Well, Hurricane Laura didn't amount to much here in Central Arkansas. And I'm not complaining.
She got my attention when she was revving up to what became briefly a Category 4 hurricane when she was out in the Gulf. But what really got my attention was when I saw that about 1/3 of Arkansas, Pulaski County included, was under a Tropical Storm Warning. I don't recall being under those conditions since I left Orleans Parish eons ago.
I mean, Little Rock ain't exactly known for being East Galveston.
As far as I know, although I didn't ask for a show of hands, I'm the only person in residence here who has ever been through one of these events. So a couple of days before landfall I went out for supplies.
As I was making my list, I remembered back when I was at Tulane during my first hurricane. It was either Frederick or David. I don't recall. I do recall local legendary meterologist Nash Roberts, who was pretty much the voice of God in these matters, predicting that it was going to come up the mouth of the Mississippi. I didn't know much. But that got my attention. So I went down the street to the K and B on St. Charles to get some stuff before hightailing it to Baton Rouge to ride it out with some friends.
I vividly recall to this day the lady ahead of me in the checkout line. In her basket she had the following essential hurricane items: 3 votive candles, a six pack of Dixie, a carton of Winstons, 2 bottles of wine, a package of batteries, a box of Slim-Fast bars and a can of contraceptive foam.
You can't get much more New Orleans than that.
My list for Laura was much more utilitarian than the lady at the K and B not to mention much less exotic. I got an extra combination flashlight/lantern thing from the hardware store. I bought extra batteries. I bought paper for the printer (because we were out) and I made a liquor store run. I gassed the car up. The Catholic bookstore closed some time ago so I couldn't load up on rosary beads and votive candles. But I figured that putting a Book of Discipline out on the porch might create some good juju and keep Laura at bay.
After all, I remembered the last hurricane that blew through here back around 2005 or so. I was at a party in the clubhouse of a tennis community south of here on the county line. I was talking to a man and drinking a beer when the outer band of Rita started bending trees over out of the lawn. I bid my farewells and got the hell out of Otter Creek.
I drove a Nissan Pathfinder back in those days. It soon proved to be a little too high profile for optimal driving in a hurricane. The rain was coming in sideways. A car ahead of me left the road. The old Pathfinder was rocking and rolling. So I got off the Interstate and took the back way home. Which was only marginally safer.
Once home, I poured a glass of wine and went out on the porch to catch the show. The phone rang. It was Chris Riviere calling from deep in the heart of Lafourche Parish.
"How's it going boy?," he asked in the Cajun accent I've been listening to since 1978.
"I'm fine. At home on the porch. What's up?"
"I'm sitting here watching the Weather Channel. It looks like Rita is over your house."
"She may be. Is that why you're calling?"
"Yeah. That and it occurred to me that I get calls from all over the place during hurricane season. I never get to call anybody to see how they're doing. So I'm calling you."
Hurricane Laura was no Rita. Although don't tell that to the folks down in Cameron Parish. But Laura started fizzling once she got past El Dorado, Arkansas. By the time she made it to the county line here she was a tropical depression. Just wind and rain signifying, well, not much. By 7 pm I was dispatched for Mexican food. Which I set out to procure with no thought to my personal safety whatsoever.
They say that this will be an active hurricane season. There are a couple of disturbances brewing in the Gulf that they are watching even as I type.
We're set for batteries. There's Dixie in the fridge.
And I got time to find some votive candles if I decide that the Methodist juju isn't strong enough.
Sunday, August 30, 2020
Sunday, August 23, 2020
My Sunday Feeling
School started last Thursday at my house.
Joe took the first classes of his Junior year at Hendrix upstairs in his chambers. Hendrix College decided about a month ago to remain closed to in-person teaching due to the pandemic. This, in retrospect, was a prudent move on its part given that other colleges have tried to open only to close a week or so into the semester due to clusters of Covid-19 breaking out on these campuses. This should have come as no major surprise. The Washington Post's Sally Jenkins, Dan's girl, aptly described college students along the lines of "poor decision makers who possess car keys."
So Joe will be doing his classwork online for the foreseeable future. Which ain't so foreseeable.
My first experience with Zoom was not so great. It was my privilege last year to help out with the the Theology Club at school. Catholic High, along with everybody else, shut down. So our meetings last semester went virtual. Which I suppose in a certain sense is the way everyone does religion anyway if we were to be honest about it.
