A low rumble of thunder from the north made me thankful we were indoors on this night of restless weather. Rain soon beat an uninterrupted rhythm on the roof and windows.
I looked forward to finally having a small window of time this evening just to read. I tucked my Kindle under my arm as I snugged a blanket around me on the sofa while my husband flipped through channels looking for the basketball game. There was something about reading inside while rain pelted on the outside that resonated warmth and security to me.
My Kindle blinked a warning that the battery was critically low, and I sighed and pulled the blanket off to go get the charger. I was midstep down the hall when a searing bolt of lightning filled not only the outdoor sky but flooded every window. The lights died and the momentary silence was broken with a short squeal from Teenaged Daughter, in her bathroom. "My hair! How can I finish curling it now?"
My husband smiled as he made his way to the utility room to get portable lights and flashlights. "Why are you curling your hair? You aren't going anywhere," he laughed.
"I was practicing a new style, and it's only half done!" she lamented. She sighed and came out of her room to get one of the flashlights. "I guess I'm just going to text my friends."
"Stay off the phone," he warned. "Remember what happened to Grandma? (Lightning Strikes) We don't want any more lightning incidents when someone is on the phone." She sighed again, flopped into a chair and grabbed a book and a flashlight.
"I think you girls have the right idea. Some reading will be a good thing to do while we wait for the power to come back on, " my husband remarked as he pulled out a big book from a shelf and a adjusted a portable lantern near his chair. I looked at my now useless charger and Kindle. "Here, Hon, here's another light so you can still read," he offered.
I thought for a moment. "I think I'm going to try it the true old fashioned way," I told them as I stepped into the living room. I removed one of my grandmother's kerosene lamps from the top of the vintage piano where they serve as accent pieces. It still had lantern oil in it from a school project. The wick was trimmed. I lit it and moved to the bookcase that fully covered an entire wall of that large room.
The lantern cast a warm and supple light on the shelves and shelves of books. I ran my fingers across the spines until I came to some of my oldest books. The House of the Seven Gables, this copy printed in 1868, caught my eye and I slid it out. I held it close to my face and inhaled as I moved to a small desk to set up my lamp. It smelled of long skirts and high button shoes, of stovepipe hats and carriages and horses and war and a divided nation.
I wondered about the first person who had bought this book, brought it home from a bookstore and perhaps read it by lamplight, as I was doing now. The pages, though softened with age and now a faint ecru instead of white, still proclaimed clearly in the dancing lamplight, "Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables..."
I pulled the blanket tightly around my shoulders and stuffed the Kindle and charger into a drawer even as the rain continued to tattoo the roof and the lantern cast intricate shadows on the wall. "...facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst..."
I love a rainy night.
Showing posts with label storms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label storms. Show all posts
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Thursday, June 28, 2012
A Storm
Morning broke that September Saturday, air pregnant with moisture and as stifling as a woolen blanket wrapped around the lungs. No wind stirred yet on the South Texas coast, making sweat almost immediately ooze and drip down the faces of those who ventured outdoors. Cicadas chirred furiously, agitated by something challenging their innate rhythm.
The post World War I economy smiled on Corpus Christi in 1919, and new wooden homes and buildings dotted the streets that ran to the bayfront and upwards to the 40 foot bluff. That bluff and the barrier islands, Mustang and St. Joe, made the residents feel more protected than their other Gulf counterparts. After all, they had weathered a major hurricane just three years earlier and had come back stronger than ever. They'd heard the reports of a hurricane that was skirting the Florida Keys, but it was far away and no threat to them. This was the last weekend of the summer season and vacationers filled the bayfront hotels, intent on squeezing out every last bit of fun they could.
Robert and Rosa, newlyweds, came to the Pavillion Hotel on the bayfront for their honeymoon. They had this one full day left to enjoy before leaving to return home and begin their new married life tomorrow, Sunday. Rosa shyly looked at Robert as they walked in the sand that morning, barefoot and holding hands. Rosa used one hand to slightly lift the hem of her long skirt to keep it off the sand. "Darling, I can't believe we are actually married now, here on this beautiful beach," she murmured as she leaned her head into his chest.
He stopped, looked down at her and paused for a moment, drinking her in. "You are completely beautiful, Rosa. I must be the luckiest man on earth to have you. I can't wait to start building our family. I think our kids are going to look just like you." He grinned, pulled her close and continued their stroll.
M. C. hustled to finish milking the cows and get them fed. Newly 18 and the eldest son in his family, he shouldered much of the responsibility for the cattle. Father had his hands full with the cotton crop. It looked finally like this would be a prosperous year for them. The last several years had been hard, but Mama's unfailing sunny optimism and Father's unceasing hard work gave him a good feeling about this year. His five younger sisters helped out when they weren't in school and it made him feel good to know there was finally going to be a good year, a year without lack, without going to bed with hungry bellies.
The girls, little brother Hank, and Mama were headed down to North Beach in the wagon to see the Splash Day Festivities that day. A new pirate queen would be crowned and they all had their own opinion about who would win. Then, there was an ice cream social at the school that night. M. C. didn't have time for that kind of frivolity now. "Son, need your help when you finish there," Father called.
"Be right there!" M. C. hollered back.
