Saturday, August 18, 2007
Beautiful. Just beautiful.

Hey, I know hurricanes, OK? Born and raised on the Gulf Coast. Never lived further than 45 minutes from the brown sand and tar balls. Hurricanes? Tropical Storms? Volunteering for the Red Cross? Evacuating? Hoarding bottled water? HUNKERING THE FUCK DOWN? Been there, done that. Will do it all again many times in my life. Maybe even next week.
That guy up there? That's Dean. And yes, Dean is beautiful. When I look at the rings on a tree, or the thousand different shades of orange and pink in a sunset, or the endless forever off land filled with glaciers, what can I think other than "beautiful"? All forces of nature.
The tiniest little green and purple bug crawling on the windscreen of my car as I sit in traffic on Westheimer can delight me. I love to wake up in the morning and see the trails left by the snails that have snailed around in the condensation on my kitchen windows during the dawn. Thunder is primal.
In my life I have sat many nights listening to a transistor radio, turning the dials by candle light because the power lines have been blown down. I have filled my bathtubs with water, counted my canned goods, double checked my battery supply, and brought in all the patio plants so many times I can't remember them all. I have stood on Galveston Island holding photos from that 1900 storm, turning in circles, imagining away the Burger Kings and the Surf Shops and replacing them with the piles of wooden boards, the strewn bricks, the dazed survivors digging for their dead. I see the same buildings still standing that they saw. Old Red. Moody. St. Patrick's.
And still, that awesome swirl of wind and water is breathtaking. Still I stare into that perfectly formed eye as if I am looking deep into the heart of the universe.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not butt stupid. If I were on Jamaica my ass would have been on a plane three days ago going ANYWHERE but there.

Hey, I know hurricanes, OK? Born and raised on the Gulf Coast. Never lived further than 45 minutes from the brown sand and tar balls. Hurricanes? Tropical Storms? Volunteering for the Red Cross? Evacuating? Hoarding bottled water? HUNKERING THE FUCK DOWN? Been there, done that. Will do it all again many times in my life. Maybe even next week.
That guy up there? That's Dean. And yes, Dean is beautiful. When I look at the rings on a tree, or the thousand different shades of orange and pink in a sunset, or the endless forever off land filled with glaciers, what can I think other than "beautiful"? All forces of nature.
The tiniest little green and purple bug crawling on the windscreen of my car as I sit in traffic on Westheimer can delight me. I love to wake up in the morning and see the trails left by the snails that have snailed around in the condensation on my kitchen windows during the dawn. Thunder is primal.
In my life I have sat many nights listening to a transistor radio, turning the dials by candle light because the power lines have been blown down. I have filled my bathtubs with water, counted my canned goods, double checked my battery supply, and brought in all the patio plants so many times I can't remember them all. I have stood on Galveston Island holding photos from that 1900 storm, turning in circles, imagining away the Burger Kings and the Surf Shops and replacing them with the piles of wooden boards, the strewn bricks, the dazed survivors digging for their dead. I see the same buildings still standing that they saw. Old Red. Moody. St. Patrick's.
And still, that awesome swirl of wind and water is breathtaking. Still I stare into that perfectly formed eye as if I am looking deep into the heart of the universe.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not butt stupid. If I were on Jamaica my ass would have been on a plane three days ago going ANYWHERE but there.
Labels: headlines, personal urban drama, texas
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Aw Surgeon you just described my favorite reason to call in sick to work. "But it's too nice to get out of bed!" My boss says: "Carol, there is a horrible thunderstorm outside." I say, "Yeah! Isn't it great??"
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