I wasn't much good at it at first. But my friend Ed, the faculty sponsor of the group, got me up to speed. And now I've done the last two VA Legal Clinic sessions online. It's worked out pretty well. Examining documents on the computer screen is a challenge at times. But it's doable.
I haven't done a hearing online yet. I'm getting mixed responses from my friends that have. Some hate it. Some are OK with it. All of us are resigned to it. I have a hearing scheduled at the end of September in a little town 90 miles south of here. It wouldn't surprise me if it winds up going virtual seeing as how one of the parties and two of the lawyers are from out of town.
But I can't imagine doing the first year of college, much less medical or law school online. I just can't. My youngest nephew started his freshman year from the kitchen table last week. He says he's good with it. But Max is the kind of kid that doesn't get fazed by much. This experience is likely to test that admirable quality of his.
What an surreal year this has been. And I'm lucky. I can merely shake my head at the changes it has brought to this house. Nobody has gotten sick. Nobody has lost a paycheck. The Great Pandemic thus far has mainly been a surreal experience for us. We are damn fortunate.
Still. I sang at a funeral a week or so ago. It occurred to me that it was the first time that I had set foot in a church since March or so. I guess. The priest and the deacon served communion wearing gloves. After the priest had cleansed his hands with holy water and with sanitizer. Both the church and the state Department of Health have their procedures.
The Deacon and I celebrated the second year of my not being divorced last Tuesday. She looked like a million bucks as she tends to do. I asked her if she was wearing a new dress. She replied that while she had bought it some time ago that particular night was the first time she had worn it since "we never go out anymore."
This was not the opening salvo of a typically tedious marital dispute. She was stating fact. We don't go out anymore. I immediately began second guessing the outfit I had purchased as a gift for her. What the hell. Maybe I'll get to see it on her after flu season. On the other hand, she bought me a high end bottle of amber liquid to mark the occasion of my not living at the Motel 6 yet. A much more utilitarian present all things considered.
But what if she had wanted to buy me an article of clothing. I buy-make that used to buy-90% of my stuff from Jos Bank and Brooks Brothers. Both are in bankruptcy and mostly exist-guess where?-online nowadays.
Process this. Abraham Lincoln wore an overcoat made by Brooks Brothers when he gave the Gettysburg Address. Or when he got shot. I forget.
Brooks Brothers is in bankruptcy. This is what us writers refer to as a metaphor.
School starts here in Arkansas tomorrow morning. For the first time in memory, I will not be at the opening assembly at Catholic High. Assuming they have an opening assembly. Dr. Ingram, the Deacon and I made the joint decision that I would take a "leave of absence" from subbing until we see how this virus thing plays out. Let's face it. I'm no spring chicken. And I have asthma along with a genetic predisposition to heart disease, the latter of which was described by my cardiologist as "a gift from [your] dad."
Lord knows I will miss seeing my friends and being with the kids. But If I catch this stuff it could do me in three or four different ways. The principal understands. We will keep in touch. Besides, we've been friends for a hundred years. He knows where I live and that I keep both whisky and confidences out here on the porch. I can in that fashion still serve even though I but stand and watch the Governor's press conferences.
Besides, I am a mere pawn in the game of Catholic High. My highest and best use over there is helping with the choir. And you can forget that for the time being. Best that I stay on the sidelines for awhile.
Joe is like Max in that he doesn't get fazed by much. It is an admirable quality given the present age. He is an accounting major at the Little Utopia. He allows that the subject lends itself to online study. To which I reply "Good thing he's not a piano major."
Because the surreal is the new normal around here. We are damn fortunate that's all it is.
Joe took the first classes of his Junior year at Hendrix upstairs in his chambers. Hendrix College decided about a month ago to remain closed to in-person teaching due to the pandemic. This, in retrospect, was a prudent move on its part given that other colleges have tried to open only to close a week or so into the semester due to clusters of Covid-19 breaking out on these campuses. This should have come as no major surprise. The Washington Post's Sally Jenkins, Dan's girl, aptly described college students along the lines of "poor decision makers who possess car keys."
So Joe will be doing his classwork online for the foreseeable future. Which ain't so foreseeable.
My first experience with Zoom was not so great. It was my privilege last year to help out with the the Theology Club at school. Catholic High, along with everybody else, shut down. So our meetings last semester went virtual. Which I suppose in a certain sense is the way everyone does religion anyway if we were to be honest about it.
