He starts his seminar with photos from Katrina. His shots are oh-so-familiar -– collapsed houses, crushed cars, debris-filled streets and mold-infested interiors. But I know that snapshots don’t tell the true story. They can’t show the human turmoil or the extent of the devastation – miles and miles of destroyed lives.

To understand post-K, you have to see it for yourself. Everybody needs to view the scope of this life-changing storm. Such a hurricane could hit anywhere in the U.S., and wipe out any city. It just hit in New Orleans first. Katrina is a wake-up call.

Brian tells the group of Providence Journal reporters that every story needs to have a happy ending. We challenge him a bit. He recoils, and says that he’s not telling us it has to be hearts and flowers.

I search my brain for something that sparks the feeling of riding off into the sunset. I think of all the Disney movies I’ve ever seen. None of those endings apply here. When I think about NOLA, I get a sick feeling in my stomach like the one you have when you were a kid and viewed the death of Bambi’s mom.

I stepped into the middle of a tragic tale. When I left, nothing had changed. There were no resolutions, no improvement and no happy endings on the horizon.

I decide that ending on a happy note is out of reach for me. I can’t find one ounce of happiness in what I experienced. ``So, I’ll end it on a hopeful note,’’ I think.

There’s always hope. Nope. None of that either.

All I found were people in limbo and living at their wits’ end. They crowded into trailers as their nearly destroyed homes are put back together in what seems like slow motion. Or some are in apartments waiting to hear if their homes can be salvaged. Most have lost everything except the clothes they were wearing the day Katrina hit.

To me, the area can only be described as hell on Earth. It’s a valley of despair. It’s a place where people are waiting for our government to decide their futures. Can their homes – lives — be restored? Will it ever be what it was?

When did Katrina hit? Late August. What’s today’s date?

In the meantime, all the people in NOLA can do is work in the sweltering heat dragging their belongings to the curb for pick-up. Their memories litter the streets where their children once learned how to ride a bike.

I think about the E.C., where Mel and I toiled in the kitchen. Are they making a difference? I search for the latest news on what is going on in the camp. Perhaps I'll find a happy ending there.

E.C. is moving to Plaquemines Parish, some two hours from New Orleans. Once it's gone from St. Bernard Parish, where will the residents who are working on their homes receive sustenance, clothing and have access to e-mail?

The southern and eastern portion of Plaquemines Parish had a pre-storm population of about 16,000. So far, only 1,000 have returned. That parish suffered 27 levee breaks and 6.5 million gallons of spilled oil.

I set out on this journey to make a difference. I return feeling unsatisfied, and wishing I could have done more. I’m frustrated because so little has been done nine months later. There's no closure.

Please remember the need still exists in the Gulf Coast. And let’s not forget it any time soon.

Some additional photos:

The first thing I did when I arrived was plop down on the pullout bed and went straight to sleep. The heat was getting to me, as well as all of the work I have been doing. I slept for about an hour, and then there was a small knock on the door.

Mary Greco invited us to take a tour of the marina. The houses there were damaged pretty badly. You could see straight through them to the lake.

I got out of the car then to take a picture of the marina and kind of fell into a puddle of mud. So, Mary drove me to the boat landing and I went wadding ankle deep in Lake Pontchartrain, which caused so much destruction.

The funny thing is, after I cleaned myself off, my ankles felt kind of tingled, and they itched too. I'm just kidding, my ankles felt fine. Mary assured me that the lake was perfectly clean anyway. In fact, it’s cleaner than it has ever been before. All of the stuff that was whipped up during the hurricane settled and took the bad stuff with it. The fish have returned and there were lots of fisherman out of the rocks.

After our tour of the marina, the Greco family (Mary, Joe, and their son, Joseph) took us out to dinner at the Acme Oyster House. Joseph told me a little about his school, which was closed down for a while after the hurricane.

"You should have seen our campus before the storm, it was beautiful" Joseph told me. Joseph is a student at the Holy Cross School, just a 5 minute walk from a levy, where occasionally classes where held. There where giant oak trees, it was almost like a college campus.

Now, classes are held in trailers, the cafeteria is no more, the school population was cut in half, and worst of all, the beautiful oak trees were destroyed in the storm.

But, despite all of these hardships, the school is making a come back. Just like most of New Orleans, the towns are coming back, slowly, very slowly, but they are making a come back.

