Waterline

When I moved to Galveston in 2013, there were strange gaps in the skyline and empty lots next to bustling shopping centers. But many cities have empty lots and jagged skylines.  I learned later that those gaps and barren places all had the same origin - Hurricane Ike. After awhile, I realized that islanders I met had a tendency to divide time into two ages, "Before Ike" and "After Ike." And of course, when I went down into the strand, folks were sure to point out a small plaque to me, a plaque that marked how high the water had gotten during the deluge.

I understood academically what had happened to Galveston and her people. But it wasn't until this weekend in Houston when I finally viscerally knew why that plaque was on that building in Galveston.

Because the scars that water leaves on you are invisible.

My husband are enroute to our wedding anniversary vacation, and it has been an emotional experience so far. I keep seeing 18 wheelers filled with supplies headed south; I keep watching military convoys and fleets of ambulances racing towards the pain. 

But what I don't see is any water.

From Saturday on, the world was made of water. The rain was relentless and the floods kept growing and the bayous spilled into houses and cars were drowned in the murky depths of Harvey's wrath. In the solitude of my house, I grew to understand the primitive association between a storm and an angry god. At a certain point, after a second sleepless night listening to shrieking winds and rain, I wondered if Harvey was angry, if Harvey was alive and bent on our obliteration. The world was made of water, water that hungrily swallowed up my city, water that could not be contained.

Then the storm moved away from us, toward more helpless cities. The sky emerged, the clouds turned white, the roads dried, and  and we moved out of our houses blinking painfully in the light we had lacked for an eternity that lasted 4 days. The waters receded for many of us (not all of us).  Out here on the road north you would never know that the fourth largest city in the country was held thrashing beneath the depths.  

In time newcomers will arrive to Houston. They will see empty lots where businesses once were and houses being renovated, and they will not know WHY. They will remember the news stories of Harvey, but they will not understand why so many of us flinch when a flash flood warning goes off. Water leaves invisible scars on the people who managed to survive it. 

Now I am one of those individuals for whom a storm has fractured time into distinct pieces.  Now my city will be the place where empty lots are haunted places, but only for the ones who know what used to be. Now I am part of a people that be bound tightly together by the memory of a shared tragedy. 

I have no doubt that sooner rather than later, plaques will be placed around the sprawling and beautiful mess that is Houston, defiance writ in metal and stone that the waters tried to swallow us and we endured.

Because a waterline is not just a memory. A waterline is an invisible scar made manifest.

Early

My 2 & 1/2 year old son does not sleep late.  Ever.  I now am an early riser, though I'm not a cheerful early riser.  I'm dreading Daylight Savings this Sunday; we'll "fall back" and I fear that means Gareth will be getting up at 5 instead of 6.  That's TOO EARLY.

I voted early this year - the first day I could.  I feel that I should now be exempt from all political chatter, as I have done my civic duty.  I wish there was some way to input a "I voted early" code into my tv or computer that would then filter out all political chatter till after November 6th.

Saturday I got up very very very early (even earlier than usual) and left home by 6am to go visit Cliff.  It was cold and I'm pretty sure God was still asleep.  On a gruesome note, there is a LOT of road kill on the side of country highways very early in the morning.

I celebrated Thanksgiving early this year - Saturday afternoon, in fact.

In just a few short weeks I'll be reliving the past: the one year anniversary of Cliff's trial, conviction and incarceration is just on the horizon.  And because it happened JUST before Thanksgiving, and because Daddy got his cancer diagnosis JUST DAYS before Thanksgiving, I knew this year that the holiday would be full of bad memories.  So, instead of having Thanksgiving and the beginning of the holiday season ruined, I decided that I was going to have Thanksgiving early, preempting the weight of the anniversary of "All the Evil."

My mother, father, brother and sister-in-law all came to Waco for what we called "Harvest Day" or "Late Canadian Thanksgiving" and we had all of the traditional holiday foods: turkey, gravy, stuffing, rolls, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, green salad, pumpkin pie, & strawberry rhubarb pies.  I made the pies and cranberry sauce the day before, brined the turkey, prepped fresh green beans from my father's garden, and my mother generously prepared everything else.  And it was not fraught with pain - we'll call that a win.

Sometimes "early" is unavoidable - especially if you have small children.  Sometimes "early" is by necessity - a measure of responsibility and time-management.  Sometimes "early" is a matter of survival - an attempt to preempt suffering or loss.  I think about "early" a lot.  If only Cliff had confessed EARLIER, he would have been able to accept a plea deal with a vastly shorter sentence.  If only I had confronted Cliff about his patterns of infidelity EARLIER, he could have gotten help and (maybe?) avoided his crimes.  If only....

But I can't change the past, and ruminating on if only's is a recipe for disaster, so now I just consider the "early" that I can control.  I CAN have Thanksgiving early so I can enjoy it.  I CAN plan a birthday party for myself early so that I don't spend the day ruminating on what I'm missing.  I CAN make plans with friends and family early so that I don't spend day after day after day without adult companionship.  I CAN schedule therapy appointments early so that I make my mental health a priority.  I CAN vote early so that I don't spend election day in long lines listening to political opinions I find alarming.

So right now, I'm trying to think ahead, trying to plan early for the "DAY OF", trying to build an emotional fall-out shelter to survive the storms of grief that are right on the horizon.  The Early Bird gets the worm?  For me, it will probably be more like, the Early Girl has enough wine.