Single Stories

Hey friends,

We had our monthly community day this past Saturday, and as part of the devotion during our shared meal at the end of the day, we watched a TED talk entitled "The Danger of a Single Story." It's just under 20 minutes long, but if you've got the time, I'd highly suggest you take a look (See? it's right here, just for you!).  

In her talk, author Chimamanda Adichie discusses the downfalls of approaching any person or situation from just one point of view, and how these singular points of view can be major roadblocks in our ability to understand and relate to one another. We watched at least part of this video at YAV orientation back in the fall, but it was great to have the space to watch the whole thing and talk about it with my housemates.

Our particular discussion of the single stories we have come in to contact with ourselves was one that still has me thinking. What are the single stories that people believe about us? About you? What single stories do you believe about others? There are single stories based on age, race, sexual orientation, and just about any other group you can think of. Young people, old people, Southerners, Christians, rich people, poor people, New Orleanians, Republicans, Democrats...you name it. And as easy as it is to list certain single stories that people have believed about me, I am absolutely just as guilty of believing them about others.

I'd just encourage you to take some time and watch the video, and think about what single stories are part of your life, and what you might do to get rid of them. Adichie argues the following, at the end of her talk: "...when we reject the single story, when we realize that there is never a single story about any place, we regain a kind of paradise." 


Get to know each other. Have conversations, build relationships, and be open to learning new things about one another. After all, life would be terribly dull if everyone had the same story. Storytelling is something at which New Orleanians are very (very) proficient. Sure, this danger of a single story is present here just as anywhere else, but there seem to be very few people who will hesitate in sharing at least part of their history. This can be good or bad, depending on how much of a hurry you're in on that particular day, but it is a general openness that I admire. Maybe try and give it a go sometime, yeah? 

Love,
Allison

P.S. - There are tons of great TED talks out there, on plenty of different topics, so I'd suggest you head on over to their website if you're looking for something to do. One of my favorites is spoken-word poet Sarah Kay's "If I should have a daughter..."

Caution: Flying Produce Ahead

Hello dear friends,

If you haven't caught on by now: New Orleans knows how to celebrate. So of course St. Patrick's Day this weekend was no exception! Nor is today, St. Joseph's Day, which is also Super Sunday here in the Crescent City.

First: St. Patty's. In addition to the block parties and other shenanigans that go on at various local establishments, there is (waiiit for it...) a parade! Just having recovered from the more than 20 parades we caught during Mardi Gras, we were claiming our spot in the neutral ground once again. Four parades rolled in New Orleans and the surrounding towns on Saturday, but we just caught the one Uptown, nearest to our house. This particular parade (which turned out to be quite lengthy) featured multiple walking clubs with marchers dressed in anything from full kilt get-ups to top hats and coattails and everything in between. Most of these folks carried umbrella handles full of flowers. Some flowers were the standard artificial silk, some made of wood, and some crafted out of tissue paper and wire. All along the route, they gift these flowers to parade goers, often in exchange for a kiss on the cheek. In case you're having trouble picturing the flower-filled-umbrella-handle thing, check out these dudes in a picture borrowed from nola.com:

Read more about the history of the parade here. Also, see more Times-Picayune pictures of the parade here.

After most of the marching groups came the floats. In addition to the obligatory beads and assorted toys, the more entertaining throws included cabbage and a multitude of other produce (typically ingredients that go into stew), and Irish Spring soap. Personally I scored a cabbage, a carrot, and an onion. I've got some cooking to do tonight! We'll see how that goes...

After the parade we had a little rest at the house, and then headed out to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants. Our window table at Rum House provided ample opportunity for people watching and a fascinating opportunity to see how quickly the city can clean up a street after a parade. (I s'pose they've had plenty of practice at this point.)

In an effort to keep these posts short-ish (even I start skimming after a few paragraphs...oops), I think I'll save Super Sunday for another post, but be on the lookout for that soon! For now, here are a few pictures of Ashley, Lauren and me at the parade. And for the record, stick-on mustaches are not the most comfortable things in the world. But they sure are festive!

Love,
Allison

Pre-parade mustache modeling.

Cabbage!

Carrots, onions, and garlic, oh my!

