Nook will store several 9th grade textbooks at Gulfport High School this fall 2011.

Have you lifted your kid’s backpack lately? Ugh!  When I first got my Nook, I commented to friends that I hoped schools went to eReaders one day.  My son, Nathan, had back surgery to correct Congenital Kyphosis a few years ago.  He’s doing well, but I’ve worried about the toll heavy books might take on him in years to come.

Well–guess what! Backpacks will get lighter at Gulfport High School this fall according to a report from WLOX.  The school district has purchased 570 Nooks for the upcoming 9th grade class.

I purchased my Nook last year, and I love it. There are so many advantages to eReaders:

• Save gas–no need to drive to the bookstore.
• Order a book at home; arrives in seconds.
• Carry your library of hundreds of books anywhere.
• Save space–no need for bookshelves.
• Change font size to make reading easy on the eyes.
• Save money–ebooks are cheaper than hardcover and/or paperback books.

It made sense to me that schools of the future might place textbooks on eReaders–but, wow! I didn’t imagine our local high school (Gulfport, Mississippi) would embrace the new technology this fast.

I hope this proves to be a successful experiment so that other grades (and other schools) will enjoy the convenience of Nook books.

My brother Tom and I pose at our house in Gulfport, Mississippi, almost a year before Hurricane Camille.

[This is a re-run of a post from last year.  Today is the 41st anniversary of Hurricane Camille.]

August of 1969 could be described as a month of turmoil and rebellion.  The Vietnam War was in full swing, provoking protests in the streets and heated disagreements at the dinner table.  The infamous Charles Manson cult went on a murderous rampage, killing Actress Sharon Tate and six other prominent Californians.  And on a 600-acre dairy farm in New York, a half million free-loving, mind-altered hippies stayed stoked and stoned during the Woodstock Music Festival.

I was only nine-years-old, so I wasn’t exactly tuned in to the events swirling around me.  But I do remember August 17-18, 1969.  As  Blood, Sweat, & Tears belted out “Something Comin’ On” at Woodstock, my little brother Tom and I were hunkered down behind a small table turned on its side, hoping the fierce winds of Hurricane Camille would not blow in our windows or cause our house to collapse.

Destruction from Hurricane Camille, Mississippi Gulf Coast.

We had been upstairs, near the same room pictured above, watching the occasional transformer explode from our window, the only hint of light in the pitch black sky.  Then, in the glow of candle light, the ceiling collapsed on us, raining wet leaves and bristly branches on our heads.  Terrified that the house might be caving in, we ran screaming to the lower floor.  We stayed there behind that shielding table the rest of the storm.  Tom finally fell asleep, but I was wild-eyed the entire night, fretting the whole house was going to crush me to death at any minute.

Gulfport's Super Slide was almost identical to this one from Virginia.

A huge stack of burlap sacks was piled in our house that evening.  We were storing them for an entrepreneur cousin of my dad’s who had just built a “Super Slide” on the beach in Gulfport.  It was a new tourist attraction, a towering multi-lane slide.  Ticket-holders would carry the burlap sacks to the top, lay them out, and slide in waves to the bottom.  Cousin Dan was afraid the hurricane was going to blow the sacks away, so he asked us to store them.  They came in handy, soaking up the rain that poured in from the gaping hole in the ceiling.  The Super Slide and most everything else on the beach was swept away.

When the storm cleared, my dad and I walked to the beach to see the devastation.  Everyone was awestruck and certain that Camille was the worst hurricane the world would ever see.

[See also:  SS Hurricane Camille Gift Shop and Hurricane Katrina - Four Year Anniversary, a four part essay.]

Still, Nathan couldn’t resist referring to Mr. Allen as “Mr. Alien” to classmates one day for a laugh. When his teacher got wind of it, she required him to write a note of apology that night for homework.  I could tell he was mortified at the prospect of confessing this dastardly deed to his vice-principal.  Plus, he hates writing anything–usually requires a lot of coaching to get an original paragraph out of him.