Maria patted out the last of the tortilla dough into a flattened disc and plopped it onto the comal over the fire in their one room shanty so close to the shoreline she could smell the salt in the air. She was already hot and working over the open fire of the stone fireplace made her even hotter, but she was thankful. Thankful they had escaped the endless violence in Mexico the warring governmental factions wreaked on regular folks like she and her family. Thankful she had her family with her: Jose, her husband; Pablita, their 12 year daughter, and George, their 10 year old son. She and Jose had wonderful dreams, especially for their children. These kids were going to have opportunities in this country they could never have dreamed of in Mexico, opportunties for education and prosperity she and Jose had never had.
She laughed as the kids gobbled down the last of their beans inside their tortillas and Jose wiped the crumbs from his full, dark mustache. "The kids and I are going to go look at a mule I want to buy," he told her. "We'll need it so I can start plowing. Yes, Mama, we're going to have a big farm. We'll start with cotton and raise sheep, too. Even Pablita's going to be helping, right mija?" he chuckled as he gently tugged her braid. The kids chattered as they jumped into the yard and Jose kissed Maria.
The day stretched onward and a cool breeze whispered in from the Gulf. Rain began to fall, gently at first, then with a slowly escalating force. Oddly, flocks of seabirds began hurried flights inland. Horses, cattle, and sheep became jittery. Wild animals left their daytime camoflauge and headed away from the water.
And yet, even into the night when the heavier rain began, people didn't abandon their feelings of security, although under the ebony, water laden skies, the sea had already begun silent deliveries of an ominous cargo, depositing them onto the beach with the high tide.
(This is the first installment of a three part series. It is based on historical record and the accounts of my grandfather and great aunt. If there's interest in it, I'll put up Part 2 soon. And here is Part Two and Part 3.)
The post World War I economy smiled on Corpus Christi in 1919, and new wooden homes and buildings dotted the streets that ran to the bayfront and upwards to the 40 foot bluff. That bluff and the barrier islands, Mustang and St. Joe, made the residents feel more protected than their other Gulf counterparts. After all, they had weathered a major hurricane just three years earlier and had come back stronger than ever. They'd heard the reports of a hurricane that was skirting the Florida Keys, but it was far away and no threat to them. This was the last weekend of the summer season and vacationers filled the bayfront hotels, intent on squeezing out every last bit of fun they could.
Robert and Rosa, newlyweds, came to the Pavillion Hotel on the bayfront for their honeymoon. They had this one full day left to enjoy before leaving to return home and begin their new married life tomorrow, Sunday. Rosa shyly looked at Robert as they walked in the sand that morning, barefoot and holding hands. Rosa used one hand to slightly lift the hem of her long skirt to keep it off the sand. "Darling, I can't believe we are actually married now, here on this beautiful beach," she murmured as she leaned her head into his chest.
He stopped, looked down at her and paused for a moment, drinking her in. "You are completely beautiful, Rosa. I must be the luckiest man on earth to have you. I can't wait to start building our family. I think our kids are going to look just like you." He grinned, pulled her close and continued their stroll.
M. C. hustled to finish milking the cows and get them fed. Newly 18 and the eldest son in his family, he shouldered much of the responsibility for the cattle. Father had his hands full with the cotton crop. It looked finally like this would be a prosperous year for them. The last several years had been hard, but Mama's unfailing sunny optimism and Father's unceasing hard work gave him a good feeling about this year. His five younger sisters helped out when they weren't in school and it made him feel good to know there was finally going to be a good year, a year without lack, without going to bed with hungry bellies.
The girls, little brother Hank, and Mama were headed down to North Beach in the wagon to see the Splash Day Festivities that day. A new pirate queen would be crowned and they all had their own opinion about who would win. Then, there was an ice cream social at the school that night. M. C. didn't have time for that kind of frivolity now. "Son, need your help when you finish there," Father called.
"Be right there!" M. C. hollered back.
Maria patted out the last of the tortilla dough into a flattened disc and plopped it onto the comal over the fire in their one room shanty so close to the shoreline she could smell the salt in the air. She was already hot and working over the open fire of the stone fireplace made her even hotter, but she was thankful. Thankful they had escaped the endless violence in Mexico the warring governmental factions wreaked on regular folks like she and her family. Thankful she had her family with her: Jose, her husband; Pablita, their 12 year daughter, and George, their 10 year old son. She and Jose had wonderful dreams, especially for their children. These kids were going to have opportunities in this country they could never have dreamed of in Mexico, opportunties for education and prosperity she and Jose had never had.
She laughed as the kids gobbled down the last of their beans inside their tortillas and Jose wiped the crumbs from his full, dark mustache. "The kids and I are going to go look at a mule I want to buy," he told her. "We'll need it so I can start plowing. Yes, Mama, we're going to have a big farm. We'll start with cotton and raise sheep, too. Even Pablita's going to be helping, right mija?" he chuckled as he gently tugged her braid. The kids chattered as they jumped into the yard and Jose kissed Maria.
The day stretched onward and a cool breeze whispered in from the Gulf. Rain began to fall, gently at first, then with a slowly escalating force. Oddly, flocks of seabirds began hurried flights inland. Horses, cattle, and sheep became jittery. Wild animals left their daytime camoflauge and headed away from the water.
And yet, even into the night when the heavier rain began, people didn't abandon their feelings of security, although under the ebony, water laden skies, the sea had already begun silent deliveries of an ominous cargo, depositing them onto the beach with the high tide.
(This is the first installment of a three part series. It is based on historical record and the accounts of my grandfather and great aunt. If there's interest in it, I'll put up Part 2 soon. And here is Part Two and Part 3.)
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