New Orleans can't make the come back alone, they still need tons of help. You don't need to fly down there like me to help. You can send money, food donations, anything that you think can be used to help people. My mom already said where to send it, so you can look there for the information.

There is a happily-ever-after part of the story, well for me at least. When we flew back into New York we spent 2 nights with a family in New Jersey. They were fostering a golden retriever, cocker spaniel mix called Coco. She rescued from a kill shelter in Georgia. And, after much begging and convincing, Coco became our dog.

The End

P.S. Thanks for reading our blog, this is it. My last entry.
Good-bye! Good-bye! Over and Out

Melanie (and Coco)

The marina area was a bustling community of water-front homes, restaurants and shops. All of the shops and restaurants are gone. They were pushed inland by the water. The homes have no more walls. They look like empty boxes.

The Grecos treat us to a traditional New Orleans meal of po-boys. It’s a sandwich bread. Between the bread, Melanie has shrimp and catfish; I have softshell crab. The food at Acme Oyster House is terrific. Mel and I talk about how we have yet to have a bad meal in NOLA. Everything is tasty and very spicy.

We promise the Grecos we will come back. Melanie says in about 10 years. They make us promise that it will be sooner. They invite us back to mardi gras next year. I hope they are moved into their home by then, and the FEMA trailers are gone.

All over the city there are lots filled with empty FEMA trailers. (Behind these trailers is the oil refinery that caused a massive spill. The land sat under a mixture of oil and polluted flood waters for two weeks. It is now toxic six-inches deep, and all of the trees are gone. Immediately following any contact with the land, you have to wash your hands.) Residents are now just receiving trailers. The problem has been getting electricity restored to hard-hit areas so residents can hook up the trailer. In addition, many residents still do not know if their homes are salvageable. They are waiting for the government to come out with a plan.

Some stores, primarily the large chains, Wal-mart, Home Depot, Target, Walgreens and so on, have re-opened. Many of the independent mom and pop shops are still damaged and have limited hours. There are long lines.

It seems that in NOLA you have to be patient.

Joe Greco, a firefighter, says that he was told it could take as long as 25 years until the city is fully recovered. A whole generation will grow up living in the shadow of Hurricane Katrina. I wonder if Katrina will ever disappear from this city’s consciousness.

Here are some images:

He takes me over to Jennie Cluttervuch, who put together our demolition team. She’s a tiny brunette with a short-groomed hair. Her hair is still wet from a shower, and she’s wearing a short-sleeved sundress. She has been here since E.C. started in December. She tells me that Mark is in Manhattan trying to raise funds.

She rolls her eyes over the rumors. E.C. was supposed to close in March, she says. The St. Bernard Parish government asked us to stay open longer.

E.C. is a prototype for a new type of relief. Its purpose is to fulfill gaps in traditional relief efforts. One major gap has been where to house and feed the army of volunteers, like us, in NOLA. They set up the camp to help out volunteers as well as local residents who are working on their homes.

``We make it possible for these people to work on rebuilding their lives,’’ she says. The St. Barnard Parish government wants us here. They did ask us to stop feeding the construction crews who are being paid. ``We have internet service; a free store to take what you need; three meals per day; and volunteers who will help residents work on their homes.’’

Daily, I see people leaving with meals in Styrofoam take-out boxes. Parents arrive with little children in need of diapers, formula and supplies. They are given those.

The tents of E.C. nation.

It’s true that E.C. is closing in June. It’s because of the land’s owner. He donated the campus to E.C., and now he needs it back.

Jennie says that they are hoping to move to Plaquemines Parish, an even harder hit area 70 miles south of here.

I bring up the nightly drum circle (no drumming last night. Don’t know why.) ``Are you talking about the hippies?’’ She asks.

She tells me that without the hippies this place wouldn’t exist. They were the first volunteers to show up, and created much of the organization that I see today. ``We have served a lot of people many meals,’’ she adds. ``Each day the line is longer. We are seeing residents coming back to their homes and working on them. This is the only place they can go to get relief.’’

On today’s lunch line, I’m heartened by what I see. Residents collect meals to take to work sites. Moms with little children are receiving essentials. E.C. is making a difference.

They both start thanking me. Erin holding back tears says, ``You haven’t forgotten about us. Please don’t forget about us.’’ Tears start to roll down her cheeks.

