Archive for October, 2008

Getting in the “new normal” routine

Monday, October 20th, 2008

Today starts my third full week back on campus.  I find myself marking progress in odd ways. I remember the day they hauled away the gauntlet of porta-potties that lined the sidewalk on my walk to the office, or the day my desk phone service was restored. I watch the piles of rubble lining roadways: are they smaller on today’s commute? Are any of the big landmarks missing (the shrimp boat in front of Fisherman’s Wharf? The vintage sportsfisherman that I think belongs to a former neighbor, landlocked near the heliport.  The fleet “anchored” at the foot of the Galveston Causeway, tossed around like a toddler’s broken toys…)?

I’ve been parking front and center in my assigned lot, a lot closer than my usual East WayBackandWalk spot. Today there were a few more cars. I was glad to see them; like today’s opening of the Field House, another sign that little by little things are getting slowly back to “normal.”

At home, Ike’s most prominent reminders were three large plywood panels still up on my second story windows—the ones too big and too heavy to get down alone. They’re now down, just in time to enjoy what’s beginning to feel like fall. (Unfortunately, I know so many others facing so many storm-related hardships, I’m hesitant to celebrate my “progress.”) 

There’s one thing about “new normal” that I’m growing fond of: the new outdoor cafeteria. For those who haven’t been to campus, Cafe on the Court, Quizno’s, Chick-Fil-A, all the kitchens and dining areas on the first floor of John Sealy, are essentially gone. There are two white tents on top of the University Plaza parking garage, one has a chow line, the other tables and an outdoor dining area. The menu is fixed, an entree or two each day. Somedays it delicious and popular—ribs or burgers or rice and gravy—and somedays it’s less so (last week’s liver and onions, as an example). It’s a little like high school, with anticipation building as small groups head over to see what fate offers, to make their way through the line and gather around the folding tables, plastic utensils and bottled beverage in hand, picnic style. People are being good sports, everyone is making the best of the situation, and even with grilled liver fumes in the air, it feels good.     

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yIKEs.

Saturday, October 11th, 2008

It’s been almost a month since Ike surged ashore. How different that Saturday morning was, a few weeks ago, watching daylight break and stepping out to surmise the damage and destruction, catching that last feeder band of heavy rain that added insult to injury for so many.

A lot of conversations these days start “So, how’d you do?” It’s a measure of the scale of this event that no other explanation is required. I’ve heard responses that have run the gamut, witha few too many “We lost everything, but we’re safe so we’re OK.”  

I rode out Ike in my League City home with my family. I took the adage to heart: run from the water, hide from the wind. I boarded my windows, stocked in supplies, and spent a long night watching Ike roar and wondering when the worst would be over. I was lucky—no damage worth mentioning, everyone was safe, a few days without power and a few fewer trees.

I watched the footage of Galveston on the news like the rest of the country, but as shocking as they were, the newscasts didn’t do the actually wreckage justice. You can’t pack that much hurt and devastation onto any widescreen. In the early days that followed Ike, I had a chance to go down three times, once to help friends who lost a home and business, once to help a former west end neighbor, and once to salvage what I could from my flooded office (first floor of Rebecca Sealy Hospital, near west doors).

As dramatic as the images of the Seawall were, to get a real sense of how disruptive and destructive the storm was, you had to drive through the neighborhoods, see the mountains of wet funk lining every curb that represented people’s lives, watch the empty and sad expressions on friends and neighbor’s faces as they got about the task of dumping out the lives they knew.

And yet, even in the uncertainty, there was a current of hope, a positive vibe as palpable as the funk of mold and floodwater. Each time I went out, it was significantly better. I was stunned by the amount of progress, and how quickly it was getting done. What would normally take weeks or months was taking hours or days, and the sense of resolve and commitment played out in every new pizza joint, grocery store or traffic signal that returned to service.  

Events like this bring out the worst in some people, but they bring out the best in many more. The generosity, concern, self-sacrifice and sense of community I saw exhibited on the island gave me a huge shot of confidence for our collective future. I’m sure that same spirit played out in other areas hard hit. Ike, too, will pass. In life post-Ike, some things will be better, and some things we’ll miss, but we’ll go on.

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