At midnight trees grow wild. Lights flicker and you close our eyes to darkness. By morning your skin is beaded like dew on the lawn; by noon it’s slicker than butter.
Still you crave those magic beans that wake the dead and make the blood flow smoother. These addictions, how hard they die! Funny, but you don’t feel that blessed to be alive.
Imagine making do with cowboy brew all the days of your life. Things could come to that… firing up the grill daily just for a cup of coffee.
You know you should be counting your blessings. But the flooding, the sweltering heat with no sign of relief, breeding ground for mosquitoes and disease…
Gratitude gives way to post-apocalyptic musings.
Chickadees, oblivious to power outages, flock gleefully around the feeder; these no more territorial than you keeping watch over the priceless stash of ice in the cooler.
A relentless knock at the door. It’s your brother with the heart condition and your failing mother staring back with hopeful eyes. They’ve come to you seeking air and ice…
In the living room – the coolest spot in the house at 85 degrees – the light of day cannot be seen. Folded blinds, opaque drapes see to that. You sit in semidarkness and commiserate.
Think of those less fortunate: your cousin swept away by the storm last night. And others who didn’t survive. You just thank the Lord you’re still alive to suffer and agonize together.
After Floyd, we were out of power for a week. Many lost their homes, their farms, their lives, their loved ones. The everyday comforts they’d known before eastern NC’s Katrina.
A friend named Barbara, who had her lights restored days before us, was thoughtful enough to remember me when she made her morning coffee.
The carafe full she delivered to my front door seemed like a miracle.
Since that time Barbara has moved to New York. I lost my brother to a mysterious death (not a heart attack), my mother to a massive stroke. Yes, how blessed I was after the storm.
What does it mean to you to be blessed?