She is still waiting to hear if her house will be bulldozed or saved. She has an apartment near City Park (closer to the Grecos) where there is another tent city of volunteers. Her son goes to the same school as Joseph Greco.

``Both my children were glad to get back to school,’’ she says. ``The boys at Holy Cross (Joe’s school) were quite upset about their school being destroyed. It’s half the size now, and they were a close bunch.’’

Back at camp, I realize I fit right in with my hair frizzy, baseball cap on backwards, rolled up capris and tank top. New volunteers are asking me questions that I can answer! I give them the ``low-down, man.''

Here are photos near E.C.

Faye writes the caption: The next house from our demolition site has a clean porch where the crew eats lunch. From left to right on the first step is Richard, who says that he’s from all over but was born in Illinois. His lunch everyday is a power bar and juice. Ray, holding the juice box, is from Michigan. He and his wife have been volunteering for more than a month. He’s in charge of the demolition crews.

Chris, shirtless and tattooed, is sitting behind Richard. He was in Florida working construction and met some people in the woods who were coming to E.C. He hopped on a bus and has been here for two months. He’s the hardest working volunteer here. (Mel and I and the lunch bunch are quite taken with Chris, 22. He's smart, hardworking and has a great personality.)

In the back is Priscilla, a science teacher in Mass., Doug, who used to live in Warwick and now lives in Maine. Dottie, a nurse from Worcester, sits next to us.

Back to Mel: I wasn’t too interested in going so I stayed behind. I quickly found a job at the distribution tent. This is where food, books, stuffed animals, soap, shampoo, etc. is given to only residents of St. Bernard’s Perish. I met Noah there.

Noah is ten years old and her older brother Romy, (I think that’s how you spell it) who is my age, is volunteering as part of his mitzvah project, just like me. Noah and I opened boxes of food and diaper wipes. We also helped with checking people’s ID. I was also given the important job of getting people to sign a petition to make a permanent building for EC. (Noah and Mel are cooking lunch.)

I had to have people write their addresses down. One guy just stared at the address line. For a second I thought that he was illiterate. But then he turned to me and said “I don’t have a home, I live in my van”. I was shocked. Didn’t he get a FEMA trailer? Didn’t some place or someone offer him a home?

It was almost like that man was an alarm clock waking me up. FEMA can’t and didn’t fix everything. Some people don’t have homes. I was very upset, and as I worked I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I guess I will never forget it now.

At about 2:45, Noah and I went to get some water and noticed that they were making dinner already. We washed our hands and got jobs peeling potatoes. Half way through our peeling party, Noah had to go back to her hotel (the vacation part of their trip, as their parents said). So I was stuck cooking with love, alone (with the exception of the other kitchen staff).

After the potatoes, I have to chop up cabbage for the cabbage stir fry. I met Megan, a New Yorker in her 20’s, who was helping with the cabbage as well. When I asked her what she thought about EC, she said that it was different than she expected but “I’m just glad that they have a use for me here.”

After all the cabbage was chopped, Kiki, who is in charge of the kitchen, sends me on a quest to find the leftover Easter candy. Away I go, Super Melanie’s on the Job! I made my way over to the refrigeration truck and searched for the candy. With Kiki’s help I find leftover Hershey kisses and mini chocolate Easter eggs.

Melanie works in the kitchen with two Americorp volunteers from Sacramento, Calif., and Frederick, middle left. He’s from Norway. He hitched his way to E.C. after meeting a group who was also hitching here. He has been here for two days and plans on staying for a month, and then hitching around our country.

I took off all of the wrappers and then had to food process all of them. It was tricky since I kept putting the lid on wrong so it wouldn’t run. And, in the heat of the day, the chocolate kept melting making it impossible to process it into tiny crumbs to sprinkle on the pies. It was a Chocolate Disaster.

While I was eating dinner, I felt great though, I had cut the cabbage, I had peeled the potatoes, I had processes all of the chocolate, I felt like I was on top of the world. Because of me and other volunteers, families of New Orleans had food for dinner, and didn’t go to bed hungry. I really felt like made a difference. I could tell that families really appreciate it.

That’s all for now, I’m Super Melanie, Up Up and Away!

Mel and I signed up to ``demolish’’ a house.

The owner Cathy stopped by to thank us, and see if there was anything to salvage. Nothing. Her grandfather built the house. It was full of memories. She says that she pines away for the photos. She’s hoping we will find jewelry that was her grandmother’s.