I wasn't much good at it at first. But my friend Ed, the faculty sponsor of the group, got me up to speed. And now I've done the last two VA Legal Clinic sessions online. It's worked out pretty well. Examining documents on the computer screen is a challenge at times. But it's doable.
I haven't done a hearing online yet. I'm getting mixed responses from my friends that have. Some hate it. Some are OK with it. All of us are resigned to it. I have a hearing scheduled at the end of September in a little town 90 miles south of here. It wouldn't surprise me if it winds up going virtual seeing as how one of the parties and two of the lawyers are from out of town.
But I can't imagine doing the first year of college, much less medical or law school online. I just can't. My youngest nephew started his freshman year from the kitchen table last week. He says he's good with it. But Max is the kind of kid that doesn't get fazed by much. This experience is likely to test that admirable quality of his.
What an surreal year this has been. And I'm lucky. I can merely shake my head at the changes it has brought to this house. Nobody has gotten sick. Nobody has lost a paycheck. The Great Pandemic thus far has mainly been a surreal experience for us. We are damn fortunate.
Still. I sang at a funeral a week or so ago. It occurred to me that it was the first time that I had set foot in a church since March or so. I guess. The priest and the deacon served communion wearing gloves. After the priest had cleansed his hands with holy water and with sanitizer. Both the church and the state Department of Health have their procedures.
The Deacon and I celebrated the second year of my not being divorced last Tuesday. She looked like a million bucks as she tends to do. I asked her if she was wearing a new dress. She replied that while she had bought it some time ago that particular night was the first time she had worn it since "we never go out anymore."
This was not the opening salvo of a typically tedious marital dispute. She was stating fact. We don't go out anymore. I immediately began second guessing the outfit I had purchased as a gift for her. What the hell. Maybe I'll get to see it on her after flu season. On the other hand, she bought me a high end bottle of amber liquid to mark the occasion of my not living at the Motel 6 yet. A much more utilitarian present all things considered.
But what if she had wanted to buy me an article of clothing. I buy-make that used to buy-90% of my stuff from Jos Bank and Brooks Brothers. Both are in bankruptcy and mostly exist-guess where?-online nowadays.
Process this. Abraham Lincoln wore an overcoat made by Brooks Brothers when he gave the Gettysburg Address. Or when he got shot. I forget.
Brooks Brothers is in bankruptcy. This is what us writers refer to as a metaphor.
School starts here in Arkansas tomorrow morning. For the first time in memory, I will not be at the opening assembly at Catholic High. Assuming they have an opening assembly. Dr. Ingram, the Deacon and I made the joint decision that I would take a "leave of absence" from subbing until we see how this virus thing plays out. Let's face it. I'm no spring chicken. And I have asthma along with a genetic predisposition to heart disease, the latter of which was described by my cardiologist as "a gift from [your] dad."
Lord knows I will miss seeing my friends and being with the kids. But If I catch this stuff it could do me in three or four different ways. The principal understands. We will keep in touch. Besides, we've been friends for a hundred years. He knows where I live and that I keep both whisky and confidences out here on the porch. I can in that fashion still serve even though I but stand and watch the Governor's press conferences.
Besides, I am a mere pawn in the game of Catholic High. My highest and best use over there is helping with the choir. And you can forget that for the time being. Best that I stay on the sidelines for awhile.
Joe is like Max in that he doesn't get fazed by much. It is an admirable quality given the present age. He is an accounting major at the Little Utopia. He allows that the subject lends itself to online study. To which I reply "Good thing he's not a piano major."
Because the surreal is the new normal around here. We are damn fortunate that's all it is.
Sunday, August 16, 2020
They Call It The Day Of Rest For A Reason
No blogging today. I ain't in the mood.
Talk amongst yourselves.
Talk amongst yourselves.
Sunday, August 09, 2020
The Moving Finger Writes
To tell you the truth, I almost feel guilty. Just look at the news. Misery abounds in this great land of ours. Sickness and death on an almost unimaginable scale. The economy has cratered and unless Washington moves fast with relief for the unemployed foreclosures and evictions will commence on a scale not seen since the Great Depression.
So I confess to a twinge of guilt when I tell you that I basically have new eyes. The last 3 weeks I have had cataracts removed from both eyes and new lenses dropped in. I have to say that it 90% painless and the other 10% was easily bearable.
The left eye was the worst. The doc operated on it a week or so after the right eye and took longer with it. But even at that I’m guessing that I was only in there for 30 minutes. The right eye took about 10 minutes. That’s amazing.
