Next

A lot has been ruminating around in Alex's little mind lately. He's 5 and apparently is hitting one of those spurts in growth you see happening simultaneously with the body and the mind.

In addition to being hungry all the time and his pants starting to look like ankle-wipers, recently on the way to school, he asked me who were going to be the new people when this world is over. Like the old people were the dinosaurs and now they're gone and we're the new people. He wanted to know who are going to be the new kind of people on earth when our kind of people people are all gone?

The same day he a generational epiphany. You know, like you and Papai had me, and one day I'm going to have a baby, and they're going to grow up and one day they're going to have a baby....

Also, a lot of questions about what is really real and what isn't. (And the frequent "truth stretching" that goes along with that confusion). Like..."everything that's on TV is real, right?" "No." And then, "everything that's NOT A CARTOON on TV is real, right?"

Apparently a pal of his who has already crossed this threshold, along with his 8 year old sister, convinced Alex that they have special magic powers to move things with their minds, without touching anything with their hands at all. He spent 15 frustrated minutes at home the same afternoon with raised palms, trying to summon the same magical powers.

I asked him if he actually saw them use these powers. He said no, that they said they couldn't do it in front of other people because it might embarrass them. (Slick!) So now he's going to ask them to give him a demo in private.

April fools day came at the right time this year.

Elephant in the room

"Don't worry, be happy. Rebuild".

Did you know this was New Orleans' new slogan? Bobby McFerrin even gave his blessing.

I should fess up -- this is not true. A sly person posted the slogan on a New Orleans neighborhood forum. It's not really New Orleans' new brand.

But it should be.

News stories regarding design flaws in the levee system -- all made or approved by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers -- have been trickling out of the Times-Picayune for months now.

For example: the levees are designed only to protect animals and farms. In other words, life and property not of the highest value. A minimum safety factor that is always used to protect human life and metropolitan urban areas was not used because of cost.

In the 1970s, after the levee system had already begun, new weather data regarding upgraded frequency and intensity of storms came out, necessitating a revision of the levee system design. But the Corps continued to use the outdated weather models.

Other safety factors used were woefully, unbelievably and outrageously wrong. Soil borings that revealed the presence of very weak soils were not factored into the design. Instead, strong soil factors were used.

Admittedly, the Corps probably used these incorrect design features in order to make the system fit the funding available. Were they even remotely aware that they were messing with people's lives and property? Guess not. To my knowledge, not a one of them quit and shouted it from the rooftops.

Indeed, the United States Army Corps of Engineers has admitted these things openly, as if they were simple mistakes, not egregious professional malfeasances. Nobody has thus far has even called it malfeasance, or alleged that because of this malfeasance, the levees failed, 1300 people lost their lives, and 200,000+ families lost their homes and lifetime property.

Visiting engineer teams on fact-finding missions have been ticking off these unbelievably incompetent and unacceptable design points of the levee system for months now -- all reported in the Times-Picayune, in a rather piecemeal fashion. Professor Van Heerden, hurricane expert out of LSU (God bless him) has been a perennial thorn in the Corps of Engineers' side since Katrina. He's trying his darnedest to get the truth to come out, and to the Times-Picayune's credit, they are letting the truth actually creep out.

Recently, the paper took it to another level. They trumpeted the truth from the rafters, in a major feature story that cited the findings of a visiting team of the American Society of Civil Engineers.

In short -- the whole levee system is suspect. They urge a systematic review of every part of the whole levee system -- all Corps flood control projects throughout the U.S., no less -- and they urge that anything the Corps of Engineers does be scruitinized by peer review.

Any major citizen discussion in the opinion pages? We'll see. I doubt it.

I troll the neighborhood forums out of the New Orleans lakefront area daily --one for Vista Park, our immediate neighborhood; one for Gentilly, our larger neighborhood; and two for Lakeview, an adjacent neighborhood.

Any threads of outrage on the forums? Nope.

After the weak soils story broke, I did politely question the state of the levee system, as a whole, on our Gentilly forum. A deafening silence.