We can only work for a few minutes at a time because of the heat. (It’s 80 degrees but with the humidity it feels more than 100 degrees. It's hotter inside the house. The windows are stuck shut) The white suits we have to wear are like wearing plastic. You instantly sweat when you put it on, and the sweat has nowhere to go.

The goggles fog up because of the special breathing mask the guys call a respirator. We all sound like Darth Vader when we talk to each other. We take turns going into the house pulling things out. Within two hours, the front lawn is piled high with what we call debris.

To Cathy, it's everything she has in the world. ``There's no happiness in pulling someone's possessions to the curb,'' says Chris, a 22-year-old volunteer from Kentucky. He's been at E.C. for a month. ``I don't know how I would feel watching someone else carrying out my stuff.''

It’s decided that it’s too hot for Mel to be suited up. She works on sorting items.

Mel and I take a break from demolition duty by driving back to camp to pick up lunches. The work continues while we are gone.

We bring back a cooler full of drinks, lunch (black bean soup, ham, vegetables with peanut sauce and cucumber salad) and snacks. I find chips, cookies, power bars and crackers and grab them. (We devour the chips.)

On the far right is Chris, 21. To Mel and me, Chris is the hardest working long-term volunteer here. Tomorrow is his birthday.

We’ve befriended Priscilla, an eighth grade teacher who works in Wellesley and lives in Lincoln, Mass. Our other friend is Dottie, an RN from Worcester. (Melanie calls us the lunch bunch. We eat all our meals together.)

At breakfast this morning, we wondered about how much good E.C. is doing here. Why are we here? It seemed to us on our first day, yesterday, that we spent an awful lot of time feeding and catering to the long-term E.C. volunteers. They are all young, unshaven and the women and men have braids. They take advantage of the ``massage’’ tent, and stay up late into the night playing on the bongos.

I’m guessing that’s the ``communities’’ in the name. They described E.C. on the Web as a ``new kind of relief.’’ To us on day one, though, it seems, that’s it’s a social experience – Woodstock of the new millennium. I start calling it E.C. nation. Mel, Dottie and Priscilla laugh, and do the same.

I was questioning if it was worth it to come here. I felt ready to go home this morning. It seemed to me that the ``Relief’’ that was needed is back at the Grecos.

I thought about a second-floor light I saw in a hard-hit neighborhood driving back to camp yesterday evening. It occurred to me that if you wanted to move back home in NOLA you had live on the second floor.

I wanted to take a picture of this lone second-floor light. I realized that it would be a photo of an illumination in a window on the top floor of a house. There’s no way to show the whole story. To do that you would need to pull back and reveal that it's the only light for blocks and blocks.

Their only neighbors are blocks away. All around them are collapsed or burnt-out buildings. I can’t imagine the isolation or living in such darkness and destruction around you.

As for our volunteering effort, this morning the picture completely changed. Mel and I got up early. (We were tempted to pull out our drums.)

When we arrived at the dining tent, there was a line around the block. There were residents, volunteer firefighters, EMTs, a group of 25 from Brooklyn and others. All ready to go. We met another family from Brookline.

While the E.C. ``community’’ was not what I expected or out of bed yet, I realized today that the E.C. Made with Love Café (aka E.C. nation) fulfills a needed role. It not only offers services to volunteers working on many different projects, but attempts to be warm (okay, totally, granola) and a home away from home.

I tell 22-year-old Chris, a member of E.C.'s elite -- or in-group -- what I think about ``E.C. nation.'' He agrees to a certain extent with me, he says. ``I wouldn't be able to come out here and work on these houses if it wasn't for the support of the volunteers back at camp,'' he says. ``I'm impressed that so many of these people put their lives on hold to come here and help out indefinitely.''

Chris is the hardest working volunteer here. He runs the ``dish pit'' (the crew that washes the dishes after each meal) during breakfast and dinner. In between, he's gutting homes.

Later at dinner, I tell Dottie, ``I feel good today. I finally did some good. I helped out.’’

She adds that she feels good about stepping outside of her comfort zone to swing a hammer and pull down sheet rock. ``It’s something I have never ever done before.’’

The same goes for me.

P.S. Our tent (actually it’s M.C.’s, thanks) receives the wireless connection. I’m sending from my tent in the center of E.C. nation.

