After She's Gone

I kept thinking that it seemed wrong to sleep through the storm last night. That “trusting” the devices that will alert us of problems will continue to work seemed sort of naïve. I lay awake for some time next to the snoring spouse, watching the trees bend to and fro with the weight of wind and rain bowing their backs. We’re fine this morning. There wasn’t even a power outage, which is something of a surprise in the bubble. Usually the random thunder storm causes the power to blink owlishly. But not for the hurricane of 2011! The Bubble is intact. There were a few leaks of water. Several hundred twigs lying lifeless on the lawn. Watery graves for thousands of ants, sow bugs and seed pods of the nearby ash tree. The aftermath is forlorn and solemn. And the world seems somehow quieter, having escaped the wrath of Mother Nature, there are no cars zooming to get to wherever it is they go. There aren’t any people patrolling the streets yet, like they do after a snow storm, checking to see if they can shovel or not. Only the shushing of the wind, only the dripping of the water out of the gutters, only the groaning of the ancient trees.

Good bye Irene

The hurricane moved through last night
It’s path hurling wind and water
In the murky light of the street lamps
Against the house

It seemed wrong to sleep
During this furor
But sleep we did, in the
Air conditioned comfort that
Blissfully secured us
The bricks and mortar
Pushing the tempest back
Outside where it belongs

Most of our trees are still standing
Still being bent by the aftershocks
Of the storm that was
Their twigs strewn about like autumn leaves
Abandoned because of their size
Or weight or both

Life goes on,
The wind whispers still
Water collects in puddles in
The gutters and driveways
Remnants of nature
Spent fury during the night.

Plans and more plans

Things have been a little busy in the neighborhood bubble lately. Of course, these things are only related to me, therefore I'm more conscious of them than say the neighbors across the street or even across the far end of the bubble. Our daughter has become engaged to be married and the wheel of planning has begun to turn. You must pick a date, preferably not when one of your friends is doing the same thing. You have to decide on a place, see the same "peferably" mentioned above. And there begins to be a sense of reality as these things get filled into the calendar. You find things out about about your child that you thought you knew, but didn't really. They aren't important things necessarily. Things like the dance they will be dancing to will not be either a singer nor song you have ever heard of before. Although I will admit the song is beautiful and haunting. You will suddenly become aware of stores you didn't notice around you before. Specifically bridal salons. Those stores were there before, for quite some time, they just had some nebulous name to go along with their nebulous purpose. But now, ah, we know what the name means and that it does indeed have a purpose. The bridal magazines in the stores which before were just in the peripheral vision of the magazine rack, now grab your eye. And you realize you don't know what your daughter will pick for her gown, her colors or her theme. And yes, you need to have a theme and no, it won't be "look I"m getting married." It's educational this process. And not particularly frightening, not yet anyway. I have been assured by several friends who recently did this, that it will become increasingly frightening, annoying, time-consuming and breath taking (in many ways) and sometimes all at once. I think I'm ready for this. Our daughter is worth the fuss and hullabaloo. Her fiance is a rock-steady young man and not prone to hysterics or demands, which I'm sure will be a blessing as time goes by.

And so I am busy. And she is busy. Her father and fiance are standing next to us and listening. Which is what we both need right now, I guess. And we need a new calendar for the dates. It's getting busy in the bubble. And it's exciting as well.

Of Long Distance Phone calls

I got a phone call at work today from Kate Middleton. Honest! That's what she told me her name was and she had a wonderful British accent and everything! But I just knew it wasn't the princess or duchess or whatever her title is since the wedding. And some lackey would have called for her anyway, even if it had been her. But for just a minute, I thought, OH!

The real reason she called was that apparently the old high school in which I work was once the site of a house in which her relative resided. She was looking for a picture of it. We have loads of old pictures on the wall of graduating classes that go back to the Stone Age, I think. But no photos of a house. We even have aerial views of the building as it was expanded and enlarged (you'll notice I didn't mention upgraded). But no residence. I told her I had a book at home, something about historic houses or some such thing. But I couldn't remember the title exactly nor even the contents come to that. So I gave her my home e-mail and asked her to write me a message and I would reply with whatever information I could find. Alas, I came home, pulled out the beautiful coffee table book I was thinking of and the house wasn't even mentioned. Her relative however at one time owned a "shop" downtown. And I could locate his name in some dreary write up about the historic businesses of the town.

I opened my e-mail, but she hadn't written to me. I was disappointed. Kate Middleton, writing to me! My brush with fame was short-lived. I wanted to tell her to tell the prince I said hi! But as I said, she wasn't the princess or the duchess or whatever. So it's a moot point.