Something has changed in my life

Kathleen McKinney is a member of St. John's Episcopal Church, Olympia, Wash., USA. She shares her diary and thoughts of her trip to New Orleans the week of February 18, 2007.

After a long, tiring all day trip, I arrived late at night in the New Orleans airport. Frank and Pat met me outside of security. They are both from Michigan and retired although both still seem to be just as busy as I am. Frank had been there since November. Pat, a retired priest had been back and forth between Michigan and New Orleans several times. Although she didn’t tell me, someone else mentioned to me that she was taking services for a local priest who needed to be out of town.

Frank was running the Mobile Respite Care unit to help out one of the deacons who was taking a needed break. I’ll be working on the mobile respite care unit while I’m here.
They drove me to Chalstrom House, where I was going to be staying and mentioned that they had picked out a bed for me and put sheets and blankets on it. So wonderful after a long day!! Chalstrom House is a former home that the church has taken over for offices. There are former bedrooms upstairs with cots for those helping with hurricane relief. My bedroom has four cots with a pool table in the middle!

Frank let me know that he would have one of the deacons pick me up the next morning and bring me out to the site after stopping at the warehouse first. Knowing that I had an 8 a.m. orientation the next morning, I went to bed and tried to go to sleep but between jet lag and strangeness, it took hours before I finally dozed. I woke to sounds of many voices and groggily wondered if it was morning already and people had arrived for the orientation. Suddenly the door to our room opened and several teenage girls came into the room talking. I sat up in bed and said, "What do you want?" They said, "beds" and apologized and left the room closing the door. Of course, then I couldn’t go back to sleep! At 6 a.m. a loud alarm clock went off belonging to my roommate, a woman from New York.

So my first day, I operated on a couple of hours of sleep. Not a great introduction to my adventure! It turned out that the teenagers were with a large group that had driven down from Maine and after several incidents had gotten to Chalstrom House at 2 a.m. They apologized for the rest of the week, especially after they found out my circumstances! It actually worked out quite well since after that first miserable day, they kept giving me food, rides and included me in their group since they felt badly about having woken me!

The orientation was very interesting and I learned a lot about New Orleans, its history and why it was located where it was, its systems of canals to drain storm water, and more about the culture that I didn’t know. That wasn’t the first time that I heard that the area has a history of extended family networks, which seem to exist in a much greater degree than anywhere else in our country. I also learned more about Katrina and why the damage was as extensive as it was, Corps of Engineers and how they set specifications for the levees differently everywhere. I learned that the wide grassy median in the street outside with streetcar tracks going down the middle is called the neutral ground and has a canal underneath to carry off storm water and that the system in New Orleans is patterned after the ones in the Netherlands.

The neighborhood that I stayed in the Carrolton area has lovely homes and everything is beautiful with no sign of Katrina seeming to remain. Oddly though, the stop light at the corner when it turns green, there is no light. The rest of it works but that one does not. I found that there are many things like that in New Orleans. Things will seem very normal but then a street sign will be missing or you will still see the markings on a house from when it was checked after Katrina. In many areas, the marks are gone except the areas that are still struggling. In general the streets are terrible since the infrastructure was so damaged. There is bumpiness and holes everywhere.

The next morning, Deacon Hackett picked me up and we drove to the 9th Ward where things are very different. For one thing, it was the poorest, most depressed area prior to Katrina. Although I did not see any houses on top of streets as I did in some photos months ago, there are blocks and blocks of deserted houses, and areas where they have been bulldozed and all that is left is the pad from the house. Here you see the now familiar markings and I began to be able to decipher them. The top is the date that the house was inspected. One the bottom is a number that shows the number of dead or live people found. Sometimes you see "1 dog" or sometimes "1 dog – live", the first meaning it was dead. The letters are from the National Guard unit who checked the house. There are still signs that people put up as spots to leave dog food for the dogs that were left behind. The deacon I was with told me that he just got land line phone service last week. Thank God for cell phones! I asked him what was the 80% that I kept hearing. He said that 80% of the homes in the New Orleans area were affected by Katrina in some way.

We stopped at the warehouse, where the diocese stores all the supplies for hurricane victims. There were crates of paper towels and toilet paper, sheets, and bags full of stuffed animals.
After leaving the warehouse, we drove to the site in St. Bernard’s Parish. I saw a sign telling people that they had to cut their weeds and clean up debris or be fined $100 a day. Here the houses are a little nicer. Some were obviously being fixed up; others were deserted. Still lots of these people still don’t have working utilities.

When we arrived, Frank was already there setting up and people were arriving. We were set up in a deserted shopping center parking lot. It was eerie to see signs on shops that looked so normal in many cases, and yet weeds growing up through the cracks in the parking lot. Half the McDonald’s sign was gone. There was a small deserted stand that had sold snowballs. It still had the sizes and the prices listed but the window was open, the building dark and the roof hanging. Nearby was a weedy area. In the weeds were an electrical junction box, a stop sign and a plastic lawn chair.

We stuffed sacks with toilet paper rolls and paper towels so that when someone came up, we could hand them one and then go down the line with them asking them what they would like to add to their sack. We had non-perishable food, bottled water, clothing donations, sheets and blankets. The blankets seemed to go especially fast. We had stuffed animals for any of the kids that wanted them.

I was amazed at the big, expensive, late model cars that people drove up in but evidently car insurance was just about the only kind of insurance that came through. Most people are still waiting for their money. Even if they get it, they can’t always get permits in a timely way and then they can’t find workers or they are not reliable. With whole extended families in the same situation, it is difficult to help your family when you have the same problems yourself.
Across the street was a small strip mall that was operating. There was a Subway so we could cross the street to use their bathroom and at lunchtime were able to go over and buy sandwiches. I found later that it was a luxury since is rare to have both a bathroom and a place to buy food near where you are working.

The numbers of people who came by were amazing. I asked Pat how people found out. She said they are there on a regular basis and a lot is by word of mouth. We had a sign by the street, but it seemed as though most people who came by knew we were there. Pat encouraged us to talk to people to see how they were doing. She said that is as important as giving them supplies. One woman that I talked to when I asked her how she was doing, she got tears in her eyes. It is hard, she said, so hard.

