Thoughts on Mississippi

In Boluxi there used to be things to do, or so I understand it. The destruction of the hurricanes last August is hard to put in perspective until you see it for yourself. Tuesday I was in the back of a work truck headed East down highway 90 (which is the main beach route going from Golf Port, MS to Boluxi, Ocean Springs, and down across Alabama, etc) viewing the destruction with my own eyes. It was a slightly odd and sorta self-centered thing to do it seemed...at least to me...and by that I mean it felt like I was viewing the horrible things that I didn't have to go through. I guess it's needed to really put an accurate scope on the magnitude of what you're up against when going to a region like this to help reverse that same thing you're viewing in awe. I got so caught up in the twisted signs for Outback Steakhouse and Olive Garden and random souvenir shops that i failed to notice the Gulf of Mexico just within thirty yards of the highway to my right. Also, I just then looked out of the back window to see the sun setting over the Gulf. Where am I? Thirty-six hours prior i was in my comfortable routine in St. Louis. It's funny to notice the beautiful things amidst the destruction.
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I'm sleeping in a mission with army barracks-styled bunks and lights out at 10:00pm. 2200. They provide us with three meals each day, but dinner is at 5:00pm. Who eats dinner at five? My freakin' 82-year old grand parents do. The bunks are sturdy and of course too short for my lanky ass. The walls don't go to the ceiling and are made of particle board, painted in a poor choice of color...the color you'd pick to be neutral and soothing. Maybe it's a good choice after all.
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It's amazing how individuals help individuals in time of need. I'll try to avoid a political statement here, but we can help each other much more efficiently than any government organization can. And we do it for each other because we choose to do it in good will towards our neighbors. I'm not tooting my own horn in saying this, but I'm witnessing it first hand so I can say it. Some people are involved like helping me with cash to make the trip, letting me borrow tools, having a job that let me off with pay in order to go. There are things that were put in place for each of us to help our neighbors as they need it. Some people travel to the areas needed to help out on their own, and all are equally important to the overall effort. It's all very hard work. It's good to get my hands dirty again. Doesn't happen so often in a white collar job such as my own, and I'm sore as shit on a runner's shoe by lunch everyday. I think I need to be more active.
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Sleeping in the too-short bunks are extra interesting due to the snore factor. Imagine a room with 50-plus bunks occupied by men aging from 22-82. A high percentage of men snore anyway right? Couple that with the fact that the walls don't completely touch the ceiling (remember? they're like partitions) and you can hear the 50-plus women snoring. It sounds like the largest pond full of horny bull frogs ever imaginable! CALLING ALL MATES! It's like a bad Budweiser commercial! I didn't bring ear plugs or my iPod. My solution became having a couple Budweisers at the local pub in the evening as a sleep aid.
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As of Thursday in the week I hadn't met the owner of the house we're working on and I really wanted to. I didn't know where he was located. Maybe displaced. I haven't really asked. Everyone has such an interesting story in this area. So many people stayed for "the storm" (as they call it), swam the flood waters (and not for recreation), lost a dog or a cat or a brother, sister, mother, father, aunt, uncle, and so on. So many people still don't have homes and are part of the estimated 64,000 homes still missing from their concrete slabs -- they become steps leading to nowhere and leaving shade trees with nothing to cover. Everyone is so friendly here, and appreciative for the help we're giving. We drove up I-110 today. It has a draw bridge part going over Back Bay. It's a very, or at least it used to be a very robust fishing/shrimping area (remember Forrest Gump?). The bridge going over 110 runs parallel to a fishing pier stretching into the bay. About 70 percent of this pier is now missing and the fishing area looks like it hasn't existed in over 30 years. Speaking of bridges, highway 90 had a bridge linking Boluxi to Ocean Springs which is now gone.
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Ocean Springs was the surviving town when placed on an economic scale opposed to Boluxi and Golf Port and New Orleans. It's very up and running again and is very vibrant, artsy and independent. Every wall in the town -- both inside and out -- is graced with a lovely mural. Most have a fish or fishing theme in one way or another. There's also a statue of a Veloceraptor for some reason.
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My shower Wednesday night smelled like shit. Not that i used shit-smelling soap, but the old man before me must have lifted the drain cover and gently placed his fecal matter in the drain pipe and replaced the drain cover to set the chosen turd's aroma free to attack the next shower occupant. This happened to be me. I can't prove there was shit in the drain, but it smelled that way. I digress. The showers here total five for all the men here. They also share one of those partition-type walls with the dinning hall, so you can hear the conversations of the old ladies while you wash your naked body. It's different...trust me. But it was okay, because I was getting cleaned up to go out to eat at Mellow Mushroom. They have excellent pizza and cute waitresses.
