Suburban Goddess

“Mommy, did Daddy teach you how to fix Jeeps?”

“Pish, no, girl.”

“Who did?”

“Google.”

For 48 hours after Hurricane Katrina, I sat in horrified silence, not knowing what had become of my family or where they were. I was glued to the television; reports came in of a 12 ft. storm surge in the tiny town of Pearlington where I grew up. I was overjoyed when they showed up at my doorstep in Houston, safe and sound.

The past five years, I’ve watched the Gulf Coast rebuild slowly. I was amazed at how quickly Mississippi began their cleanup; within two weeks, huge bulldozers had cleared parts of the beaches to a pristine state, a stark difference from the disaster that still lay across Hwy 90 where the huge antebellum homes lay in ruins, if anything left lay there at all. I returned home this past year for Mardi Gras, happy to discover many people had rebuilt their stately homes, but there were many empty lots still vacant with a clear concrete slab telling the story of a prior life.

It was sad, but there was hope. It was slow, but it was good…. the people who were left were the “water people.” People who lived and loved the coast. People who still fish for their dinner, and live for the crawfish boils, fried catfish and boiled crabs. People whose idea of entertainment is to get in their boats and head out to ski, swim, fish… or simply sit on their open porches with the breeze rolling in across the Gulf. At my grandmother’s house, a shell of what it was pre-Katrina, we still sit on her back porch, the balmy breeze blowing off the nearby Pearl River.

Watching the oil bear down on those places that have become the symbol of my childhood just sickens me. I’m too disturbed by the damage to be angry yet… until I talk to the locals. Big Corporate swept down quickly, handing out $50K checks in a one-time settlement to some fishermen. These naive and simple people took the check, assuming that the worst would pass quickly, and they could pay off their new shrimp boats and sail happily debt-free into the setset, trawling nets extended.

But weeks later, another picture is emerging. The marshlands are now affected, the thick brown oil washing up in waves and killing the grass that protects the birds from their natural predators. Not that it matters; the dispersents they used to coagulate the oil have sunk to the seafloor, desroying the eco-system from the bottom up. Didn’t you watch Sesame Street? The birdies eat the big fish, the big fish eats the little fish, the little fish eats the shrimp, the shrimp eat the plankton…

But it’s all dead. What do they eat now?

Parts of the Gulf now resemble an underwater Chernobyl; patches of inky blackness with no sign of life. It moves forward, creeping black death consuming the light that was once teeming with life.

Can you blame BP? Certainly. Their greed outweighed their sense to properly protect the workers, the rig, and the environment that surrounded it. Their idea of a “recovery plan” reads like a beautiful work of fiction, right down to the dead wildlife expert who you’re supposed to call in the event of such emergency. You know the person who wrote that report is crapping his pants right now; probably some middle-management flunkie who may or may not have attempted to do the right thing, only to be told to “just write SOMETHING” so they could throw it at some government inspector who they knew would never read it.

“I mean, really? 500 pages? Isn’t there a Cliff Notes version? Tee-time is 9am! I’ll read it later….”

Or should we blame the government? Did they pocket BP bribes to look the other way so that business can move on as usual? Were they inept and poorly trained? Were they given too many sites to inspect them properly, held to some unreasonable schedule that was impossible to maintain?

Or were they just lazy ass bastards? I know government workers; I have a hunch.

Corporate greed and corruption is the American Way. Sad, but true. Bloated, bleeding, overpaid bureaucrats sucking the life out anyone too weak to fight it. Don’t get me wrong; I love America, and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. But I am not the least bit surprised by this disaster, or the pathetic attempt to handle it, both by the corporation itself and the government who is pretending to be outraged.

