Gorillas

Karen had been planning on new cabinets in our kitchen, so yesterday morning my neighbor Ethan and I took the old ones out. Our galley-style kitchen is much roomier now, showing the scars of old flooring and wall paint where the cabinets were. Hopefully the plumber and new cabinets will show up on time.

We got the cabinets out by lunchtime, and then I tackled hanging a chandelier in the stairwell. I made my trip to Home Depot and crawled into the attic to attach the electrical box. The spot is near the eaves though, and I cursed and struggled to get a flashlight, drill, and my big head into the tiny sloped space near the eaves. After some choice cursing with my face pressed into the ceiling joists, I decided to let the electrician handle this project.

After a shower, Karen and I drove to her parents for dinner. I took my laptop full of New Orleans trip photos. Karen's extended family was visiting her dad, who had a serious car accident December 27 and is still recovering. He's lost weight and looks good, though he's trying to get himself off of his pain medication.

Before dinner, I set up my Mac in the kitchen and was showing a slideshow of the photos. Amid the expected comments of sympathy and discussion of the tragedy, a family member made the chilling comment that "They ought to just barricade that place off and leave it alone." I said I'd met a lot of good people there, and he responded that the only good people down there are probably missionaries. I hear comments sometimes that are negative, but these floored me. Later I heard him repeat it all to the rest of the family. I think he meant not only should the city not be rebuilt, but that victims should not have been rescued.

Back home in a depressed mood, I was channel surfing and saw some video footage of the young boy that fell into a British zoo's gorillas exhibit. The male gorilla scoots forward to investigate and strokes the boy's back as he lay unconscious right below the horrified onlookers. It's fascinating how most animals show empathy with other creatures who have been hurt. Most, but not all, apparently. Sigh.

I've been readjusting to regular life this week. I'm going to meetings, catching up with mountains of grading, and chatting with friends and acquaintances. But I find myself returning to New Orleans in my mind almost constantly. My students say the same thing. I want that feeling of achievement and--I'll go ahead and say it--goodness--that comes from working together on a project like we did for a week. I'm fortunate to be able to tear out my kitchen cabinets because I want and can afford nicer ones, and to wedge myself into a dark corner of my attic by choice, and not for survival. After shoveling up so much of other people's stuff, I'm still planning to get rid of more of my own.