Both Pat and Frank were very good about letting people know where we were all from. That first day, we had a couple from CA, some of the younger ones from Maine, Frank and Pat from Michigan and then, of course, I was from WA. We got lots of thank yous for not forgetting them and for our kindness. A couple of times, some of us got together with a couple of people who were especially under a lot of strain and prayed for them One man led some incredible prayers. It was a bit of a surprise since he looked like a gang member.

By 3 o’clock we were out of most of our supplies so Frank decided we were going to pack up. It was difficult because people just kept coming even after we had put everything away.
I rode back to Chalstrom House with the Maine youth group. They volunteered to give me a ride on Wednesday also. Although we all wanted to work on Tuesday, everyone reassured us that it was hopeless since it was Mardi Gras and it would be impossible to get anywhere.
That afternoon, several of us walked up the street to get ice cream. It had an amazing effect on my headache, which was gone after having eaten it! I’ll have to try that the next headache I get. Brenda, from Maine, was so wonderful earlier since she gave me an ice pack for my head. That evening, the Maine Youth group had a debrief in the living room to talk about the day and what had happened. It was interesting since most of the adults and older kids had gutted houses and the rest of us had worked on the mobile respite care unit. Then the youth group leader led Compline. It was a lovely ending to a busy, tiring day.

Tuesday, Olive, who was my room mate, who was there with her son Ted, and I went to the French Quarter and watched one of the noon time Mardi Gras parades. Despite my being busy taking pictures, I managed to collect quite a lot of beads and a cup to bring home. We walked

around the French Quarter since Olive hadn’t been there before. People were having so much fun. I think I enjoyed some of the little impromptu parades much more, where there might be someone with a saxophone, someone with a drum and various types of costumes they would all go dancing and playing down the street for a ways. They all seemed to exude so much joy of life. One of my favorite photos was of an older man talking to a young woman who was sitting down and dressed in a wonderful mermaid costume. They were having a conversation just as every day as though both were there in jeans!

Wednesday, we were scheduled to go to the 9th Ward, one of the areas that had been hit the hardest. We all woke to rain. Since we didn’t have any shelter to set up under, it was cancelled. The mobile respite care usually sets up in a donated RV, which has an awning, but it was in the shop and we were working out of an old delivery van. After one day off, most of us were really anxious to get back to work. Since the gutting crews worked anyway, some of the Chalstrom House residents went with them. I did a little cleaning around Chalstrom House. Pat called and asked if I would like to go to St. Paul’s so I could meet Father Will Hood and see the church. Of course, I was thrilled since that was one reason why I came.

We drove out to the Lakeview neighborhood, which is a middle class neighborhood that was also hit really hard by Katrina and subsequent flooding. There the houses were mixed. Some were fixed up with people living in them. Others were in various stages of repair. Some you had to look at to be sure that they weren’t occupied. In most cases, people were keeping the weeds down even if they weren’t able to live there. One house that I took a photo of had most of the shingles gone off of the roof so I suspect no one lived there. There were few cars, and very few people, which was another indication of not many people in residence.

It was wonderful to be able to see St. Paul’s after having seen pictures of it. It is a large brick building with several adjoining buildings. When we went inside, you could smell the newness of everything, paint and carpets. I walked into the nave and got tears in my eyes, not only because I had seen photos of it with the pews all tumbled on top of each other where they were left from the receding flood waters but because of the amazing stained glass windows. They are incredibly beautiful and much older than the building. Amazingly they were not damaged by the storm. They are very old and came from the church when it was downtown. The top of one window was damaged in a previous storm but the restoration was amazing. I would not have known that the top had been replaced. After that they put protection on the outside. A woman came in and showed me where above my head the slight mark on the wall was from where the flood waters had been.

As I was waiting for Pat to get her copies made, I met one of the men who had come to our Diocesan conference and spoken. I recognized him right away and told him who I was and how I had been inspired to come because of their talk. He thanked me for coming and helping.
We then managed to find Father Will Hood. I explained who I was. When I told him that he was so inspirational that I knew I had to come and help, he got tears in his eyes. He also thanked me for coming. The pews that came from the church in Indiana are beautiful, classic pews and go well with the wonderful stained glass windows. Father Will Hood said to leave my name and address and someone would mail me a copy of the history of the windows. I was not able to talk to him for long since he had an Ash Wednesday service to do.

When we got back to Chalstrom House, I asked Mother Gaumer if she knew of any work I could do. She came back about ten minutes later and said that a friend of hers who lived a couple of blocks away needed help cleaning up her house since it was one the tornado had hit the week before. The tornado had come down right in the neighborhood where we were staying.

We collected several of the kids and adults and walked over to the house on Fern Street. Outside of one boarded up window the front of the house looked pretty normal although the house next door was missing its roof and pieces from the side of the house. But when we went inside the house, it was a shock. The floor was covered about a foot deep with debris and the walls looked as though someone had thrown dirt on them!

The owner is an anthropologist. She had wonderful art and antiquities. What was amazing is that everything was still on the walls. The house was a typical New Orleans shotgun house and over 100 years old. Next to the front door in the front hall was a tall Victorian window that had had a wide windowsill underneath it. The tornado had torn the windowsill off and put a hole through the wall under the window. You could see the house next door through the hole. But there was no other damage to the wall and not even a pane was cracked in the window. Upstairs there were two holes in the roof in two different bedrooms and you could see that nearly the entire roof was gone. Only some of the framing was still there. If it had not been for the blue tarp, you could have seen sky.

I asked the owner about how it had happened and she said the storm blew open her French doors in her kitchen, went through her kitchen, through the dining room and up the stairs and through the roof of the house. It happened at 2 a.m. in the morning so they were in bed asleep. Neither of them was hurt at all and although the house was filled with debris, there was very little damage. Really quite amazing when you saw all the art on the walls and the shelves covered with pottery, music, wall hangings and paintings on the walls. Everything was filthy. We started from the top of the walls and worked our way down filling big garbage sacks with debris and carrying them out to the FEMA truck parked by the curb. We filled the truck up. When we left, the house wasn’t exactly clean but it was a job she could handle herself since all the debris was gone. Most of it was the roof from the house next door so it was tar paper, shingles, splinters of wood and lots of dirt with a little broken glass. She was pretty happy and so were we since we felt like we had accomplished something that day.

