Reunited family celebrates Thanksgiving, new life

[TexasStooge]

By KAREN BROOKS / The Dallas Morning News

DICKINSON, Texas – The turkey will be cooked Cajun style, in a crab boil so spicy that the steam makes you cough.

The gumbo is made with gigantic Dungeness crabs, not the little Louisiana blue crabs, because that's what they can get here. The okra will probably be set near the stuffing, the shrimp and ham and sweet potato pies sharing space with stuffed bell peppers and baked macaroni.

This remarkable Thanksgiving holiday at the Clay family's government-subsidized apartment will be a cozy, festive blend of two worlds: The old one that Cavel Clay, husband Kendrick and her three daughters fled when Hurricane Katrina devastated life as they knew it, and the new one they have found outside Houston after being rescued from the Superdome in New Orleans and whisked to safety.

"We were uprooted, but this is a chance to make a fresh start," said Ms. Clay, 33. "We don't even know if we're going back. There are just too many memories rehashed. Down the line, we might decide to stay right here. Or we might go somewhere else entirely. I guess time will make that decision."

When the floods chased them from their homes, Ms. Clay's mom, grandmother, and two teenage sisters ended up in apartments in San Antonio. Mr. Clay's sister and nephew evacuated to Atlanta, where his brother already lived.

The holiday brings them back together for the first time, crowded into the Clays' bare apartment just off Interstate 45 in this Houston suburb.

"I think," Ms. Cavel joked, "that everybody misses the food."

With a lone bulb overhead but a donated dining table loaded with a blend of New Orleans and Texas cuisines, they'll eat heartily, trade stories and relive memories.

And despite all they've lost, the Clays will give thanks – for being alive, for being together, and for this strange, intriguing opportunity to make an entirely new life out of scratch.

"One of the things you can never change is what's happened," said Mr. Clay, 32. "This is what is. This is now. We have to deal with the now."

It was well over 100 degrees inside the Superdome when the Clays arrived on Aug. 28, having evacuated their Uptown rental house on the advice of city officials. They had left Chingy the Shih Tzu behind, thinking they would only be gone a couple of days.

But when it became clear that they might never go home, Kendrick – stepfather to Ms. Clay's girls for five years – knew he would have to rescue the pet. He found a plastic kiddie pool, sneaked past the guards and began floating the pool toward home.

Then he realized that his grandmother, who had vowed not to evacuate, was in more danger than he first thought. He changed course and found her at home, up to her throat in water. He brought her back to the Superdome and hoped animal rescuers would take Chingy to dry land.

Inside the dome, the Clays created a safe area with a group of strangers.

"Everyone became family," Mr. Clay recalled. "We looked out for each other [even though] every face we saw was a face we were seeing for the first time."

Three men whom the Clays playfully nicknamed "the Loose Cannons" sang songs and danced in their baggy jeans to take the children's minds off the disaster.

Ms. Clay's mother, Brenda, and her grandmother, 90-year-old Orelia Anthony, had suffered strokes within a few months of each other six years ago and needed special attention. They were among the first to leave the Superdome for Texas.

Ms. Clay promised to care for her sisters, 16-year-old Brandy and 13-year-old Kristen, until they could find their mother again.

After a few days, the buses to Houston finally arrived. A weary but resolute Ms. Clay took her youngest daughter, Dejon, into her arms and stood in a sweltering line for what felt like forever.

Hours later, they stepped off the bus in front of Reliant Stadium. They watched in disbelief as cars pulled up and motorists popped open trunks filled with clothes, food, toys for the children. Volunteers took their shoes off and gave them away.

Mr. Clay had been all over the country, but his wife had never left Louisiana. The unexpected kindness overwhelmed her, softening her fears in a city that was so different from her native New Orleans that it might as well have been another country.

After a few days, the family wound up at a shelter in the First United Methodist Church in Pearland, south of Houston, while they waited for the Federal Emergency Management Agency to come through with a rental voucher.

Searching for her ailing mother and grandmother, Ms. Clay said, was like "finding a needle in a haystack." But her mom found her first through an online registry. Within a few weeks, the church helped the Clays find an apartment and secure a city voucher. Her mother, grandmother and sisters finally got out of shelters a month ago and into their own apartments in San Antonio.

As the days trickled by, dozens of family members went their separate ways, accepting offers in other cities or states.

But the Clays knew their situation would be the same no matter where they went. And they figured that if you've got no place to go, it's probably best to stay where you are.

It was the best decision they could have made.

While at the church shelter, the Clays became friends with a man after services one Sunday. He later helped them buy a white 1999 Dodge Intrepid for $5,000, which would be priceless in the suburbs, where there are no buses.

A man in Atlanta saw a Dallas Morning News photo of Ms. Clay as she waited in front of the Superdome with Dejon in her arms. Moved so much by the strength, pain and courage in her face, he was compelled to track down the family and offer help and support. They still talk every day.

"There are so many people that have just embraced us and taken us in as family through just sheer conversation," Mr. Clay said.

As grateful as they were for the kindnesses, the Clays were more than ready to resume something closer to a normal life once they got into their apartment.