One well-meaning neighbor leading the rebuilding effort, in order to head off any negative discussion, wrote in that all is well in our world. Our mostly white and upper-class neighborhoods will fare well in future storms, because we sit between two canal walls that failed, a problem that is comparatively easy to fix.

Lake Ponchartrain is one of the last stops for Gulf of Mexico storm surge. By the time the surge has arrived at the lake, it has already come a long way, barrelling alongside southeastern New Orleans. Thus the storm surge has lost some of its' brute force once it has reached us. So if our lake levees hold, (and this is a big "if" should we get a direct hit from a big storm) the surge then travells down our canals into our Lakefront neighborhoods. The simple and smart plan is to block the canals off at the lake during hurricanes to prevent our canal walls from collapsing again. Problem solved, according to the don't worry be happy rebuild-ers.

But what about the many thousands, if not a hundred thousand people -- white and black, rich and poor -- who have no canals to wall off and who are on the front lines of Gulf hurricane storm surge? They are separated from the Gulf only by the levees themselves, which failed miserably during Katrina. No bottleneck lakes or smallish canals to intervene. There is no quick fix for Chalmette, N.O. East, the lower 9th ward or Slidell . Billions of dollars for fortying the system as a whole, or mass relocation, is their only path to safety.

According to the same neighbor, no problem, because the initial federal budget allocation for levee repair was for our neighborhood. We're good to go.

Just a day or two ago, the Corps finally 'fessed up and admitted they would need an additional 6 billion to properly fortify the system. Not to worry, writes in the neighbor. That money -- for which the budgetary allocation is questionable -- is for them.

Don't worry. Be happy. Rebuild.

Totally

seems to be the utterance of choice here in Portland. Said long, like they might say it in Lake Woebegon. Tohhh...tally.

Alex has even taken it up. It can mean: for real! Or, seriously. Also, cool. And especially: I'm in complete agreement.

Whether this is a Portland peculiarity, an Oregonian or American thing, I have no idea. For all I know Austin Powers said it and now everybody's doing it. If it was used a lot in New Orleans I didn't notice it.

Portlanders supposedly have have an accent, but to us from yat-land it sounds like no accent. Regarding Totally, I've noticed the utterer sounds unusually smart, perky, and earnest. That automatically rules us New Orleanians out from demonstrating it properly.

Come to think of it, everything they say up here sounds that way. Is it the accent? Or that "sure, I'm up for it" Oregon-ness that came out here on the wagon trail?

Who can say?

Bitter sweet

We went back to N.O. for 10 days over Mardi Gras. Mostly visited friends and family and caught a few parades. Even stayed in a bona fide FEMA trailer for 3 of those days.

I thought this poignant rendering summed it all up perfectly:

The picture was an ill-fated New Yorker cover illustration, literally blown away by Dick Cheney. See Shreveport creator Bill Joyce's account of the inspiration behind the art, why he thought the cover was so important, and how he vehemently fought the bumping of the picture that says it all at a glance.

Alas, Cheney shooting his buddy in the face won the day. A much worthier tale, don't you think?

A lot of projectile vomiting going around last week - no kidding. Alex got it and so did just about everyone else except me and Carlos. Is 'Katrina ralph' a freaky mutation of 'Katrina cough'?

The Big Easy has a long and dubious road ahead. With each trip home I find the finish line taunting from yet a few more years in the distance.

Meanwhile, back in North America, a double blessing

Sunday, driving up for a day on Mount Hood, Carlos and I marvelled again and again at how blessed we were to experience such an enchanting landscape. Neither of us had ever imagined that in our lifetimes we would find ourselves in such a beautiful wintery wonderland.

Timberline lodge is definitely worth the rather intimidating drive up. Words can't possibly do it justice, but these photos from Timberline's site may.

Sunday was a dark, brooding, snowy day. Literally driving through the clouds, we couldn't see out over the mountain or up or down -- only the beautiful snow-laden trees that lined the road. Occassionally we'd catch an expansive glimpse of vast forested mountaintops that had been hidden by the clouds around us. It was eerily beautiful.