We arrived at Emergency Communities at 10:15 a.m. and began our day with a tour. There is a kitchen tent, a "Smoke Pit" (which is where they barbeque the food), a free store, the distribution tent (this is where they give canned food to residents), a storage tent, the Rejuvenation Station (which is like a schools nurse's office in a tent), 4 trucks that hold food, 5 showers, a lot of port-a-potties (and they smell horrible!) and countless tents.

After we had our tour and learned about the different places where you can help, my mom and I set up our tent. Because the ground is contaminated, the tent was set up on 4 square wooden platforms. These are about 1 1/2 feet long on each side. We also put crushed cardboard boxes on top of the platforms so we didn't feel like we were sleeping on a rock.

We had brunch and then worked a little on the blog. While we were in the computer tent (which is also where the free store is and happens to be the coolest -- temperature-wise -- tent at EC). We noticed people working to sort clothes for the store. So, my mom shut down her computer and the 2 of us got busy sorting clothes for an hour an a half.

After that, we went to the Jewish Community Center for a shower (my mom says thank you to Brenda G. and the JCC of Providence for the week's complimentary membership), came back for a delicious dinner of pork chops, salad, and beans. Then we headed off to bed, where we were lulled to sleep by the sounds of drums and a flute. (Well, not really lulled since they stayed out playing till about 11 and it was giving us a headache. Not to mention the fact the dogs in the camp like to bark along to the music which gave me a headache.)

I'm Melanie Chitwood PRO nightly news, goodnight. But first, this is today on NOLA. (HAHAHA)

They are sensitive to all diets here.

Mel and I are overwhelmed by the smell. Imagine your grandmother’s attic or musty basement but 100 times worse.

``I didn’t have anything except the clothes on my back,’’ he says. ``I realize I have to move on. What’s the point of going over it over again?’’

He drives us around his neighborhood where every house looks like his. He stops by a house where on the bottom of the X you can read 1 (dead) body. He wants to show us everything. It’s important to him that we see it and understand what ``couldn’t be told from pictures on CNN.’’

``She was an older woman who went to her attic with 10 days worth of provisions,’’ he tells us. ``She died from the heat before she could be rescued.’’

Destin and Sarah stand outside his home where his mother has tried to brighten up the outside with mardi gras beads. She was lucky to have found an apartment nearby the school where she teaches art.

Here are images of Destin's home:

These are images from Destin's neighborhood near the 17th Street levy breach. In the first one, you can see where the breach occurred behind the destroyed house.

People think that NOLA is back to normal, but it’s not. Most of the houses are in ok shape.

We went out for dinner and heard from our hosts, the Grecos, amazing stories about Katrina. Houses were left without power for months; streetlights only recently started working. Curfews are in place for drivers under 17 (they have to be off the roads by 11, but before it was 5). Schools were destroyed, and on some campuses classes are held in giant trailers.

Before trailers were put in, kids would take turns using a school. (The school that owns the building goes to classes during the day kids from another school go to classes from 4 to 9). Many of the people living here are staying in trailers on their front lawns.

My mom and I spent our first night in a FEMA trailer, and tomorrow we will start camping. Trailers have one tiny couch that pulls out into a bed (that’s were I slept last night). A queen sized bed (my mom’s bed) is in the back. There’s full kitchen with a microwave, a bath room with a tiny shower that only gets a few minuets of hot water. There is also a bunk bed in the corner. Plus, there is also a little table next to my couch bed.

We don’t have the trailer to ourselves though. We share the trailer with 2 cats who belong to the owner. They are really cute and soft. I made up names for them. Sophie and Charlotte are their names until we leave. My mom will put a picture of them in the blog… I hope.

I wanted to end my blog with something I heard while we were getting a tour of New Orleans yesterday.

“A lot of people think the storm is over, but it’s not. The winds have gone, but the storm is still here.” Mary Greco

Mel poses in front of the trailer she and her mom stayed in. An artist painted the addresses on discarded pieces of wood so UPS and postal workers would know where to make deliveries.

We went out for dinner and heard from our hosts, the Greco’s, amazing stories about Katrina. Houses were left without power for months, streetlights only recently started working. Curfews are in place for drivers under 17 (they have to be off the roads by 11, but before it was 5). Schools were destroyed, and on some campuses classes are held in giant trailers.