They settled back into the plan they've had since they married five years ago: Mr. Clay works, his wife goes to school – or, for now, takes classes online, using the Internet for the first time.

"If you lose your focus, you'll end up like a lot of the other people, just trying to find your way," said Mr. Clay, a truck driver and amateur musician with a love of poetry. "If you have a plan, you have to stick with it. If you don't, make one. Take advantage of help that maybe you weren't getting before this."

Inevitably, they run into little challenges and differences that remind them that they're not in New Orleans anymore.

The good news, both parents say, is that schools in Dickinson are a huge step up from the rough-and-tumble public schools in New Orleans.

The youngest, 9-year-old Dejon, bounces home from school every day filled with happy stories about Miss King, her teacher.

Alexis, the 13-year-old, was having problems with her grades in New Orleans. But in Dickinson, her grades are back up to As and Bs.

Crystal, 15, has found a lively group of girlfriends who hang out in the apartment courtyard after school and braid one another's hair or talk about the boys. All are from New Orleans.

"The schools are much, much better. The teachers here are more concerned, and they are there because they care, not just to cut a paycheck at the end of the week," Ms. Clay said.

Dejon still carries a picture of Chingy, who the family learned was rescued from their home by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals – although they've yet to find him among the thousands still in Louisiana animal shelters.

One of the hardest things to get used to is the lack of public transportation. In her old neighborhood, she could walk in all four directions and catch a bus within two blocks of her front door. Mr. Clay has tapped into the aggressive mind of the Houston driver, often leaving his wife wide-eyed in the passenger's seat.

But the differences become easier to manage as the family continues "putting one foot in front of the other," Mr. Clay said.

Today will be the first time Ms. Clay – who says she has always hated taking risks – has broken bread with her loved ones outside Louisiana. But looking back on what she's come through in the past two months, she realizes that she doesn't have to be afraid anymore.

Now, right in front of her, is a chance to tap that courageous new part of herself and find a way to make life outside New Orleans work.

She'll make the giant crabs work in the gumbo, and she'll make fine potato salad without her beloved Blue Plate mayonnaise.

Her husband calls it "leadership," a quality he said can flower in people when they least expect it.

"This is just like that water," he tells his wife, as she nods in agreement. "You do what you have to do. Here is a time when you have to look in the mirror and see the person you know you are."

[caribepr]

By KAREN BROOKS / The Dallas Morning News

DICKINSON, Texas – The turkey will be cooked Cajun style, in a crab boil so spicy that the steam makes you cough.

The gumbo is made with gigantic Dungeness crabs, not the little Louisiana blue crabs, because that's what they can get here. The okra will probably be set near the stuffing, the shrimp and ham and sweet potato pies sharing space with stuffed bell peppers and baked macaroni.

This remarkable Thanksgiving holiday at the Clay family's government-subsidized apartment will be a cozy, festive blend of two worlds: The old one that Cavel Clay, husband Kendrick and her three daughters fled when Hurricane Katrina devastated life as they knew it, and the new one they have found outside Houston after being rescued from the Superdome in New Orleans and whisked to safety.

"We were uprooted, but this is a chance to make a fresh start," said Ms. Clay, 33. "We don't even know if we're going back. There are just too many memories rehashed. Down the line, we might decide to stay right here. Or we might go somewhere else entirely. I guess time will make that decision."

When the floods chased them from their homes, Ms. Clay's mom, grandmother, and two teenage sisters ended up in apartments in San Antonio. Mr. Clay's sister and nephew evacuated to Atlanta, where his brother already lived.

The holiday brings them back together for the first time, crowded into the Clays' bare apartment just off Interstate 45 in this Houston suburb.

"I think," Ms. Cavel joked, "that everybody misses the food."

With a lone bulb overhead but a donated dining table loaded with a blend of New Orleans and Texas cuisines, they'll eat heartily, trade stories and relive memories.

And despite all they've lost, the Clays will give thanks – for being alive, for being together, and for this strange, intriguing opportunity to make an entirely new life out of scratch.

"One of the things you can never change is what's happened," said Mr. Clay, 32. "This is what is. This is now. We have to deal with the now."

It was well over 100 degrees inside the Superdome when the Clays arrived on Aug. 28, having evacuated their Uptown rental house on the advice of city officials. They had left Chingy the Shih Tzu behind, thinking they would only be gone a couple of days.

But when it became clear that they might never go home, Kendrick – stepfather to Ms. Clay's girls for five years – knew he would have to rescue the pet. He found a plastic kiddie pool, sneaked past the guards and began floating the pool toward home.

Then he realized that his grandmother, who had vowed not to evacuate, was in more danger than he first thought. He changed course and found her at home, up to her throat in water. He brought her back to the Superdome and hoped animal rescuers would take Chingy to dry land.

Inside the dome, the Clays created a safe area with a group of strangers.

"Everyone became family," Mr. Clay recalled. "We looked out for each other [even though] every face we saw was a face we were seeing for the first time."

Three men whom the Clays playfully nicknamed "the Loose Cannons" sang songs and danced in their baggy jeans to take the children's minds off the disaster.

