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After Hurricane Katrina, Robin1 Baudier moved back to New Orleans to be with her family. She believes the experience of living in a FEMA trailer and helping2 rebuild her parents' home is a blessing3.
From NPR News. This is weekend edition. I’m Liane Hansen.
I believe in mystery.
I believe in family.
I believe in being who I am.
I believe in the power of failure.
And I believe normal life is extraordinary.
This I Believe.
Today’s This I Believe essay began its life one year ago as a journal entry. Its writer Robin Baudier later sent it to us. Baudier is a 25-year-old graduate of Tulane University. She and her extended family live in New Orleans. Here’s our series curator, independent producer, Jay Allison.
When Robin Baudier wrote her essay last year, she was living in a FEMA trailer with her family. One night in September 2006 she began to write in the present tense, trying to capture her contradictory4 feelings and see if they added up to a belief. When we recorded her recently reading this essay, she said the feeling of that time came right back to her. And although her circumstances have changed somewhat, her belief hasn’t. Here is Robin Baudier with her essay for This I Believe.
I believe in strange blessings5. I’ve never been in such good shape. I’ve never spent so much time outside. I caught the last three sunsets in a row and unless I’m mistaken, I’ll catch the one tonight. I’ve never felt so close to my family. I’ve never felt so sure that I was doing everything right. I lived in a FEMA trailer with my parents, I've moved home from L.A February before last, quitting the job it had taken me almost a year of miserable6 internships to get, to make sure firsthand that my family was okey.
Now I work on my dad’s house on the weekends and at his dental laboratory during the week. Shutting the curtain on the bunk7 bed area doesn't always cut it for privacy, so I spend a lot of time outside exercising the dog, and just try to get away from people. I take her out on the levee and run to get rid of all my frustration8 with not being able to have a job that will allow me to afford rent. I run to get out when I have been stuck inside, reading to escape from life, not even able to sit up straight in my tiny bunk. I run to feel like I am doing something when I am overwhelmed by all the things I can’t do anything about.
The reason I caught the sunset yesterday is that we have been waiting for two weeks for FEMA to come to fix the leak in our plumbing9. I was so frustrated10 with running out in a towel to turn the water off then, mopping up the floor with their rotating assortment11 of towels that we have hung outside the trailer that I decided12 to put on my bathing suit and shampoo under the hose. But God, that was a beautiful sunset last night!
I know it might sound strange that I am indirectly13 describing Hurricane Katrina as a blessing since it took my family's home and the covering from it has taken over our lives. But I love my awful life so much right now that I find it hilarious14 when I am unable to convince anyone else of it
I make less than the people working at Popeye's. I repeatedly have to suffer the indignity15 of telling people that I live with my parents. But I have finally gotten rid of back pain that the doctors always told me was from stress. I occasionally have weekends when I realize that I am building a house with my dad, which I used to dream about when I was six and watching Bob Villa16 with him. And I am back where I belong. No longer kidding myself that there is anywhere else I want to be. I believe in strange blessings because taking away my house, brought me home.
Robin Baudier with her essay for This I Believe, originally written as a diary entry one year ago. Baudier’s family still lives in the FEMA trailer. She has found an apartment in New Orleans and continues to work as a dental technician for her father. The whole family is working together to rebuild their house in New Orleans hoping to be done by Christmas. Baudier says that by New Orleans' standards, she and her family are the lucky ones.
Everyone is invited to write for our series at npr.org/thisibelieve. You can find out more and read what thousands of others have written. For This I Believe. I’m Jay Allison.
Next week on npr.org, a This I Believe essay from listener T. Susan Chang of Leverett, Massachusetts, on her belief in the analog17 world. This I Believe is independently produced by Jay Allison, Dan Gediman, John Gregory and Viki Merrick. Support for This I Believe comes from Prudential Retirement18.
From NPR News. This is weekend edition. I’m Liane Hansen.
I believe in mystery.
I believe in family.
I believe in being who I am.
I believe in the power of failure.
And I believe normal life is extraordinary.
This I Believe.
Today’s This I Believe essay began its life one year ago as a journal entry. Its writer Robin Baudier later sent it to us. Baudier is a 25-year-old graduate of Tulane University. She and her extended family live in New Orleans. Here’s our series curator, independent producer, Jay Allison.