Before trailers were put in, kids would take turn using a school. (The school that owns the building goes to classes during the day kids from another school go to classes from 4 to 9). Many of the people living here are staying in trailers on their front lawns.

My mom and I spent our first night in a FEMA trailer, and tomorrow we will start camping. Trailers have one tiny couch that pulls out into a bed (that’s were I slept last night). A queen sized bed (my mom’s bed) is in the back. There’s full kitchen with a microwave, a bath room with a tiny shower that only gets a few minuets of hot water. There is also a bunk bed in the corner. Plus, there is also a little table next to my couch bed.

We don’t have the trailer to ourselves though. We share the trailer with 2 cats who belong to the owner. They are really cute and soft. I made up names for them. Sophie and Charlotte are their names until we leave. My mom will put a picture of them in the blog… I hope.

I wanted to end my blog with something I heard while we were getting a tour of New Orleans yesterday.

“A lot of people think the storm is over, but it’s not. The winds have gone, but the storm is still here.” Mary Greco

``Oh, thank you, really, thank you so much,’’ says waitress Elisha Diamond, who is about to leave for graduate school. ``When you go back, you need to tell everyone we still need lots of help here.’’

Elisha, similar to everyone we meet here, are eager to talk about Katrina and their Post-K life. They seem to feel better and comforted after telling their nightmarish story. They say that they relive what happened -- and is happening to them -- in their minds nearly daily.

They wonder when it will be over. When will they stop thinking about it? Is that what post-delay stress syndrome is all about? Is it the constant reliving, retelling and little relief?

The storm lives on here. Elisha was without electricity for nearly six months. She depended on friends. Now she helps friends with essentials.

We meet Elisha after Mary Greco, her husband, Joseph, a firefighter, and their daughter, Sarah, 19, gave Mel and me a tour of the city. They have been living in a FEMA trailer in their front yard since October. The plan is to move back into their home at the end of May.

The neighborhood where they live is dotted with white FEMA trailers on front yards.

During our look at the city, Mel and I are shocked. It’s miles and miles of abandoned homes. Schools, businesses and offices closed forever. Many of the homes have been flattened or reduced to rubble. The ones still standing are marked with giant Xs. Some say ``two live cats’’; others indicate a dead body.

Joseph, a firefighter, stayed through the storm. He injured his knee during a rescue operation at a nursing home. ``You have to remember there was no electricity,’’ he recalled. ``We waded through water in the dark. The nursing home had no air conditioning or ice. They had nothing.’’

Mary talks about being in Houston. ``I couldn’t communicate with Joe,’’ she said. ``How was I going to make decisions about where we were going to live? Our life?’’

Their daughter Sarah’s boyfriend Destin Pizer meets us for dinner. We are at a tiny open-air restaurant called Fellini’s (Geoff’s-like sandwiches with Cajun-spicy flare – and spicy pizzas).

He brings pictures of the home where he grew up. It’s completely destroyed. He lost all his clothes, letter jackets, trophies, pictures – all of the keepsakes from his childhood.

I keep thinking how I would survive such a disaster. Furniture, dishes, clothes and things can all be replaced, but photos and sentimental items cannot.

Could what happen here occur in Rhode Island? Are we prepared? How many of us could survive losing everything?

Joe’s mother, who was living in a FEMA trailer next to his FEMA trailer, died last week. ``She lost everything during Katrina,’’ Mary said. ``She became very depressed. She couldn’t recover.’’

At Fellini’s, from left, Mel, Elisha, Joe, Destin, Sarah and Mary, Mel and I listen. We spend nearly two hours with them reliving Katrina and the aftermath. After the restaurant closes, Elisha sits with us and to talk some more.

Our first night in NOLA is in a FEMA trailer. Our digs are not too bad. There’s air-conditioning, electricity, microwave and a warm shower.

Our plane will leave from LaGuardia in two hours. I think they might need 2 planes to compensate for everything we plan on bringing.

I can’t wait to go through security.

Our duffle bags have 2 air mattresses, 2 sleeping bags, 1 giant tent, 2 sets of boots, 8 pairs of shoes, 2 flashlights, extra batteries, rubber gloves, hats and clothes.

Again, I can’t wait to go through security.

The funny thing is, even with all of this stuff packed; my mom and I (well mostly my mom) still think we forgot something. Oh well, it’s a little too late for that now.