That evening, we all had another debrief from the day and evening prayer to end the day. One of the kids discovered that the house had an elevator so we all had to go up in the elevator, which went to the attic, a mysterious place we hadn’t known existed. It was a challenge sharing the house with a bunch of very active kids, the youngest of whom had her 11th birthday that day. They gave her a big party. The kids never seemed to run out of energy and would have stayed up late if allowed and gotten up early. Each morning there was an orientation for the gutting crews, which I listened to with interest and learned a lot. At the end of the day, they would have a debrief. Most of the people on the gutting crews were young people of high school and college age and from the east coast for the most part but some from the Midwest. One day I heard them talk about gutting a bargeboard house and how hard it was. A bargeboard house was made from the wood from a river barge and has tongue and groove walls. They nailed the dry wall right onto the bargeboards so it is much more difficult to get off.

Thursday morning we were supposed to go to the 9th Ward so we all made sure that we had plenty of food and went to the bathroom before leaving since we would not have access to either food or bathrooms where we were going. The mobile respite care unit is usually run by another one of the deacons. He had gone on vacation during Mardi Gras as many New Orleanians do. Frank was running it for him. The deacon and one of the young women from Maine and I went to an elementary school in the 9th Ward to see if we could give them stuffed animals for the kids while everyone else went to the warehouse to load up the van and set up at the site.

We were told that the principal was gone and we should come back later and bring samples of the stuffed animals. The kids from Maine had already stuffed them into ziplock bags with tags saying they were from the Diocese of Louisiana. We went back to get some of the animals and then stopped to see a woman that the deacon wanted to check on. Ms. Clara is wheelchair bound and had been forcibly evacuated from her home during Katrina. He tries to stop by on a regular basis to check on her to see how she is doing. She lives in the 9th Ward not far from the elementary school. We went by and she was sitting near the doorway with her door open so we could see into her house. We went in and he introduced us to her. Her house was pretty shabby looking and she had dolls, stuffed animals and pictures in every possible spot she could put one.

The deacon asked her to tell us about how they evacuated her. She told us that a big man from the National Guard came by and told her that she would have to leave. He said he’d be back in an hour with other soldiers and for her to be ready. They came back in an hour with a truckload of soldiers and took her out of there to the convention center.

I said, I had heard that the convention center was pretty bad. Ms. Clara said she didn’t know why anyone said that because it was not true. She said those soldiers had guns and it was so quiet in there you could hear a pin drop. But she got sick after the first night and they had to take her to the hospital. When she came back they took her to the airport to put her on a plane. She said they would not tell anyone where they were going until after they took off and were in the air. She said when the plane took off, a Japanese woman was sitting next to her. They announced that that plane was going to Providence, R.I. The Japanese woman stood up and said, I want to get off! I’m supposed to be going to California. Ms. Clara said that the soldier pulled a gun on the woman and made her sit down.

Kathleen and Ms. Clara in her 9th Ward home

The deacon asked Ms. Clara if there was anything she needed and she said some paper towels and bleach and he said we would get that for her. We left and went to the warehouse and looked for bleach. I found some in a bottle with handwritten bleach on it but no paper towels. Evidently we were out except for what they took to the site so we went back to the elementary school.

We sat out in the lobby for forty minutes before the principal decided to see us so got to see the workings of the office and the kids who went there. Most of them were dressed very nicely although the deacon said that they came from pretty rough families for the most part.
When we went in to see the principal, she looked at the stuffed animals and saw that they were new. The deacon explained to her that the Diocese had received some money from someone in Iowa who designated that it be spent on stuffed animals and that he had purchased them himself. He made it very clear that they were from the church not the government. The principal said that they could use several hundred of them.

He explained to us in the car that people there hate the government so he wanted to be sure they understood where they came from. He drove us around the 9th Ward so I could take some more photos and then we went to the mobile respite care unit. We got there about 1:30 and they had pretty much run out of food and supplies and were putting things away.

When we got back to Chalstrom House, I started going through the bags of animals to see how many zip lock bags did not have tags in the saying they were from the church. It was over 300 without tags. I called the deacon since he was making more. When he brought the tags, I asked some of the kids to help me stuff them into the zip lock bags and then put into the large garbage bags. We had a total of 550 stuffed animals. They were going to deliver them on Friday after I left.

That evening, we all had dinner together, then the Maine group took off for the French Quarter where they had never been. They said they would bring me some beignets but I knew I might not be there since Deacon Mike Hackett had volunteered to take me to the airport early on Friday morning but he wanted me to stay at St. Augustine’s since it was close to his house. He picked me up about 8 p.m. and we drove to St. Augustine’s, which is his church. No one was there at all. He showed me around the church when I asked. They had some wonderful icons and another very large wooden Christ over the altar like St. Andrew’s had. There were mattress pads upstairs in one of the church school rooms which he put on the floor for me and showed me the bathroom and showers and then locked me in. I had no idea I would be spending the night locked in an empty parish building without even access to a kitchen, but was glad of free lodging and a free ride the next morning. I went to bed early since I had to get up so early. In the morning, I put the mattress back on the pile and folded my sheets and blankets and put them in a pile with my pillow. I had some granola, which I had brought with me so ate some of it for breakfast while I waited for the deacon to pick me up.

He was right on time and as we loaded my things in the car, I remarked on how normal everything seemed in that neighborhood. The strip mall signs were all lit up, there were trees (live ones, not dead) and bushes in people’s yards and no sign of any damage. I asked if they had been affected at all remembering how when I got there he had told me that he had just gotten a working land line phone. He said they had had four inches of water in their house and afterwards he and his wife had to pull all the carpet out of their house, which now has been replaced with tile. He said they took all their clothes off afterwards and threw them out. I asked why it was so bad and he said because of raw sewage. He said his wife NEVER wanted to do that again!

When I got back home, I remembered the conversation that I had with Brenda who said she would definitely come again but she thought next time she’d go to Mississippi to help. I knew I didn’t want to go to Mississippi and wasn’t sure I wanted to go back to New Orleans and yet I felt as though it was not the end but rather the beginning of something.

I’ve had to think of it for a while. I definitely feel that something has changed in my life. I walked by a homeless man with the usual cardboard sign on my way to get groceries last week. I noticed him and his shabbiness but didn’t really notice him, certainly not his humanity. When I entered the store, I realized that I had no excuse not to buy a little extra food and give it to him, so I did. I’m going to do it again too. It’s not enough for me to go serve meals at the local "soup" kitchen any more, I need to do something more to recognize and support the humanity of those less fortunate than I. I don’t know what that will be. It may take different forms but I know it is something new in my life, something good.

