Pants O' Mirth

Isn't it odd that even though some dumbass (don't know for sure, but I bet it was Congressional) pitched a whiny inequality fit and got hurricanes named after men alternatively , that the chick names still reign supreme? I remember asking as a young child (before the change) why hurricanes were always named after girls? I was told "because hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned". I was a quiet child, so I said "Oh." and walked off. No clue what that meant.

Well, Katrina damn sure had a score to settle.

I watched on TV as the melee unravelled. The hurricane in and of itself was a doozy, but the days that followed were horrific. Areas of Mississippi and Alabama simply decimated. Flattened. The levees breaking under the stress. The slow response of aid to people that had been evacuated to the Superdome in New Orleans. Then, later the shuttling to the Convention Center for "the buses are coming". I, like many, was wondering "How is this happening in the country where *I* live? GET THEM OUT of there!!!!" Didn't seem like rocket science to me.

Well they did. Finally. And brought many of them to my hometown of Houston, Texas. Which is historically a cool place to land when you're having a crappy day. (So long as you don't land on I-10 during rush hour, which comprises about 7 hours a day.) Houstonians have large hearts for the most part, and I've always been extremely proud to be one.

I've been told that I'm too idealistic. I'm also admittedly cynical. Welcome to the duality that is a Gemini. But when people around me are hurting, I hurt too. This goes for family, friends, acquaintances having a bad day, whatever. I wish at times I could be more removed, and I sometimes have to forcibly remove myself because it will seriously take a toll on me...I'll find myself worrying more about a situation than the actual person involved. I'm a control freak like that. I just want things fixed. I like people to be happy....or, at least as happy as they can get. I do my best to help wherever needed. And sometimes, things are just too frigging huge to fix....and that drives me batty.

So. My friend A. calls me, she's searching for volunteer opportunities. We decide that the Food Bank needs us Saturday morning, and another place needs us to serve dinner to people that same evening. Somewhere between point A and point B, things get mixed up and the Food Bank gig gets cancelled. Which is not a bad thing actually for me, because my back gets kinda pissy when I move heavy stuff repeatedly, and food is heavy stuff.
At this point, the Astrodome is now full..... so they open up the George R. Brown Convention Center to evacuees, and I decide that I will simply head down there the next morning, as surely they will need people on hand to help.

I didn't tell anyone where I was going. Especially not by myself. My mother, and very possibly my boyfriend, may have had conniptions, as we were still hearing hype about fights and assaults coming out of the Astrodome. Was it hype? Don't know. I can vouch that if I haven't eaten a meal in 8 hours, you're gonna have a fight on your hands with me. I won't even approach what 3-5 days would be like. It wouldn't be cute.

I arrive at 7:30 am for orientation. At this point they have taken in roughly 200-300 people that came in overnight from the Convention Center in N.O. They brief us on what needs to be done at the moment and then categorize us into 2 groups. She used the word "chicken hearted", like I've heard my mom say. If you fell into the chicken hearted group, I now know that they would find something for you to do where you didn't have any actual contact with the people. Oddly enough, the group split pretty evenly into "don't come over here if you can't stand up and say no, if need be" and " chicken hearted". I steeled up, and went with the NCH group, hoping I hadn't misjudged myself. They briefed us on what to do if a fight broke out, if someone tried to take too many items offered, etc.

Until the next load of buses came in, and while the current group was eating breakfast, we sorted through clothing donations. We were warned that "some of this stuff should have hit the garbage 20 years ago, but, until we know how many people we have coming in, just sort it by size and we'll cross that bridge later."

Sort, sort, sort.
"OMG! LOOK... STIRRUP PANTS!"
"wow, Look at this, remember Fido Dido?"
"Well, who knows....maybe someone still LIKES granny boots...it could happen"

And then I found them. Pale pink. Silk. Size 8. SEQUINED. No, seriously. Pink, silk, sequined pants. Sequins about a half inch around. Clear, and iridescent.

Liza Minelli doesn't own a pair of pants like this. And that's saying something.

All morning long, I was wondering "What can I do to help? What is my strength? What am I good at that they need? What is it that makes me valuable and loved in my friends eyes? Is it something that I can offer these people too?" I try to comfort my pals, and I try to make them laugh.

When I saw the pants, I knew I'd found my muse.

I set them off to the side of the table full of womens size 8(ish) pants. And when people started meandering in, searching out 2 outfits apiece, until they could come back through for more in 2 days, I brandished these damn pants at them. Some spewed immediately, others searched my face uncertainly as if to surmise, "Oh no, she is NOT seriously trying to give me THOSE" or "Would it seem ungrateful if I burst forth laughter at these hideous pants????" To those that looked uncertain, I grinned and said "It's the THOUGHT that counts, RIGHT?!?" and therefore they giggled, and most outright busted up along with me. Then I helped them find proper stuff. Because homeless or not, belonging-less or not, these people's TASTE did not get washed away by Katrina. Thank God.

And to the once owner of these now infamous pants, which I have no doubt are still on a table in the George R. Brown Convention Center, I have 2 statements.....

1) Thank You, from the bottom of my heart, for giving us a lifeline to smile. Laughter is the absolute best medicine in situations such as this.

2) How the hell uncomfortable was it to sit down in those bad boys????



Sleep tight, our new Houstonians, we'll do our best to boost you up. :)