My backpack for the plane has my necessities, 15 comic books, three reading books, my iPod and unfortunately my unfinished science report. Plus a chocolate bar and some money. So I guess we’re pack rats, but I’d rather be over packed than sorry.

Our plane leaves tomorrow, as I said before, and then we are spending our first night with friends who just moved back into their house in NOLA. So, this time I really mean it, the next time you hear from me I really will be in Louisiana, or in an airport in St. Louis (we have a 2 HOUR layover). That’s all for now.

Good night and good luck! (Hehehe)

Mel

The next morning, Easter, Mel and I plan to be at a 10 a.m. orientation at the relief kitchen set up by Emergency Communities. It’s located in the Arabi near St. Bernard Parish and the Ninth Ward.

``We have survived many hurricanes,’’ continues Mary, a New Orleans native who lives in Metairie just outside of the city. ``But this one has been the worst. Usually, the recovery is a few days or maybe a couple of weeks.’’

Some eight months after Hurricane Katrina devastated the Gulf Coast, she, her husband, a firefighter, and her seventh-grader son, only recently moved back home.

For months, the family had been bunking in a FEMA trailer. It still sits on their front lawn.

``You can see the water marks in our house,’’ she says. ``My husband stayed through the whole thing. He had to work.’’

She and her son were evacuated to Houston.

She’s eager to talk; I want to hear it all. She tells me her house was filled with water.

I can’t imagine the stress Post-K has put on her family. Is there a handbook on how to parent during what seems to be an endless recovery effort?

Parenting is a difficult task in the best of times. How is it done in the worst of times?

I ask, ``What can I bring?’’

She says, ``nothing.’’

I ask again toward the end of conversation, and she laughs. It feels good to hear her laugh.

She adds, ``Well, do you know anyone who wants to do manual labor?’’

The Grecos are in the process of painting their house -- one of the final stages of putting a house back together.

But the process of rebuilding their lives continues. What and when will be the final stages of putting their lives back together?

She tells me that I don’t know what to expect. I believe her.

``Everybody needs to see New Orleans and Biloxi,’’ she says. She has family and friends in both places. They all were devastated by Katrina. ``There’s nothing there. It’s like a giant wave washed over the both places, and took everything with it.’’

I tell her of our plans to work at a relief kitchen in the city of Arabi, one of the hardest hit areas. My interest is on how young people are coping, and on volunteering opportunities for families. How can the under-18 crowd help out in NOLA?

She tells me of seminars and town meetings in NOLA with names like Bouncing Back after Katrina. These meetings allow outlets for discussion and sharing of information and resources on how to handle the new ``normal post-K’’ life. They discuss the concept of delayed stress syndrome – as if they don’t have enough on their minds already.

She encourages me to make contact with a family friend, who has a 13-year-old son. They have gone to these meetings, and are trying to get back to their daily life. It has been difficult for them, she tells me. The city is still under a curfew, and they never know store hours of the supermarket or the pharmacy.

``I asked to go to my favorite restaurant,’’ she explains. ``When we got there, it was gone.’’

She continues: ``This will certainly give you a bird's-eye view of what family life is like now. Everyone is having a hard time coping, and they are looking for tools on how to get through it. Then there are the people who don't know that they need help or don't want it.’’

I ask if there was anything Mel and I can bring down. Something her friend’s family would need – essentials. She suggests gift cards. ``I sent my cousins Wal-Mart cards because they lost everything. So they were able to get exactly what they wanted. Meanwhile, a school in California adopted her son's school each kid received a care package. My friend thought it was very touching.’’

M.B. put much in perspective but left me wondering: How would I cope if I lost everything? Would I be able to bounce back? I realize now I don’t know what to expect when I arrive in the city with my daughter in 12 days.

M.B. hands me a CD with photos. I rush back to work, and in disbelief I look at pictures of the destruction. One of them from Biloxi displays intense emotion. It’s of a bronze statue of man that was toppled over in the hurricane. The arms are reaching out, and the expression on the face is pure distress. It’s an image of a call for Help! Behind the sculpture is the buckled cement of a road that led to a bridge that is no longer there.

I choose three of the most striking photos taken in the Lower 9th Ward. The one that resonates with me the most is of a collapsed house. The walls have been ripped away, and you can see dishes inside the kitchen cabinets.

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