Yesterday at 2 PM I got my deployment call. It’s now 8:45 AM, and I’m packed and about to leave for the airport- going to Alabama to be deployed who knows where, to do who knows what. I’ve heard all sorts of things about the conditions, and about the different jobs I might do, but I just don’t know- it’s the absolute unknown. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. I’m excited to finally be going, nervous about what I might find there, but ready, so ready to get on the plane.

Here’s the latest. When I called this morning to get my daily update, a very kind gentleman volunteering at the Sacramento Red Cross said, “Well, I’ve got a bulletin I’m supposed to read to you: ‘Due to Hurricane Rita, which we are expecting to be another catastrophic event that will lead to severe hardship conditions for our volunteers, we ask that you get plenty of rest and be ready to go when you are called. All deployments are on hold until Rita passes through.’ So please be patient, but please take care of yourself, and your call will come.”

Nothing new, but this is the first time there has been an actual statement for all of us. I’m better resigned to waiting now, although my heart is in my throat watching that category 5 hurricane hurtle towards Texas. It’s almost beyond belief that two storms of this magnitude are going to hit in the same month.

Yes, yes, I’m still waiting. All of us are on hold again. They had started to deploy when Rita et al came to town, and now, of course, they have to wait, since they don’t want to deploy folks to states where other folks are being evacuated. But now there will most likely be even more damage, more people displaced. When it’s time, I’ll be ready.

In the meantime, I’m having a hell of a time staying focused and caring deeply about my job. I feel all discombobulated. And I wait.

As of a week ago Friday, the Red Cross put a freeze on all deployments from this part of California. At least, that was the word, and so all of us were put on hold. I didn’t find this out until this past Thursday, which was the day I was supposed to hear about my deployment date. As much as this is not exactly about my wants and needs, I was still really disappointed, because I am so ready to go. I called my local chapter yesterday- Friday- morning, only to hear that the hold was off, that deployments are happening, but that there was “no rhyme or reason” to the order. All the people who were supposed to be deployed as of last week are now being called, and since I wasn’t to go until today, I’m further down the list and it may be a few days until they get to me.

But at least I’m not on hold anymore- at least that call is going to come. I know that I’m still needed, I know I’ll still be of service, but I feel like I could have been of MORE service these last three weeks when things were such chaos. Although, from what I’m hearing, there is still plenty of chaos for those of us being deployed late. I have a stack of clothes, a shoebox full of toiletries, my boots and my bag sitting out ready to be thrown together, but for now, I’m still waiting. I hate waiting.

The main reason I’ve had to wait, though, is not the Red Cross deployment times, but because the most important annual event for my organization was last night, and I simply had to be here to see it through. It was a raging success, simply wonderful, and it reminds me of the importance of following through on commitments. When things get hard, it is so easy just to take an entirely different path. When I was younger, this manifested in moves. We moved constantly, and then I moved constantly, and each time I figured that this time would be better, this new place would be better. And although going to the Gulf Coast is scary, although that work will be really hard, it will be a different kind of hard then the hard I face every day here. And honestly, it will be less stressful, less pressure, because I’ll be one of many working towards the same goal, as opposed to one of very few trying to support an entire non-profit. I didn’t realize how much I was looking forward to the break- how it will be, if I am totally honest, a welcome brief escape. It will also be a reminder that what I do here in my job does not save lives, that it is so much smaller than I tend to remember, that there is so much to do in the world and I really need to keep my miniscule slice in perspective.

There is also a part of me that looks at my success here and wonders how better that energy could be put to use. What positive change could I bring to FEMA? What positive change is possible for FEMA? And who am I to think I could make a difference? But then, last night, walking around the event, I realized that there had been a palpable cultural shift in the last year within my organization and the people it serves. And if it’s possible to have a hand in that, why not so much more?

But I wait. It is a stunning, stunning Napa Valley day, with a deep blue sky and white puffy clouds and a warm breeze. It’s the first day off I’ve had in three weeks. So I wait, and… nap.

I’ve been having a rough week. Not nearly as rough as many folks in this country right now, but I’m really taking in all of the awful stuff that is happening and spending, oh, I’d say, PLENTY of time crying about all of it, particularly today. So I’d like to take a moment and just be thankful for what I have. And what I have are some pretty damn incredible friends. I don’t have pictures of all of the people in my life who have become my family even though they weren’t born a Williams, and I’d like to dedicate this blog to all of them.

my dearest life-long friend Anastasia…

my beautiful friend Hayley, of many years, many moves, many travels…

my wonderful friends Elizabeth and Matty, who remind me that someday it just might happen for me too…

the ever-lovely, ever-funny, ever-sweet Mollie…

and the Golden Boy of the west coast, my friend Jon, the 9/11 birthday boy, and the most generous man you’ll ever meet…

and to Rachel, and Juan, and Ian S., and Carolyn, and Kellie, and the rest of you, even though you may never find nor read this blog- thank you all for joining my life and adding to my already huge and perfect family.

