Hurricane Katrina

My husband loves New Orleans. This may come as a surprise to people who know him, since he doesn’t drink, he’s vegetarian, and, as far as I know, he has never set foot in a strip club or given a woman beads in exchange for exposing herself. But Tom loves the buildings and the food and the general ambiance, so a year and a half ago, when I had a business trip to New Orleans, he was eager to tag along.

I, on the other hand, associate New Orleans with queasiness. I was pregnant when we went, suffering from chronic indigestion but unable to pass up Po’Boys, jambalaya, and coffee and donuts at the Café Du Monde. I liked shopping in an open-air market and strolling through the park, but I was tired a lot of the time. I remember sitting peacefully on a bench in front of the shark tank at the aquarium, watching the fish flicker by.

The images from New Orleans this week have made me queasy again. It seems impossible that a city with such flair and attitude can be suffering so much. The pictures—the mud, the debris, the sewage-filled water—could be coming from a third world country.

We don’t expect things like that to happen to us. Sure, we might get a violent storm now and again, and we may have to clear tree branches out of the yard or deal without power for a few hours, but we don’t expect a major catastrophe. I remember reading in the La Leche League’s Breastfeeding Answer Book that breastfeeding can be a lifesaver during a natural disaster—and I laughed and thought that maybe that was true in poor countries. Now I think about all the mothers in the wake of the hurricane and hope they are able to feed their children. I look at my house—the house we bought two months ago and are so proud to own—and realize that it could be reduced to a splintered pile of boards and debris.

I feel a connection with New Orleans because I’ve been there. I’ve also been to Biloxi, Mississippi, when my mother and I visited her parents in Picayune. I remember driving the hour to the casino, eating a buffet lunch, and gambling at slot machines until we got thrown out because I had forgotten my driver’s license and couldn’t prove I was 21. My grandparents don’t live in Mississippi any more, but I think about the people like them living on the Gulf Coast—older, frail, confused and overwhelmed. Most of the people affected by the hurricane had no idea that their concerns would move from everyday worries about family and bills and housework to an elemental struggle for survival.

This morning I looked back over my pictures from New Orleans. I want to post a few of them to show the beautiful city I remember from February 2004. I hope people across the US and beyond will take care of the refugees and help them rebuild as swiftly as possible. In the meantime, you can read updates on cnn.com, the Times-Picayune’s blog, and Kaye’s Hurricane Katrina Blog. You can also donate to the American Red Cross. If you’re a blogger, you can register to participate in the unified blogging relief effort tomorrow.