Come get dirty in New Orleans this April

The Diocese of Olympia invites you to join a missionary trip to New Orleans April 14-22, 2007. Only six spots left! Be a member of a Diocese of Olympia medical and construction team to assist in the reconstruction of New Orleans.

Participants will stay at the St. Paul’s Homecoming Center, New Orleans, which can house 25 volunteers and includes a full kitchen. The construction team will meet daily at a central location and will be divided into work crews. Each crew will be under the direction of a local crew chief. The medical team (R.N.,M.D.,APRN) will be part of the St. Anna’s Mobile Medical Mission and will provide basic medical examinations and care.

Cost per person: self-arranged air fare ($300+ as of date of this post), food needed for meals (approx. $100) and rental vehicles and gas for ground transportation ($75). Lodging is free but a donation will be appreciated.

If interested, please contact the Rev. Peter Kalunian for a registration form. The team will be limited to the first 25 people who apply. For more information, call 206-854-0612 or e-mail Fr. Peter pkalunian@comcast.net. More information is available at www.edola.org, click on “volunteer resources.”

The church seems to be a home for hope

Fr. Will Hood greets Carl Knirk at St. Paul's

Sunday, January 28, 20007

St. Paul’s, Lakeview, New Orleans, 10 a.m. worship service

I’ve been looking forward to this opportunity to see St. Paul’s in person for the first time and to worshiping with our partner congregation in the We Will Stand With You campaign.

I’m greeted by Matt Wallo, who with his wife Melanie came to Seattle in October and spoke at our diocesan convention, sharing their story of escape, return, and efforts to rebuild their Lakeview home, which was destroyed by floodwaters in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Matt also is the acolyte master for St. Paul's. Today, he shared that the family finally have a foundation on their house and are ready to start framing if they could just get some decent weather. Saturday, the day before, was an awful, rainy, foggy day; Melanie said she spent the day on the couch. Today, Sunday, is beautiful, cold, but with clear, blue skies.

We walk into the sanctuary, it’s about 9:35, and Will Hood is testing the new sound system, wearing his microphone. He greets me with a bear hug. The choir is practicing; the sanctuary is spotless, beautiful, with lovely stained glass windows. The pews came from a church in Indianapolis, and are said to be 100 years old. Will says we are baptizing a young infant and he needs to go talk with the family. The church starts to fill up and the choir, with some 20 to 25 voices, processes in; the music is terrific.

I will remember one line from Will’s sermon, forever. “Church is not a spectator sport.” St. Paul’s is full of life. Its new resource center, in a house around the corner, is triaging people and helping them get services. The dorm upstairs can sleep up to 30 volunteers, on cots with foam cushions. The center has a small kitchen and showers are available next door.

The trailer/washeteria (a laundromat for you non-southerners) is up and running in the church parking lot. It contains several washers and dryers and is a joint effort of St. Paul’s, United Way,






and donations from folks like us. It is used constantly by folks in the neighborhood, who come to wash their clothes for free. Many in the neighborhood are living in trailers. Some houses look like they will not be rebuilt, but most look like they are being worked on or may be salvaged.

When the offering plate comes around I put a check for $10,000 in the plate, from the Diocese of Olympia, representing We Will Stand With You gifts since Diocesan Convention, along with a prayer card I wrote. At announcement time, Will introduces me, my wife Susan, and my three guests, two from Vancouver, B.C., and one from North Carolina who are in town with me for a board meeting of TENS, The Episcopal Network for Stewardship. He says the Diocese of Olympia (Western Washington) is the diocese that sends those prayer cards and is leading the way in helping St. Paul's.

Following the service, a gentleman about my age, in a business suit, sitting in front of us, turned and said to me, “Thank you for all you are doing, you have no idea how much it means to us.” He wipes away a couple of tears with his finger as he is speaking to me. I feel the presence of the Lord’s Spirit through him, through all the folks in this place, I am grateful for the opportunity to witness this in person.

After the service we go to coffee hour and I find John Joseph, the sexton for the church, who came to our convention. I spent a lot of time with John Joseph on his visit her and I know of his harrowing escape from Katrina. His family escaped to the gymnasium at the school, and spent two days there before being rescued by a boat. He shows me the water line on a shed in the parking lot where the water stood for three weeks. It is eight feet above the parking lot and it was eight feet high in the church and school. I walk out in the kitchen with John Joseph, and he tells me of the water coming and rising quickly, when the levees broke. He had been standing right where we were today.

He realized he needed to get out; he could not open the door outside, as the water was too high, he climbed through a window in the kindergarten room, and went over to the gym on higher ground.

We have a couple of lovely dinners in New Orleans, we have beignets at Café Du Monde, we listen to a great traditional jazz band called the Jazz Vipers at the Spotted Cat Café.

We drive, via cab, through ramshackle neighborhoods that that look like they may never be rebuilt, only a couple of miles from a bustling downtown and French Quarter that avoided the floods.

There is juxtaposition among all the people we meet. Many are committed to staying, to rebuilding, but I sense in every person a “depressive psyche” that pervades life in New Orleans. Crime is rampant, there is fear, and there is distrust of the local and national authorities. The church seems to be a home for hope for many of the beloved. I am proud of the work we are doing with the people of St. Paul's, including our monetary support, because I know these funds are doing good works, no bureaucrats in the middle. I know of the dozens of volunteers scheduled to come to St. Paul’s and do work, helping neighborhoods rebuild in the months ahead.

On our last night, Tuesday, I have dinner with Will Hood, Katie (the school's athletic coach), Matt, and Melanie. We talk to Katie about bringing some eighth-graders from the school up to Camp Huston in July for one of our sessions in Gold Bar. She is so excited -- she wants to come too, and she will. Maybe we can organize home stays for some of these youth through our diocesan youth and their families.

Our flight home from New Orleans is delayed by ice storms in Dallas and a two-hour equipment repair while we are all seated on the plane, waiting for a part to be replaced. We arrive home, three hours late, after a 12 hour travel day. Our bags come out early, we are grateful to be home have many feelings to decompress about our visit to New Orleans.

Some people ask me upon return, what about the levees. Couldn’t this happen again? I say, yes, it probably could. But put yourself in their shoes. This is their home. The city's population is half the size it was before Katrina, but those who’ve come back want to stay and rebuild. Will the city ever return to what it was? Who knows?

