Thursday, September 11, 2008
Nine Eleven will be engraved in our memory bank for years to come. But today I am grieving over another tragic memory. Hurricane Rita, aka 'That Bitch" destroyed my Village Creek-house, and the life that began there so many years ago.Right now I live 150 miles inland from the Gulf Coast, yet everyone around me is preparing for Ike. I thought I was hurricane proof, since I have already been bitten. But the frenzy all around me today transcended me into that dreary day when Ryan called me after climbing thru the forest of fallen pine trees, 100 year old, 100 feet tall. Now crashed down on the ground where we used to hike, bike and plant gardens. I remember his voice as it trembled saying to me " Deb, your sewing room is gone." I remember digging in the mud to rescue old buttons, beads and shattered collections of mirrors, fabric and photographs. I remember carving a path to the canoe, smashed under another pine tree, only to find that it was buried too deep in the ground to recognize. Once upon a time, it was a sailing vessel to the moonlit sandbar on so many occasions.I remember standing on what once was my roof, now under my feet to protect me from the broken glass, metal roofing and the shards of furniture that were twisted and mangled.I remember how surreal it was to be walking amongst treetops that used to shade me from way up in the sky. I remember how quiet the forest was, because all the birdies, frogs and crickets lost their homes. Just like me, lost. I remember the blood, sweat and tears Melissa and I shed trying to prepare for the arrival of W.A. I remember the beginning of the end. I remember. MAY EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US BE SPARED THE WORST FURY IN THE PATH OF IKE.