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a passionate repentance

I'm surfing, between one hurricane and the next. It's a strange…

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may God stand
I'm surfing, between one hurricane and the next. It's a strange sensation, kind of neat in a what-the-hell way. Mike said that there's a twenty year cycle where there are almost no hurricanes for a while and then all hell busts loose and we get every soppy little tropical depression with delusions of grandeur between here and the Pacific Rim.

Hurricanes are not exciting.

They're scary, I grant you that. There's this little splodge of time where you are stuck in the house listening to the wind and it's making these wierd *human* sounds, like some stupid kid in a haunted house trying to scare the other kids. And you want to laugh except that you've just realized that the creaking sound you're hearing isn't your bones, and it's not the trees outside, there *are* no trees outside. It's your *house*. You don't know if the roof is going to stay on. And you wonder "Hey, did I pack enough underwear if I have to go stay in a shelter? Am I going to go to a shelter and have people make fun of my granny panties with the holes in them?"

Oh, yes, when the wind howls, you get *profound*.

Sort of. The last time I was listening to the roof creak, I was too distracted by the fact that my husband was NOT LISTENING to me, to actually be scared. To be fair, during Hurricane Charley when we're stuck in a hall closet and listening to the roof ..tremble is *not* the best time to be bringing up the lack of cuddling in my life. But if not now..when? I mean, there never does seem to be a good time to bring that sort of thing up, does there?

Cats do not care. Well, one cat did care. Isis got scared and came over to be petted and reassured. Bob slept through most of it, and only seemed to get upset when she realized that it was hot and there would *be* no air conditioning to lie in front of. Which goes to show you that some animals do seem to have priorities straight.

The rest of a hurricane is boring. Listening to the wind blow. Listening to the rain..rain. Wondering why the dark seems to press in so hard when there are no streetlights, it's not just dark now, it's like someone clapped a lid over the neighborhood. Usually though, even during a hurricane there's enough ambient light from *somewhere* that the waving trees show up like Japanese paper cutouts and the sky's this muddy greyish black like water color water that's had too many colors in it.

If there is *anything* about a hurricane that I appreciate, it's that it forces you to spend time reading. You start to appreciate just how much you value things like..light. Light to read by. A fan to move the air. Cold drinks. Showers. Washing your clothes. You start to find out all the strange noises that your (and his) digestive system make that were covered by the air conditioner ere now.

Usually there's also a simple and pretty powerful gratitude that you're alive. You made it. You beat another one. And so you can put up with the heat and the bugs and the cold showers because you *are* alive, and you can surface and look around and think "Hey, maybe in a little while we can have power again."

And now and then you think about all the people who didn't make it through. And if you have any sense of gratitude at all..you say a little prayer.
  • Weather is one of the reasons I've heard for people to move to Florida. Weather is the reason I never want to move there.
    Barring discussion of the death and destruction that tends to come with it, I both love and hate extreme weather.
    I have a lot of awe for the power of nature when I see it in action, and a lot of fear for that power's ability to harm or kill me. I'll watch large thunderstorms, but I'll be scared silly doing it. The meteorological part of my brain will admire the shapes and patterns made by stormclouds, while the human interest part of my brain will be dismayed at what it does on ground level.

    By the way, our half-finished house got a wall ripped off in a winter hurricane 23 years ago. Don't know how much that has affected my later emotions when it comes to weather.
  • You make the weather sound beautiful, poetic, and full of portent. We don't have weather where I live. We have earthquakes and forest fires and insidious brown air, but nothing much in the way of wind or rain or variety.

    My prayers are with you as always, muse. And hopefully you'll get some cuddling in the moments that aren't too hot and sticky for it, and your roof will stay on and your amazing granny panties will never have to bear foreign scrutiny!

    Hugs!
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