Rolling Down the River (continued part 3)

It was 2008 and I had just been told my careers of being a nurse and a massage therapist were O-V-E-R. Having bilateral carpal tunnel in my wrists meant my life had changed on a dime. I felt as though I had been driving right along, enjoying the ride, when suddenly I had gone off a cliff without realizing it. After I had started my last book, writing full time, I felt like once again I was swimming right along. I won’t ever say it all happened without skipping a beat. Oh, I skipped a beat, as did my heart when I found out I was no longer the definition of myself I had had for ever twenty years. My assimilation into to my new life took months. I didn’t adapt well, or easy. I cried, for days and days and days, until I thought I would never be able to produce another tear. The investment I had made into my two careers, the schooling, the experience, the continuing education, the countless hours and money, thousands of dollars, all of it was gone. Writing albeit my passion, my love, was not something I ever thought I would make money at, and so far, I wasn’t all wrong. Losing my jobs was something I hadn’t thought would ever happen. Maybe it was naivety or arrogance or thoughtlessness, which allowed me to think I would be able to do what I had always done for as long as I wanted to do it. I became unaware of any other opportunities I might get if I only chose another path. I see now where what I had thought was a career path had actually been a rut I was continually trapped in. Had I not been writing at home, being with my family every day, when hurricane Ike came, maybe things would not have worked out so well for us. I say all things for a reason, knowing so many people think it is all by chance, but what if, what by some miraculous notion, my belief in God, in a fate greater than I could imagine, really existed? What if all things happen in such a way, God is creating greater dreams than you could ever dream for yourself?
Hurricane season was in full force when I was at home writing. The younger kids were back in school, the older kids were off up north on opposite ends of the state in college and Mike was working his magic at the airline. All was well with the world. In retrospect that September, I was happier than I had been in a long time. I had the gift of time, something I had long ago given up ever having. I had time to do the shopping, the cooking, the cleaning, and all the little mom things I had put off because I was always racing the clock. I was truly my own boss, producing chapter after chapter for no other reason than I could because I had the time to do it. I sat down every day writing long hand, and tippy tapping away on the computer, letting it all unravel, the words I held in my tightly spun, spool of a brain. I had taken to the idea it was time I showed up for me. It was novel, not a novel, but rather a new, exciting, a very different way of looking at my life and my purpose. Michael came home one day and told me there was a disturbance, a storm out in the Gulf. I love the way they refer to giant storms, heading directly at innocent bystanders as “disturbances”, as if it was a mild annoyance rather than a potentially deadly, life altering disaster. We watched the weather channel, like some sit glued to the home shopping networks. Daily the disturbance got bigger until we saw the swirling motion of the clouds and surrounding atmosphere that caused our little disturbance to get a name. They named the new baby hurricane Ike. I couldn’t help but associate it with Tina. “He must be real bastard, this Ike guy”, I mused, “Just look what he did to Tina for all those years.” ‘Rolling Down the River’ became a theme song for us, while we continued to view what was quickly becoming a Texas sized hurricane heading right for us. “It’s the size of Texas”, the television droned. The irony of me writing this book this time of year makes me laugh. I started this project on June 1, 2011, the first day of hurricane season, with a “disturbance” out in the Gulf. You gotta love how wonderfully the universe ties things up so neatly.
We had “the talk”, Michael and I. This consisted of the two of us trying to figure out if we should stay or go. By the time we had the talk, many of our fellow neighbors were long gone. Where would we go? Who would we stay with? What happens if we can’t get back? What about the petting zoo who lived with us? Where would they go? Questions upon questions swirled around our big conversation. The older kids were safely out of harm’s way, miles and hours away. The rest of us, well, we were pacing around trying to decide how scared we should be. Ultimately we decided since it did not look like it would become a category 5 hurricane, we would once again stick it out at home. The four of us had to dismantle our back yard, taking down the gazebo, removing all furniture, putting plants and projectiles in the garage for safety sake. As the last piece of our lives was tied down, stored away and taken apart, I looked at our patio, wondering what would happen to our lives during this latest storm. We live outside twelve months out of the year; it is part of the glory of being a southerner. We had as much stuff outside as we had inside. It was all gone, leaving a barren concrete slab baking in the sun. We bought plywood to cover our four foot by six foot plate glass windows, these giant windows that allowed us to feel as if our house continued into the yard and the yard was a part of our house. If eyes are the windows to the soul then these windows were the eyes for our house and its’ heart and soul. Covering these massive stretches of glass was for our safety. Having lived through Rita, we knew just how dangerous being near any unprotected glass could be. Last time we had been so blessed, so watched over, nothing had hit our house or even come close to our windows, but we hadn’t been amidst a direct hit then, Ike was different. Up went the wood, and out went all the light from inside our house. Once again our house had changed into a lovely appointed penitentiary.
I went out several times to several different stores to stock up on water. The stores had readied themselves for the storm, this time as well. This time felt very different in the sense that everyone was playing nice. Before, during Rita, water was at a premium and prices had spiked up to being four times the normal cost. This time there were specific displays for water, canned goods, batteries, hurricane specific supplies. I had noticed the same thing at the hardware stores, where they had things lined up, extra staff was on duty, and things were organized to perfection so no one got left behind or left out. We must have learned something from the disastrous amount of panic from Rita and Katrina, just three years prior. The lessons had been absorbed by the people and those in charge. Our mayor ordered an evacuation by area. Those closest to the Gulf were to be allowed out first. The mayor of Galveston talked on the T.V. news every day, speaking directly to her town’s people, begging them to leave, asking that they go for their own safety. Buses were provided, lower income folks were offered shelter, transportation, food, whatever they needed to get out of the way of Ike. I watched as people began to tell of leaving everything they had, the houses that they had built, the cars they had bought, and their belongings it had taken their entire lives to acquire. Evacuating is one of the most difficult things we can ask someone to do. It’s asking people to leave their entire lives behind with no end point, indefinitely. They knew, as we all knew and had witnessed just a few years earlier, that sometimes you never get to go back; sometimes it’s just a done deal, you end up finished with your home, your town, your friends; it’s just that no one has told you yet.
(to be continued)