Another week is winding down and another day—the first of a new month—has all but slipped away. More to the point, this has definitely not been last week's version of autumn, a distinction that felt quite apparent when I got my macho going, though perhaps not all of my brain, and accompanied Moon-the-Dog outdoors…shirtless.
The temperature was a nippy 47˚F. I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that it felt cold and I could see my breath. Then I glanced around. Sunset was cranking up in the west. The sky gone all orange and blue. A stunning farewell gift. In spite of being woefully underdressed for a protracted pause, I still manage to lose myself watching the way the river caught and held the colors, blending, intensifying, giving them the magic of life and movement as the current rippled and swirled along.
I don't know why I haven't written a post lately. General ennui, maybe. Or perhaps distraction. Like most folks, I've spent a lot of time throughout the week watching Hurricane Sandy stalk its way ashore and chew up the East coast. Even now, I expect the latest aftermath coverage has yet to reveal the full extent of that super-storm's powerful destruction. Every so often, it seems, least we become convinced of our mastery of water and land, nature must show us otherwise.
I feel so bad for those folks who've just lost everything. It's easy to say that so long as you have your life, the rest is just stuff and doesn't matter…but really, while stuff may not be the most important thing, it's important, nevertheless. When you're down to the shirt on your back and everything you've worked for is suddenly reduced to a ripped-apart, waterlogged mess, it's mighty hard to feel optimistic. Perspective takes time, and some things can honestly never be replaced. Dreams and hearts have been broken, and lives shattered.
While some of the news maps showed all of Ohio as being affected by power outages, damaging winds, and snow, that really wasn't case here in the southwest corner. We received a couple of windy days, lingering colder temperatures, and a bit of rain. Power and cable service held. I did once, and only briefly, see a few snowflakes mixed in with the raindrops. Small limbs fell from a few trees. Otherwise, I still have flowers blooming, and on the island across from the cottage, lots of trees retain their leaves; most of mine were bare before the storm.
I'd like to believe I've been silent because, living beside a river, in tornado country, I well know—but for the grace of God and a turn of winds and rain, it could just as easily have been my little corner of the world on the news. And for that I'm very thankful.
15 comments:
"snowflakes mixed in with the snow" okay it must be the cold nipping at your chest hairs that wrote that-great to hear your piano didn't float away.
Scribe--glad your corner of Ohio was not affected by the storm's path. I did see that parts of Cleveland (one of the other C cities on Ohio) had some damage.
We too escaped, particularly as compared to last year's storm about the same time of year, also a spent hurricane. But watching the scenes of devastation make me feel small in my relief. The scenes are so aching, and--as you say--the things people have lost do matter. Yes, our lives are all we have, but we define those lives by the things we gather around us.
In my most recent blog post, I mused a bit about the force of Nature, recalling that old commercial with the "it's not nice to fool Mother Nature" line. Nature does seem to remind us of our frailty.
You're so right, Grizz. I look at the challenges people are thrown in life and think, "There but for the grace of God go I." Makes us remember how important it is to be kind to others -- we don't know what their personal battles have been -- and I subscribe to the philosophy that we are here on earth to help one another. It is heart breaking to look at the storm's devastation and know lives have been changed forever. On another note, I loved the water picture. Your photos are always soothing to the soul.
oh forgot to mention how absolutely stunning this photo is-a masterpiece.
AfromTOx2…
Well, huh! And I thought I'd managed perfection! A reminder that when it comes to proofreading your own stuff, the eye often sees what the mind intended…not what you've written. But thank you for pointing it out. I don't like mistakes and this typo has been summarily corrected.
I just loved the colors on the water—their depth and intensity, the blending and catchlights—and especially the movement. Actually a better "sunset" than what was in the sky.
KGMom…
This is the great and inescapable truth which resonates throughout John Donne's meditation, Devotions upon Emergent Occasions—almost eerily so when he says, "…every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe [or in this case, America] is the less…"
We are, indeed, interconnected—to one another, to a common land, a shared nation, an individual continent, a single planet. Home extends beyond the stars and we are all family.
Yet at the same time there's often that rather disturbing dichotomy in our nature (mine, anyway)—relief that the tolling bell did not ring specifically this time for us; not our home and family and stuff. Our lives remain intact. We're affected, but only vicariously—reacting to a suffering once removed. We know better, know it's only by God's grace and the whims of water and winds and nature that we've been spared…but still we're relieved, grateful, even, if we're honest, a little bit glad in some dark corner of our hearts that it wasn't us. And yet in the same breath and moment, all the while guilty and appalled for feeling such an emotion, however small, however unintentional, however divergent with our beliefs and, I'd hope, our actions should we be given the opportunity to in some way help those displaced and hurting and in need.