The lodge is a historic landmark, made of stone and huge timber beams. Fires in the huge fireplaces. Snow covered roofs and large hanging icicles, just like in the animated Christmas stories that were so enchanting in childhood. Watching skiiers through the beautiful snowdrifts on the restaurant windows while eating the wonderful food was just as marvelous.

About 1000 ft. down, in Government Camp, you can tube at a private facility for $10 a tube. Definitely not worth the money. Carry a tube back up the slope for the 10th time or so, and it's gotten pretty old. We found that one pretty underwhelming.

We headed on over to Snow Bunny, a free slope in a beautiful forested location that was recommended for sledding. Or so we thought. Until a fellow waiting room patient at the Tigard urgent-care facility informed me that sledding's not allowed at Snow Bunny -- tubing only. Why? The incidence of injury. The slope is not manned by the Forest Service on the weekend, so that's when people go to sneak in some sledding. I don't recall seeing any signs saying that sledding is prohibited, though.

You may have figured that the second big blessing of Sunday was that none of us got seriously injured. Alex wiped out a few times and shed some tears. Carlos got off incident-free. Up on the fastest hill, I asked for the smooth way down. Ended up hitting two deep potholes in a row anyway. On the second impact there was a neck crunching noise so scary that I thought I was a goner for sure. Apparently it didn't look pretty, because Carlos ran as fast as he could through the snow, panic on his face. The jovial fellows who recommended the path got quiet all of a sudden. The heavy plastic sled had cracked in two with the impact. I was still laughing, not wanting to face what comes next.

But fingers and toes wiggled, head moved, and x-rays say no fractures, only some disc degeneration. For the second time in 7 years I was praising God for strong German bones, and surely the little extra padding didn't hurt!

It's curious that in French the word blesser, root word bless, means "to hurt" or "to wound". Since reading a particularly sage adage somewhere (can anybody point to it?) advising us to look for our greatest blessings in our hurts, I've since wondered if somewhere back in time, those wise to the ways of the world morphed the French word into the English word "bless", or "blessing". Etymologists say no, but I truly wonder if they've missed some connections there.

After Sunday's blessings, I'm thanking God, in advance, for a third blessing. (No, not Coedine). I'm talking about physical therapists -- truly modern miracle workers.

New Orleanians, Portlanders or anybody else: before you venture down the street, across town, or across the country into winter wonderland with a sled, do yourself a favor and Google "sledding safety" (and while you're at it, Google "ladder safety"). What you read may scare the bejeezus out of you, but it will make you super-careful. Fo' sho'.

Hybrid.

Carlos' car didn't float away like we expected. We thought sure it would have risen up and broken out the terrarium kitchen window, floated toward the street, and maybe over into Pratt Park or down Pratt Drive.

But it was parked exactly where we left it in the carport, next to the intact kitchen window, completely covered in baked-on Katrina effluent. The undoubtedly awful odor inside was completely undetectable from outside, thank you Honda.

Odessa, my '95 4-Runner, lived up to her name on our 2300 mile cross-country trek. She's always been good to us -- a loyal and trusty friend. She's probably got another good 90K left on her engine, but it remains to be seen whether she will ever again fulfill her most important duty: to be our hurricane evacuation vehicle. She's high, dry and tough. She can climb high curbs and park in the grass without getting stuck, even in a New Orleans flash flood. She's not too big and almost big enough.

Before Alex came along we could get ourselves, the Weimaraner, the German Shepard and a small amount of valuables inside. The clothes, sleep gear and lifetime photos went on top. Once Alex came along the photos had to stay behind. (This time Katrina tried to claim the photos, but came up 3" short).

Oh, and did I mention that Odessa is beautiful? 14 MPG is a small price to pay for a gal like that ($600 in gas from Alexandria to Portland). S

So far we've done just fine with only her, but the handwriting is on the wall: $5-a-gallon gas and a stir-crazy husband.