“I can’t do this!” he kept protesting. “Sure you can,” I insisted.  I began to ask him questions:  “What would you *tell* Mr. Allen if you had to explain yourself in person?”  As he began to explain himself, I could see that the apology was more like a series of excuses (and aren’t we all a little guilty of that from time to time?); I let it ride.  The letter he came up with is below.  Somehow, I think Mr. Allen would be pretty forgiving…

On Sunday, June 6, 2010, there will be a 26 Mile Prayer Chain on the Mississippi Gulf Coast.  Hundreds are signing up to participate on facebook.  If you live nearby, consider joining this group from 4:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. at the following locations:

Gulfport, Mississippi:
Courthouse Pier
HWY 90 Marriot Courtyard under the oaks
Between Courthouse and Teagarden Rd across from White Cap

Long Beach:
Mason Ave
Jeff Davis

Ocean Springs:
Under the bridge next to the yacht club

Pascagoula:
Beach Park

Bay St Louis:
Bay Bridge

Biloxi:
White Ave

Here is an opportunity to remember the eleven men who lost their lives and to pray for the success of efforts to stop the leak and clean our sea and shoreline.

Nathan at Easter Egg Hunt; Grace Memorial Baptist Church; Gulfport, Mississippi, 2009.

I guess I get it from my mother. She always made fabulous custom Easter baskets for my brother and me.  They were filled with chocolates and candy and a few little surprises; and they were wrapped up in pastel colored netting with handmade bows and curly ribbons.

So I have to keep up the tradition with Nathan. But for some reason, he’s not as thrilled about the chocolates as my brother and I were.  He digs around for the little toys and collector’s cards and video games I tuck here and there.

Still, what’s an Easter basket without Elmer’s Gold Brick Eggs or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups? Malted Milk Robin Eggs are always a nice touch.  Remember Sixlets and foil-covered chocolate eggs?  And an Easter basket must have a hollow chocolate bunny.

If I’m going to create an authentic Easter basket, I really have no choice but to include these traditional items even though Nathan is not likely to eat them.  Of course, I hate to waste that stuff.  True, I’ve outgrown Easter goodies, but sometimes as parents, we have to make sacrifices.  I used to love Cadbury eggs…

This amusement park and miniature golf course was at the end of Cowan Lorraine Road on the beach in Gulfport, Mississippi.

Everything in Gulfport had a great fall EXCEPT for Humpty Dumpty. -Funtime USA; Gulfport, Mississippi; post Hurricane Katrina.

Grand Casino barge rests on Highway 90 in Gulfport, after Hurricane Katrina.

[Click here for Part I, Part II, and Part III.]

We began to hear rumors that everything near the beach was completely destroyed – restaurants, casinos, historic buildings, even the beautiful beachfront mansions. With no television and limited radio, it was hard to know whether or not there was any truth to these claims.  Soon, we would find out for ourselves.

Lacking running water and electricity, we decided to get out of town. The heat and humidity in South Mississippi is punishing enough, but without the benefit of air-conditioning, we were miserable to the point of sleeping on the bathroom tile floors.  We were especially concerned that Nathan, given his heart condition, did not need the added stress.

BEFORE - My mother's Eighth Street house in Gulfport, Mississippi, before Hurricane Katrina.

Before we left, though, we needed to check on my brother, Tom, and his family. Despite living in a mandatory evacuation zone, they stayed, a mere six to eight blocks from the beach.  We drove in as far as we could, parking when the debris became too thick to traverse.  When we reached them, they were hot and miserable, like us, but otherwise fine.  Their house was damaged, but everyone in town had damage.  It had become a question of livability.  Tom’s house was still inhabitable.

From there, we crossed the railroad tracks heading south to the beach. Sure, we were curious, but there was a practical reason for our journey, too.  My mother owned a house on Eighth Street, a block from the beach, right behind the International House of Pancakes.  We needed to see how much damage it had incurred, get an idea of what sort of Home Depot purchases would be necessary to put it back in order.

AFTER - Bryan and Adam stand on the former porch of my mother's house after Hurricane Katrina.