Maybe my whole blog should just be daily pictures of me madly in love with my niece.

I made a $20,000 “ask” yesterday, but Lucy is so much more interesting than my job.

And thanks for the well-wishes, LFMD.

I love this little girl like nobody’s business.

It’s so nice to be back in my sweet little house, the crickets chanting outside, the wind chimes softly knocking, my cat determined to share my lap with my computer. I’ve had a recurring selfish thought this last week, one that plagues me all the time: I’m so glad my mother wasn’t in New Orleans. I’m so glad my mom wasn’t stuck on a third floor somewhere, somewhere where she might have had to swim in that foul water, where the National Guard might have been shooting in the air above her head, where she might have been left for days and days without food, water, or anyone watching out for her. It keeps me up at night, thinking that that life could have just as easily have been ours, and I’m just so relieved that my mother isn’t in the teeming masses of suffering. Of course, people far worse off than she, people with greater ailments and even greater heartbreaks are among those who lost homes and families and their lives. Which is why it is a selfish thought. But I still have it.

I made myself dinner with tomatoes and herbs from my garden, and on my muted TV, Blake is crushing Agassi. So normal and peaceful, and I’m enjoying every second of it. Last night when I checked into the crappy Travelodge, I got that slipping feeling, that knowledge that things are shifting, and it almost would have made more sense if I had been deployed straight from my nine-hour training day. Instead, I fought Interstate 80 back to this part of the world, and I have eight days until my phone is supposed to ring.

The day began with all 200 of us hopefuls filling out our DSHR forms en masse. The Red Cross was using the auditorium and facilities of the Blue Diamond headquarters in Sacramento as a staging ground for this batch of trainees. Blue Diamond, apparently, is a major nut operation. As in, little edible bits from trees, not imbalanced folks. The facility was beautiful although the air conditioning was perilously high, and there were six or seven instructors walking all of us through the process. The first hour seemed rather disorganized, and we soon found out why. I’d been wondering why there were so many men milling about in extraordinarily expensive suits, and why a photographer was testing the lights, when one of the instructors introduced the CEO of Blue Diamond, who in turn introduced the CEO of the Sacramento Red Cross, who, in turn, with much fanfare, introduced the governor of California. That’s right, the Governator came striding out with those crazy white perfect teeth and even I found myself on my feet, clapping, not because I approve of anything he’s done, but because he’s HOT! I admit it. What can you do.

I don’t much remember what he said, other than how proud he was of us, and how proud he is of California’s response to Katrina, and how thankful he was that all of us were taking time out of our lives to go help those in need. And then he came across the front row where I (yes, dorkus majorus) was sitting, and shook our hands. He has big hands. But he’s shorter than you think.
The rest of the day was not quite as exciting; indeed, I’d forgotten how droll Red Cross training videos are. One of them had footage from about 1983, or somewhere near the time that the movie Valley Girl was out, and there was upturned collars and terrible hair to prove it. Clearly that wasn’t what we were there to learn, but these videos didn’t really come close to the true nature of what disaster staging grounds really look and feel like. On the video, everyone was busy, but no one was freaking out, no one was giving up, no one was furious, no one was throwing things, no one was bawling, no one was literally holding someone else up. I know they don’t want to scare anyone. And maybe the idea is that you give people the basic tools they’ll need to be successful in a situation, and the rest of it- the hard stuff- they figure out in the moment. But I still had trouble paying attention and staying focused, particularly since I really wanted a nap.

We all had to be screened by a nurse, and mine was delighted to see all the “no’s” checked on my form when it asked about health problems. I thought of Ian’s kidney stones, Sean’s knee, and my mom’s eyes, and it reminded me how lucky I am to be able to do this work. As the nurse went through my previous disaster experience, she looked at me and said, “There is a very good chance that you will be deployed and you will reach a staging ground where you have more experience than your supervisor. You may have better solutions to problems. You’ll have to find a diplomatic way to make your voice heard, and if you feel you are hitting a brick wall, find a way around it, and get the job done.” “I direct a small arts non-profit,” I said. “I got that part covered.”

Back in group, we discussed the kinds of things we need to bring: insect repellent with at least 26% Deet; waterproof boots; raingear; photocopies of all our insurance information and certification cards; no shorts, no tank tops; and clothes for three days only. A sheet and a light blanket. Earplugs and eyemasks for sleeping in the same room as 10,000 other people. All in all, only what will fit in a carry-on bag, and only what we can carry on our backs. And only what we are utterly willing to lose, get stolen, or get destroyed. We need to be prepared for twelve-hour shifts, limited access to showers, cots if we are lucky. I have much of what I need, although I’ve started a small list of things I need to buy or borrow.