Last Monday after the surgery M and I were on the porch about 6 PM or so. I removed the patch so she could put the drops in.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No,” I said softly. “I didn’t know the world was so bright.”
I’m lucky.
I have good health insurance and I can handle the extra payment for the special lens in my left eye. But later that night, I got to thinking about it just isn’t right that everybody in this the alleged richest country on earth doesn’t have access to basic health insurance. And the Trump Administration is trying to do away with the Affordable Care Act. During a goddamn pandemic. With nothing to replace it with.
This is exquisite cruelty.
I do not discount the fact that I accrued certain privileges in our society not due to my own merit but to my race and sex. You could throw in some random laughing chance that broke my way that was equally unmerited by me.
I also worked hard, saved money and have attempted to do some good in the world although certainly I have not done all the good I could have done to paraphrase Rev. Mr. Wesley. So there is that.
The doc says it will take a couple of weeks for my new eyes to get in sync. My depth perception is a little off and I still get a little queasy if I try to do too much. I tried to hit balls on the range after the first eye got fixed. That was a mistake. I think I’m going to ease back into chasing the little white ball. But I look forward to doing it without bifocals. I can see faces at a distance. I can see the leaves on the trees in the park across the street. It’s amazing.
Goethe supposedly called for “more light” on his deathbed. I’m lucky. I got to see more light on my front porch.
I am in awe of the technology we possess at this stage in history. I am grateful that they could put it to good use for the likes of even me.
But I confess that I feel a little guilty.
So I confess to a twinge of guilt when I tell you that I basically have new eyes. The last 3 weeks I have had cataracts removed from both eyes and new lenses dropped in. I have to say that it 90% painless and the other 10% was easily bearable.
The left eye was the worst. The doc operated on it a week or so after the right eye and took longer with it. But even at that I’m guessing that I was only in there for 30 minutes. The right eye took about 10 minutes. That’s amazing.
Last Monday after the surgery M and I were on the porch about 6 PM or so. I removed the patch so she could put the drops in.
“Oh my God!” I exclaimed.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No,” I said softly. “I didn’t know the world was so bright.”
I’m lucky.
I have good health insurance and I can handle the extra payment for the special lens in my left eye. But later that night, I got to thinking about it just isn’t right that everybody in this the alleged richest country on earth doesn’t have access to basic health insurance. And the Trump Administration is trying to do away with the Affordable Care Act. During a goddamn pandemic. With nothing to replace it with.
This is exquisite cruelty.
I do not discount the fact that I accrued certain privileges in our society not due to my own merit but to my race and sex. You could throw in some random laughing chance that broke my way that was equally unmerited by me.
I also worked hard, saved money and have attempted to do some good in the world although certainly I have not done all the good I could have done to paraphrase Rev. Mr. Wesley. So there is that.
The doc says it will take a couple of weeks for my new eyes to get in sync. My depth perception is a little off and I still get a little queasy if I try to do too much. I tried to hit balls on the range after the first eye got fixed. That was a mistake. I think I’m going to ease back into chasing the little white ball. But I look forward to doing it without bifocals. I can see faces at a distance. I can see the leaves on the trees in the park across the street. It’s amazing.
Goethe supposedly called for “more light” on his deathbed. I’m lucky. I got to see more light on my front porch.
I am in awe of the technology we possess at this stage in history. I am grateful that they could put it to good use for the likes of even me.
But I confess that I feel a little guilty.
Monday, August 03, 2020
Vox Populi: The lady from the doctor’s office
‘So how are you feeling?
“Pretty good. Just a little discomfort. Punched in the eye level discomfort.”
“You can take some ibuprofen”
“Nah. Ive been punched in the eye before. It will go away.”
“Really? You’ve been hit in the eye before?”
“A couple of tines in law school. Hurtful misunderstandings in bars. Mostly I ran away. But occasionally I got tagged as I was escaping like the coward that I am.”
“I seeeeee. So you’re OK? We’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Oh yeah. I have a frame of reference for this. I’m good.. See you tomorrow”
Vox Populi: The Post Op Nurse’s Station
“You know how much he pays for that damn truck?
“No.”
“$850 a month.”
“That’s a mortgage payment.”
“ I know. He’s working for that truck.”
“Why doesn’t he get rid of it?”
“He’s stuck with it. He can’t buy anything else ‘cause his credit is terrible.”
In other news, in case you were wondering-maybe one or two-why the usual Sunday post didn’t go up, Blogger was down all day yesterday.
So you were spared.
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