I Can't Explain It; Not Even to Myself

Ok, so apologizies to those of you who have emailed to remind me that I haven't posted lately. I have finally caught up, so you'll have to scroll down a way to see the entries. I posted in date happening order.

The trip to Memphis was wonderful in that I spent time with my aunt and uncles and felt their love and support. However, the introspective mood I frequently found myself in did not lend itself to blogging. What I will say is this: Memphis is home, and that is never more real to me than when it's storming, or when I smell humidity, springtime, blooming dogwoods, and fresh cut grass. This trip I experienced both.

One night at Aunt Claire and Uncle Dick's, we took turns watching the hurricane warnings on tv and from the wide window, the sky turn black and dense over the Mississippi River. Fortunately, the hurricane turned slightly in its course so that Memphis was spared its fury. I know my aunt was worried. But I have a picture in my mind of what the dark sky and the Memphis skyline looked like from the top floor of the building where we were, and it filled me not with dread and fear, but with wonder and a sense of belonging that I have felt about storms ever since I can remember.

Once as a little girl, I invited a neighbor girl to spend the night. Her parents said no because of the storm. My friend had only to cross her back yard and mine. Such a short distance it seemed. I thought her parents were being overly cautious and I knew that they were afraid, but I wasn't. I stood at the tall kitchen plate glass window watching the tree limbs toss and bend, sometimes almost parallel to the ground, and I would have gone outside in the storm except for my mother who said--No.

Even now forty years later, I have to admit that in my excitement and draw toward the power and beauty of thunder and lightning storms, I forget that hurricanes often result in destruction and death. Nevertheless, I welcome the intensity of their expression passing over and through me. It's something I can neither help nor explain away. Something, someday, will be the cause of my demise, but it will never be a wild, Southern storm. Of this I am certain. Perhaps this is what allows me to stand still and watch, wonder, rejoice, and give thanks, even in the midst of a storm's unleashed passion.