And now, I wait. The forms we filled out in the morning were in Kentucky by the end of lunchtime where they are currently being entered into the database. The folks who can be deployed immediately will get a call sometime in the next 24-72 hours and will be deployed within 48 hours of that phone call. I can’t go until after the 16th, which is the night of my organization’s biggest annual event. So come the morning of the 15th, I’ll start waiting for my call, which will come at any time after that, to get my deployment date and time, which could be within hours, or within days. I just won’t know a thing until I get that call. Apparently everyone’s possible deployment date is in the computer, and each new day, flags appear in the system and those folks get called and deployed. Every single one of us will go as, simply, “Mass Care”, and once we are down there, we will find out where we fit. And where is “down there”? No telling. At this point, I could end up in Florida, Mississippi, New York, Texas, Washington D.C.- or Louisiana. I could end up at any one of hundreds of staging grounds across numerous states. I could be deployed to Houston where I’ll wait for two days before being sent to my final destination. There is just no telling.

But until that date, until I get that phone call, I have an entire organization to fund. And to that end, for my big meeting tomorrow, it’s bedtime.

I’m writing from a 24-hour Kinko’s in downtown Sacramento. I decided, with only a toothbrush and a bottle of water, to make the drive down here tonight, particularly when a very nice Travelodge employee gave me their absolutely lowest rate (still more than I could afford) for a room just three blocks from where I’ll be taking the Red Cross Katrina relief course tomorrow morning. I just couldn’t face almost three hours of rush-hour traffic, so here I am, without a computer, a clean change of clothes, or anything else. Also, I had a McFlurry for dinner, which is wrong on so many counts I don’t know where to begin. But I was in a hurry to get on the road, and I was following a Dairy Queen craving, and they just don’t make Dairy Queens out here.

I’ll be in class for nine hours tomorrow, and basically it is a number of different courses all shoved in together. The class is totally sold out, and I’m curious the kinds of folks I’ll meet tomorrow. How many of them will have also already worked for the Red Cross? What will their skills be? Will they all have met all the requirements (good health, able to lift 50 pounds, able to live in “hardship conditions”) or will there be some who hope their sheer will will get them down there?

I’m so incredibly exhausted… so much is going on in my work life, home life, personal life, everything, but a strange thing has been happening ever since I decided to go back to the Red Cross: it seems as though the hours of the day are expanded to let me accomplish everything that needs to get done in a given time period. I finished an entire funding strategy for my organization over this past weekend, and still had time to do a bunch of leadership work as well as read Harry Potter and sleep lots of hours. I’m really thankful for this focus, this clarity, and the chance to actually ACT.

I’m bursting to find out where they’ll send me and when exactly I’ll go. It’s hard to be prudent in these times, but I’m trying really, really hard to just take each day as it comes.

Thank you, all of you who are helping me go. Once again, I feel as though a hundred hands are behind me, gently touching my back and letting me know that I’m not doing any of this alone.

Full report on the class tomorrow night.

It’s not often that I feel like I come from a place of authority, on anything, really- most of the time I have a little bit of information that I try to make sense in the larger picture. But this time it’s different.

I was down in the pit of World Trade Center site, this time a few days after the event and without any of the friends and family who had accompanied me on the first trip down. I was down there with the Salvation Army, but my staging ground was running smoothly so I took off to find out where I could help. I ran back and forth to six or seven different staging grounds, other Salvation Army folks, Red Cross, police, and everyone needed something from other groups- simple things like clothes, and, I remember, strangely, milk. But each time I went back to each group, they needed something else, or I’d been told the wrong thing, and I was in this ugly merry-go-round of trying to create solutions when the problems themselves were unknown. It was bad, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the first time I was down there and one fire crew was shoveling debris off a huge pile without knowing that they were raining their debris down on another fire crew that was shoveling a pile below. Those first few days, it seemed no one was in charge, but everyone just threw their backs into the work and figured they’d at least *do something*.

I guess my question is: what the fork else has to happen in this country for us to actually be *prepared*? I understand that we just had no system in place, neither in our EMS services nor in our minds, to deal with 9/11 when it happened. But we KNEW Katrina was coming. We KNEW that New Orleans is below sea level. We KNEW how many counties could be horribly affected. Why, in all that is holy, did we wait? Why didn’t GW call back at least a handful of our absent National Guard? They could have made it home in time. But why did we wait? Why wasn’t every single helicopter and every single bus in this country moved to safe states nearby the day before, so the day after the storm they would be ready and waiting? Could it truly, truly be that it’s because it’s a bunch of terribly poor black people? Could that really be? Could our government really not only not care about them, but also have the audacity to basically admit their racism and hatred and fear? And if not, WHY DID WE WAIT?

Is this going to be it? Is this country now going to realize that we have someone totally incompetent in charge? Or is it going to roll along, as it has for the past five years, and the blame will ONCE AGAIN be assigned elsewhere? And what more has to happen for us to learn that bad shit happens here on the home front, that people are suffering right here in this country? And what kind of message are we sending to the world that we don’t have enough National Guard here at home to deal with a natural catastrophe, let alone more attacks?

I cannot sit idly by. Those of you who protested my going to the Peace Corps because it was so far away I hope will support me doing something here at home.