wake up

The sun sparked behind the palms this morning, dazzling rays breaking between the fronds and lifting lightly above the tree line. The morning settled like a soft quilt over the late summer morning, a little warmer than comfortable, but one I wasn't quite ready to kick off, hook my feet on the outside to cool down a bit, and awaken. The light was gentle and persistent, not an alarm clock, but the gentle voice of a mother shaking me awake. I had been dreaming, waiting for the call, and could only tell myself, it's about damn time.

Wake up.

I've become skeptical about public entries in times of great crisis. A friend has accused me (and all women, so don't worry. No one is picking on me.) Of latching onto national crises and making the issue our own, attempting to show how much we care and turn the focus on ourselves when it rightly belongs on the people directly affected. Nevertheless, I choose to write anyway.

I'll say this right up front though. It isn't about me. So if it appears that I am attempting to divert attention or to latch onto this crisis, please accept my apologies. Consider it a failure in my ability to communicate, and not a female thing, okay?

Let me start by saying, I'm really tired.

I'm tired because I spent the day on the phone, on the net and in the shelter, trying to find what I could do, and then doing it. I have done enough volunteer work in my life to know that the very worst thing is to have volunteers show up and not have work for them. So I spent days writing email, making calls, signing up on online databases to do everything from share the extra space in my house to assist in the preparation of FEMA claims. I watched the news; I sorted clothes from the children's rooms. I pulled out the stash of personal items we always bring home for shelters from hotels. I waited for the phone to ring, watching with anger and disgust as the images from my television showed the desperation in New Orleans, the devastation along the Gulf. I wondered about my brother, in Alabama, but knew he wouldn't call me in any case. But surely, surely in this place I have decided to call home, I could do something. There seemed to be so much.

Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. I logged onto the site of the nearest shelter, and saw its call for donations. Flat sheets, hand towels, pillows, light blankets. At last, something tangible I could do.

I drove to Sam's club, determined to get the most for my money. Flashed my membership card and went right to linens. There were packs of six, white, hotel quality sheets, All the twin sheets were gone, all but one set of full size. I took them, and another case of queen sized. I know the cots are small, but reasoned that the people using them could fold them, or use one sheet for top and bottom. I found blankets as well, but the only pillows left in the store were king size, not reasonable for the intended use. No problem, there were several other stores between Sam's and the shelter. I headed on through the store, determined to fill the cart before I went to the shelter. I found hand towels in packs of twelve, soap, diapers. When I checked out I was surprised at the total. It had always been my way to write a check, but I'm glad I did the footwork this time. It gave me a better sense of how far the money I donate goes… or doesn't go, as the case may be.

I had to wait in line at the check out, and what was in the carts of those ahead of me was an epiphany. The carts held cases of water, juice, personal items. Food in large quantities… not just the general Sam's club value packs, but whole carts filled with hot dog buns, breakfast rolls. Fruits. Essentials of the most basic needs, hunger, thirst, shelter, hygiene. And the mood of the shoppers was neither jovial and friendly, nor desperate and frenzied. It was a mood of action. Of doing something for others, without need for recognition or back patting or being told what to do and how to do it. I was proud to be there.

I stopped at the Linen store to complete the bed pallets I'd determined to deliver, and bought pillows and cases from the 'back to the dorm' specials. Finally I had enough the first trip … I could no longer see out the back window.

With the car filled with my "excuse" I drove to the shelter, a modern church building near the Space Center. Pulled up to the donation site, and helped some grandmothers unload the cargo. I wanted to hug them when they asked if the diapers stayed, too. Of course, all of it.

Then I noticed D. D was manning a card table next to the Youth Center of the church, a separate building, and Red Cross notices all around identified it as the shelter. I parked in a guest spot in the lot, and walked over. "I've signed up online, as soon as this was designated as a shelter…"

"Can you stay now?"

"Yes."

I filled out his forms, very basic, stuck a name tag on my shirt and was officially a Disaster Relief Volunteer. He sent me back to the building where I'd dropped off my donation. There dozens of people sorted donations, placing items in Sunday school rooms marked with makeshift signs on the doors: Water, linens, toys, baby items, clothing, school supplies. We brought donations from the curb to the rooms, divided them as noted and people inside the rooms sorted and divided further: new items, gently used, okay, last resort, and trash. As the day went on, more volunteers came to the rooms to pick out the current needs of the evacuees: towels and blankets were the most popular. Like that famous wine and bread, there was always more than was needed.