What I do know is that we are developing personal relationships with brothers and sisters in Christ, who are not only trying to rebuild their own lives, their church, their school, but are also reaching out to those in need. St. Paul’s School brings hope to all of Lakeview. Isn’t that what the Gospel is about? I am grateful to be able to help our diocese raise funds and support these folks.

Carl Knirk
Carl is the Bishop's Deputy for Planned Giving in the Diocese of Olympia (Western Washington)

Hope and reunion on the storm's anniversary

September 20, 2006

We have been back from our most recent trip to New Orleans for just over two weeks. I can’t explain why this blog update has been so difficult to write. This is what I wrote and never posted before we left, followed by my observations once we were on the ground again. I did not know what to expect when we returned. Once there, I was both saddened and hopeful by what we experienced. The sadness comes from the desolation of the Lakeview neighborhood and the city of New Orleans. The hopefulness is found in the sanctuary of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. Be patient, please. This is a long entry. And do keep those at St. Paul’s in your daily prayers and meditations.

August 14, 2006

In 10 days, God willing, we will be back in New Orleans.

On that day, Aug. 24, 2006, St. Paul’s Episcopal School kids will be squirming in the seats in their much-missed and recently refurbished classrooms, boiling over with giggles as they drag in backpacks brimming with school supplies.

A couple of days later, on Sunday, Aug. 27, St. Paul’s Episcopal Church will celebrate the Holy Eucharist at its church home in the Lakeview neighborhood for the first time since Hurricane Katrina hit the city and breached its levy system on August 29, 2005.

These are two milestones for a congregation in a city, that from an outsider’s admittedly limited point of view, is in the throes of slow, painful rebirth; a city whose residents mark things both small and large as turning points. For St. Paul’s, these two late-August milestones will be huge.

I noted with some embarrassment and a little sadness today that we have not updated this blog since mid-June. In the busyness of our own lives, we’ve not kept in touch with the folks at St. Paul’s as much as we could have.

I know what I read in our local papers, and on nola.com (the New Orleans Times-Picayune’s on-line edition). Its headlines today are of people arrested for shootings and murders; on the not-very popular rules on how homes are to be gutted and; a recovery plan that doesn’t seem to have many fans; and on Mayor Ray Nagin’s attempt to put together an administration. Everything seems to raise a controversy, even the now-ditched anniversary celebration planned for Aug. 29. Apparently, the idea of marking the anniversary of the storm with a performance by a comedian, a masquerade ball and fireworks was just a little bit much for most folks.

Those are the headlines. But, as we ask in the world of journalism, what’s the back story? Was Camp Care-A-Lot, St. Paul’s summer camp for kids all over the city, a success? How are Debbie and Bud and daughter Sarah – is Bud still commuting to Baton Rouge? What about Rusty and Stacey and Robert – have they bulldozed their house? Has Katie found a permanent place to live? Is Fr. Will able to keep up with his myriad responsibilities? How many kids are coming back to school this fall? Have members of the Parish returned? Have the sparrows in Natalie and Phil’s birdhouse raised another brood?

What are St. Paul’s parishioners’ prayer lives like? Where have they found Christ? How has their faith been challenged? How have they met that challenge? How can I learn from this?

When we were in New Orleans in April, we were told over and over that the most important thing to folks there was that they not be forgotten.

I hope the few things we have done to keep the story in front of people have helped to ensure that doesn’t happen. We have made several presentations and have helped put together the Diocese’s We Will Stand With You Sunday on August 27 (see related story).

On Sunday, August 6, we had the challenge of trying to make what happened to St. Paul’s and Lakeview real for the kids and staff at Camp Michael, our Diocesan region’s summer camp. When we come to New Orleans, we’ll be bringing their notes of encouragement and support from these kids to St. Paul’s in hopes of setting up a continuing “pen pal” partnership.

Please do know that your prayers and support are very much appreciated by St. Paul’s. You can see pictures of the progress they have made at www.st.paulschurchno.org

But those are the pictures. Our job is to bring you the back story. With your prayers, we can do that.

Blessings
Mindy and Paul

P.S. When she heard before our departure that we were returning to New Orleans (August is after all, hurricane season), a co-worker of mine said: “You’re a brave woman.” I’ve been thinking about that statement and I don’t think this has anything to do with bravery.

We’ve made arrangements to board our cats for the time that we’re gone. We’ve made plans to see our families in Indianapolis for a few days after we leave New Orleans. We haven’t made plans about what to do if we do get caught in a hurricane. We’ll simply, with God’s help, continue the pilgrimage.

And so, back to September 20, with some observations, some answers to questions raised in the un-posted August missive, and some updates on the people we introduced to you earlier this year.



August 29, 2006 - First anniversary of Hurricane Katrina

Observations
New Orleans does not look much different than it did in April. Many, many houses are in the same empty, eerie state they were in before. The same sodden couches are on the same sagging porches. The major difference is that the vegetation is beginning to overgrow what is left of the structures. Hardly anyone is around to mow the lawns. If people have come back, having a lawnmower likely loses out to paying to hook up to electricity.



For the most part, New Orleans is now a city of lists and lines. You are on a list to get something hooked up – like phone service or electricity or water. You are most likely in line to get a permit to bulldoze your house, or on hold trying for a real human voice who can help you get that permit. For those who have come back and who are trying to rebuild and get on with their lives, it’s a city full of frustration and some bitterness over the failure of systems they once depended on. Can you imagine having no land-line phone service for more than a year? Or having to wait a year to tear down your house so you can start re-building? Can you imagine having no neighborhood stores to shop in? No local restaurants? For a moment or two, imagine how you would feel if everything convenient about your life was stripped away. That is how life is in New Orleans.

When people ask about what the city is like now, I often tell them that what has happened there is a national disgrace. It is very difficult for me to put aside my feelings about the thousands of people who have died and the trillions of dollars we have spent on the so-called war against terrorism in Pakistan and in the Middle East. I wonder what those who have died could have accomplished in New Orleans, and how those dollars could have been spent helping in the city’s rebirth.

People in New Orleans are fighting their own Gulf War. Were it not for the financial and prayer support of faith-based communities such as the Diocese of Olympia, I believe they would be losing.

But enough commentary. On to the pre-visit questions.

