Waiting for the Storm (Richard Shindell)

The weekend was weird, in that we were dealing, or not, with the unpronounceable hurricane Isaias (four syllables - WTF?!?).  We experienced heavy rains Friday night, calm Saturday morning, more rains Saturday night, back to calm today, with a few scattered showers.  I'm not complaining, and certainly do not miss the days of installing shutters, taking down windchimes, and bringing patio furniture inside.  Plus I have plenty of non-perishables stashed away (PopTarts and canned soups and peanut butter, oh my!), and a Category 1-possibly-2-which-stayed-a-1-and-then-downgraded-to-a-tropical-storm, given all that we've gone through, is not even on my radar (pun intended).  Hoping the rest of the East Coast is as lucky as we were.

However, it did allow me to make good on a promise to Colin, in that I had given him a pair of dinosaur rainboots for his birthday a few weeks ago and vowed to accompany him on his first puddle-jumping adventure.  I had an extra pair, which I brought for Sarah and, by the time he woke up from his nap yesterday, most of the leftover rain had evaporated, but the *one* in her apartment complex parking lot did the trick, and we all stomped and jumped to our heart's content.  What a blast!

NR:  The Travelers by Regina Porter


SONG:  Waiting for the Storm by Richard Shindell

BOOK:  A Furious Sky: The Five-Hundred-Year History of America's Hurricanes by Eric Jay Dolin

POEM:  Visitor by Brenda Shaughnessy

I am dreaming of a house just like this one

but larger and opener to the trees, nighter

than day and higher than noon, and you,

visiting, knocking to get in, hoping for icy

milk or hot tea or whatever it is you like.

For each night is a long drink in a short glass.

A drink of blacksound water, such a rush

and fall of lonesome no form can contain it.

And if it isn’t night yet, though I seem to

recall that it is, then it is not for everyone.

Did you receive my invitation? It is not

for everyone. Please come to my house

lit by leaf light. It’s like a book with bright

pages filled with flocks and glens and groves

and overlooked by Pan, that seductive satyr

in whom the fish is also cooked. A book that

took too long to read but minutes to unread—

that is—to forget. Strange are the pages

thus. Nothing but the hope of company.

I made too much pie in expectation. I was

hoping to sit with you in a tree house in a

nightgown in a real way. Did you receive

my invitation? Written in haste, before

leaf blinked out, before the idea fully formed.

An idea like a storm cloud that does not spill

or arrive but moves silently in a direction.

Like a dark book in a long life with a vague

hope in a wood house with an open door.

QUOTE:  "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, its about learning how to dance in the rain." ~ Vivian Greene

(No One's) Singin' Along (Hymn for Her)

[thanks to Melanie for this absurdly-on-point graphic!]

Our Governor is ridiculous.  On Friday, he began to re-open the state, despite the fact it is incredibly risky to do so.  The statistics and articles below show that, but DeSantis is a Trump syncophant, and we know it's all about the money and the ratings.  Putting the state's economy over our health.  Covidiots.  


State coronavirus cases pass 36,800, and half of new deaths are in South Florida:  Florida’s Department of Health on Monday morning confirmed 819 additional cases of COVID-19 as restaurants and shops across the state, except in South Florida, opened their doors to customers for the first time in weeks. The state is now closer to hitting the 37,000 mark, with a total of 36,897 confirmed cases.  Monday’s total daily numbers is the highest the state has seen since Friday, when a weeklong trend of daily totals fewer than 1,000 was broken. There were also 20 new deaths announced, bringing the statewide death toll to 1,399.

As Florida starts to reopen, fewer than 2% of residents have been tested for COVID-19:  As major swaths of the state reopen for business Monday, about 1.8% of Florida’s population has been tested for COVID-19, according to a Miami Herald analysis, with percentages much lower in rural areas, including counties where nursing homes and prisons have become hot spots for the virus’ silent spread.

‘Who wants to eat in an empty restaurant?’ How Miami-Dade plans to reopen in a pandemic:  Miami-Dade residents might soon be able to dine out or visit a hotel when local authorities begin an expected gradual lifting of business lockdown orders. But when they go out, they’ll encounter a drastically altered leisure landscape.

An appointment to shop? How major retailers plan to reopen after coronavirus pandemic:  As the United States surpasses 1 million cases of coronavirus, major retailers are looking ahead to how they might reopen safely after the pandemic.

There’s got to be a better way to handle crowds at Miami-Dade marinas. Here are a few | Editorial:  Boaters started lining up Friday night at Black Point Marina in South Dade to be among the first to hit the water on Saturday. Hundreds of vehicles were backed up at the entrance. Boaters waited for hours long because only 10 vehicles at a time could enter. By 10 a.m., the marina had reached capacity and was shut down.

