Houston’s been a bit “under the weather” for the past week.
Unless you live overseas or under a rock, you’ve probably seen just how bad things got, here, last week. A historic, “500-year flood,” the extent of which set records. Things are slowly getting back to normal – that is, the roads are passable and the water’s receded back into the creeks from whence it came. For the people just up the road from me, who have piled up the soggy, filthy, creek-water-soaked contents of their homes, it’s going to take a little longer to get “back to normal.”
Many people have lost everything. Eight people died.
I love water, in moderation. In oceans and pools and rivers and falls. When people are kayaking up the street you normally drive to work, there’s a problem.
Water’s both a blessing and a curse. I’m a Pisces – water is my element, and I love to swim. Yet, my mom used to call water our “family curse.” And it doesn’t take horrible weather. When I was a teen, we lived in a twenty-one story condo on Daytona Beach, overlooking a whole ocean full of water. I called my parents, one warm, sunny afternoon, and told them that our apartment – on the fourteenth floor – was flooded. “How much water is there?” they asked.
“Let’s put it this way – I could do the backstroke from the kitchen to your bedroom.” The water tank on the roof had sprung a leak – emptying itself straight into our hall closet.
Weather or not – water always wins.
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