Was Camp Care-A-Lot, St. Paul’s summer camp for kids all over the city, a success?
By all reports, yes. Attendance was great, the kids had a great time, and the portable classrooms for camp are being used as portable classrooms for St. Paul’s re-opened school (more on that later).

How are Debbie and Bud and daughter Sarah – is Bud still commuting to Baton Rouge?
The family is back together. Debbie is teaching first grade at St. Paul’s and leading the school’s morning chapel. On Monday, the day before the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, she led the school kids through an exercise on the Diaspora, the scattering of God’s people “all over the place”.

“In the history books, it’s going to be the New Orleans Diaspora,” she says. “We have come back in the shortest amount of time … through our faith in God we could do it. We had hope we could come back. We had love of place and of people.”

Bud is back in New Orleans – no longer commuting. When we were there, they thought they were just days away from getting permission to bulldoze their home and rebuild.

What about Rusty and Stacey and Robert – have they bulldozed their house?
Not yet. They did buy the lot next door, and will tear down both destroyed homes and rebuild “bigger and better,” Stacey says. Seven-year-old Robert still has bad memories of the flood, evidenced by a day of a hard rain that flooded the city’s streets. He kept asking his Mom when they were going to leave, and then began insisting they leave before they were flooded out. It’s hard to think about a kid this young, and all New Orleans kids having some kind of post traumatic stress, but they do. All their parents can do is reassure them that every time it rains, it won’t mean they have to disrupt their lives.

Has Katie found a permanent place to live?
Yes, she has. And she’s now Coach Katie, who is in charge of the physical education programs at St. Paul’s. Like most people we met on our first trip there, she greets us with a kiss on the cheek and thanks us for all of the support St. Paul’s has received.

Is Fr. Will able to keep up with his myriad responsibilities?
It seems so. He even had time on the Saturday before the re-opening of the church to talk to the acolytes about how to tie their cinctures. As head of school, he attends chapel with the school kids each morning and then goes on to dealing with contractors, government officials and charitable organizations in an effort to keep the church going and to reach out to the Lakeview community. Through his work, the church is now housing an organization called Beacon of Hope, an intake/assistance center for people who need to connect with resources that will allow them to return.

How many kids are coming back to school this fall?
More than 120 students have come back, about half of those who attended before the hurricane/flood. The halls of the school ring with the laughter of kids delighted to be back in their place, with spaces and teachers and classmates they know. Kids, as we know are resilient. These kids are remarkably so.

Have members of the Parish returned?
This was the reading from Matthew for Sunday, August 27, when the church re-opened.

“Therefore do not worry, saying ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ … Strive first for the Kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.”

Of that re-opening day, this is some of what I wrote for the Episcopal Voice, our dioscean publication:

It’s nearly 10 a.m. on Sunday, August 27 and the air conditioning at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in New Orleans Lakeview neighborhood is groaning to keep up with the 80-degree-plus temperature. The acolytes are twirling their cinctures while getting last-minute instructions. The clergy and the choir are suiting up. The ushers are handing out service bulletins and Fr. Will Hood, St. Paul’s priest in charge, is going over his sermon one last time.

This scene is typical for churches around the world. But at St. Paul’s, getting to this point on this particular Sunday is nothing short of a miracle. Just a year ago, Hurricane Katrina-induced floodwaters poured into the church and school, saturating everything from pews to Prayer Books in eight feet of dirty, roiling water.

The water is gone, as are those old pews and Prayer Books. What remains is a testament to the strength of St. Paul’s and the part that is critical to the church’s rebirth – community.

“I grew up here,” says Bill Settoon, who sat with his daughter in the refurbished worship space Saturday night. His father and wife had served on St. Paul’s Vestry. His mother was on the altar guild, his children were baptized at St. Paul’s and attended school there. His sister was buried from the church. “Being here gives me a sense of place.”

Sunday, as the church begins to fill, old friends greet each other with smiles and big hugs. Some, like Margaret Kirn, the church’s junior warden, shed a tear or two as they look in wonder at the worship space that has been lovingly put back together by folks who still are in the post-Katrina daze that permeates New Orleans. They have lost homes and cars and jobs, but have retained something so precious. In a city that will spend years in recovery, St. Paul’s is a pocket of hope, a witness to what steadfast faith and determination can accomplish.

Trust in God, says Fr. Hood in his sermon this day, is what is making St. Paul’s rebirth possible. “People who live in faith and hope, when caught in a whirlwind, are called to surrender. You have to give your life away if you want to live ... stop, drop and pray … say ‘I cannot handle this, I am overcome, my heart weeps. I do not know what to do.’ And then the Gospel says, ‘rest in me.’”

Hood is quick to acknowledge that rest may be precious as work at St. Paul’s continues. While the school has reopened, and the church building is largely repaired, the congregation will be challenged in new ways as it reaches out to a neighborhood still full of flood-ravaged empty homes and shuttered businesses. “I can’t tell you what it’s going to look like in a year – I would be foolish to do that,” Hood says. “But God can do the unimaginable.”

Have the sparrows in Natalie and Phil’s birdhouse raised another brood?
Yes, several. But sadly, the baby birds often are eaten by the crows that are taking over bird space in New Orleans, just like they are every where else. I think it is a good sign that the cycle of life is returning, although Natalie may not agree.

What are St. Paul’s parishioners’ prayer lives like? Where have they found Christ? How has their faith been challenged? How have they met that challenge? How can I learn from this?
I never found the right time to ask these questions of the people I talked to while we were there. I could only be a witness to what I’ve previously called their backbone of faith. My friend Karen Casey, a traveler from Washington on this journey with us, had this observation when she returned:
“These folks at St. Paul’s are ordinary people called to live extraordinarily. They are witnesses to the depth of being present to every moment, never certain what will emerge tomorrow, but trusting God and going on.”

Should you choose to do relief work in New Orleans, prepare for a life-changing experience. That may sound trite, but it is true – talk to anyone who has done this. Chris Rose, a columnist for the New Orleans Times Picayune, quotes a volunteer worker speaking about those who have been on the ground: “They go through their own grieving hell when they leave New Orleans. It’s like leaving the Titanic for a safe distant shore – and leaving all the people behind. There is such a dissonance between what’s going on down there and everywhere else in America.”

Amen

Debbie and Bud

Debbie Waldman: "We had three generations of stuff in here."