* * * * *
In the New Seasons grocery parking lot the other day I saw four Toyota Priuses. Two of the exact same model and shade of blue sat right next to each other. A white one nearby and a silver one across the lot. Every time I stop at either Walgreen's or New Seasons (they share the same lot) I see at least one Prius, sometimes a Civic hybrid.

In New Orleans I saw not a one -- ever.

Hybrid counting. If I end up playing I'll post the results. Hybrid clustering? There must be some solid social indicators in there.

Personify means to assign a human quality to an object. What about the other way around? Hybrid is a good way to peg us these days: feeling so at home here in a place that is so... possible, and yet home feeling so far away and improbable.

Sinkage.

Sinkage. I wonder if people in the city of roses are familiar with the term. Now that I am on the outside looking in, sinkage seems like a strange word. Here in Portland, it seems like you might notice a rut in your yard one day and think only that something is sinking over there. But the "...age" in sinkage -- a word everyone in New Orleans knows all too well -- denotes a common problem, a phenomenon. Do they have sinkage in places like Portland, or would you say merely that your yard is sinking? Is that sinkage, or just a crack in your driveway?

Mud Hog is one of the firms in New Orleans that will come in with as much river sand as you need. 2 or 3 truckloads every ten years or so will cover it, more if your whole front and back yards are badly sunken. The DIY-ers have the truckloads of dirt dumped on their front lawn and spend the next 5 weekends wheelbarrowing and shoveling it under the house, only to find a large dead spot of St. Augustine grass under where the heap of dirt was. But Mud Hog will come in with a truck outfitted with a water tank and long flexible pipe. The sand and water are mixed together and pumped under your house. Presumably someone gets under your house with the end of the pipe to see that it is evenly distributed, and that your sewer pipes attached to the underside of your slab don't get broken in the process.

Earl's Plumbing tank trucks were a common sight on my block. Their job was to find the breaks in your sewer pipes, fix them, and fill back up the underside of your slab with dirt. Occasionally I'd actually get to see the poor sap who was one of a crew of 3 or 4 assigned to the truck -- sucking himself out from a narrow mud hole under the house. Strongly evoking images from both the movie Raising Arizona and Booty Call (remember the saran wrap scene?). The only skin showing on these guys is a piece of the face. Most often I saw them in a rigged outfit consisting of a welders hat, boots and workgloves, looking something like a mud torpedo, but the lucky ones got a rubberized suit. These were the poor guys who had to go down there.

*******

New Orleans houses have traditionally been built on 2 or 3 foot brick piers -- enough to let the floodwater go under but not in. The 1950's ushered in the era of the brick ranch house -- a house that never should have taken root in New Orleans. But it just so happens that many of the low-lying reclaimed swamp areas that Katrina decided to take back were the very areas that were sprouting up brick ranches in the 50's.

I swore I'd never buy a slab home in New Orleans.

It's the sinkage. If the ground under your raised house starts to sink, your house doesn't move (hopefully) because it is likely built on a chainwall which is in turn on top of long wooden pilings driven deep into the ground. You just throw some more dirt around and maybe put a new carpet of grass, new driveways and sidewalks down every 15 years or so. But if the ground is under your slab house, somebody has to go down under there to put that dirt in, and usually it is after your sewer pipes that were supposed to be attached to your slab have fallen off and broken, something that sooner or later happens to everyone. When there was a strong rain and the ground was saturated, something in the air outside...just...wasn't... Well, I wouldn't want to be one of the guys who had to go under there and see what wasn't holding up.

In the end (was it the end?) Katrina didn't discriminate between slab home owners and raised home owners. Most everybody in the previously-called backswamp area got standing water, courtesy of our esteemed levee system. May have been 4 feet, may have been 12 feet. In our house it was 6 1/2 feet. How long it stayed that high, we don't know. We never did see it. But the water didn't get gone for more than 4 weeks.

The carpets are still squishy.