Read These Books

Hey friends,

I've found that New Orleans is a place that is difficult to describe. I know I've said that before, but even after living here for six months I struggle to put this place into words that I feel will really do it justice. It's much better to just come see it for yourself.

One part you can't see for yourself, though, is Hurricane Katrina. You hardly even hear the name here, really. There's no need. It's just The Hurricane. The Storm. The Flood. As far as storytelling in New Orleans goes (there's a lot of that here), time seems to be split in two: there are the things that happened before Katrina, and those that happened after. It doesn't take long, still, to find the spray painted X's that remain on all too many houses, constant reminders of someone(s) that had to leave more than six years ago and never made it back. But we can't really see it, or know how it felt. Despite the fact that New Orleans does at times feel like home now and will forever hold a part of my heart, I've just been here for half of a year, and I'll be gone after another five months. No matter how many people I talk to or how many stories I hear, I will never ever truly understand what it was like and what this city, her people, and much of the Gulf Coast have been through. Sure I can tell you that the water came up to the light switch in my house, but I wasn't the one that saw it rise. I'm not from here. I wasn't there. I will never know. It makes me nervous to write about reactions to the storm, even, because I am terrified of unintentionally misrepresenting or minimalizing what happened to this city and the region surrounding it.

So, instead of saying more about it myself, for now I just want to offer two book suggestions that share varying perspectives on the days and years leading up to, during, and following the storm. No judgement here if you're not into it, but if you'd like to read more from the people who were here, check them out. The subject matter is obviously difficult to read, but both volumes also offer small glimpses into the resiliency of this city that I have come admire so much.

The first is Dan Baum's Nine Lives. If you've talked to me much at all about New Orleans, you've probably heard me mention this book already. While the author is not a native New Orleanian himself (he got to know the city as a reporter for The New Yorker), he chronicles the lives of nine people with various ties to New Orleans, in the context of a timeline that starts with Hurricane Betsy in 1965 and moves through Katrina and the days that followed. Baum takes countless interviews with the nine main "characters" and others, and crafts them into pages of narrative. He takes small liberties here and there but still, from what I know, provides accounts that are on the whole an accurate portrayal of events. I read Nine Lives before I arrived in New Orleans, and even being mostly unfamiliar with the city it was incredibly powerful. And now that I have found a relative familiarity with street names and neighborhoods, I find myself interpreting accounts of Katrina through an entirely new lense.

Brief bios of the nine main folks in the book can be found here.

The next literary suggestion I offer is Chris Rose's 1 Dead in Attic. As the title and book cover imply, it is blunt look at the aftermath of the storm, this time from the eyes of one New Orleanian journalist. (While Rose isn't "native" in the born-and-bred sense, he'd been in town for more than 20 years when the storm hit.) The book itself is a collection of short essays by Rose that were originally published in The Times-Picayune. This account offers the perspective of a New Orleans resident faced with the challenge of reporting on the dire condition of his own decimated home town. Standard journalistic objectivity goes out the window, and although the author's own home didn't flood, his words make it painfully clear that Katrina deeply affected every single New Orleanian regardless of the physical damage sustained by his or her belongings. To read the November 2005 article for which the book is named, click here. The image at the beginning of the article displays just one example of spray paint markings used by rescue crews, some of which are still visible on houses across the city. I'm not quite finished reading this one yet, but I can already tell you it's worth a read if you're interested in a glimpse into the immediate aftermath of Katrina.

As I was reading some comments on 1 Dead in Attic, one reviewer stated: "The storm is not over, and recovery of the entire Gulf Coast will take somewhere between ten years and infinity." Although that comment was posted more than a year ago, that minimum estimate of ten years is still more than three years away. And just to imagine infinity...that the road to recovery may never end. As heartbreaking as that is, I'd believe it. That hurricane and the flood that followed are forever an enormous part of this city's story. I'm quite sure that road to recovery still has many miles yet untraveled, and there is still plenty to be done. But I have also found New Orleans to be such a vibrant and beautiful place, and I am quite sure she won't be giving up any time soon.

In a display of the character that is so unique to this city, Chris Rose writes: "Dear America, I suppose we should introduce ourselves: We're South Louisiana. You probably already know that we talk funny and listen to strange music and eat things you'd probably hire an exterminator to get out of your yard. We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much and laugh too loud and live too large and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't." Cheers to you, New Orleans.