When I watch disasters such as Hurricane Sandy unfold—served up with multi-camer coverage as it happens, in full digital big-screen color, straight into the comfort of my living room—I always find myself wrestling with this queasy emotional paradox, a sort of survivor guilt. I'm quite aware for whom the bell tolls, but sometimes a master at suppressing, ignoring, discounting its heavy peal. Not a fact I admit with pride…
Brenda…
I agree with your belief—I, too, think part of our purpose in life is to share with and help out one another…to do good wherever, whenever, and however possible. My mother would have said, "Be a blessing to everyone." And she lived that philosophy.
Increasingly, our culture isolates us from one another, discourages us from revealing ourselves and our thoughts, our feelings; we hide behind the layers of propriety and convention, formalities and protocol. This robs us of our humanity, our humanness. What a terrible loss!
We suffer in silence because too often words go unspoken, good words, honest words, words of love and caring and affection, words of kindness and compassion, words of sympathy and understanding and encouragement…words that should be said but aren't and remain stuck in our throat, when they just might be all it takes to lift someone's heart, give them strength, show them hope.
If your heart is in the right place, I don't know how anyone can look at the devastation from Hurricane Sandy—the lives and homes so torn apart—and not feel
sympathy and a kindred heartbreak.
AMEN! Debbie
Debbie…
Thank you.
HI GRIZZ - so good to be back on line - with power!!Five days was enough! ANd it was getting so cold as well. I will be writing a post soon with some pictures which thank goodness are far less in destruction and loss than the Jersey shore and the burroughs of NY. Heart wrenching. My son is devastated by the impact and is actually headed to Staten Island today with supplies and support with a group of his friends. We are catching up and cleaning up here - lots to do. But over all we are truly blessed first because we survived together and second because our loss was minimal.
I love the picture on this post, the colors on and in the river are so beautiful.
Love, Gail
peace.....
Gail…
Oh, man…it's a relief to hear from you and especially with the news that you guys came through Sandy mostly okay. I'm really glad of that! Five days without power (or internet) couldn't have been much fun—but in the scheme of things, a little discomfort is a small price considering what some are going through. I hope things get better soon for your son. Such a disaster is tough to handle. I look forward to your post. You remain in our thoughts and prayers.
Thanks Grizz - you write so honestly and beautifully. We are going to replace food today - everything was lost. We are going to buy only a few perishable items though because a nor'easter is predicted mid-week with winds 40 to 50 mph, snow/sleet,rain and so forth. We are keeping the water barrels filled outside to haul in for "flushing" and bottled water for drinking etc.and the wood stacked inside. Pray the storm passes quickly and that our power stays on. It is Enough! Staying warm will be way harder this time around. Brrrrrrrrrr
Anyway, we are enjoying the sunshine today, fresh brewed coffee, roasting a chicken later with potatoes and green beans and I think a piece of apple pie is needed! Thanks for all your prayers and caring.
Love Gail
peace.....
Gail…
Long day here, which is why I'm just getting around to answering. Hope you have your supplies all squared away. Can't believe a nor'easter now has you in its sights, especially one packing 50 mph winds! We are expecting some cold, possibly snowy weather later in the week. But one thing here beside the river…unless we've had a long, severe deep-winter freeze, one thing a power loss doesn't necessitate is worrying about water for flushing—all we could ever need is a bucket dip away. We keep jugs for drinking and coffee/tea making—and for Myladylove's ablutions, as she won't use river water for bathing, even though when she lived in Alaska, she often bathed in streams where she had to occasionally displace a beaver or moose beforehand, and sometimes station a guard armed with a heavy-caliber rifle bankside in case a grizzly (bear, not blogger) wandered close.
Anyway, hope you had a good day. I did have homemade (Myladylove's) pumpkin pie with supper. You remain in our prayers.
I can feel the chill of the water and feel the colors. Beautiful, Grizz.
Robin…
Yes, the water is taking on November's chill…and those pretty reflected flames are cool, too. In many ways this is always one of my favorite months—but I suppose it takes a rather oblique ascetic's reductionist attitude of essentialism. I think the photo captures that, and that you see and understand. Thank you.
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