality for all our citizens; our commitment to stand up for our values abroad, and our sacrifices to make the world a safer place.
Let us remember that we can do these things not just because of wealth or power, but because of who we are: one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
C’mon people. That’s good stuff. Lies and insincerity rarely induce goosebumps. Whatever your politics, give the man his due this week. He was the man in charge when this all went down. He deserves some respect. And, if you can’t muster respect for the man, find some respect for him as the representative leader of The United States of America.
Not everything that happens in the world is or needs to be orchestrated or spun. You can’t just swallow baby bird style: eyes closed, mouth open, and squawking. Neither should you puke it all back up into unrecognizable chunks.
I find it amazing that people have the capacity to think that Osama is holed up somewhere with Elvis and Michael Jackson but are incapable of imagining that we would announce that Pakistan was not involved in order to help an ally save face—and lives—in an unstable country, during an incredibly volatile time.
This isn’t a movie where the blundering clutz giving the good guys away is funny. This is real. Life. And. Death. Stuff. So, you know, maybe sit down and shut up for a minute, yeah?
I’m not saying don’t be inquisitive. But take a moment. Watch different channels. Listen to different stations. Read a newspaper (and not just the headlines). Listen to others. Use your brain. Whatever it may be, form your own opinion. Just because it’s in the news doesn’t make it true. But. Just because it’s in the news doesn’t make it false either.
I find it amusing that some news channels were suddenly spelling Osama with a U. Do they think people are stupid enough to confuse Osama with Obama? And/Or that we wouldn’t notice? Really?
I also find amusement in the fact that the President’s speech preempted Donald Trump’s TV show. I don’t care what your political preferences are, that was a brilliant and subtle touche if ever I saw one.
Last but not least, do we really need to see the photographs? Do we need children to see them? Do we need our enemies to see them? Simmer down and think for a moment. This isn’t a Friday the 13th movie or an episode of CSI.
Dear conspiracy freaks: If a Navy Seal walked up and handed you a DNA sample, what? You have the knowledge in your head or the equipment in your parent’s garage, sitting there next to your PlayStation and a case of Red Bull, to prove anything more than we already know? Preposterous twits.
They have a DNA sample. Granted, I would have preferred that the DNA sample came in the form of his head, on a pole, carried at the front of a huge parade through New York City. But, for now, we have to let the military and the scientists sort it out. For now, all I can say is:
God bless the Americans who gathered, shared, and deciphered the intelligence. God bless the Americans who supported the mission—for a very long time. God bless the Americans who carried out the mission. And God bless those who remain in harm’s way to fight (and, yes, hopefully kill) other terrorists.
It doesn’t matter if Clinton started it. It doesn’t matter if G.W. Bush laid groundwork. It doesn’t matter if Obama got input or even pressure from others to say “Go.”
Osama Bin Laden is dead. And I am glad. And, no matter what else may remain unclear, one thing is not open for debate: The Navy Seals kick ass.
Should you be so inclined, donations can be made to the Navy Seals Foundation.
Life Preservers 