Back into the wake of the storm...

Started this while I was away and never quite finished. Had better things to do,

like watch the sun rise...	...and set...
...and take long walks on the beach.

It had been over a year since I'd been on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Last time, a year ago September, I went through Gulfport and Biloxi on my way to a Labor Day weekend in Fort Walton Beach. The bridge between Biloxi and Ocean Springs wasn't rebuilt then, so I had to make a u-turn in front of the not-yet-open Hard Rock Casino and go back to I-10. This time, both the Hard Rock and the bridge were open for business.

The first time I came back to the coast after Katrina was in March of 2006. I spent a week in New Orleans volunteering and doing my part to stimulate the local economy (I ate and shopped a LOT). On my way back home, I decided to drive through Mississippi to Highway 49, to see what was left of the small beach towns I had come to love.

I'd never been to the Mississippi Gulf Coast before my boyfriend suggested a "getaway weekend" for our first New Year's Eve together. We made the long drive down to the coast on New Year's Eve, and ate a late dinner at the Fire Dog Saloon in Bay St. Louis. By the time we got to our motel, we were so tired that I set the alarm clock for midnight so that we wouldn't miss it. We wandered all over the coast for the next few days, to a beach in Pass Christian, a casino bar in Biloxi, Cafe du Monde and the French Quarter in New Orleans. I made my boyfriend jog off his hangover from the motel to the coffee shop, and he made me go to the Jefferson Davis Presidential Library (where not a peep came from my Yankee lips for fear of being discovered). I fell in love that weekend, with the old town charm of Bay St. Louis, the beautiful beachfront houses in Pass Christian, and even with Beauvoir, home of the Jefferson Davis Library. We even managed to sunbathe on a beach that was protected from the winter breeze. Most of all, I loved driving along Beach Boulevard and staring out the window at the white sand beach and the beautiful blue waters of the Mississippi Sound.

I knew coming back after Katrina would be hard. I didn't realize that I wouldn't recognize anything at all, that I'd be completely lost as I drove through Waveland to Bay St. Louis, that there wouldn't be a single landmark until I reached St. Stanislaus. Past that point, Beach Boulevard was gone, so I made my way up and down unmarked streets until suddenly I was stopped beside the Fire Dog Saloon. Through the empty doors and windows you could still see the dalmatian spots painted on walls inside. And then all the memories that I'll never get back came crashing down around me.

Back in town a year-and-a-half later, some things have changed. Beach Boulevard is reassembled but vacant, and the bridge between Bay St. Louis and Pass Christian is new and stronger and taller. There are still many empty lots, but there are some houses, too, even though they're standing on streets with no signs. I recognized an old favorite restaurant in a new location, but the Fire Dog, still minus its windows, is for sale now, despite its website's promise to return stronger than ever.

It was close to sunset by the time I drove back over the new bridge into Pass Christian, and I started looking for a place to park near the beach. The road I was on just sort of stopped, so I left my car at the end. The path I followed led to a sort of a ridge; it probably led out to a pier before Katrina. To my left, the sand was black-streaked and dirty, and some kind of construction equipment was parked on the beach. But to my right, the white sand reflected every color of the sky and the water glittered. I walked down onto the sand to watch the sun sink into the Gulf. As I headed back to my car, I noticed that the beach was perfectly protected -- by the little ridge and a small hill that had once led to a very large house -- for sunbathing. Even in January. And suddenly I realized that I'd managed to find my way back into a memory after all.

Make Art, Not War

Last Thursday I broke my rule about getting out of bed before the sun comes up in order to put in some early-morning work on the high school production of Carousel that I just finished. It was more of a roller coaster than a merry-go-round ride, which is why I'm just now getting around to writing this post, but all's well that ends well, as Shakespeare put it.

I stopped into the high school office that morning to identify myself as a "visitor" (solidifying my claim on the Visitor's parking spot that I had snagged) and discovered that someone else had plans for the auditorium that morning: the U.S. Army was there to administer the ASVAB test. Not only would my plans to fine-tune the stage lighting be distracting, my very presence in the room -- even in the ceiling two stories up -- would be "a violation of federal law."

The school receptionist seemed sympathetic to my cause (the show opened that night, and I was running short on time), but the rather self-important-seeming Army recruiter wasn't interested in compromise. I told her that I'd be glad to turn the lights back on when she was ready to start her test, and headed out of the office before she could finish protesting.

The gym teacher eyed me suspiciously as I made my way to the auditorium. "You're not a student here, are you?" she asked uncertainly, dispelling once and for all my illusions that I look distinguished and professional in a pantsuit. "No," I replied, "they're all out of visitors' badges." She didn't look entirely convinced, but at least she didn't insist that I report to my homeroom teacher for a hall pass.

A few minutes later I had ascended to my perch in the auditorium ceiling and was in the process of hanging a disco ball when someone called my name from the stage below. "They said to tell the 'little girl' who's doing the lights that the Army is going to give their test somewhere else."

"Little girl," one. U. S. Army, zero. Not a bad way to start the day.