Really? You were supposed to be PROTECTING US. Great job there, government. And I’m pointing at BOTH parties. I don’t care about your politics, what color you where, what side you’re on… while you’re all sitting on Capitol Hill squabbling and pointing fingers, the COAST is DYING. Everyone responsible for this disaster should have to be covered in the very oil they covet; try to scrape the sickening stench from your body, layer after layer… Stand there and take it as a dispersant chemical is dumped over your head, just like you did to the neighboring rigs without giving it’s workers adequate protection. Scrub your skin down until it bleeds with Dawn, only to slip and fall back into the oil to start all over again.

You still get to go home to your big fluffy bed when it’s all over. You may still have a job when it’s all said and done. But how are you going to make it right to the thousands of people who make their living on the Gulf? The people who held their heads high, who took responsibility for their choice to live on the Gulf, who danced with Mother Nature and lost, but still chose to love her anyway… cursing Katrina but acknowledging that is simply part of living on the coast…

But this, this is not natural. Katrina laid waste to man’s arrogant claims, wiping the coast clean and returning her to nature. The result became something organic, something pure, and a spirit that both devestated yet flourished a city. This… this is man’s revenge, but there is no grace and wild beauty in it. Creeping black death, drowning and sticky destruction.

Here’s praying the Spirit of Louisiana can live through this. I fear for my people.

“Well, Ms. Mac, there doesn’t appear to be an infection of the ear canal… that’s good news. My hunch is that she probably had a little sinus trouble or allergies, and instead of blowing it out, it just backed up into the eustacian tubes, and that’s why you’re seeing the drainage.”

“You mean, that’s SNOT coming out of her ear?”

“Basically, yes.”

“That is the grossest thing I’ve ever heard.”

After a while, life’s issues wear you down so much that you cease to care anymore. Case in point; last week was quite possibly one of the most stressful of my life… and I’ve had some dreadfully stressful weeks in my life. By Thursday, I made some serious, life-changing decisions.

Change, in any form, is exhilirating. But for the most part, it’s just scary as hell. You get used to things, you get comfortable, you start to take life’s blessings for granted… and pretty soon, you forget to cherish the things that really matter and accept things that you normally wouldn’t. I find myself falling into a cycle of complacency, resentment, and upheaval as I recognize things in my life that I don’t want to happen again.

It’s exhausting, but not a sacrifice I can make again. Settling for less than I deserve is no longer an option.

I’ve always avoided the “ultimatum.” I don’t believe true change comes from being forced to make a decision. I’ve heard over and over in life, “people don’t change,” but I don’t believe that. I know they do, because *I* have changed, drastically, from the person I was ten years ago. I owe a great deal of that to my daughter, who I credit for teaching me the value of responsibility, priorities, and the importance of tolerance. Until I became solely responsible for this tiny human being, my life was shallow, empty and superficial. (Not saying people wihtout kids are this way, just that *I* was.)

Rather than issuing an ultimatum, my way has always been to simply let go. I’ve learned through the years that there’s a lot of truth in some cliches, which is probably why they become cliches: but if you love someone, you let them go and let fate decide if you were meant to be. Walking away from someone you love is probably one of the hardest things to do… I’ve walked away from five men in my life who I loved dearly.

Only one has ever fought to keep me. And I have never seen such a fight.

At times frightening, frustrating, annoying, exasperating, vexing… defeating, crushing, overwhelming… despairing, distressing, hurting, grieving… and yet, he never gives up. Never gives in. I have never seen anyone fight so hard, or so long, or so much for someone he loves.

It’s a scary thought; when these kind of events spur change, is the change genuine? Many would say it’s not, and that the changes are just an act of desparation. But sometimes the event of letting go is a catalyst to true change as well… when you realize the depth of everything you are about to lose, you start to assess what’s truly important.

I may be crazy, or naive, or just plain stupid…. but I still believe in the best of people. I always will. I believe in what people are capable of, see them for their true potential. It’s burned me more times than I can count, disappointed me to be core of my being, and ripped my heart to shreds when I’ve been wrong… but I just can’t give up. Not when I see such incredible potential in a person…

Honestly, it comes down to a simple question for me: Would you want someone to give up on you?