A storm is coming and vibrations are dancing. Southern California’s hurricane (that will undoubtedly be downsized by the time it reaches us) is stirring the pot.
Sandbags….bath-tubs full of water….candles and matches.
The music of the moment is “She’s Not There”, playing in this grocery stop.
I am here but also with this auditory nudge, the 60’s, re-visiting crowding into the bathroom with my sister, both trying to maneuver black eye liner, mini skirts and nervous budding.
’89 Hurricane Hugo zero-ing in on Charleston…my girls and creatures and I lived on Sullivans Island and the radio said we were to be a direct hit. The sky was green-ish, we were scrambling, and the last phone call that came through was the girls’ father saying “Frances, this is not just another windy day, what is your plan?” And the phone died.
We lived to tell the many many tales that grew as a result of THAT ONE.
All in this moment being cellularly re-visited at once…thank you, God.
To live life forward but understand it backwards…with phenomenal appreciation.