I'm trying to remember all of the Learning Experiences that I have had since I came to New Orleans. When I first arrived, everything that happened seemed so remarkable, seemed to teach me something. People offering me drugs or giving me hugs at the gas station, stepping over large piles of junky shit in the middle of the sidewalk, hearing peoples' stories ( the story), everything was interesting and important. A week or two into my stay, when I was busy and so many crazy things happened in a day, I realized that I no longer found these things remarkable. They were just a part of my life. And maybe some of them don't deserve to be remembered, but some do.

The first time I slept at the Family Shelter, for example. I had just started working there (like, the day before) and already the coordinator wanted me to stay the night. It was part because she trusted me, but mostly because she lived there and hadn't had a day off in three weeks. I went over late. I was tired from working in a dirty volunteer kitchen and my belly was full of crawfish. It was my first time eating them and once I got the hang of it, I probably ate two pounds. But when I got to the shelter, I sat up late in the kitchen and talked with one of the residents, a woman full with energy, with life. Her voice thundered throughout the house, high and hoarse from cigarettes (and yelling). Her six-foot frame was imposing in the low-ceilinged shotgun that housed the shelter; she towered over me, over the bunkbeds, and especially over her children, who she intimidated into doing what she wanted with her yelling, a booming ghost following them into the kitchen and backyard, somehow always able to see what they were doing. I loved her. She loved to cause a ruckus. On their way out the door, she made fun of the shelter coordinator, who she claimed was going out "so she can fuuuuck" and then when I asked what she had done that day, she said "I was hookin'." oh. really? No, she worked at McDonald's. "same thing."

I had long kitchen-table conversations with other women who lived there, too. They were always late at night, after the children had gone to sleep. Part of me felt as though I was taking up their only free time, the only time they had to be alone. But having someone to listen, someone who is over the age of 8, that's important too.