The end of August ...

One day, years from now, I'll be gathered around a grand fire, with my many grandchildren, and their brows will furrow in disbelief as I explain that post storm we were able to visually survey the Gulf Coast on ABC via a small portable TV equipped with nothing more than rabbit ears.

As I read your posts I tried to decide what Katrina means to "me." See, I had a physically much less painful experience then that my Bund brethren. The preparedness Titus explains he is now enveloped in was (and is) the state of affairs for my mother's household. Just about 2 hours north of Biloxi white sand sits her farm. Now while farms typically enjoy some level of self sufficiency, emergency or no, this one is owned/ran by Mormons. And for those of you whom aren't familiar, such is a religion that regularly encourages food storage, and practices such preparedness as if it were a stated tenant of faith (a characteristic undoubtedly forged in the fire of the early Latter Day Saint experience). So, while trees were uprooted, power out for weeks, and a general state of chaos reigned (even that far North), we were at least safe in the knowledge that between available food and the kinship of 40+ family members whom retreated to the clan's make shift compound, there was no immediate threat.

The entire affair though, as I think back on it, is an emotional blur. Ironically, because my diaspora was to a desert, I now miss the rain. Wind ... now that's a different story. In that neck of the woods (literally) tornadoes were a real concern during Katrina's passing. The night she made landfall the wind was so fierce that I physically sat near my sleeping children in the idea that if a wall or roof suddenly ripped away and disappeared into the blinding darkness, that I could some how gather them in my arms and run. And although it doesn't rain here in the Valley, it blows something fierce during winter. And that howling, whipping sound can cause me to lose my place on the page in any book I'm reading, I assure you. Finishing as a close 2nd is the emergency broadcast message on radio. I listen to a lot of talk AM (versus the satellite choice of Titus). And I'll tell you what, that interrupting blaring beep followed by that automated voice - which I heard countless times just before the storm - can freeze me in my tracks as I glare at the radio, waiting for the impending instructions. And this happens regularly out here, it seems South Eastern California (35 miles South of Vegas) is under a biweekly threat of flash floods. At the conclusion of the "emergency" broadcast I mutter to myslef the same words every time: "Get back to me when there's a real emergency" (although I'd probably feel different were I living in SE CA).

I remember getting ahold of Jambo about 10 days out, and his adamant warning for me to stay put, and not attempt to reenter the Coast. An ominous enough phone call, given I had that conversation on Hwy 49, headed South. The hot garbage smell hit well before Gulfport. See, my wife and I were on our way down, to check on our houses ... plural. At the time, although still legally man and wife, we were on the back 9 of our marriage, and she had moved out only a few weeks prior. She was residing in a beach house 2 blocks from the water, and was demanding that we see what she could salvage. Leaving the relative comfort (and at the very least, sustainability) of my mother's farm was not my idea, but I yielded. We arrived ...

Her place was gone, Old Testament style. The foundation remained, as junk, homes, and everything imaginable within a household was shoveled like so much snow, piled 6, 7 feet high on either side of the roads in order to clear a path. National guardsmen patrolled, with holsters unbuckled (this was the post storm fears of crowds looting that never really materialized in MS, unlike LA). We recovered a laundry basket worth of her belongings, and headed back. I remember the trees seemed like something from the imagination of M. Night Shymilan. It was as if they were sprouting Levis and tangled tees. As the water retreated with our collective belongings, cloth and every soft material imaginable clung to the the trees, acting as some great sift.

Now I mentioned it was an emotional blur. Well, providing yet more evidence that God has a sense of humor, my wedding anniversary is August 30th. And as a result of Katrina I have never, not once, spent a night along the Coast I grew up on - I was swiping in at Treasure Island within 60 days of the storm. My wife and I officially split 43 days after arriving in Las Vegas, a number I remember because Nevada state law requires a minimum 6 weeks residency to file for divorce. And because the stars just seemed to align that way, our brief 24 month reconciliation ended last year on August 29th, the exact day I moved out and signed my apartment lease papers. So at the end of August, when that emergency broadcast goes off (as it did today), I pause just a second or two longer.

It's ironic really. I rode out the storm in relative safety compared to most - food, water, shelter, multiple family members around, and most of my belongings even survived in our Long Beach, MS home. Yet when I think about it, it is that anniversary, that date which serves as the demarcation line in my life - when I knew I had lost my marriage; the last time I would spend a night (to date) in the region I grew up in; and when I lost the seemingly simple ability to drive to my mother's for Sunday dinner. And funny enough, at the time, I took it as a nominal evacuation for yet one more storm - I had no idea it would be the last time I slept in my home. I had no idea that my life was about to so radically change. And believe me, this is not say "woest me." I have 2 beautiful boys, of which I have custody. And Vegas has provided me the time and solitude (from adult company) to, as corny as it sounds, "find myself." As I said, I was simply thinking about what Katrina means to me.

Funny ... when I think about it I shake my head and bare a half smile - as a kid growing up in Mississippi I always assumed that to be "really successful" I would one day have to leave my little town. Now all I want is to become successful enough to move back.