Love,
Allison.

Find Your Joy

Hey friends,

I hope you've all had swell weekends! Last night Lauren and I embarked on a roommate adventure and saw a band called The Apache Relay. It was a great time in a sweet venue (The Parish at NOLA's House of Blues), and I'd highly suggest you check these dudes out if you haven't before.

The point of this post, though, is the smiles. The smiles on the band members' faces. I kept noticing throughout Apache Relay's set that, as they energetically moved across the stage with their assorted instruments, a smile would just creep on to their faces. Not all at once, and sometimes it was a smile towards the audience, sometimes towards a bandmate, sometimes towards seemingly nowhere in particular. But you could just tell that they were so happy to be doing what they were doing. The crowd was relatively small, but that was fine by them. I lost count of how many times the lead singer thanked the audience for being there. It just struck me how filled with joy they were, just to be there playing music. (I mean, I s'pose technically I'm projecting those feelings, but they sure seemed genuine enough.)

That kind of joy is what I hope for you, friends. And for myself, too. Sure, everybody has their own stuff to deal with, but how wonderful to have a part of your life that makes you smile like that. Maybe it's a job, or some other vocation or maybe a particular experience or person. Whatever it is, I truly hope that you either have it or that you find it soon. Because who doesn't want a reason to smile?

Love,
Allison.

Oh Hey There, Lent.

Hey friends,

Well, I'm a little late on the uptake for Lent this year. At least as far as blogging's concerned. My oh my, have things been busy around here lately!

Firstly, I officially survived my first Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Carnival season seems, to me, very similar to Christmas. There are weeks and weeks of build up and celebration, decorations in stores and every other way there is to celebrate...then the day itself comes along and BAM! It's over. Mardi Gras doesn't just end, either. Now it's Lent, which I think in theory is about as opposite from Carnival as you can get. I still want to share a few more things about Mardi Gras (pictures too, once I steal them from my roommates...), but you'll have to be patient with me on that one. I know you're all (all three of you*...hey Mom) on the edge of your seats waiting. Hang in there.

Since the Mardi Gras festivities ended, I've roadtripped up to Georgia for a weekend, entertained some friends from home, and become an expert at ignoring the growing mound of laundry that needs to be done. That last one will be catching up to me soon...

It seems as though all of these happenings have made it extra challenging to remember Lent this year. Having recently been gifted a really lovely journal, I decided I'd give journaling a go for Lent. It's a discipline I've often wished to observe, but have never been...well, disciplined enough...to keep up. And while I appreciate the sentiment behind sacrificing a thing or two for the season, I've recently become a fan of adding a particular practice instead. So, acknowledging that I have failed more than once at making journaling a part of my life, I decided writing something four times a week seemed equal parts challenging and realistic. Well, so much for the realistic part. I've written off and on, but found myself thinking "oh, I'm busy today, I'll write tomorrow." But isn't that the point of Lent? To be intentional about remembering Christ and his death and resurrection in the midst of life's craziness? Then again, I feel like a lot of Lenten sacrifices or additions tend to have ulterior motives ("I need to eat healthier food, so I'll give up dessert for Lent." or, hypothetically, "I've always wanted to journal, so I'll journal for Lent and hope the habit sticks!"). Oops.

Either way, I haven't given up on journaling. I have given up trying to count four days in each week, and made the switch to daily journaling (three days strong...I'm on a roll!). Also in attempts to actually follow through, I made myself a nice little cup full of journal prompts I found online, some of which are more introspective and challenging than others. I'm not sure I'm writing anything life-changing or all that important, but I'm writing. (I ignored the prompts last night and just wrote a page or so about coffee...) I'm not sure the kind of journaling I'm doing counts as a spiritual discipline exactly, or if it's the "right" way to observe Lent, but it's been rather nice to have another place to ramble. We'll see how it goes.

Rather unrelated: Since when is it March?! Well I mean. Since five days ago. But you know what I mean. It's hard to believe that it's been more than six months since orientation at Stony Point. That's half a year that I've been living in New Orleans. The five months that remain in my YAV year seem all at once like no time at all and like quite the stretch. Funny how that works. There's plenty of time to talk about that later, though.

Love,
Allison.

*Upon hearing reactions from this post I can officially confirm that at least five people read this blog. Makin' it big time!