Ms. Clay's mother, Brenda, and her grandmother, 90-year-old Orelia Anthony, had suffered strokes within a few months of each other six years ago and needed special attention. They were among the first to leave the Superdome for Texas.

Ms. Clay promised to care for her sisters, 16-year-old Brandy and 13-year-old Kristen, until they could find their mother again.

After a few days, the buses to Houston finally arrived. A weary but resolute Ms. Clay took her youngest daughter, Dejon, into her arms and stood in a sweltering line for what felt like forever.

Hours later, they stepped off the bus in front of Reliant Stadium. They watched in disbelief as cars pulled up and motorists popped open trunks filled with clothes, food, toys for the children. Volunteers took their shoes off and gave them away.

Mr. Clay had been all over the country, but his wife had never left Louisiana. The unexpected kindness overwhelmed her, softening her fears in a city that was so different from her native New Orleans that it might as well have been another country.

After a few days, the family wound up at a shelter in the First United Methodist Church in Pearland, south of Houston, while they waited for the Federal Emergency Management Agency to come through with a rental voucher.

Searching for her ailing mother and grandmother, Ms. Clay said, was like "finding a needle in a haystack." But her mom found her first through an online registry. Within a few weeks, the church helped the Clays find an apartment and secure a city voucher. Her mother, grandmother and sisters finally got out of shelters a month ago and into their own apartments in San Antonio.

As the days trickled by, dozens of family members went their separate ways, accepting offers in other cities or states.

But the Clays knew their situation would be the same no matter where they went. And they figured that if you've got no place to go, it's probably best to stay where you are.

It was the best decision they could have made.

While at the church shelter, the Clays became friends with a man after services one Sunday. He later helped them buy a white 1999 Dodge Intrepid for $5,000, which would be priceless in the suburbs, where there are no buses.

A man in Atlanta saw a Dallas Morning News photo of Ms. Clay as she waited in front of the Superdome with Dejon in her arms. Moved so much by the strength, pain and courage in her face, he was compelled to track down the family and offer help and support. They still talk every day.

"There are so many people that have just embraced us and taken us in as family through just sheer conversation," Mr. Clay said.

As grateful as they were for the kindnesses, the Clays were more than ready to resume something closer to a normal life once they got into their apartment.

They settled back into the plan they've had since they married five years ago: Mr. Clay works, his wife goes to school – or, for now, takes classes online, using the Internet for the first time.

"If you lose your focus, you'll end up like a lot of the other people, just trying to find your way," said Mr. Clay, a truck driver and amateur musician with a love of poetry. "If you have a plan, you have to stick with it. If you don't, make one. Take advantage of help that maybe you weren't getting before this."

Inevitably, they run into little challenges and differences that remind them that they're not in New Orleans anymore.

The good news, both parents say, is that schools in Dickinson are a huge step up from the rough-and-tumble public schools in New Orleans.

The youngest, 9-year-old Dejon, bounces home from school every day filled with happy stories about Miss King, her teacher.

Alexis, the 13-year-old, was having problems with her grades in New Orleans. But in Dickinson, her grades are back up to As and Bs.

Crystal, 15, has found a lively group of girlfriends who hang out in the apartment courtyard after school and braid one another's hair or talk about the boys. All are from New Orleans.

"The schools are much, much better. The teachers here are more concerned, and they are there because they care, not just to cut a paycheck at the end of the week," Ms. Clay said.

Dejon still carries a picture of Chingy, who the family learned was rescued from their home by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals – although they've yet to find him among the thousands still in Louisiana animal shelters.

One of the hardest things to get used to is the lack of public transportation. In her old neighborhood, she could walk in all four directions and catch a bus within two blocks of her front door. Mr. Clay has tapped into the aggressive mind of the Houston driver, often leaving his wife wide-eyed in the passenger's seat.

But the differences become easier to manage as the family continues "putting one foot in front of the other," Mr. Clay said.

Today will be the first time Ms. Clay – who says she has always hated taking risks – has broken bread with her loved ones outside Louisiana. But looking back on what she's come through in the past two months, she realizes that she doesn't have to be afraid anymore.

Now, right in front of her, is a chance to tap that courageous new part of herself and find a way to make life outside New Orleans work.

She'll make the giant crabs work in the gumbo, and she'll make fine potato salad without her beloved Blue Plate mayonnaise.

Her husband calls it "leadership," a quality he said can flower in people when they least expect it.

"This is just like that water," he tells his wife, as she nods in agreement. "You do what you have to do. Here is a time when you have to look in the mirror and see the person you know you are."

These stories (and I've read quite a few) make me cry, that anyone has to experience this knowledge... "Here is a time when you have to look in the mirror and see the person you know you are."
How often we don't want to look in the mirror, surrounded by so much bs...until a moment comes in life that all we have is a look in the mirror and nothing else. What a rare and horrible, and yet so enlightening, gift. And yes, I do mean gift, and yes, I have been there.

We are so blessed and the less we have materially makes us so much more grateful for what we have that really matters.

Thanksgiving is more than one day...

Thanks for sharing this.