It’s late at night in Houston. Rain has been pouring down for days on end. My daughter-in-law tells me she’s concerned enough about this hurricane with the Harvey moniker that she may head toward Forney at day’s light. We tell her that’s fine with us, but there’s no danger. Everyone agrees there’s no danger. My son stays behind. His profession deals with law enforcement and emergency strategies, after all. He’ll be sleeping at work, anyway. But, there’s no danger. Until there was. Thankfully, her shrewd mom instincts proved right. The bottom fell out. It was awful, those things too much rain can do. Somewhere else, on some other night, there’s a farmer who spends more time crunching numbers in the wee hours of the morning than he does sleeping. Where will the money come, to dig more wells, irrigate more crops? How can he stay afloat? How can he not lose 100 years of family legacy, all his equipment, and his only livelihood? This drought, this absence of rain, is killing him. It’s awful, those things not enough rain can do. One prays for rain. One prays the rain away. Someone will lose. Is there a cache of prayers somewhere ready to be granted to one and denied to another? There are times in all our lives when we are desperate, even dependent, for something to happen. Funny, when you start considering your getting could mean someone else’s losing, the perspective skews. Of course, the world does not run on the “one man’s trash” rule. But, what if it did? Isn’t it ironic, dontcha think?
When my second born son was a few days old, I received a scary call from a hospital lab. I was to bring him back to my midwife’s office immediately. There was a problem with his PKU test, an abnormality in the results. They needed to speak to me. In this preinternet world we lived in, there was no googling to be done. PK what? What could be wrong? I faintly remember a frantic trip to the library, a run in with a card catalogue, a dog eared copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, and the P encyclopedia.
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