Debbie Waldmann stands outside her flood-ruined home in New Orleans’ Lakeview neighborhood, looking at the hole in the ground where a huge water oak tree used to stand.

"We planted it when she was born, she watched it grow,’ Debbie says of the tree, planted in honor of her daughter’s Sarah’s birth nearly 16 years ago. "When she asked about what happened to our house, the first thing she wanted to know about was the tree."

After fleeing Katrina last August, the family returned to New Orleans in December. Sarah chose not to come to the house, but Debbie and husband Bud found the home had been inundated with six-and-half feet of water in the front and 10 feet in the back. The house will be bulldozed.

Debbie, a first-grade teacher at St. Paul's School, carefully guides visitors through the house. "We had three generations of stuff in here. The water came in and sat here for a month."

"This was our kitchen," she says of a room where appliances are overturned and dishes broken. Nearby, they found Sarah’s Baptism candle. "It was covered in slime, but she wanted it."

Debbie’s ministry books were toppled from shelves, along with "stuff from 28 years of kids I taught." Besides their own ruined belongings, they even found things that didn’t belong to them.

Time stood still in the kitchen August 29, 2005

Bud and Debbie have weekends to work on any salvaging they might want to do. Before the storm, he worked for state hospital in New Orleans as a psychologist. Now, he’s working in Baton Rouge, 80 miles away, getting home when he can.

They’ve been watching the neighborhood come back, but slowly. A few houses away, someone is beginning to put in a lawn, a contrast to the dust and weeds, and the single red petunia blooming on Debbie and Bud’s front lawn.

Margaret's Dream

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord…plans to give you hope and a future…You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. - Jeremiah 29: 11,13

This was a dream so wonderful I just want to share it with you, dear friends.

I was at St. Paul's alone, doing some chore in the stripped down sacristy, wondering what I was supposed to do with the leftover consecrated wafers and wine. (Why I was even there with that is one of those non sequiturs that occur so often in dreams because we were still at St. Martin's school chapel.)

I crossed over to the sanctuary and there I saw an unblemished fair linen on the altar once again, pristine, with no stains or tears, perfectly pressed. So it occurred to me to just consume what I was holding. Then, no, that might not be what was to be done, so I turned to go back to the sacristy to try to find a place to put what I held. But where? The pacina had been ripped out. The tabernacle was gone. What to do with this holy stuff?



Then from the corner of my eye I saw there were two small crystal candle holders also on the altar (very small, I think we had some like that in the kitchen once for parish suppers). And ... the candles were lit. It seemed to be an invitation. I returned to the altar thinking again I would just consume what was left.

But as I looked up and out to the nave, a few people were coming into the area. The church was still bare and dusky. You've seen it, a cavern of concrete and brick with scarred woodwork and no pews or kneelers, no lights. But they stood there quietly, obviously expecting a Mass.

I said Will was not here, but we could worship and consume what had already been consecrated. I don't know if that was theologically sound, but it just seemed to be the right thing to do. They wanted to be fed. Then more people came. I was concerned we would not have enough. Then more. It wasn't just the old St. Paul's crowd. It was neighbors and more. Then the contractors and workers and remediators. The church was filled. And there was enough. So I guess you might say I have had my first Eucharist back at St. Paul's.

This dream has stayed with me. I wondered who were all these people. Now I realize they were not just us and our neighbors. They were you, each of you who have cared for us and blessed us with your time , talents, and treasures. It was you with whom we shared the Eucharist, the dream that St. Paul's lives.

Love and blessings, Margaret

Margaret E. Kirn is the Junior Warden at St. Paul's, New Orleans
And chair of St. Paul's Restoration Fund
P.O. Box 56297
Metairai, LA 70055-6297

"I like to focus on how much I saved"

Stacey Hayden: "I had to laugh."

"Come on in," says Stacey Hayden, as she searches for the keys to the back door of the light blue stucco she used to call home.

Like most New Orleans residents who fled Hurricane Katrina last August, Stacey and her family thought they were evacuating for a few days. When the Haydens finally came back in December, they found most of what they owned had been destroyed when water from the 17th Street Canal breach flooded their Lakeview neighborhood.

"We lost our home, we lost our business, we lost our church, we lost our school, you’ve heard the story," says Stacey, who shared the modest two-story with her son, Robert, a mop-topped first-grader, and husband Rusty.

Gingerly walking over warped floors and stepping around overturned furniture and broken mementos, she points to a few sheets of Monopoly money about six feet up on the living room wall. The floodwaters that settled in the house for several weeks carried it up and left it there.
"When I first came in and saw it, I had to laugh," says Stacey, a St. Paul’s Vestry member.
But they barely had time to assess the hurricane and flood damage before the house was struck by a tornado in February that blew portions of their neighbor’s roof into their bathroom and Robert’s bedroom. Then, in early April, looters came, rifled through plastic bags of clothes she was trying to save, and walked out with a small window air conditioner that had somehow managed to escape the damage.

The Hayden home on Canal Blvd. bears familiar Katrina marks

Rusty only recently was able to re-open the family’s lumber business. Robert is back in school at St. Paul’s temporary location. Stacey helps Rusty with the business, sometimes takes care of other parishioners’ children, and continues to try to salvage what she can from the home while they rent a place in nearby Metairie.

Stacey shrugs as she shares their story. Tears have been replaced with humor and determination to rebuild not only her home, which will be bulldozed by Rusty, but St. Paul’s church and school and her neighborhood.

"I saved a lot of kitchen stuff – I like to focus on how much I saved."

Is it back to normal?

May 17, 2006
We (my husband Paul and I) have been home from our trip to New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast for one month today. I find myself with one foot still with the congregation of St. Paul’s New Orleans and the other here in Olympia, where we have resumed our routines of work and church; grocery shopping and gardening; feeding the cats and taking out the trash. My legs don’t feel long enough to stretch between these two worlds. God willing we’ll close that distance by returning to New Orleans in August or September.

Mindy interviews second graders at St. Paul's School in April

People who know of our travels ask, invariably, curiously and kindly: "What was it like? Was it horrible? What are the people doing? Is it back to normal? What do people need? Why are they staying there?"

It is hard to avoid answering these questions with cliches, such as "It was life-changing," although it was. I often find myself pointing to imaginary eight-foot marks (the level at which the water settled in many places in New Orleans) on walls and tend to babble in a not-so-great attempt to respond to what people want to know about the devastation. Truth is, and I mean no put-down by this, no matter how I try to answer these questions, you simply can’t understand what happened and what is happening in New Orleans unless you have been on the ground.

