Katrina 2.0
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e were told a big storm was coming. Prepare, prepare, prepare!
Jimmy and I
stocked up on our nonperishables, checked our supplies of candles and
batteries, put extra water in the fridge, and battened down our proverbial
hatches. I figured it would be similar to last year’s Hurricane Irene—some
disruptions in services and a couple of days off from work. I worried about two
things: the trees in Forest Park, because we live in the park, and our fax and phone service, which had gone out
during Irene.
OY! Superstorm Sandy was Irene on steroids.
Ironically or “irenically,” in our area, things were not
bad. We had a disruption of our internet for about a half day. We looked out of
our office window and watched the leaves dance on the trees. Back and forth,
back and forth, the cascading waves of yellow, green, and brown almost seemed
like a moving Monet. Jimmy wrote a poetic essay and I captured some of the
movement with my camera. We enjoyed a lunch of devilled eggs.
The next day, the stores were open, so Jimmy prepared
chicken salad sandwiches with pickles, and the creative task for the day was to
venture outside for a photo shoot. Jimmy rolled me in my wheelchair up a half a
block on Park Lane South. I snapped away—an upturned garbage can; crews clearing
away downed trees; bent “No Parking” signs; twigs, branches, and leaves strewn
in the street and on the park benches; an abandoned, broken umbrella; and even
a small group of toadstools were my subjects.
After we got back upstairs, I created a slideshow and a
Facebook Album to share my photographs. I called it the Sandy Dancer’s Ball (a
takeoff on an old, old song called "The Gandy Dancer’s Ball"), figuring the pictures would
provide some esthetic amusement now that the storm had passed.
But looking at Channel 2—and seeing the flooding, the fires,
and the hospitals being evacuated—gave me an uneasy feeling. The crawler at the
bottom of the screen indicated that Jimmy was in for an enforced “staycation”
of at least the remainder of the week—no public transit and no electricity at
his workplace made us realize that our plans for a vacation in New Orleans
would again have to be cancelled. A worm of worry started to intrude—how much
overtime would be lost now?
Then on my Facebook page, suddenly, the devastation of the
storm became personal. No more was it, “wow, this looks like Venice” or “that
flood looks like a dam” or “thank G-d we don’t live on Breezy Point.” Now
members of our own extended family faced large-scale destruction of their
home—a home that they had put so much loving care into—remodeling it and
redesigning it to their heart’s desire.
Now I felt ashamed. This was no Sandy Dancer’s Ball—it was
something far more sinister. It meant tears and fears realized and writ large.
It meant a sense of homelessness for people we love. Yes, they have a place to
stay with other loving relatives, but, it’s not home!
How can we help? What can we do? What can we give these
people to show that we care? Oh my G-d, surely prayers cannot be enough!
I renamed my album Katrina 2.0.