When Robin Baudier wrote her essay last year, she was living in a FEMA trailer with her family. One night in September 2006 she began to write in the present tense, trying to capture her contradictory4 feelings and see if they added up to a belief. When we recorded her recently reading this essay, she said the feeling of that time came right back to her. And although her circumstances have changed somewhat, her belief hasn’t. Here is Robin Baudier with her essay for This I Believe.
I believe in strange blessings5. I’ve never been in such good shape. I’ve never spent so much time outside. I caught the last three sunsets in a row and unless I’m mistaken, I’ll catch the one tonight. I’ve never felt so close to my family. I’ve never felt so sure that I was doing everything right. I lived in a FEMA trailer with my parents, I've moved home from L.A February before last, quitting the job it had taken me almost a year of miserable6 internships to get, to make sure firsthand that my family was okey.
Now I work on my dad’s house on the weekends and at his dental laboratory during the week. Shutting the curtain on the bunk7 bed area doesn't always cut it for privacy, so I spend a lot of time outside exercising the dog, and just try to get away from people. I take her out on the levee and run to get rid of all my frustration8 with not being able to have a job that will allow me to afford rent. I run to get out when I have been stuck inside, reading to escape from life, not even able to sit up straight in my tiny bunk. I run to feel like I am doing something when I am overwhelmed by all the things I can’t do anything about.
The reason I caught the sunset yesterday is that we have been waiting for two weeks for FEMA to come to fix the leak in our plumbing9. I was so frustrated10 with running out in a towel to turn the water off then, mopping up the floor with their rotating assortment11 of towels that we have hung outside the trailer that I decided12 to put on my bathing suit and shampoo under the hose. But God, that was a beautiful sunset last night!
I know it might sound strange that I am indirectly13 describing Hurricane Katrina as a blessing since it took my family's home and the covering from it has taken over our lives. But I love my awful life so much right now that I find it hilarious14 when I am unable to convince anyone else of it
I make less than the people working at Popeye's. I repeatedly have to suffer the indignity15 of telling people that I live with my parents. But I have finally gotten rid of back pain that the doctors always told me was from stress. I occasionally have weekends when I realize that I am building a house with my dad, which I used to dream about when I was six and watching Bob Villa16 with him. And I am back where I belong. No longer kidding myself that there is anywhere else I want to be. I believe in strange blessings because taking away my house, brought me home.
Robin Baudier with her essay for This I Believe, originally written as a diary entry one year ago. Baudier’s family still lives in the FEMA trailer. She has found an apartment in New Orleans and continues to work as a dental technician for her father. The whole family is working together to rebuild their house in New Orleans hoping to be done by Christmas. Baudier says that by New Orleans' standards, she and her family are the lucky ones.
Everyone is invited to write for our series at npr.org/thisibelieve. You can find out more and read what thousands of others have written. For This I Believe. I’m Jay Allison.
Next week on npr.org, a This I Believe essay from listener T. Susan Chang of Leverett, Massachusetts, on her belief in the analog17 world. This I Believe is independently produced by Jay Allison, Dan Gediman, John Gregory and Viki Merrick. Support for This I Believe comes from Prudential Retirement18.
点击收听单词发音
1 robin | |
n.知更鸟,红襟鸟 | |
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2 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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3 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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4 contradictory | |
adj.反驳的,反对的,抗辩的;n.正反对,矛盾对立 | |
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5 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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6 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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7 bunk | |
n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位;废话 | |
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8 frustration | |
n.挫折,失败,失效,落空 | |
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9 plumbing | |
n.水管装置;水暖工的工作;管道工程v.用铅锤测量(plumb的现在分词);探究 | |
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10 frustrated | |
adj.挫败的,失意的,泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 );挫败;使受挫折;令人沮丧 | |
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11 assortment | |
n.分类,各色俱备之物,聚集 | |
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12 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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13 indirectly | |
adv.间接地,不直接了当地 | |
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14 hilarious | |
adj.充满笑声的,欢闹的;[反]depressed | |
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15 indignity | |
n.侮辱,伤害尊严,轻蔑 | |
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16 villa | |
n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
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17 analog | |
n.类似物,模拟 | |
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18 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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