SONG: (No One's) Singin' Along by Hymn for Her

BOOK:  Why Zebras Don't Get Ulcers by Robert Sapolsky

POEM:  Si Se Puede by Jose A. Alcantara

When I take my morning walk now,
I am Pancho Villa. I am Che Guevara.
I am an outlaw in a mask and dark glasses.
I am starting a revolution.
Power to the peonies!
¡Vivas to the violets!
We would rather die on our knees,
sniffing at a flower,
than live, standing in line,
waiting for toilet paper to arrive.
Quivering, I throw my heart out,
six feet in every direction.
All that creeps, crawls, slithers,
or flies, I love.
I lower my mask.
I fling wide my arms.
I kiss death full on the mouth.

QUOTE:  “Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing.  We think the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved.  They come together and they fall apart.  Then they come together again and fall apart again.  It’s just like that.  The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen:  room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.” ~ Pema Chodron

Hurricane (Kris Delmhorst)

From Wikipedia: "The 2007 Atlantic hurricane season officially started June 1, 2007 and will last until November 30, 2007. Hurricane experts predict above-average activity (17 named storms, 9 hurricanes, 5 of Category 3 or higher). The forecast indicates a 74% chance of at least one major hurricane striking the U.S. mainland, which includes a 50% chance of at least one major hurricane strike on the East Coast of the United States including the Florida peninsula and a 49% chance of at least one major hurricane strike on the Gulf Coast of the United States from the Florida Panhandle westward."

We were very lucky last year but, considering the frequency and intensity of 2004 and 2005, it was nice to have a bit of a break - we moved here in March 1992, 4 months before Hurricane Andrew made landfall and we've certainly learned our lesson over the years regarding early preparation... which reminds me that I need to go to the grocery store this weekend and stock up on storm supplies (canned foods, Pop-Tarts, bottled water... and E-Z-CheeZe, a family tradition... :-)

I wrote the poem below on 9/5/04, in anticipation of Hurricane Frances - the storm, downgraded from a Category 4 to a Category 2, made landfall on the Atlantic coast of Florida, near Stuart, on September 5, 2004 and moved across the state dropping up to 13 inches of rain. Frances made a second Florida landfall, as a tropical storm, at St. Marks on the Panhandle on September 8 - more than 2.8 million people were evacuated, damages were estimated at $9 billion and the storm killed at least 38 people.

SONG: Hurricane by Kris Delmhorst

BOOK: Florida's Hurricane History by Jay Barnes and Steve Lyons

POEM: Prayer to St. Margarita (Be Careful What You Wish For)
She began as a twinkle in my mother’s eye
As we floated in the pool one South Florida summer day
“What this backyard needs is a statue”
And we went on a quest

We bought this house from a former Chicagoan
He called the yard his Wrigley Field
Because of the high ficus hedges
Surrounding the property on three sides

Being a literary rather than a sports enthusiast,
I dubbed it my Alice in Wonderland backyard
I could envision a door hidden by the foliage
Leading to faraway lands and magical adventures

“What this backyard needs is a statue”
And the quest began
A mermaid? A fountain? A dolphin?
A goddess… not too big, not too little, just right

We loaded her into the back of the minivan
And coerced our men to position her… a little to the center, a little to the left, just right
Nestled amidst an island of greenery
She surveyed her new kingdom from a poolside vantage point

Her eyes were comforting yet mischievous
The pitcher in her left hand dispensing imaginary well water or alcoholic concoctions
So we hot-glue-gunned a plastic margarita glass to her right fist
And the goddess was canonized

She’s witnessed a decade of baby showers and bums-by-the-pool days
She’s overheard the confessions of sleepovers and midnight Jacuzzi soaks
She’s sworn to silence of teenage birthday parties and adult couplings
Always a knowing smile, always sealed lips, never a judgment

A heavy rainstorm once upset her equilibrium
The next day found her lower half reclined on the concrete
And her upper half immersed in six feet of water
Smashing her right arm into a useless appendage

Fearing she’d never live to see another tequila sunrise
We hoisted her from the depths and began the reconstruction
Resurrecting her like the phoenix or a time-worn quarrel
Re-igniting the dispassionate fire for a hopeful future

Patroness of blender drinks and village women,
falling-star viewings and moonlight skinnydips
We balance the storms on our horizons with the calm of an eye
Our vision is clouded by history, yet clear with love

St. Margarita, deliver us from normal and lead us not into stagnation…

QUOTE: "Some of us still get all weepy when we think about the Gaia Hypothesis, the idea that earth is a big furry goddess-creature who resembles everybody's mom in that she knows what's best for us. But if you look at the historical record—Krakatoa, Mt. Vesuvius, Hurricane Charley, poison ivy, and so forth down the ages—you have to ask yourself: Whose side is she on, anyway?" ~ Barbara Ehrenreich