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One of my favorite things about this trip was the the community built within the others assigned to your work site. The main contributor to the snoring barrage at night is my bunk mate Mike M. Mike and I are also assigned to the same work site where we partnered up on a couple projects including steps for the carport entrance and a knee wall for the bathroom. Suddenly after getting to know Mike better and being intrigued that he is an architect, the snoring doesn't bother one bit. Let that be an example of the benefits of loving one another.
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We made our way down to the Grocery Bar/Restaraunt for an open mic night. It featured Art Romero, who is a local spoken word artist and blues radio DJ. The night was filled with ethnic, political, spiritual and opinionated diversity. I played pinball with a cute girl named Lindsay...that's the end of that story, which is good because she chewed tobacco. Gross!
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Good progress was made on our project Thursday. That's the day we laid most of the tile. I think it was a bad batch or something because the patterns didn't match up edge-to-edge. Plus it's really ugly. Poor choice, but it's better than no floor at all or exposed sub flooring.
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Sometimes I wish I was somewhere else besides St. Louis. I've only lived in St. Louis 15 months and it seems like half that time. In that time I've never felt more safe than I do after having goine to Mississippi. There are things that simply cannot happen in the Midwest. Things like hurricanes. As a matter of fact, there was a tornado in Ocean Springs the second night we were there. The director of the camp said, "We have tornado warnings for the area, but do not worry as this building is meant to withstand 150 mph winds. There is no basement so just stay where you are." That's fine and dandy and all, but what if the tornado hits the building? And isn't 150 mph winds like a F1 or something? The Midwest gets tornados, but not often enough to be something to worry about. There's not really any natural disaster short of The Big One (supposed to be the worst earthquake ever) that could bring destruction anywhere close to Katrina/Rita. Maybe we have some snow and the flood every 20 years or so, but for the most part the Midwest is safe. So, I'm going to hang here for a while.
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I fucking hate cats too. I haven't met a cat I like since Big Kitty. She was a cat my family had who got its name from the theory that no stupid cat ever responds to its "name" so it really doesn't matter if you call it Birdy, Pat, Snowball, Shitbrains, Intestines, Air Compressor or Precious Faith. The later just happens to be the name of this neighborhood cat that would hang out at the work site. She would show up about 11:00 every day, try to bum some food, play with nails, etc. She was a cool cat and our Mascot for the week. I refused to call her Precious Faith, because again...it doesn't matter. I called her French Fries.
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Antonio Washington. Of all this work and experience that week, meeting the owner of the house makes it all worth while. This man is so grateful for the work done to his house and so deserving of the things God has given to his family. The group and I rapped with him for awhile before we made our departure. He told us his story of that day in August 2005. I'll try to paraphrase it without completely screwing it up:
"I was asleep when she came ashore. Momma (this is what he calls his wife) woke me up to say it was raining pretty bad and that the storm was going to be fierce. We rode the whole thing out and at one point I went outside to see the trees leaning this way (this is where he cocks his whole body to the side; making his hands in a praying position parallel to his body)! I could barely get back into the house from the wind, but when I did we just hid and prayed."
He went on to testify that God got his family through the storm and the work done by God through us had made his faith new. He has since received a promotion at his job, is counseling/mentoring boys who do not have father figures, and is very active in the community. He kept saying, "Get on the band wagon because God is moving! He wants us to go with Him! Get on the bandwagon!" Antonio said some things that reminded me of something I saw on the first day on the job; the day we took our site seeing drive. Some of what he said is ironically and symbolically represented by a lighthouse surviving the storm. While buildings were leveled and metal twisted beyond reason, this lighthouse remained unskaved. This lighthouse became a symbol for the coastal communities of Gulf Port and Boluxi, MS. A symbol of strength, endurance and perseverance (all those things you see on the motivational photo posters -- the one with a guy kayaking from Niagara Falls, reading "COURAGE"). In case you've never been to church I'll go ahead and say that the lighthouse is symbolic of God guiding us through the storms.
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When is the last time you remember smelling paint? Have you ever been excited about smelling paint? I have a point here. We couldn't work past dusk at the work site due to the lack of electricity. One would need a flashlight or candle to see the progress made daily after dark. So, Antonio told us how he went by house the night after we had painted the front room and living room (we didn't know he had stopped by). He said he left gleefully and went home to tell Momma, "Baby, I smell PAINT!!!" Think about that! I guess someone who is maybe doing a new construction on their first home gets excited about the smell of paint. This house is 60 years old and was nearly lost in the hurricanes. Antonio doesn't take anything for granted...including the smell of paint. Because I don't remember the last time I smelled paint tells me that I am very blessed. Antonio knew that the smell of paint was another indication that his home was nearing completion. When was the last time you smelled paint? I don't remember. But this week and the time Antonio smelled paint I will always remember. For the rest of my life, I will always.