washing dishes in a FEMA trailer

It's been busy days. I'm sitting in Slidell's CC's for what may be the last time, and it makes me a little sad.

Our house has walls! We went from foundation up to there in a week! We were actually really fortunate about getting to put up walls - both of our leaders have never done it before, but because the Habitat powers that be saw what a good group we were, we got to do interesting things, and I was Blueprint Girl. My companeros seemed to think me quite knowledgeable about things so I got nominated for all sorts of interesting tasks. It was fun to see people learning to do new things - like use a circular saw for the first time (a Skilsaw here, like a reciprocating saw is a Sawsaw).

Yesterday when four of us "middle-aged ladies" (what one of the young guys called the others when I was sitting with the young guys) were carrying heavy wood frames across a mud field, Michigan Leader came over with his cigarillo and said, "You core people have done all the hard work to get this far, and then new people come in and you let them do the glamorous stuff (nailing up walls and nailing on sheeting) while you're out here doing the grunt work without complaint. You are really good people." We had never thought of complaining - we were just happy to be working. That's the kind of week I had, and it was good.

Then after work each day I'd drive over to the new apartment and drive The Roommate around town (after a shower in her dorm room, since our bathtub was inoperable). About 4:30 I would start to fade hard, but food always helps. I was able to keep the grumpy factor pretty minimal.

One day I stayed and helped Jazz Leader with his house - he's just now working on foundational things. He's good people and I'll be over there helping as much as my schedule allows - and as much as I'm actually help to him. While I don't know how to do a lot of things, I'm really good at measuring, we've discovered, and when I'm in charge of the tape measure everything lines up perfectly. We had a little conflict one day when I stubbornly insisted that he SHOW me how to do something instead of just telling me and trusting me, but we're good.

So I was over there helping and Jazz Leader had to go get some more things from Home Depot with Pepe Le Pew (a Parisian guy helping out), and Brazilian Banker and Marathon Teacher didn't much need my help (BB doesn't communicate well and MT was frustrated - they've been friends for years, building Habitat houses together - but I didn't need in on that) so I went into the FEMA trailer to chill with Wife of Jazz Leader. (I call her this because that's how she identifies herself - "he's the man, and I will follow his decisions," she has said - and she attends all his events and sees her role as support.) She's cool, and their two boys (her stepchildren) are sweet and polite and energetic. Earlier I was sitting on the porch of an abandoned house across the street with the boys while Marathon Teacher blew out all their gender misconceptions with some football practice (they said, "She be falling over when he throw hard," which became, "Dang! She can sure catch and Dang! Watch her throw! She real good!"), and a few people drove past rubbernecking, wondering about this white woman sitting there. Happy to subvert any dominant paradigm. I do like the neighborhood, and Jazz Leader gave me the grand tour and I met cool people.

Somehow while sitting in the FEMA trailer, through my wiles and charms, Wife of Jazz Leader made a yummy African stew for me. It fueled me so well, and I was like Popeye with a can of spinach. I love greens, and she does 'em right. I went back out and drilled some holes, and when we finished the day's tasks I told her to come see - and then I stayed in the trailer and washed the dishes.

What a symbol of how at home I felt with them all. And trust me y'all, those FEMA trailers are TINY.

Mississippi's slogan is "It's like coming home." This whole region, that's what it feels like. People talk to me like I'm their long-lost cousin. They feed me grits and stew, and they tell me their evacuation stories and about their faith. They're happy to see me. Their welcome is genuine.

And in turn, I can be a little more patient and a little kinder. Our apartment is now habitable because the carpenter stayed until 8:30 pm finishing up things despite refusing to ever work with our landlord again. He did it for us because I was nice to his granddaughter and treated him with respect. Who doesn't want to be treated that way?

So today I guess I'm moving. Tomorrow I'll go help Jazz Leader on his house along with Dewrag Americorps Volunteer. Yesterday when DAV had draped himself across me, I had to wonder why very good-looking 20-year-olds waited to hug and love on me until now, when I'm old enough to be their mother. Ah, maybe that's exactly why. DAV is one of those fun, positive people that makes me happier to be around, so tomorrow should be fun. And I do have a thing for floor joists now.

Last night we went to Cafe du Monde and walked down Bourbon Street. It wasn't comfortable - there were far too many tourists - until we reached Canal and there was a group of kids playing some Dixieland and locals dancing around. I wanted to dance around too, but it was so late and I had an hour-long drive ahead of me. Some man leaned into me and said something with a smile, but I couldn't hear what it was. But I keep coming back to thinking about it because it was a "rich point" (from qualitative research) - like doing dishes in the FEMA trailer. The way he leaned into me, it was like he knew me. In most places I go people treat me well and openly - I've had to adapt to so many new places that getting people to feel comfortable with me is a valuable skill. But there's something different about it here ... I'll have to think about it to figure it out.