Before we reached the beach, we were confronted with a substantial mountain of debris that ran parallel with the coastline. A large oak had conveniently uprooted across the obstacle, creating a bridge to the other side.  We climbed it, stood at the top, and gazed at what had become of our home town.

It was hard to speak. We stared for while.  We were truly shocked.

Bryan broke the silence by informing me that my mother’s house was gone. I was so stunned by the vastness of the destruction that I had forgotten one of the main reasons we were here.  In that moment, our city seemed hopelessly ruined.  The places we had loved all our lives were gone.  It felt like we had just learned of the death of a dear friend.

And speaking of death, 238 Mississippians lost their lives in Katrina. For those of us who lost homes or incurred property damage, there was a real sense of gratitude that we were alive.  A quiet compassion permeated those early days and weeks and months as we moved about our community trying to restore our lives.  We made eye contact with total strangers feeling a somber, inexplicable tenderness.  And we were moved to tears by the volunteers and gifts that poured in from all over the country.

Our cities lost so much to Katrina.  But we gained, too.  We experienced God’s grace and goodness through the warmth and kindness of compassionate people.

[For the next few days, I will be posting a few photos I took of destruction in my home town, Gulfport.]

Karen Blakeney

We rode out Hurricane Katrina in this house in the Quail Ridge subdivison. This is after some "tidying up." The chimney and most of the shingles are gone, and the eastern eave was blown out (giving us a view of the sky in the guest bath).

[Click here for Part I and Part II.]

Finally, the wind slowed enough for us to try to make our way back home. Cut off from all communication (even our cell phones no longer functioned), we wondered what we would see as we emerged from the boarded up house in Quail Ridge.  The Ford Expedition, shiny and flawless when we arrived the day before, was now pock-marked and dented.

A cursory look at the house revealed heavy damage. The chimney lay in pieces on the patio, the roofing was stripped, and the corner eave resided on the front lawn, explaining the new view of the sky from the guest bathroom.  Trees, usually lush with summertime foliage, were winter bare, even the evergreens.  Of course, many were so hobbled and broken, their survival was questionable.  And fallen, uprooted trees were plentiful, too.

Our house in Gulfport, Mississippi, a day after Hurricane Katrina (roads freshly cleared). We were two houses short of flooding.

In fact, we were barely out of the neighborhood when we came upon a fallen tree straddling John Clark Road from ditch to ditch. Apparently, our efforts to get home were over in less than a quarter mile’s drive.  As we contemplated turning around, two men with chain saws popped out of the pick-up in front of us (I love Mississippi men) and buzzed through the obstruction, tossing wood chunks to the side until a passable expanse emerged.  We dodged debris and scooted under sagging power lines the rest of the way, all the while dumbfounded at the amount of destruction this understudy to Hurricane Camille had caused.

Shipwreck at Floral Hills Cemetery in Gulfport after Hurricane Katrina. Notice the empty headstone vases...the silk flowers were all over the Bayou Oaks neighborhood in Gulfport, decorating the piles of debris.

The closer we got to home, the more we realized that something profound had happened. Passing over the bridge, we saw the dozens of boats that had been protectively moored inland; these were now battered or sunken or tossed ashore.  The streets of our neighborhood were impassable, so we parked and walked in, dazed by the gut-wrenching sight.  Our beautiful, manicured community had become a foul, rubbage-filled hell hole.  Our own house had luckily escaped flooding, but many of our neighbors’ homes would have to be gutted.  Furniture and clothes and personal belongings of every sort had washed into the streets; the eclectic piles lay smeared in the muddy silt of Bayou Bernard, colorless except for the surreal splashes of silk flowers that had blown over from Floral Hills Cemetery.

Many houses in Gulfport experienced flooding during Hurricane Katrina, even though they were not in flood zones. This is a house on our street in Bayou Oaks.

If someone had told us before this storm that one day our house would incur $46,000 in damages and we would feel damned lucky about it, I never would have believed them. But I assure you, as the reality of Hurricane Katrina became clearer, that’s exactly how we felt.

Tomorrow:  Hurricane Katrina – Four Year Anniversary – Part IV.

Karen Blakeney