I asked the people in the distribution rooms about the organization, which was basically each volunteer for themselves. It wasn't hard to figure out what needed to be done, and do it, but I'm an ex junior leaguer, and wondered where the leadership was. A woman from NASA who was helping sort the towels explained that when the Astrodome filled up the night before, they'd sent us a bus at 1 A.M. The shelter that was barely half full at close of business Thursday was beyond capacity by dawn. All efforts had been focused on getting people places to sleep, fed, showered. No one had time to deal with phone banks and volunteer waivers and the nonsense we've created in the world. So today, the organization went by the wayside, and the caring took over.

At about 6 p.m., a fresh set of volunteers arrived and the donations slowed so that there wasn't much point in the people who'd been there most of the day staying. I went back to the registration table to sign out, and D was still there. He'd been there all day. I tried to get him to let me take over for a while, but he wasn’t' ready to go. I bet he's still there.

As I signed out, I got to interact with the people being sheltered, who were moving from the shelter building to the meal center. They were clean, peaceful, and polite. A group of boys played basketball, laughing and being kids. Another group had found a guitar, and the music that their city wins hearts and minds with was starting to come back. One beautiful woman came to me and asked if there was a list of survivors anywhere. She wanted to find her people. I took her to the registration desk for clients, and all they could do was hand her a paper with phone numbers and websites. She thanked me, and went in to dinner. As far as I know, cell phones in Louisiana are still not working. The only computers around were in use by the registration staff and medical personnel. Tomorrow, I will take more.

Dinner was huge quarters of chicken, and what Texans call "all the fixin's." Yet another cadre of volunteers served the meal, and the mood in the dining hall was not the somber tears or anguished moans we've been seeing on network TV. It was the mood of family… conversations, children, laughter, and the clatter of forks and plates.

It was just people.

Some of them no doubt are the poorest of the poor in the city that was their home. Some of them no doubt have better accommodations in our shelter than they had before the storm. Some of them were people who heard an order of evacuation, and left, finding when they arrived that they couldn't live a vacation lifestyle of restaurant dining and hotels for an extended period of time. They are people who wonder if their children will be okay, if the schools that we will shuffle them to will accommodate them, or if they will be further ravaged by the bias of other people like they were with this storm.

An old friend called me this morning, a friend who grew up in Louisiana. She and her family will stay with me off and on over the next few months, as our schools have opened their doors to the "homeless." I'm sorry to say that her attitude is not one I really want in my home: that this may be the best thing that ever happened to Louisiana. She is frustrated, as a resident, with the gangs that run the public schools, the dishonest politicians, the crime, the filth. She wants the country's attention to clean up the mess in more than just the physical consequences. Her house, incidentally, was not damaged. There are many that weren't, despite the dramatic pictures, particularly in the outskirts.

I'll let her stay, because our boys are great friends. I would let her stay even if they weren't.

You see, it isn't just the government. It isn't just the infrastructure.

It’s the people.

But for every one of the people whose minds are closed, whose anger erupts in violence or hate, for every one who wants to blame the president, the Iraqis, or God, there is at least one fellow like D, still there handing out name badges.

New Orleans will heal. The Gulf States will rebuild. The bureaucratic means that we have well into place will eventually work the way it is supposed to work, and life will go on.

Because, someplace, someone brought an old blanket, washed it, folded it and placed it over a shivering child, or held the hand of a weeping man, or gave a voucher for a quiet meal out to a mother who's seen more than anyone should ever have to see.

Yes, I'm really tired. But I've slept in a warm dry bed every night this week. I've eaten more meals than are healthy, and I've engaged in frivolous exercise on a silly machine. I've had wine, talked to friends, laughed at my daughter's who’ve painted their living room jungle green. I've lived the life I expected to live. Tonight, I am glad to only be tired.

The checks you send are being used directly for such things as vouchers for gas, food and hotels for refugees, school supplies, clothing and basic necessities. As you watch, and see the numbers of the dead and missing grow this weekend, please don't let your anger at the administration keep you from focusing on the people who are alive. Please be like the volunteers at the shelter today, and do what needs to be done, because we can all see what needs to be done, without anyone telling us. And don't do it because "next time it could be us." Do it for the people. The survivors. And maybe, just maybe, we might all find our way to a little more humanity.