What was it like?

Do I describe the miles of dark, blown-out, uninhabited houses we saw on a late Friday night when we first drove through the Lakeview neighborhood, where 8,000 homes were lost? Or the spray-painted house numbering system used by National Guard units to show how many bodies and deceased pets they found during their searches?

Or do I describe the folks who have the spiritual backbone of faith that it will take to scrape away the paint (although not the memories of it) and rebuild and discover new ways of doing things in New Orleans? Do I talk about the tragedy of lives blown apart? Or do I talk about the loving hospitality offered and the life-long friendships made while we were there?

Many want to know about the stories they hear about the black vs. white, poor vs. not-so-poor in the city. I’m no help there. I can’t analyze or discuss with any kind of expertise the centuries old racial, social and economic divides in New Orleans. What I can say is that people all over the city are in need.

Was it horrible?

I think this question has two parts: Was it horrible for the people of New Orleans? Was the damage we saw horrible?

Yes and yes.

I find myself trying to explain what happened in New Orleans like this: People fleeing Hurricane Katrina thought they were leaving the city for three or so days. The hurricane passed, but the water from the levee failures filled up most of the city like a giant bathtub. Folks landed in places across the country. Those who came back, some as long as five or six months later, found the interiors of their homes looked as if a washing machine full of their belongings had been subject to a really long wash and rinse cycle that didn’t spin.

In Lakeview, a mostly white, middle class neighborhood where we spent our time, those who are choosing to stay, for the most part, will bulldoze and rebuild. I know that is not the case in the Ninth Ward, a mostly black and low-income neighborhood that we saw only briefly. Much is being written about the disparities between the two; again, I don’t pretend to analyze or judge any of this.

In both places, many people went back to their houses, took a peek inside, closed what was left of their doors and walked away. It was too painful to try to reclaim whatever was left. They won’t be back. Others chose to not return at all. House-for-sale signs outnumber FEMA trailers just about everywhere.

What are the people doing?

Surviving. Making plans for the future as best they can. Trying to make mortgage payments on homes they can’t live in and payments on cars they can’t drive. Fighting with insurance companies. Finding humor where they can. Taking their kids to school. Trying to find jobs and

People say: "I can’t imagine that" I respond by saying, "No, you can’t."

reopen businesses. Getting out of bed every morning and putting put one foot on the floor, and then another, and then managing to get on with the day. If you are in New Orleans to stay, there’s not much more to do than that. Folks don’t try to answer the question "where do I start?" They just start.

Is it back to normal?

No. Imagine life in a neighborhood with no schools, no day-cares, no dry cleaners, grocery stores, doctors or dentists. A gallon of milk or a pair of sneakers or a six-pack can’t be found at the nearby convenience store or strip mall – those stores just aren’t nearby anymore.

I believe that more troubling than the loss of stuff was the loss of routine, the day-to-day things most of us don’t have to plan for, or even really think much about. Two-thirds of the city’s population still hasn’t come back, and there’s speculation that many never will. The effects of this on neighborhoods, businesses and yes, that blessed routine, are profound. When people say: "I can’t imagine that" I respond by saying, "No, you can’t."

The things that do speak of normalcy are precious. Some folks are beginning to re-landscape – occasional lawns are popping up, and gardens are being re-planted. Birds and squirrels are returning after a several-month absence, along with the housecats that stalk them. At the home of our New Orleans hosts, Phil and Natalie James, sparrows fed chirpy new babies nesting in a bright red birdhouse.

The James were among the blessed – their home was on high ground and did not flood. But like everyone else, they have a harrowing story about having to evacuate by boat, move to another state and worry about what was going on in their city until they could return weeks later. Their neighborhood now is much like the suburbia many of us are used to, with a few exceptions: holes where large trees used to be, FEMA trailers nearby, the occasional stinky refrigerator waiting on the curb for pickup, and the sound of relentless pile-driving that’s shoring up the levee nearby.

What do people need (or not)?

They don’t need or want to be known as victims. These folks are survivors. They don’t need boxes of cast-off clothing that is ripped and full of holes. They don’t need pity or understanding nods or "I’m sorrys".

What they seem to need most of all is simply to talk to people who are willing to just listen – it helps them process what has happened. They need to know that after nine months, we haven’t indulged our incredibly short attention spans and forgotten them. They need to know that someone still cares about them. They need to know that we are praying for them. They need to know we don’t second-guess their decisions to rebuild.

Why are they staying there?

This is easy. New Orleans is home – pure and simple. No matter what neighborhood they live in, or used to, these folks are New Orleanians. Their city and their culture: their music, their food, their Mardi Gras celebrations, their history and their heritage keep them there. I find myself wondering what it would be like if I’d never moved more than a block or two away of where I grew up, instead of moving across the country. Would I feel the same way if my city was destroyed? Would I feel angry at storms and flooding and tornadoes and looters? Would I share the same resolve these folks do? Or would I, seeking some kind of safety, just move on?

Mardi Gras doll found at St. Paul's during a Saturday work party

As we made our decision to go to New Orleans, I somewhat self-righteously declared (and I am prone to these sorts of declarations) that this would be a Holy Week pilgrimage. In my mind, that meant that no matter what obstacles Paul and I faced along the way, we weren’t allowed to complain. After all, pilgrimages are all about discovery, not frustration.

What I was not prepared for, and still do not fully comprehend, is that this really did become a pilgrimage for me. I found a place where I didn’t try to have all the answers to other people’s problems. I found my heart expanding in some rare and transient moments of being totally open to God’s call to love and to serve. This is still too big and too powerful for me to understand and practice on a regular basis. I see resurrection at work at St. Paul’s. I hope that will take place in me. I hope I can use this here.

When we returned, Fr. David James, our priest at St. John’s, asked me what I learned during our trip. The first thing that popped into my mind, and what I told him, is that I took much more away from it than I was able to give.

And what was that? I’m still not sure, but my heart seems to beat a bit differently these days. I carry with me, even a month later, what I learned about people who I thought of, before we went to New Orleans, as hopeless, powerless, and clinging to the past. They are none of these things.

They have many things to teach us about hope, about faith, about love. Their pilgrimage, and mine, have only just begun.