(*This blog was picked up by Psychology Today and chosen as one of their essential reads. You can catch it here.)
I came into the world in the month of September. The great time of hurricanes. My birthday is only a few days away and Florida is heavy on my mind. Weighted on my heart. Saltwater runs through my veins and as I write this looking over this hill from Tennessee I can see those waves crashing, hear the pounding of the Gulf growing angrier by the minute, the slash and snap of the Palms wild from the wind. Along with the rest of the nation my eyes are now turned to the devastation that Irma has left in the Islands and fearing what is yet to come.
I’ve ridden out more tropical storms than I can remember. For about fifteen solid years I’ve made Tennessee my home but right now it’s in my blood to stock up on batteries, water, canned food. To Hunker down and hope.Had our little brick house turned into Noah's Ark full of cousins and animals and family year after year. My mother managed a restaurant right on the beach where I worked every summer. People sat at tables by the water and watched the moonlight on the waves as they rolled up on the shore. Every year we saw that it was bordered up and prayed for the best through the hurricanes. Every single year. A part of life.
I witnessed the destruction first hand after Hurricane Camille - a raging category five - hit the coast of Mississippi on the way to see my Daddy at Ft. Polk right afterwards. My mother crept the car by a warship that had been tossed onto land and into someones yard like a toy boat. The destruction was eerie. It was like driving through a graveyard at the close of day.
Hurricane Opal was downgraded to a three before it hit but the storm surge of Opal came in at high tide and carved molehills out of the backside of condos. From the front they looked perfectly fine but when you walked around to the back of the building there actually was no building there. The storm surge is a deadly thing.
The first time I actually moved away from Northwest Florida was to transfer with my company to south Florida. A world away. The palm trees were taller than the buildings from my hometown. The scent on the air intoxicatingly exotic. The night blooming jasmine, the orchids. I was 21 and didn’t know what to expect. North Florida is a land of old oaks, beautiful beaches, slow talkers, and porch rockers. Pine trees. Ft. Lauderdale was fast. It became home. I gave birth to a baby boy there in Hollywood just north of Miami where I had friends.
I evacuated one time when it looked like a ‘cane was coming in fast and furious and might land as a strong four and my daddy wanted me to get out. Me and sister packed up two cars with two little boys, two dogs, four puppies, one cat, and all the family photos I could carry. My brakes went out as I skirted storms that sent crashing limbs into the roads. Tornadoes chased us all the way to my Aunt Kate’s door up in Georgia. It was days upon days before we could get back (with new brakes), the National Guard still in charge, the power still out.
The world is full of refugees. It’s a clamoring world problem but sometimes a distant drum from our side of the pond. Until Katrina sent refugees scattering everywhere trying to find a toehold to hang onto. Until Harvey just hit and took our breath away. After the big show, when all the tv crews have moved on, the recovery begins. Recovery is slow. Harvey’s price tag might be close to 190 billion. But crunching the numbers says nothing about the amount of lives that will have to be rebuilt. And here’s Irma with Jose right on her tail and barreling up the same path. This time - we are the refugees.
Millions have evacuated. Millions. I can’t even fathom that number on the move in this country trying to avoid disaster, trying to save their loved ones. That’s a lot of tired, scared, thirsty, hungry people. I saw on the news where a city in another state opened a shelter and advertised for Floridians to keep coming north, they have arms open. I was watching the news from Tennessee but I was watching it as a Floridian. Worrying about family and friends there in different counties. Watching the path of the storms twists and turns. Then I realized, I’m not the only one watching. That the entire nation is watching.
Should you be a praying kind of person, now would be a good time to give a pause, to say hello to God for a good cause. For the children losing homes, for the parents clinging to their children, for the first responders everywhere and those that are standing at the ready to work to rebuild what is about to be destroyed and can’t be held back. For order, peace, provision.
Frank Sundram posted on Facebook a reminder from the old movie Starman. When the alien is asked why he wanted to come to Earth he replied, “Unlike the rest of the Universe, the people of Earth are at their best when things are at their worst.”
With a storm that will be felt across the entire state of Florida barreling its way toward us I see the news reporting that campgrounds, hotels, shelters, cities are all opening their gates to evacuees, I cling to that truth. In the survival against what might be the worst to come that we may prove in a million ways be our very best.
Pennies and prayers. They both count more than you know. Give what you can, where you can from the heart of who you are.
Praying for your peace in the middle of all of life’s storms within and without.
This is not funny.
I have mice. Not a mouse. Mice. Plural. Hiding under my house. The bird-feeder hangs at the porch where Mom can easily see the birds. The seeds that they throw all over the porch picking out the sunflower seeds fall through the cracks of the porch straight into the crawl space. I am surrounded by woods and big trees with lots and lots of leaves. And I had plumbing leaks I inherited and didn't know about and so all the insulation under the house got wet and weary. Mix in the scent of dog food wafting from the house and apparently, these things create the perfect storm of calling all mice to micedom come.
I had to have my oil changed. When the mechanic came out and said - I need to show you something, follow me I told him -
Don't show me anything that cost more money because I don't have it. It's better for me to drive in ignorance.
But he said -
You have a nest being built in your engine under the cover and mice have chewed on all of your wires.
The evidence was obvious. A healthy little nest nearing completion. I am just a few days of house building chewing from 1000 dollar replacement charge.
You'll know when they get it all because your car just won't start.
I look at him numbly. No connection.
I have never considered myself a girlie-girl no matter how much I love the smell of strange perfume. In another life I would have been a bush pilot which I guess would require a certain degree of toughness so I try to stay tough just in case a piper cub is given to me as a gift. And - I love luxury. I sure could use some luxury right about now. Room service. For days. Three days of room service would just about fix what ails me. Just about.
Back to the mice and killing creatures.
I was born to create things not kill them. It is my nature to help soothe to take the pain away, to say soft little things like - there, there and everything's gonna be alright.
I also loved the movie Rataouille where the cute, little rat discovers that he can cook like nobody's business. So sweet. My grandmothers old house had rats. Wharf-rats. Huge gangster rats. They are not cute. They cannot cook. I killed them. With poison. It was horrible. I'll spare you the details.
Have you ever watched Cinderella? Well, without those mice she'd still be there today scrubbing up after her mean stepmother and horrid stepsisters. The mice saved her and sewed her a beautiful dress while they sang happy songs. My mice are not singing. I do not believe they are trying to help me have a great night out of dancing till dawn. Matter of fact they don't care about me at all.
I came home and took down the bird-feeder. Momma said,
I wouldn't let some mice keep her from seeing the birds.
I just saw a bird. He was blue. Just beautiful.
That's cause he was hungry cause it's winter and he was looking for the feeder.
I'm standing my ground. No birdseed until this situation is under control.
Soooo, hi ho hi ho it's off to buy some poison that I go. But not the sticky feet paper thing. I can't listen to mice scream because they are stuck to paper. I just. can't. do. it. Thankfully a mouse-slayer is flying in this week to come tackle this issue but I must make certain they don't return.
If anyone has any all natural surefire way to rid me of this problem and protect my engine I'll buy you lunch. It will not be ratatouille.
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