The other day my friend Munkin called and asked me for my sangria recipe. Her sister and her family were coming up from New Orleans by way of Baton Rouge , where they had fled before Katrina hit. Munkin wanted to get the sangria going ahead of time, so she would be ready for them.  

The couple and their two small sons got out of New Orleans well before the hurricane hit. But they left everything behind – even their photo albums. Because, Munkin said, their house had never been affected before. “How arrogant,” I thought at the time. It turns out their house is next to one of the levees that broke, in a neighborhood called Lakeview. Oops.

They've been living in Munkin's basement now for several days. Her other sister, who also lived in New Orleans , is staying in Oregon with their parents. She at least took her pictures with her.

Everyone wants to help the ones that are here, and the neighbors keep giving them things. But when I asked Munkin what I could do they said they were stressed out and could really use some yoga.  

So I arranged for them to come to a weekly private class I teach at a friend's company. She, too, wanted to help, and started rounding up clothes and toys for them.

The evacuGEES, as my friend Tommy calls them, were the primary topic of conversation at our Sunday potluck dinner, which usually consists of shushing the kids, eating too much, watching TV and trying to out-banter each other.

I learned that they're looking for a place to stay for the next few months, since they don't have much to go back to. The husband works at Tulane University , which is planning to go ahead with its spring semester. Apparently they have payroll insurance that will allow them to pay their employees for a while.

The group of us racked our brains trying to figure out where they could stay. Someone had an empty basement they could use. But it didn't have a kitchen. It was suggested I move out of my place and let them stay there. You know, because I'm single and there's just one of me. I suggested instead that they move out of their two-story house and stay in my living room. My friends – all of whom have experienced marriage and children -- also seemed to think that the sister in Oregon , who is single and rents and has no insurance and lost all her art in the flood, doesn't have it as bad. As if you can compare.  

At some point we got beyond all that, and I remembered that I have a neighbor whose one-bedroom apartment is often empty.  

I sent him an e-mail and he wrote back right away saying they were welcome to stay. He also apologized because place only has a couch and a bunch of boxes and not much else. When I explained that the family is evacuees, as opposed to refugees who got stuck in the flood, he swore and sa id angrily, “What's the f--king difference?”

His wife copied the keys, and I showed them the place the next day. It's in Lakeview, near a playground and a running track and around the corner from Joan Cusak's house. It's also right next door to a Baptist Church -- which should make them feel right at home. During the tour I learned that they have flood insurance, which was required for their mortgage.

They thought the apartment would be perfect, once they cleaned it up, and we celebrated over red beans and rice and Hoppin' John at Wishbone. I thought they wouldn't be interested in that kind of food, but it turns out the two-year old had been craving it.

During lunch I learned that you can't get any decent ethnic food in New Orleans , and they were looking forward to sampling the real thing here in Chicago . We were on our third round of sweet tea when the husband started reading us satirical headlines about Katrina from the Onion – God Outdoes Terrorists Yet Again, Louisiana National Guard Offers Help By Phone From Iraq, FEMA representatives call out to survivors, "Show us your tits for emergency rations!”, Refugees Moved From Sewage-Contaminated Superdome To Hellhole Of Houston, White Foragers Report Threat Of Black Looters and so on.

When everyone laughed, I knew it would be OK.  

After lunch, emboldened by my success, I sent an e-mail to the director of the yoga center where I teach, asking if he'd give them some free classes. He gave them ten, and told me to send any other hurricane evacuees to him. That went so well, I asked my boss at the health club -- which has day care and classes for children -- if they'd let them come in and work out. Next thing I knew, they had a six-month family membership.  

After a few more e-mails and calls, I had pledges for everything they needed, including a bed, dressers, toys, clothes, sheets, high chair, crib, silverware and dishes as well as offers to help move and clean the apartment -- and even to baby-sit.  

It seems people like offering something tangible – especially when the horrible images are still fresh in people's minds. But I recently got an e-mail announcing that several yoga centers are holding fundraisers for the hurricane victims. I wrote back suggesting that it might be better -- as in more direct and personal -- to give free yoga classes to evacuees. After all, they're not tsunami victims half a world away. Thousands have come up here from New Orleans . And I bet a lot of them will stay.  

Yes, I know it's easier to help if you already have a connection to the people in question. I've known my friend Munkin for 20 years, and her sister and husband share a similar upbringing. Not everyone who has fled the hurricane is that hooked up, and I don't know how far backwards we'd be bending if they were complete strangers.  

But it doesn't have to be that way. Last week Samuel L. Jackson told Jon Stewart that he doesn't feel comfortable giving money to relief organizations, because the money ends up paying for things like office workers. Instead, he's been buying dinner for the lost, haunted people he sees wandering around Memphis , where he lives. Apparently Tommy Lee Jones has been buying dinner for thou sands of people as well. And we all know about Sean Penn.  

Maybe it's finally catching. Yesterday I got an e-mail asking for volunteers to help out the evacuees at the Madden Mental Health Center in suburban Maywood . Apparently they don't need any more stuff.  

The key is to act quickly, before burnout sets in and people get tired of hearing about Katrina. I can see it already happening; one of the people who was glad to offer his truck to move a futon for the evacuGees suddenly has a full schedule.  

Not that they're perfect. I found out from Munkin yesterday that in addition to everything else, they left their cat behind. My spinster, cat-owning self was horrified when I heard that, and I felt a little less sympathetic. Munkin said she couldn't talk about it, because it upsets the wife too much. But they did alert people to look for the cat. Of course I couldn't help but think, How hard would it have been to put the thing in the carrier and bring it with you. But I wasn't there, was I. Munkin wanted to foster care an evacugee dog but it turns out they're keeping them all within 100 miles of New Orleans , so their owners can have an easier time finding them.  

The husband has been busy moving my neighbor's boxes into storage and cleaning up the apartment. He didn't want any help. When we were talking in my living room he noticed my vinyl record collection and wondered aloud whether his own collection, which was on the second floor, had made it. He also alluded to feeling bad for having it so good, compared to the people who left after the flood and landed in a strange city with nothing. He keeps thanking me, when all I've been doing is arranging things that don't always work out. I tell him I'll be glad to have friends living next door – even if it's just for a few months.  

They still haven't moved in – that will happen this weekend, after they've cleaned the place, and I can arrange for a van to pick up the futon. But all of this has benefited me in ways I'd never anticipated. Watching my emotions go from annoyance to empathy to irritation to envy and back again has been a learning experience. After a couple of trips to India , I'd already been feeling pretty lucky about my little apartment and beat-up car and small circle of friends. But this has made me feel even more fortunate.  

Procuring things for them has made me feel more assertive, and I've started doing some tasks I've been putting off -- like buying a wedding present for my friend who got married a couple of years ago, and asking my editor friend at National Public Radio how they choose the people who read their essays on the air.

I've also been getting to know my neighbors a bit better. You know -- just in case. Jenny Whatever, who is vivacious and smokes cigarettes out on the back porch, recommended a book to me. The quiet couple that lives below me offered to cook a delicious Indian dinner for the husband and wife after they move in. Funny – they never offered me that. I wonder if they'll let me join them. I could bring the sangria.