Last night, as I was toting half a dozen bags of groceries into the house under a perfectly clear sky, it dawned on me that if I were to hop in my car and drive just a few hours to the east, I probably wouldn’t be able to find a grocery store that was even open, much less one with adequate supplies. And then I remembered that barely a week ago, we were in a similar situation right here in New Orleans–similar, but not the same.
I recall thinking then–back during Ivan, as Jonno and I were sitting around just waiting for the storm to hit, unable to do anything or go anywhere–I remember thinking, “Damn, those folks in the Midwest don’t know how lucky they are, with their 24 hour stores, their consistent electricity, their unwavering DSL.” Now the storm’s passed, life’s back to normal, and our 24 hours of hardship are all but forgotten.
To the east, though, it’s different. Floridians, Haitians, and thousands of others across the Gulf of Mexico and the Carribbean are beyond simply envying folks outside the various hurricane paths, beyond appreciating the rarity of a normal day. Hell, Jonno and I stayed at a hotel during Ivan so we wouldn’t lose power for a minute; the thought of being without electricity–not to mention food or drinking water–for weeks is almost beyond my sheltered comprehension. The worst such experience I ever endured was when Frederic hit, but even then, life was back to normal in four or five days.
And to all you granola-crunching, hackysack-kicking Kucinich supporters, yes, I know that there are parts of the globe where vast numbers of people do without power and running water and food for much, much longer–entire lifetimes, in fact. I fully understand that even the worst suffering in America can’t compare to the troubles people experience in Somalia or Bangladesh.
All I’m saying is that I’m feeling guilty and lucky and thankful and helpless all at once. Maybe making a donation to the Red Cross would help.
